#the fic fucking hurts

[discordderpy]

Yeah my fanfic may not have any hits now but wait until that one thing happens in the anime and you bitches will be weeping at my feet like pspsps come get yalls angst

[killerpancakeburger]

KNIGHT IN SHINING KHAKI

Gif by @bastardcompany

SUMMARY: You've angered the wrong officer. You think you're a goner when Johnny sweeps in to save the day.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader ("her" is used to refer to reader once, that's it) (+ Reader's hair is long enough to grab)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Depressed!Reader, Insecure!Reader, Angry!Soap, Protective!Soap, GuardDog!Soap, canon violence, hurt/comfort, swearing, blood mention. Ghost makes an appearance as a matchmaker lol. The love is requited they're just insecure idiots. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

A/N: My original prompt for this was: civilian!reader sees Soap in action and gets Horny. No Scared Just Horny.

Then I found out that Soap canonically beat up an officer. I am also obsessed with this video.

Part 1. Part 3.

This is it, you thought to yourself. 

This is how I die.

The day had unfolded like any other. Your shift was over and you were locking up your office, as usual. Your attention was focused on your hands’ motion, your guard dropped, your back exposed.

This explained why, when the stranger grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the door mercilessly, you didn’t see it coming in the slightest. The fact that you had zero combat experience while the person manhandling you was a decorated military officer obviously made matters worse, but at the moment of the assault, you didn’t know that.

The thud of the collision was eclipsed almost immediately by the pain exploding in your face. Half-stunned, all you could comprehend at the moment, every single signal sent by your brain was compacted in one word: suffering. Sharp, all-encompassing. You yelped, your hands vainly pushing against the cold, hard surface to get away.

“I've finally found you, you little snitch. Didn’t think you'd get away with it, now did you?”

Despite the blood thumping in your ears, and how groggy the hit on your head made you, his words reached you perfectly. They were seeping with fury and disdain. His voice didn’t ring a bell, so you tried to turn your head to glimpse him, if only at the corner of your eye, and he granted you some leeway to do so.

Perplexity filled you as you finally caught sight of your aggressor: you've never seen that man before.

“I don't even know who you are,” you winced.

Talking back in your situation would be judged stupid and reckless by a majority of people. Laying low assured more chances to avoid harm.

However most people hadn't been mugged at knifepoint like you had been, and most people valued their lives way more than you did.

Once the confusion and incredulity subsided, the pain still vivid but manageable, you were left with frustration and anger towards your interminable bad luck and the man behind you. His aversion was harder to take seriously when it seemed to have no foundation.

The grip on your hair tightened, making you grit your teeth.

“I'll refresh your memory, then.”

One part of you managed to be pleased to know that this mystery would be solved; the rest was ringing alarm bells when hearing the underlying threats in his tone.

“Weeks ago, you filed a report for embezzlement.”

You frowned, having no recollection of his claims, before a memory emerged. You saw them in flashes: the sudden, abnormally high spendings, the certificates full of anomalies, the incoherent dates; all this lead you to complete a reporting form, just as your job required you to. It was just a formality. You hadn't even even paid attention to the name attached to the expenses, therefore the officer was still anonymous.

Your aggressor scoffs menacingly, easily reading on your face that you remembered.

“They're gonna strip me of my rank and throw me in jail because of you. I'll make you pay even if it’s the last thing I do.”

That last sentence was finished in an almost shout, making you flinch, wishing you could pass through the door.

You quietly resigned yourself to your fate. No one was coming for you. You were no stranger to the inner workings of the military - no one would dare cross an officer that high-ranked for your sake. 

I've lived a good li- well, no. A pretty shitty life, actually. But at least I can say I did the right thing.

Just as you closed your eyes and braced yourself, hoping this wouldn’t drag on, a Scottish-accentuated roar resonated in the empty hall.

“Get yer hands off her-”

You had never heard Soap sound so enraged, nor his pitch so gravelly. Relief flooded through you at the sound of his voice, blended with gratitude. Tears stinged the corners of your eyes.

All of a sudden the unyielding grip on your hair was gone, the sound of something violently hitting the wall punctuating your newfound freedom. 

“-ye fucking bastard!”

You immediately turned around to see what was happening, leaning against the door behind you. Your legs were too shaky to be reliable. The harmed side of your face was throbbing in pain as you took in the scene with wide eyes.

Johnny had pinned the officer against the wall with one forearm across his chest. He dealt him a punch to the face powerful enough that the resulting thud made you grimace, despite not feeling any sympathy for his target.

He managed to administer a second blow before his adversary snapped out of his stupor, and the advantage he gained from taking him by surprise ran its course.

As your assailant defended himself with the strength of someone backed into a corner, you couldn't help but fear for Soap's safety for a moment. Despite knowing that one's rank didn’t reflect their fighting prowess, a rush of anxiety passed through you at the idea that he could lose that confrontation.

Nonetheless, he quickly put your mind at ease as his skills proved to be largely superior. The gap between the two was deep enough that it was obvious even to a neophyte like you.

Paralyzed, you couldn’t do anything but stare at the display of violence with a mix of morbid fascination and sadistic satisfaction. Honestly, if you could borrow Soap's body, you would without a doubt inflict the same treatment on that man. Maybe worse. Fair payback for the threats, the smashing of your face, the probable trauma you'd get from this. Maybe not that fair. But maybe for once you'd stop trying to act like a paragon of virtue.

You should have been scared, you realized. You had never been involved in a fight before. You had never witnessed firsthand the brutality Johnny was capable of, despite being aware of it, between his status as a soldier and the reports you read. The dog tags jingling from his neck and the khaki of his uniform were like so many visual reminders that he was a killing machine. His ferocious wrath, his yelling and his punches should have made you cower in fright.

However the only feeling inhabiting you was safety, as paradoxical as it sounded. Soap was safe, you were convinced of it, consciously or not.

This whole ordeal felt like it lasted an eternity and a minute at the same time. You blinked and out of nowhere, Johnny was straddling the officer on the floor. Blows kept pouring in but they were one-sided - the sergeant had gained the upper hand. The rhythm of his strikes seemed attuned to the beatings of your heart. Each resonated inside of your ears with your skull as their echo chamber. The noise was loud enough to cover your own thoughts.

As you focused on your breathing, you managed to slow down your heartbeats, and the blood-fueled pump between your ribs no longer felt like it could burst out of your chest at any moment. You failed however to contain the tremor in your hands.

You chose to focus on Soap's hands instead. They were soaked red from blood spilled, but not his. Specks of crimson sprinkled his hair, his face, his neck, his t-shirt.

