#this fic FOUGHT me

[blarefordaglare]

Fan Joy July day 8

This one’s by @linderosse

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/linderosse/754647407210446848/the-zeldas-discover-monopoly-prev-18-next?source=share

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THE CHAOS IN THIS ONE! Fable “blasting” into the microphone while Lullaby is just silently dying in jail- and poor Dawn just waiting for the chaos to end- literally every single Zelda is just doing their own thing, contributing to the chaos as a whole, and Dot is just standing there like: I made cookies? Not to mention the artstyle is so pleasing to look at, I hope you enjoy this fic! 

___

It was a very peaceful day for the wielders of wisdom, a relaxing breeze of calm that swayed the maidens.

Emphasis on was. 

“I. HATE. YOU.” Artemis’ boasting voice rose above the already preexisting chaos, “Seven hundred rupees?! Curse you and your stupid hotels! I knew I should have bought Kakariko Village!” She paced nervously around the room, “I don’t even have half of that amount! What do you expect me to do?!”

“And the war princess is out of the game! Bankrupt!” Fable held the plastic microphone up to her lips, imagining the blasted voice that would come through it, “How are you feeling, team Sky Islands?!” 

Sun just smiled as she flicked the prop money in the air, as if it meant nothing, “Flora and I are doing just fine, maybe we should put another hotel?” 

“YEAH!” 

“…All right then folks! You heard the two, quit now while you still can!”

Dusk plopped down on the board, “I volunteer.” She couldn’t muster up the courage to get up, that’s Link’s thing, “I’m out.” 

“Wait, I lost first!” Artemis grinned, “That means I won!”

“In losing.”

“Shut it, they don’t need to know that.” 

Dawn could only drop her knees to the ground, clasping her hands together, “Hylia give me patience.” 

Her words were met with a shake of the first Zelda, “No can do, Dawn,” she danced around the board, “This is the most fun I’ve had in years!” Her eyes flickered to a familiar figure, with a noticeable amount of her well-played money, “Tetra-Give that back!”

“Never!” 

Lullaby noticed a figure sitting down next to her-well next to the box. Apparently she was in “jail” now. Could a princess even go to jail? Couldn’t she just change the laws? Would she be able to? What even was the government? “Care for a cookie?” Dot’s soft voice broke the barrage of questions ringing in her mind.

“Yeah,” She grabbed the cookie before whispering a quick ‘thanks’, along with a grateful look in her eyes that were now crinkled with time. 

“How long do you think they’ll be at it?”

“Give them five minutes. They’ll tire out…eventually.” 

[crowiin]

quick thing of a lesson in changing the world by @thousand-sunnies because it made me giggle

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (you're here)/ Part Four

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?” 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[adverbally]

I Still Got You to Be My Open Door

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Go, see if I care.’” | wc: 662 | rated: T | cw: referenced parental neglect | tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, steve’s parents suck, references to cutting off contact with parents | title from “Grey Room” by Damien Rice

Steve’s own voice echoes after him as he slams the front door and stomps to his car.

“How did you think I would react?” Infuriated. Poisonous.

He fumbles his keys and they fall to the asphalt with a discordant jangle that sounds the way his nerves feel. He has to shut his eyes and breathe for a moment so he doesn’t fall apart.

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll go somewhere else.” Emotionless. Numb.

Another breath, then Steve retrieves his keys. He wonders, as he unlocks the car door, if he should leave his house key. He could drop it in the mailbox, slip it under the doormat. He could throw it in the pool or toss it into the woods behind the house…

The silence inside the car is deafening. It was quiet enough outside, the sun already setting on a short fall day, but every bird’s song and rustle of leaves had seemed magnified by the roar of his pulse in his ears. The car muffles everything outside, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

“Go, see if I care.” Sneering. Disdainful.

That’s the part that stings the most. His parents dropped this on him over the phone. They couldn’t even be bothered to come home to discuss it. Probably because in their minds, there is nothing to discuss. They will be selling the house, they will be moving to New York for his dad’s business, and they need his belongings packed up by the end of the month.

They didn’t invite him to come with them. They hadn’t even thought to ask what his plans were, now that they were yanking his home out from under him.

“Good luck in the city, I guess.” Hurt. Abandoned.