There was a certain sort of lethal beauty to this brutal display that you couldn't help but contemplate in reverent silence: the way his bicep swole when he threw his arm back before hitting his target. The tightening of the muscles beneath the tanned skin of his arms. His icy stare. The harsh line of his jaw. His stern, inflexible expression, one he usually wore in meetings or after Price gave the order to leave.

The expression of someone who would stop at nothing, provided a bleak little voice in the back of your mind. The idea didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have.

“Not gonna make him stop?”

The familiar grunt of Ghost's voice almost made you jump out of your skin. You pivoted and the behemoth of a lieutenant was there, in casual clothes, right by your side. You had no idea when he arrived or how long he's been standing there, quiet like a shadow.

Something dark flashed in his brown eyes as his gaze lingered on the hurt side of your face.

“Why would I show mercy to someone who would have granted me none?” you scoffed bitterly.

“Someone's bloodthirsty.”

“You're one to talk.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You turned your attention back to Soap and Ghost did the same.

“I doubt he would listen to me.”

“He would,” stated the masked man, with the assertiveness of someone announcing a conviction. 

“But if ya don't believe me…”

A beat, then.

“Oï, Johnny!”

The shout was nonchalant, like it was something he did often, calling off his sergeant from some prey like the Scotsman was his personal attack dog.

The effect was immediate.

Soap abruptly froze, blinking a couple times as if awakening from a trance. Then he perked up, and turned around, eyes searching. The first sound that left his lips was a call of your name. His gaze latched onto you and didn’t let go as he stood up and rushed towards you. The naked vulnerability, the raw openness in his voice and on his face were so earnest that they felt like a Cupid's arrow shot straight between your lungs. It left you devoid of speech and motion, so as Johnny reached for you, all you could do was try to convey your reassurances through your eyes; that you were mostly fine, and so grateful, but worried for him, that he made everything better-

His arms closing around you made the outside disappear, and suddenly the whole world came down to Johnny, and only him. His embrace was enjoyable for a second before the pressure of his body against your face woke up your contusions. You let out a muffled cry of pain and he released you immediately, swearing and apologizing. However his hands didn’t leave you, grasping your shoulders.

“C'mere hen, lemme have a look at ye.”

“Oh, I'm fine, you should worry about-”

Your voice pathetically died in your throat as he cupped your face, leaning over, way too close for your heart to not start stammering uncontrollably.

The combined attention of his fingertips on your skin and the turquoise of his eyes roaming your visage turned your cheeks into a blazing inferno.

Unable to maintain eye contact, your gaze wandered over his own injuries, a split lip and a couple of bruises.

Suddenly he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, tilting your face one way and the other. Your skin flared up at the contact, pleasant yet nervous tingles scattering all over your body.

“Ye sure he didn’t hit ye on that side? Yer a wee bit red.”

You bit back a whine of complaint at that comment. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

“Yer makin’ it worse, Johnny.” sneaked Ghost, the amusement manifest in his voice - at least to you.

Soap looked up to him, frowning in incomprehension, indignant. 

“The hell ya on aboot L.T.? How am ah makin’ it worse?”

You panicked.

“Shut up Riley!” you hissed, in a desperate attempt to put a stop to his shenanigans, forgetting that you were supposed to be severely intimidated by the masked man.

That drew a gruff chuckle out of him. Your sudden outburst caused Johnny to release you.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you two even here, anyway?”

You were kind of proud of your ability to change the subject.

“Was comin’ tae get ye fer a game,” smiled Soap, and it reminded you of a pet proudly presenting its owners with its findings.

“This one wasn’t coming back, and neither of you were answering your phones, so we figured somethin’ went wrong. And we were right. This poor fucker is wanted. Called in reinforcements to deal with him.”

Footsteps’ noises caught your attention. A group of soldiers in uniform seized your aggressor and brought him to his feet, before unceremoniously shoving him in the direction opposite of you.

“Gotta tell Gaz the game ain't happening tonight.”

By the time you took in what Ghost had said, and turned away from the procession, he had already disappeared.

“This isn’t over,” menaced the officer, passing by your spot as he was hauled away. “When I get out-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Soap instantly, protectively positionning himself in front of you.

“Found yourself a faithful guard dog, uh?” the other man taunted.

One one hand, that last remark wasn’t so far from the truth - he had been acting a lot like that: barking threats, baring his teeths, standing between you and the menace, reducing a man to a bloody pulp for hitting you…

But on the other hand, letting that piece of shit talk to Johnny this way was simply out of the question.

Before thinking, you found yourself walking in front of the sergeant and retorting.

“What, jealous he's ten times the man you'll never be?”

Fortunately for you, he was dragged away before he could snap anything back. That didn’t prevent you from regretting your snarky comment immediately. It had been a purely impulsive urge, the kind that could make you feel heavy remorse for days, if not years. As if this seasoned combat expert needed your aid to defend himself. The idea was ludicrous.

You didn’t get a moment to mope around however, as Johnny proceeded to grab you by the hips and press you flush against him with a jubilant smirk. You couldn’t do much except prop yourself with both hands on his pectorals to avoid stumbling.

“My hero.” he praised like a smitten damsel in distress.

“Look who's talking.”

You lowered your gaze despite yourself, mumbling your reply, a half smile on your lips, embarrassed but amused.

“Going after bastards is mah job, not yours. You gutsy little thing.”

You refrained a sarcastic laughter at the nickname - gutsy and little were two things you have never been called, as far as you can remember. But you weren't about to argue with the man who just saved your sorry ass.

His fingers pressed into your flesh, sending tickles at the bottom of your spine.You were about to ask him to let you go, the position too incriminating for this public setting, when you noticed how dilated his pupils were. He had to be high on adrenaline from the fight.

You may have let yourself get lost in the blue pools of his eyes, until his expression turned grave.

“Ye sure yer good? Yer too calm about this. No need tae put oan a brave face fer me, aye?”

The genuine, serious concern in his eyes made the inside of your stomach twist.

“I'm good. You arrived just in time,” you assured.

How peculiar it felt to be the one to comfort Johnny, rather than the opposite; that the lionhearted, superhuman sergeant Mactavish might even need such a thing; that he might require it from you, of all people.

“He didn’t get to do much.”

His pretty features contorted into a scowl at the reminder of your attacker.

“That sonuvabitch… raising a hand on ye in broad fuckin’ daylight… if he ever touches ye again, I swear I’ll…”

As he kept fulminating against your assailant, you couldn’t stop an endeared smile from spreading on your lips. Listening to one of Soap's rants brightened your mood; it was familiar. The sincerity in his words and his tone was welcome. He wasn’t able to fake those emotions even if he wanted to; they spilled out of him like a waterfall. His honest worry and righteous ire towards someone who hurt you was… flattering, in a sense. It made you feel cared for, like you mattered.

Then red started dripping.

“Johnny… your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped it negligently with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing it over his face. You couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Bend over. It will stop faster.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

He punctuated his quip with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes.

“Let's just go to medical already.” you grumbled, starting to walk decisively, albeit stiffly, in the right direction.

“Aye, aye,” acquiesced your savior, jogging a bit to catch up to you.

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

[essektheylyss]

One thing that I feel is really interesting and often forgotten about Essek is that fundamentally, his characterization has been from the start based upon his desperation for external perspectives and connection, which, along with much of his narrative and mechanical positioning, means that he actually has an extraordinary and almost (but not actually, as I'll show) counterintuitive capacity for both growth and trust.

(Buckle in. This is a long one.)

In particular, I would argue, knowing now that many places where the plot touches Ludinus have long been marked for connecting back into the current plot, that he was quite possibly built as a prime candidate for radicalization by the Ruby Vanguard. He felt isolated from his culture, he was desperate for other connection, and he was certainly of the type to believe he was too smart to be drawn into such a thing, given his initial belief that he could control the situation and the fallout. If things had gone any other way, he easily could've been on the other side by now.

As such, he has been hallmarked by being fairly open to suggestion, perhaps for this reason, but the thing about that kind of trait is that it is both how people are radicalized and deradicalized. This is certainly true of Essek, who experienced genuine kindness and quite frankly strangeness from the Nein and was able to move from the isolation the Assembly had engendered to meaningful and genuine connection, largely propelled by his own internal reflection. By the time Nein are aware of his crimes, he's already begun to express regret to an extent and, furthermore, doubt in the Assembly, including explicitly drawing a line against Ludinus, even in a position where he was on his own and probably quite vulnerable.

Similarly, when the Nein reach the Vurmas Outpost some weeks later, he has moved from regret for the position he's ended up carrying a heavy remorse. This makes sense! He's fairly introspective, seems used to spending a lot of time in his own head, and was left with plenty to mull over. It's not some kind of retcon for him to have progressed well past where the Nein left him; it just means he's an active participant in the world who has done his own work in the meantime.

This is another interesting aspect to him. I've talked about this a bit before but I cannot find the post so I'll recap here: antagonists in D&D have significantly more agency than allied NPCs. Antagonists are active forces, against which the party is meant to struggle; allies are meant to support the PCs, which means they tend to be more passive in both their actions and their character growth. Essek was both built as an antagonist, in a position that gives him significant agency, and also was then given significant opportunity to grow specifically to act as a narrative mirror for Caleb's arc. Even when he becomes a more traditional D&D ally, he still retains much of that, though he occupies a supporting role.

I believe that this is especially true because of the nature of Caleb's arc, which I've already written on; the tl;dr of this post is that Caleb is both convinced that he is permanently ruined and also desperate to prove that change is possible. Essek is that proof, because he is simply the character in a position to do so. But this also means that his propensity for introspection and openness is accentuated! He has to do the legwork on his own, for the most part, because that's where he is in the meantime.

But he still ends the campaign necessarily constricted; he is under significant scrutiny, he's at risk from the Assembly, and he goes on the run fairly soon after the story ends. He spends most of the final arc anxious and paranoid, which is valid given the crushing reality of his situation. It would be very easy to extrapolate that seven years into this reality, he would be insular, closed off, and suspicious of strangers, even in spite of the lessons he's learned from the Nein and their long term exposure.

So seeing his openness and lightness now is surprising, but at the same time, given this combination of factors in his position in the narrative over time and his defining traits, it's not by any means unreasonable.

But one thing that I found so delightful is how much trust he exhibits, which is obviously a wild thing to say about Essek in particular, given much of what he learns is both earning and offering trust, which was something he says explicitly in 2x124 that he's never really experienced: "I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust." It makes up much of the progression of his relationship with Caleb, and the trust that he is offered by the Nein in walking off the ship is the impetus he needs to grow.

But I think it's easy to talk about trust when it comes to people who have proven themselves to you or to whom you've ingratiated yourself, and that's really the most we can say about Essek by the time he leaves the Blooming Grove. There is this sense in a lot of discussion of trust (not solely in this fandom) that it is only related to either naivete or love, but there's far more to it. Trust at its best is deliberate—cultivating an openness to the world at large is a great way to combat cynicism and beget connection instead. It allows a person to maintain curiosity and be open to experience, but it can be incredibly difficult to hold onto.

It is clear that the Essek we meet now is a very pointedly and intentionally trusting individual. He trusts Caleb and by extension Caleb's trust in Keyleth, as he shows up and picks up a group of strangers from a foreign military encampment and walks in without issue. He trusts the Hells to follow his lead moving through Zadash and to exhibit enough discretion so as to avoid bringing suspicion upon all of them. He trusts that Astrid will respond well to his entrance, but he also trusts himself and the Hells enough to execute a back-up plan in the case that she doesn't. In the end, he even trusts them enough to give them his name and identity.

He doesn't scan as someone who has spent half a dozen years living like a prey animal, afraid of any shadow he runs across in an alley, withdrawn into himself and an insular family, which would've been an easy route for him to take. He scans as someone who has learned the kind of trust borne of learned confidence and a trained eye for good will and kindness, which are crucial weapons one would need for staving off cynicism in his circumstances—as if he has survived thanks more to connection and kindness than paranoia and isolation. (If we want to be saccharine about it, he scans quite poignantly as a member of the Mighty Nein.)

So it is easy to imagine this trust and openness as a natural progression of his initial search for perspectives external to his own cultural knowledge. Though he makes those first connections with the Assembly to try to vindicate his personal hypotheses, he finds in them exposure to the deepest corruption among Exandrian mortals, which could've—and did, for a time—turned him further down that same dark path.

But it's also this same openness to exposure from the wider world that allows the Nein to influence him for the better, and in spite of the challenges he's certainly faced simply surviving over the past seven years, he seems to have held onto this openness enough to move through the world with self-assurance and a willingness to extend the kinds of trust and good will that he has been shown.

(I would be remiss not to mention that I was reminded about my thoughts on this by this lovely post from sky-scribbles and their use in the tags of 'light' to describe Essek's demeanor this episode, which is really such an apt word for it.)