Steve drives around town in silence for what feels like hours, replaying the conversation over and over. What should he have said differently? Would it have changed anything? No, he decides. At the end of the day, the fact is that his parents don’t care about him, don’t even know him, and this kind of fight was a long time coming.

It still makes Steve’s throat tight. Standing up for himself like this means he’s given up all hope of having a relationship with his parents. As unlikely as that was, the possibility had been there. They could wake up one day and realize how absent and neglectful they had been, could apologize and beg for his forgiveness and try to make it up to him. That bridge is well and truly burned, now, which isn’t surprising but still feels like a gut punch.

Without consciously picking a destination, Steve finds himself parked outside the Munson home. He kills the headlights, shuts off the ignition, but doesn’t get out of the car. Now that he’s stopped moving, he doesn’t have the momentum to start again.

The tap on his window is gentle but it still makes him jump. Of course it’s Eddie, standing there in one of Steve’s old Hawkins High sweatshirts, peering at him through the glass with that concerned frown Steve loves so much. “You okay?” he mouths.

Steve can’t begin to answer that right now. He opens the car door, careful not to hit Eddie, and slips out right into Eddie’s comforting embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Eddie murmurs, one hand holding Steve’s head against his shoulder and the other rubbing up and down his back.

“My parents,” he sighs. That about sums it up.

Eddie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just squeezes him tighter. “You can stay over if you want. Wayne won’t mind, and he’s working tonight anyway.”

Everything will wait until tomorrow, when the hurt isn’t so fresh and he can make plans with a clear head. For tonight, Steve can cuddle up with his boyfriend, in borrowed clothes that smell like Eddie, maybe smoke a little, and stop thinking so hard.

“Thanks,” he tells Eddie, his voice small.

Eddie kisses the top of his head. “Any time.”

[unfinishedslurs]

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

[autumnlassitude]

I was inspired by @imagineitdearies fic Perfect Slaughter to draw Astarion and Tyrus stealing a quiet moment together. Poor Tyrus was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 9 - Pneumothorax

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Accidental injury with knife, descriptions of wounds, wound care, field medicine, allusions/symptoms of lung collapse, blood, ingestion of bodily fluids, gagging

Something your nightmares have never been able to truly capture is just how unnervingly easy it is to push a knife through flesh. The smallest knife cuts through Simon’s skin easier than the MRE packaging. Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes as he looks down at where you’ve pushed the knife into the side of his chest.

Everything is eerily still for a moment. And then he looks back up at you and grins so hard you can tell through the mask.

The knife slips from between your numb fingers. It stays lodged between his ribs for a moment before falling to the ground. You scramble to your feet to stand over his still kneeling form. “Oh god. Simon.”

The way you’d slipped and rolled must have put the knife exactly where it needed to be to slide around his vest. His shirt underneath is ripped enough that you can see pale skin and so much red blood. The wound is bubbling, blood thinning in the cold rain. “Oh, god, Simon, what do I do?”

“Punctured a lung,” he whispers, barely a breath.

“You need a doctor,” you say, and it feels stupid, so obvious, but, “I don’t know where we are. How am I supposed to call for help?”

“’M okay, Precious,” he grunts. And then he stands up, like he’s not at risk of lung collapse. He points at the muddy backpack that flew from your shoulder as you’d grappled with him. “Get the bag.”

The bag? “We’re not playing games anymore!”

“’S got medical supplies in it,” Simon answers. He crouches down to pick up his own pack, and his chest makes a wet sound. “’N another gift for you. C’mon, we’ll go back to the cabin.”

Your heart is in your throat, but at least the cabin has running water. With the medical supplies, you can at least try to clean him up before driving him to the nearest hospital. Wherever that might be. You prop his arm over your shoulder and do your best to brace his good side.“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

As you start to walk, the edge of the roof is barely in view through the drizzle. You’re so glad you were already on your way back to the cabin when he’d tackled you. Why did you have the knife out? You’d been playing with it, cutting shapes into a big leaf. He should have seen it, he’d run at you from the side. But that’s why he got you something so small, right? So someone attacking you wouldn’t see it, so you could have the element of surprise.

“Call Price,” Simon says, suddenly, knocking you out of your worried spiral.