[epiphainie]

exes bucktommy who are fucking in secret... hooking up in the restroom of their karaoke bar because they still have the same friends and they still hang out at the same places. buck agrees to watch jee and whoops look at that, tommy was just dropping off something with chimney and once chimney and maddie leave he just... stays. and fucks buck in their kitchen. eddie lets himself into buck's loft one day and tommy rolls and drops off the bed and stays there till he's sure eddie's gone. buck gets teased about his new hickeys at the station and feels a pang of guilt when hen says maybe he should cover them because tommy is coming over for lunch and the sight of them might just hurt him

[rad-batson]

Multiverse AU where different variants of Damian Wayne Al Ghul are accidentally hailed to one universe and Damian is in the middle, trying to get all of them back home, but it only gets worse and NOT for the reasons you would think.

So picture this: there’s a sea of Damian variants crowded into the Batcave. One’s a leader of the LOA. Another became the next Harley Quinn? One is a mute assassin. Another is Red Hood’s apprentice. One’s Batman. One’s a meta for some reason. Another is the leader of a revolution. One’s a monk. And another is a clone. They’re all somehow involved in vigilantism or the LOA.

And then there’s a completely normal one. He goes by Dami. He’s in college :) He works at an art studio. He’s got a heart condition. He has a boyfriend, and he has never been Robin before. In fact, he doesn’t even know his dad is Batman. So in a room full of wildly different versions, this Damian sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s like an NPC just standing in the middle of a final battle.

What he does know is that his mother, Talia, left the LOA with him when he was two because she fell in love with Bruce. Since then, the three have lived a Perfectly Normal Life as Perfectly Normal People in a moderately nice house in the suburbs of Gotham.

And you know what? No one questions it. Out of all the problems the Damians are having right now, Normal Damian is the least of them. So he just sits to the side, completely chill, and doesn’t interfere.

But then some chaos happens, the Damians are all sucked into a battle at some secondary location, Normal Dami is kidnapped, gets killed, and everyone’s super depressed about it. (Gosh, he was so nice. Why did it have to be him? Boo hoo. We didn’t even have time to recover the body.)

Until they head back to the cave…and there he is. Respawned. Alive. Confused.

He was literally dead on the floor two hours ago. They checked for a pulse! He bled out. Normal NPC Dami is supposed to be dead. But nope. He’s right there. “Hey, what happened? The last thing I remember is being tied up. Did I faint again?”

Everyone else, the whole batfamily and the mini Damian army, is like “wtf how’d you get here, buddy?” While he’s just like :) so Bruce, who put a bug on the security cameras or whatever, checks the footage and what he finds is absolutely horrifying.

Just after he died, Normal Dami’s eyes snapped open. Glowing a deep Lazarus Green. He stood up, walked out, and immediately fucking decimated the remaining group of kidnappers like a rabid animal. Literally anyone who got near him were goners, and Thank Sweet Jesus he didn’t run into anyone on the walk back because he didn’t care to clean off all that blood. Nope, he just walked right through the front doors of the manor, found a clean set of clothes, completely on autopilot, then all of the adrenaline wore off, and he collapsed from exhaustion.

So everyone watches the footage. NPC Damian is horrified. He insists that’s not him because he doesn’t kill people! How could they ever accuse him of killing people?! He has never done something like that. He can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded for Christ’s sake!

Nonetheless, he agrees to sit in their itty bitty holding cell as they do some fun little tests, and lo and behold: he is so genetically fucked up. Why? Because his DNA isn’t like the other Damians. It’s completely mutated by this green glowing substance that they know all too well.

The verdict? Normal Dami has been permanently mutated by the Lazarus Pit. The Lazarus Pit is inside of him. It IS him. Or maybe Normal NPC Damian is the Lazarus Pit.

When Normal Dami was two and he and Talia still lived with the LOA, there was an incident involving Damian drowning in the Lazarus Pit (à la Ra’s Al Ghul's Stellar Grand-Parenting Skills.) However, since he wasn’t dead, the Lazarus Pit devoured him, consumed him with violent pit madness, spat him back out, and Damian became this completely, unstoppably rage-filled toddler that can throw you over his shoulder and snap your neck. So Talia, terrified of what Ra’s would do with him, escaped to Gotham, found Bruce, begged for help, and they devised a plan.

Step 1: Raise Lazarus Damian as a completely normal kid.

Step 2: Take him to therapy. Maybe give him anger management classes. (Monitor his sugar intake. That couldn’t hurt.)

That was literally their whole plan. They had no other ideas ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Occasionally, he’d snap and kill someone in cold blood (whoopsie daisy) but his parents were an assassin and the world's greatest detective. No one’s gonna know.

Through some trial and error, they found out that abrupt adrenaline spikes were what triggered the madness. So they worked around it. They gave him calm, relaxing hobbies. They spoiled him with emotional support animals. They Never Raised Their Voices. He was homeschooled for a bit then introduced to university, but only AFTER they made sure Jon (the Indestructable Superboy) was his roommmate. (Yes, they told him. Yes, he is now part of the convoluted Keep Deadly Damian Relaxed Task Force. They’re also dating.) They got Damian a FitBit that tracked his heart rate so they could predict when his adrenaline spiked. They Life360’d his ass so fucking hard. Meanwhile, Damian just thought he had some kind of medical thing, none the wiser the entire time.

Long story short? “Chill Normal NPC Damian” Cannot Die. But he can Kill.

If he does “die” (the Lazarus Pit cannot die) then he goes into a murderous rage, kills everyone in sight, it wears off with the adrenaline, and he can’t remember what happened. This Damian is the Most Dangerous of the variants, and he doesn’t even know it because his parents decided that would be best.

And now the other Damians are scared of him, and he’s scared of himself, and no one knows why he's made of the Lazarus Pit, and they don’t know what to do with him, and they still don’t know how to get back, and some of them want to kill him, and some don't, but no one trusts him, including himself, and it becomes an all-out war over the fate of Damian.

Anyway, Normal Damian who's actually a Murderous Lazarus Spirit without even knowing it. Thank you :)

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[byunbqbes]

HQ BOYS WHEN YOU CRY

tw: some crying. nothing too sad tho

♡ suna. laces his fingers with yours and carries you to the bed when you begin to cry a little harder. lies down beside you and runs his long, slender fingers through your hair as he lets you cry into his chest. when you begin to feel better, suna flashes you a rare, uncharacteristic smile and asks, "do you wanna talk about it?"

♡ oikawa. freezes and the smirk on his face immediately drops. did he cross a line while teasing you just now? he makes his way towards you, apologies spilling from his lips and a box of tissues on his hands as he offers them to you. when you reject the tissues and hug his waist instead, he feels something stirring in his stomach as he quickly wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you into his lap. as he coos soft little nothings in your ear, oikawa can't help but wonder what it would be like for you to finally be his, and for him to comfort you for an entire lifetime.

♡ ushijima. blinks slowly and unsurely as he gazes at your slumped figure, broken sobs threatening to overtake you. he walks up to you and takes a deep breath before enveloping you in his large, warm arms. he pats your back a little awkardly as you lean closer, burying your face into his neck and wetting his collar in the process. when your tears stop, you realise he's still rubbing soothing circles on your back, and you smile to yourself because you know ushijima will always have your back and give you a shoulder to cry on.

♡ bokuto. his hair droops down and the light in his sparkly eyes quickly diminishes. he pouts and cups your face delicately, wiping away the tears that spill out of your eyes. he tells you his favourite bedtime story that his grandmother used to read to him, and his slow, soothing words somehow calm you down. when your eyes are no longer wet, bokuto finally perks up and rubs your noses together while he gives you the biggest smile you've ever seen.

♡ kenma. feels a pang in his chest when you fall into his lap in a dishelved heap. he hums very softly, playing with the ends of your hair whilst giving you tiny smiles occasionally. when your sobs become soft sniffles, he makes you your favourite hot chocolate and gently places it in the palms of your hands as he offers, "wanna play legend of zelda together?"

[virgil-anon]

tom deserves to be treated terribly by harry sometimes. too often it's only tom traumatizing harry LET HIM DO IT BACK AN EYE FOR AN EYE IDFK

[snakeyp00]

Master Millerrrrrr I love youuuuuuu

(Metal Gear 2 remake with extra ops mission Date with Master Miller, but it's just him finally taking out David (and Catherine) for that cheese fondue)

[originalaccountname]

I am a simple fanfic reader. I see any variation of "Creepy Mori Ougai", "Mori Ougai is his own warning", or "Bad Person Mori Ougai", and I just scroll past

[dukeofthomas]

why does every reconciliation fic go like this

[hitlikehammers]

'who did this to you?' established Steddie, post-S4 🖤💙💜

The bruising’s stark, like footprints on new-fallen snow punished through to the long-dead grass. It draws the eye, insistent; screams to be seen:

“Who did this to you?”

Steve’s eyes are bright, voice low even as he delicately moves Eddie’s stretched-low collar to follow the line of broken vessels near the surface, a few stray snags of already rusty red, lines that follow the trails of mottled purple-blue. Steve smoothes barely a touch from the pad of his thumb just below the marks to trace them where they color neck to chin, up to the silver-light scarring on his face.

And honestly: it’s a ritual almost, now. But, like, it’s so different from how it used to be. Or even how it was before that, before them at all.

Before things ever ended like this.

“Names, babydoll,” Steve coaxes, but demands all the same; he’s learned over time not to bring the full weight of his steel to the fore in every moment—the resolute promise in his bones to protect Eddie at all costs doesn’t disappear, maybe does the opposite even, maybe just grows strong as what they have has grown, too; but it doesn’t burn so bright when it’s expressed in Eddie’s vicinity. Maybe to spare him.

Maybe as a strategic move on Steve’s part, who’s maybe finally learned that if he’s going to go beat the shit out of anyone, he should one-hundred-percent not let his boyfriend or his platonic soulmate—or also Wayne—about it in advance. So:

“Sweetness,” he nuzzles carefully, where Eddie’s skin’s not water-colored in burst-blood; “give me names.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, so easily softened and lulled by Steve’s careful adoration, the way he rubs his nose, his cheek against Eddie and just breathes—it carries Eddie into a soft, comfortable space always, no matter what’s happened; no matter what’s been done.

“Don’t have to,” Eddie sighs out, kinda pathetically desperate in how he leans into Steve’s…just Steve. Steve-Steve-Steve. So he just kinda sighs, because…Steve.

“You know damn well who it was.”

“Don’t play coy,” Steve warns, though its airy, diaphanous, even though Steve doesn’t stop for a second from nuzzling into Eddie’s skin; even but Eddie knows better than to entangle Steve’s softness for Eddie with his broader intentions, the heat behind his words, and the ultimate question:

“Who,” and Steve’s breathe so hot, so close to Eddie’s ear as he whispers, sends fucking shivers down Eddie’s spine; “did this,” and then he’s leaning to run his mouth back along the bruising, the damning trail of damage: “to you?”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, can’t help but crane his neck to Steve’s careful attention, almost cataloging of the dark splotching, and Eddie can’t help it, it’s not like it even hurts, not really, Eddie knows hurting—

He’s not weird if he kinda feels like most hurting’s worth the high of Steve’s tender care like this, the buzzing flame-like licking across his skin.

Steve doesn’t even make contact with where it could even possibly sting, but fuck if it doesn’t make Eddie light up wild from the pit of his belly.

And fuck if Steve doesn’t know it.

“Mmm-nope,” Steve pulls himself back when Eddie’s reckless, lets out a full-ass fucking moan. “No distracting me,” Steve bites with a glare before he catches Eddie’s gaze and looks down pointedly, points so only the whisper of his touch follows the trail:

“Who did this,” and Eddie is weak, he’s weak because he shivers and when Steve draws his barely-a-touch back, away, he whines. Fuck, yes: he whines, Jesus.

Weak, you understand?

Also, if you don’t understand: fuck you. Eddie would like to see anyone—man, woman, or otherwise—do any better.

“You know,” Eddie keeps with the whining, Jesus fuck, seriously: “I said”

“I think mostly you’ve made noises.”

“Steve,” Eddie…does not break his whining streak. He’s tight in his thighs, and it’s not…he’s gonna need to address that soon.

He’s gonna need someone to address that for him, really.

“Hmm?” Steve leans in, and for the first time he does touch the bruises, tastes them on the flat of his tongue with barely any pressure like he’s collecting evidence, searing proof into his own flesh.

“What’s that now?”

“Steve.”

And he tilts his head at his name, which is less of a whine now—win—but breathy as fuck, still. It’s a process.

“Who did this to you, baby?” Steve asks, eyes wide, innocent and encouraging now as he pulls back and buries his hands in Eddie’s mess of curls, massages as his temples, his scalp.

Fucking dirty pool, right there.

“Steve,” Eddie bites out. Like literally bites his tongue as his head tips back, inescapable for the perfect circles being traced across his head; “Harrington.”

And yes: soon as he gets the words out, the name in full, he stops fighting how just Steve Harrington’s hands are deciding to undo him, this time.