You look up at him, then at the cabin that’s barely ten meters away. “What?”

“Use my phone. You know the code,” he says again, “Call Price, tell him we’re at the empty north cabin.”

Before you can ask “What?” again, or even, “Who the hell is Price?”, he starts slumping into you. And then all 18 stones of him are in a semi-controlled fall. You try your best to not drop him, gasp when he hisses as your arm presses against the hole in his chest.

The only thing in your head, as Simon slumps into the mud, his blood all over your hands, is that the weather didn't hold out the way you both expected.

Simon’s phone isn’t on him, or in his little knapsack. It’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done, leaving him there in the dirt to run into the cabin. At the same time, it’s… familiar. Leaving a man to die while you call for help that can’t possibly arrive in time.

This is different. The first time you’d stabbed a man, you’d meant to do it.

The cabin is a little abandoned thing that Simon had fixed up a bit in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the room you’d woken up in, it has a wet room style toilet and shower and a counter with a hot plate. The rest of the weirdly clean little building is just one empty room leading to the only external door.

You hand shakes as you paw through the pile of stuff in one corner of the main room. Simon’s left his battered old phone in the pocket of his jeans, like he always does. Your hands shake as you punch in his passcode. You’re jogging back to his side as soon as you select the only named contact in the phone.

By the time someone picks up, you’re back on your knees by Simon’s side, relieved to see his eyes fluttering.

“Price,” a man answers.

“Hello?” You try not to let your voice get to frantic. “Simon’s hurt. He said to call you. We’re at the north cabin.”

“Empty,” Simon grunts, barely audible.

“The empty one,” you clarify. The line is silent. “Hello?”

“He’s wounded?” Price asks, cool and almost distracted.

“Punctured lung,” you say. “He passed out, but he’s kind of conscious now.”

The man on the other end hums. “That does sound a bit serious.”

“Please,” you insist. “I don’t know where we are, please call an ambulance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And then the line goes dead.

Your hands are shaking when you touch Simon’s face. “He hung up. Simon, I’m so sorry, he hung up. I don’t know if I can get you into the car. I don’t know if there’s enough time for anyone to get here.”

“’S fine, Precious,” he says, barely a whisper. He looks just as peaceful as if he was at home, in bed. The mud and blood and burbling chest wound ruin the illusion. “Been in worse shape’n this. Price’ll come.”

“We don’t need him here, we need you in a hospital!” It suddenly strikes you that Simon had mentioned medical supplies. “Should I try to stop the bleeding? Gauze and pressure, right?” You grab the backpack and tear it open. There’s gauze, antiseptic gel, and bandage wraps. You also find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Splash of alcohol first,” Simon says, closing his eyes. When you slap him, he glares up at you with one eye. “Oi.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!”

“’M no’. Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“Not that either!” The way his accent is becoming more pronounced, and his words more slurred, sets your already galloping heart racing. You uncap the alcohol and tip it, not at all gently, over the wound. “Stay awake.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon growls, followed by a pained wheeze. “Okay. Fuck. Gauze next, you’ll have to hold it down. Don’t have enough bandages and too much mud, besides.”

The first piece of gauze gets soaked with rain and blood immediately, so you open another couple of packages and press. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you tell him over his hissing. Tears finally start catching up to you. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“’S fine,” he sighs. One big, muddy hand comes up to pat your shoulder. “Shouldn’a come at you from the left. Better t’ stay low and come at you from the right.”

“I still might have stabbed you,” you protest. “I shouldn’t have had that stupid knife out, I should have known better-”

“You couldn’a known.”

“I should have,” you insist, and the tears are falling even faster now. “I didn’t need to be playing with knives, I knew you were out here, that you’d start chasing me any moment.”

“’S part of the game,” Simon sighs with a lazy grin. “Weren’ supposed t’ stab me in the chest, but tha’s on me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stab you at all, Simon,” you sob. “I never wanted…! I don’t…!” Simon’s eyes flutter closed again, and you feel your heart break. “Simon, please, stay awake. I’m sorry. Please, Simon. I don’t hate you, I’m sorry.”

You're not sure how much time passes. But you jump when a hand touches your shoulder, whip around to put yourself between Simon and whoever’s come up behind you. A white man with a beard you would absolutely expect to see walking around in the woods looks between you and Simon with raised brows. He brings a cigar to his lips and takes a pull.