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” Steve hums a little, clicks his tongue and bites a bit at his lip; “but you say it so soft, sweetheart, like maybe you’re hesitant or somethin’,” Steve shakes his head, and tips Eddie’s face toward him a little more full-on, thumb on Eddie’s subtly swollen lower lip:

“Are you one-hundred-percent sure?”

“Absotively posolutely,” Eddie enunciates carefully, never breaking eye contact as he lets his tongue flick out to Steve’s touch and watches those pupils dilate quick to drown that hazel gaze.

“No doubt in your mind?” Steve pushes, relentless, but leans in, leans to breath open mouthed against each bruise:

“Only one,” Eddie sighs, and maybe it sounds frustrated, over the interrogating but hell if he can be over any single goddamn thing about this man.

And it’s the truth. There’s no evidence but Eddie knows Steve leaves his trusty bat at a different angle against the wall the days after Eddie so much as mentions being hassled, or only just slipping the asshats looking to resurrect Jason’s pursuit—the coincidence of every single threat disappearing, suddenly keeping the eyes on the ground if they pass Eddie by, changing course overnight when the bat shifts ever so slightly?

Eddie’d be more concerned, if there was ever any real damage to Steve in response, but in reality he only ever went to put the fear of god in those assholes, he swears he’s never even let a single one of them move quick enough to even try to pull anything on him in return, and well.

Hop doesn’t condone it but he never works too hard to find evidence, and Steve never does anything the technically breaks any obvious laws, so. Eddie thinks it’s Hopper’s way of showing he cares.

But then there’s…this.

There are mornings, like this, when Eddie wakes with bruises around his neck like a chain, a heavy one in the center of his chest like a pendant, little red dashes here and there, barely visible but particular points of interest for Steve when he wakes Eddie up with gentle but unceasing kisses where the bruising doesn’t survive the night so bright, so tender, sucks the blood back up to Eddie lips and leaves them gorgeously numb before he inspect the purple marks: perfectly shaped to his lips.

The tiny red marks perfectly lined to ?i>his teeth.

All of them sucked and nipped so sweet, never hard enough to mark for force but only through persistence, dedication, painted with the single-minded kind of worship Eddie never even considered having focused on him.

So it’s kind of a wondering way that he reaches, reaches out and thumbs Steve lip in return, marveling a little when he tilts his head and takes Steve in for a breath, just basks in him:

“Only one man alive allowed to mark me up,” Eddie whispers, and there’s love in every syllable. Even that’s not really enough but.

They both know.

And Steve’s grin curve slow and satisfied, leaning in to presses his lips, open-mouthed to Eddie’s that he’d already kissed plump as he woke, long before the breaking light through the windows now, catching in Steve’s gaze, had dared fort with the horizon line; he leans right there and breathes hot into Eddie’s mouth:

“Damn fucking straight.”

For @cranberrymoons, who requested the quote 'Who did this to you?' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

[jackshiccup]

to celebrate my otnwasversary last week i watched httyd in orchestra concert and got a custom tiny toothless tattoo like woah.. we used to pray for times like these 12 year old me would be ecstatic to know this is what we’re upto now

[resident-gay-bitch]

Single teen dad steve who’s kid comes out as trans kinda young and fuck it’s the late 80’s early 90’s - post upside down - and he’s freaking out because he just wants the best for his little kid. She- he has always been Steve’s biggest priority and he loves his kid no matter what and he’s gonna embrace the hell out of it, but he has worries about it all because he’s in small town Hawkins and people here get beat up for being rumoured to be gay, what the hell is gonna happen to his kid??

But mainly, he has no idea how to help. He doesn’t know anything about it. Robin assists where she can but she’s just as in the dark about it as Steve.

Then comes one night, Axl (they’re trying out new names each month and this month Axl is obsessed with Gunners so it’s only appropriate) is having a panic attack over his dysphoria and Steve is trying his best to help. He can’t bind, doesn’t know how to do it on his own without it hurting really bad, and Steve is trying to help but Axl won’t let anyone see any part of him without a shirt and so it’s hard. They tried to figure out how to do it on Steve’s bare chest but it’s not really the same. Eventually Axl cries himself to sleep about it with Steve sitting on the end of his bed because Axl didn’t want to even be touched after a while.

And Steve doesn’t sleep that night, he stays up half the night trying to bind his own chest correctly, then he tapes balloons and stuffed toys to the front of this big bear they have and tries to bind on that. But nothings working, and he can’t help but feel like he’s failed his kid. He debated calling Robin up to see if she’d come over and he could try binding her chest to figure it out, he knows she’ll say yes because she cares about Axl so much and also won’t care if Steve sees her bare chest as he has before, but she’s out of state for work for a whole other week. He just cries until it’s time to get up for work and school.

Axl is wearing a baggy shirt under an even baggier hoodie, even though it’s the middle of summer. Steve wants to tell him to take it off, to make sure he doesn’t faint today, but he knows that’s only gonna make things worse - everyone at school still thinks he’s a girl. He makes sure to pack ice packs in Axl’s lunch bag and extra ice in his water bottle.

He goes to work and thinks about it all day, then he gets home to find a note on the counter from Axl, saying he’s popped across the street to study with Melody for a while. They’ve been friends since they were little, and she’s the only one from school who knows so far. Steve’s glad Axl’s doing something to distract himself rather than rotting away in bed and making himself feel more sick about it.

Halfway through cooking himself dinner (and by cooking he means microwaving whatever the fuck he can find in the fridge) he gets a knock on the door. It’s Eddie. Of course it’s Eddie. They had plans to catch up for a beer down the pub tonight, since they hadn’t seen eachother in a while now. Steve had been so distracted today he completely forgot.

Steve apologises to Eddie and tells him he’s just been so stressed today and he couldn’t talk to Robin about it and everything is just so complicated, he just breaks down and cries right then and there in his doorway.

And Eddie, being the kind soul that he always has been, pulls Steve into a hug and lets him cry about it.

They sit down at the table together and crack open a couple of beers and eat the microwaved leftovers. And they chat and Steve forgets about everything for a little while. Eddie does that to him; makes Steve forget everything else in the world doesn’t exist besides Eddie.

He’s tried to snuff his stupid feelings for Eddie out for years, since 1986. It hasn’t worked. But Eddie’s been between relationships, and Steve’s had Axl to worry about so trying to have anything serious has been so hard and pointless. No one wants an instant pre-teen, and especially not Eddie who has expressed he doesn’t want kids several times. It’s pointless.

So very pointless.

But Steve wants him anyway.

Eddie asks about Axl, as he always does. He cares about Steve’s kid the way he cares about Dustin, sort of. They get along, but Eddie kinda gets awkward around him for some reason and Axl gets very flustered around Eddie. Steve found it adorable when he was little, Eddie with his long hair and tattoos, he always through it was cool. And as Axl got older, the more he’d avoid Eddie in hopes of not fanboying over Eddie’s band, or tattoos, or his guitar.

But they don’t really see eachother much these days, so now that Axl’s fourteen and too cool to ask questions when Steve brings Eddie up, who knows what they’d be like around eachother?

Eddie’s asking questions, completely oblivious as he asks how “she’s going” and if “she’s surviving her first year of highschool” and blah blah blah, and Steve knows it’s because he doesn’t know. But it messes with his head anyway, because that’s his boy their talking about, not his girl, and it’s been bothering him all day and Steve just-

He crumbles. He opens up to Eddie and tells him everything on his mind right now. How Axl is really a boy, and how they’re trying out new names, and how Steve feels like he’s failing his kid because he doesn’t know how to help him bind, or feel safe, or come out at school, or what to do to get him on testosterone or if that’s even an option and-

Eddie places his hand on Steve’s and smiles so softly, “You’re struggling to bind?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, it’s like- his chest… he- he’s doesn’t-“

“Yeah, I- I know, Steve.” Eddie nods, “Would Axl be okay with me knowing this? Or, like, not?”

“I don’t know.” Steve so sobs, “I shouldn’t have said anything without his permission, but I just trusted you and I needed to talk to- to someone. And I’m…”

“Okay.” Eddie cleared his throat, “okay, will Axl be home tonight?”

“Yeah.” Steve sniffled and checked his watch, “It’s almost curfew.”

“Okay. Have you got any bandages? Or what have you been using?”

“Yeah, bandages… cloth.” Steve rubbed his nose.

“That’s okay, uhm, how about you go get those for me?”

Steve, confused but too mentally tired to think much of it, goes and does just that. He brings back the rolls of bandages and cloth they were using and dumps them on the table in front of Eddie. Eddie smiles and moves the cloth aside, looking at the strip of bandages.

“The wider ones are better. These are a little thin, but… does he use a sports bra most days?”

Steve nods.

“Okay, I suggest getting some wider bandages. But I can make these work.” Eddie grins.

“What?” Steve grumbles.

“Come here.” Eddie shuffles his chair over to Steve, “Arms up, not up in the air but like, out so I can get around.”

Steve follows his command yet again, and watches with confused eyes as Eddie begins to wrap the bandage around Steve’s chest, talking him through the process; where to place his hands for best compression, and insisting it can’t be too tight or it will hurt.

“It probably won’t be perfectly flat, they never are, but it will be better.” Eddie smiled, “Surgery is always an option, but they won’t let him get that until he’s like, eighteen.”

“How do you-“

“Hey, dad, sorry I’m late, I have a math test tomorrow and we-“ Axl chattered, walking through and shutting the door, “… uhm, hi Eddie.”

“Hi!” Eddie grinned and waved at Axl before looking back at Steve’s chest and fastening the bandage together with the clip at Steve’s side.

“What are you doing?”

Steve felt his heart drop, “I’m- I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have told him but- I was just, I needed someone to talk to, and- It’s not and excuse-“

“No, it’s not.” Axl dumped his bag down on the kitchen counter and walked over, “You should ask before assuming.”

“I know.” Steve furrowed his brow, “I don’t usually-“

“But it’s okay because it’s just Eddie.” Axl shrugged and leant down to look at the bandges wrapped tight around Steve’s chest, “I figured you’d already told all of your friends.”

“Nope.” Eddie shook his head and smiled, “He certainly did not. Cool name, by the way- Guns and Roses?”

“Yeah.” Axl nodded.

“Sick.” Eddie grinned.

“Did you do this?” Axl pointed to the bandages.

“Wait, you’re not upset with me?” Steve asked.

“No, I know you’re not just gonna out me to some cunt who’s gonna beat me up-“

“Language.” Steve pressed.

“Besides, Eddie’s gay and a self proclaimed Freak, out of most of your friends he’s the least likely to judge.”

“Right you are, little gremlin.” Eddie smiled up at him.

“I’m still sorry.” Steve murmured.

“Don’t be.” Axl playfully punched his arm.

“Also, to answer your question,” Eddie continued, “Yes, this is how you bind. I can show you how to do it, if you like? I suggest bigger bandages but this can work for now.”

“Yes please.” Axl nodded, and Eddie immediately started to unwound the bindings on Steve’s chest.

He re-tied it, talking step by step to Axl, and then he got Axl to bind Steve’s chest himself, Eddie talking him through the process.

Then, Eddie got Axl to do it on himself, over his baggy jumpers, because it’s a little different doing it on someone else. Steve sat at the table and watched in awe as Eddie animatedly talked Axl through the process, and Axl couldn’t wipe his smile off his face.

The moment it was done he raced off to his room to do it properly. Eddie went and got them another beer.

“Thank you.” Steve smiled at him, “So much.”

“No problem, Steve-o.” Eddie grinned, “I have not done that in a while, it was kinda fun.”

“What do you mean?” Steve furrowed his brow, and Eddie shrugged and pulled up his shirt.

The first thing Steve noticed was the added ink Eddie had gotten since ‘86. The second thing he noticed was the bat bites scattered over his skin. And the third… two scars stretching along his chest.

Steve remembered being back there, crying and trying to add compression on all of Eddie’s scars. He remembered finding bandages already wrapped around Eddie’s chest, under his clothes, but he thought nothing of it, figured Eddie had cut his chest open or something. Not… this.

Eddie blushed and lowered his shirt, shrugging up at Steve.

“Oh my god.” Steve muttered, and Eddie just stared at him, “Holy shit, you’re like Axl?!”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, and then a couple of seconds later Axl was body slamming into the back of Eddie and wrapping himself around him.

“I didn’t think anyone was like me here.” Axl mumbled, obviously trying to not cry, “I always thought you’d be the coolest out of dad’s friends.”

Eddie snickered and gave Axl a hug back, “How’d you go, did you get it?”

“I think so.” He said, stepping back and showing off to them. It’s the first time Steve had seen him wear anything less than a baggy shirt. He was dressed in a cropped muscle tee, and he looked so confident.

Steve started to cry.

“Hey! Look at you, it looks so good, kid.” Eddie grinned, “If you want I can show you how to draw facial hair on to look realistic.”

“Fuck yeah.” Axl grinned, “I want a moustache.”

Eddie snickered and looked back at Steve, his face dropped when he saw him crying, “Hey, Stevie-“

“Thank you.” Steve sobbed and buried his head in his hands, “Holy fuck, thank you so much.”