“Simon,” the man says. “You broken?”

“No, sir,” Simon says. When your gaze snaps to him, his eyes are bright behind his mask.

“She said you punctured a lung,” the man you can only assume is Price points out.

“Affirmative.”

“John Price,” he finally introduces himself. He offers you a hand up. When you look between his hand and where you’re keeping pressure on Simon’s wound, he chuckles. “Let’s get this drama queen inside, shall we?” Then Kyle appears at his elbow with a grin and an arm full of blue tarp.

“How’s the hobby search going?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into tears.

John Price had guided you inside while Kyle somehow maneuvered Simon onto the tarp to drag him the last few meters to the cabin. Now, there’s another tarp laid out on the floor, with Simon’s clammy, pale body on top of it. Knelt next to him, Kyle mutters something to himself, focused but relaxed. He’d complimented you on a clean strike, once he’d gotten Simon inside and cleaned the wound enough to look at it. Apparently, you probably could have done a lot of damage before killing him outright, if you’d really wanted to.

The sucking sound from Simon’s chest as he chuckled had made you run outside to throw up.

“You meet my girl, Skipper?” Simon eventually wheezes. There’s a big patch of of gauze taped over the wound. That side of him, from shoulder to hip, is the only part of him that’s really clean, besides his now-unmasked face. He winces when Kyle does something with the tubing sticking out of his chest. It’s still trickling blood, but that seems to be better than the flood from when Kyle had first pushed a thick needle between his ribs.

“I have,” John Price says, blowing a cloud of smoke. “You haven’t been keeping her here long. Surprised she stuck around to make sure you’d be okay.”

It strikes your ears as… absurd. The idea that Simon had whisked you away to this tiny, sparse little building for, what? For good? Nonsensically, you want to point out that there’s no kitchen, and Simon knows you like to prep and cook when you’re stressed. MREs wouldn’t cut it for long.

And then it occurs to you that John Price knows Simon. Knows him well enough that he expects you to die.

“She’s had Riley here on a leash for half a year,” Kyle informs him. He pats Simon’s cheek condescendingly, ignores his growl of annoyance. “Poor bastard’d been going mad, cooped up with nothing to do since Soap’s been locked up.”

“Eight months,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the edge of the tarp by Simon’s good side. You sip some water and offer it to Simon. He lets you tip the bottle carefully to his lips. “We met eight months ago.”

“Christ,” Price says, rolling his eyes. “I told you to keep a low profile.”

“’ave been,” Simon grunts.

“And, that little excursion at the ski lodge was what, exactly?”

Simon tilts his head to look at you, mischievous smirk under the black makeup around his eyes. “Had to make sure our first date was memorable.”

You want to smack him. The thought makes you feel guilty since you’ve already stabbed him today. You compromise by petting through his hair, right where the scar you gave him sits, then give his ear a little tug when you get to it.

“Hope it was worth it,” Price says. “You going to get rid of her, or am I?”

Simon is up and standing in front of John almost before you see him move. The back of him is still spattered with dirt and blood, silvery scars in stark contrast. You watch his chest expand, hear the whistle and bubble of air and blood through the tube you can’t see. You take one look at Kyle’s startled, worried face and quickly get to your feet.

When you come around his side, you shiver and shrink back a bit. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Simon’s face this frigid. He’s completely closed off as he stares down at Price, doesn’t even spare you a glance.

For his part, John remains completely relaxed. He takes a lazy pull from his cigar and blows the smoke from the side of his mouth, away from you. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“She’s good people,” Kyle pipes up, coming to stand across from you, so everyone is in a loose square. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t made no trouble yet.”

John doesn’t look away from Simon. “That so?”

You reach out for Simon’s hand, then think better of it. You touch his back instead, in case he needs that hand. You step closer but stay a little bit behind him. “Simon?”

“She’s talked to the police, you know,” John says. “After your stint at the hospital, and again after your little date.”

That startles you. “I never-”

“Hush, now,” John says.

Simon flinches at the same moment that you feel your back straighten. “Excuse me?” You take a step forward into John’s space. “Maybe you forgot, but I called you here to help. If I wanted him dead, Simon would be dead right now. If I wanted him arrested six months ago, he’d have been arrested.”