Eddie smiled softly, “It’s no issues, of course. Anything to help a fellow freak like me, huh?” He smiled up at Axl, “I should be thanking you, it feels nice to have another person like me around again.”

“Do you know more people like us?”

Eddie nodded, “You know my friend Gareth? Yeah, he’s like us, and a two more people but they’re not in town.”

“Oh my god, really?!” Axl grinned, “This is so awesome, can I please come to one of your gigs or something?”

“I thought you were too cool for that stuff?” Steve snickered.

Axl flipped him off, “I just wanna meet him… as a guy.”

Eddie leant out and ruffled Axl’s hair, “Yeah, kid, whenever you like- though, a band practice would be more ideal for a fourteen year old.”

Axl frowned dramatically and went to get himself a drink.

“Seriously, Eddie, thank you.” Steve murmured, “I haven’t seen him that happy in… not in years. He’s just a kid, he’s meant to be that happy every day.”

Eddie nodded, “I know how he feels. I knew I was different really young too, and when I was about twelve I told my mum and she told me to never tell anyone. And then she died, when I was sixteen, and I ended up telling dad for some- I don’t even know why, he beat the shit out of me and I ran away. Like, away away, up to Indi. Wayne found me then, when my dad told him what happened, and bought me home and let me be Eddie.” He shrugged, “I remember the first time I tried binding with duct tape, Wayne found me crying in front of the mirror about it and he came in with bandages and helped me figure it out. I went on testosterone when I turned eighteen, so.”

Steve smiled, “I’m sorry you went through that, Eddie.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been going through this clueless. Wayne had no idea either, he’s got a book on how to look after trans kids now, but he didn’t back then, I can tell you that.” Eddie laughed, “Thanks for being his dad, and like, being a good one.”

“He’s my kid, I can’t just… of course, I love him.”

Eddie smiled, “You don’t know how rare that is for people like Axl and I.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Me either.” Eddie hummed, “You’re a really good dad, Steve. A really good guy.”

“I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Yeah, but you care. More than most people do. You care so much.” Eddie gently took Steve’s hand into his own, “I’m sure you already know but being Axl’s dad isn’t gonna be easy, especially not in fucking Hawkins, but so long as you just stick around and… care, then things are gonna be a whole lot easier for him. It means so much to him, and me, even.”

Steve smiled at him and squeezed Eddie’s hands as a thank you, “Can you stick around too?” He asked, “Help Axl in the places I cant?”

Eddie grinned, “Yeah, of course I can, Stevie.”

“Thank you.” Steve sighed, rubbing his temples, “You have no idea how grateful I am that you’re in my life.”

There was a moment of silence before Eddie whispered, “You have no idea how grateful I am that you’re in mine.”

They looked at eachother, and Steve felt his heart in his throat.

“Okay…” Axl murmured, rolling back over to the table, “You guys are clearly having a moment so I’m gonna stop eavesdropping.”

“Hey!” Steve scoffed, “You little shit.”

Axl chuckled and scruffed Steve’s hair, “Thanks dad, I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

Steve absolutely blossomed at that, he’d never been so happy to hear those words. He used to hear them all the time, when Axl was really little. But then he became a preteen and being friends with your dad suddenly stopped being cool. He’s ecstatic right now.

“Thanks Eddie.” Axl smiled at him, giving Eddie a fist bump as he passed, “Can we like… talk sometime? I just wanna-“

“Know if someone’s gone through all the crazy shit as you?” Eddie offered and Eddie nodded, “How about we get some lunch this weekend, huh? Then hang out at the music store?”

“Sounds good.” Axl grinned and continued to walk past, “I’ll let you guys get back to your moment.”

“Moment?” Steve asked, red in the face, watching Axl walk down the hallway to his room, “There’s no moment, what moment?!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Axl shouted back and walked into his room.

“Axl!” Steve shouted out.

“Axl!” Eddie shouted too, “What fucking moment do you mean?”

Axl poked his head back out the door, “You were having a nice moment about friendship and being a good dad and blah blah blah!” Axl shouted and Steve and Eddie both relaxed, “I just shouldn’t be evesdropping of course.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded and looked back to Eddie, watched the sparkle in his eyes dance as he shifted to look back at Steve. And he melted at the sight.

“Also, this would be a great time to do something about that crush you’ve had on Eddie for years, dad!”

And with that, Axl’s door was slammed shut.

Steve and Eddie were staring at eachother. Eddie was slowly turning more and more red.

“You have a crush on me?”

Steve’s lack of an answer probably was a dead giveaway, but he hoped Eddie was oblivious.

“Oh.” Eddie muttered, and clearly he’s not oblivious, “You have a crush on me- god, I sound fifteen. Wow, you are into me- Steve- you- okay.” Eddie cleared his throat and fixed his posture, “Do- wow, huh, uh… do- do you wanna- do you wanna go out with me? Okay, there, I did it.”

“You’re asking me out?” Steve asked, a little gobsmacked.

“Yeah.” Eddie bit at his nails as he looked at Steve nervously.

“Yes.” Steve swallowed, “Yeah, I- yeah… can- does tomorrow work? Seven?”

“Seven.” Eddie smiled, his shoulders relaxing, “Yeah, a date at seven.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled too, “Wait, is this just… I just need to know if this is a date or like, with the intention of something more serious.”

“Uh…” Eddie swallowed, “Considering I’ve been into you for years now, I’d prefer something a little more permanent. But-��

“You don’t care I’ve got a kid?”

“No, I-“ Eddie ducked his head, blushing, “To be honest I’ve kinda always been jealous he wasn’t our kid.”

“Holy shit.” Steve muttered, “I thought you didn’t want kids?!”

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugged, “I don’t know, you make all my wires cross, Steve. I’ve pictured a whole ass future with you.”

And Steve can’t wait to make that future come true.

And Axl grows up with a second dad who helps him through his transition too, has a little more intel. And Steve loves watching them as they chat about their shared experiences being trans, and cries when Axl comes out and shows off his excessive leg hair one afternoon, and when Eddie starts compulsively making fun of his voice cracks at age seventeen, and when Eddie’s sitting there and talking him through the procedure he’ll endure for his first surgery and- Steve’s just overwhelmed with love for them both.

And then he and Eddie adopt a little girl and Steve’s just so in awe of how Eddie is with the baby, and how Axl instantly takes to the protective big brother role. And just picture it, okay!? Just picture Steve and Eddie having a family together, okay?!

[tsukk1]

[senfrogs band au] boyfriend guitar lessons 💋🎶