“Precious-”

“No, Simon.” you interrupt him, staring into John’s eyes. “He practically lives in my apartment. He drugged and kidnapped me literally last night. He made me touch Brandon’s skull, and then I stabbed him this afternoon. I’ve been at the scene of two mass murders and now I’ve almost killed someone else. What the fuck makes you think you can come in here and talk about me like you know anything about me? Like you think I’m an idiot? Why do you think you get to shush me?”

The man doesn’t react except to pull from his cigar again. Your clothes are stiff and damp and uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to fidget. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Kyle look from you to John and back again.

“If you ever have him arrested, he’ll be out in a day,” John finally says. “You’ll be dead before then.”

“Oh gee,” you mock. “I wonder why that never occurred to me. Making the serial killer angry might get me killed. Shocking.”

Simon’s hand gently touches one of your wrists. “Easy, Precious. Price ‘s just lookin’ out.”

You let him take your hand. “He can do less of that, thank you very much.”

Simon reels you back against his front. He props his chin on top of your head and kind of sags some of his weight onto you. “Don’t think he can, love. Fundamentally incapable. Has to take care of his men.”

“Well he’s my man, now,” you grit out. “So you can fuck right off, John.”

For whatever reason, that cuts the tension. Kyle barks a laugh before he can stop himself. John tips his head back and huffs out smoke. Simon just presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Kyle told me you were a little off,” John says. He props a foot on his knee to stub out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “Simon’s been real tight lipped, but I see why he likes you. Not much self-preservation to speak of.”

Of all the stupid conclusions he could have come to…!

Simon’s hand covers your mouth before you can tell John exactly what you think of him. “She’s helping me find new hobbies.”

John just shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. Kyle, how long is he recovering?”

“Three weeks. Two, if he avoids aggravating it,” Kyle answers.

Simon hums. “’M gonna aggravate it.”

“Goddammit,” John swipes a hand down his beard. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.”

The murderous stalker isn’t the problem child? You snort behind Simon’s hand. Hopefully, you never meet this Soap guy.

“Fun as all of this is, I’m on shift in four hours,” Kyle says, looking at his watch. “Need to get home and sanitize. Riley, usual wound care. Drain’s gotta come out in three days. And you need antibiotics. Seriously.” He looks at you. “Make sure he gets them and takes them. All of them. His feet will fall off.”

“No they won’t,” you say when Simon drops his hand to wrap around your shoulders, just as he says, “Fuck off, Garrick.”

“Take the damn antibiotics,” John says, standing from his seat. “Be ready for a call in three weeks.”

“Affirmative.”

“And you,” John holds a hand out to you to shake. Waits for you to take it and gives a firm shake. “Let me know if you get tired of him hangin’ all over you.”

“So you can kill me.”

He gives you an amused grin. “I’m not in the practice of wasting valuable assets.”

“I’m sure you meant that in a way that’s not offensive,” you answer. “I’ll do my best to never call you again.”

“Smart girl.” He gives Simon a nod, and then he and Kyle are out the front door.

The shower head sputters and spits, but eventually produces surprisingly warm water. Not hot, but warm enough that you don’t feel bad herding Simon in to get clean. Warm enough that you groan when you step in with him.

There’s a silicone bulb hanging from the tube in Simon’s armpit, compressed to create some kind of vacuum. It’s pink with blood and other fluids. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so you use your hands to gently wash you both with a generic body wash. When you start rinsing dirt and an errant piece of leaf litter from your hair, he smirks and leans in until your back is pressed against the cold tile.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but panic. Your hands go to his hips in case he’s losing his balance. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the arm on his wounded side over your head. The drain site looks a little red, but not concerning, so you check the edges of the waterproof bandage Gaz placed to make sure it’s still set.

That’s why you don’t realize what he’s done until a splash of his blood hits your cheek and drips into your mouth. You can’t really rear back, trapped against the wall. All you can do tilt your face away and sputter as he empties the drain onto the side of your neck to drip down your collarbones.

He grunts a disagreeing sound when you lift your arm, catches your hand before you can lift it very far. His hand comes up to your cheek, two fingers touching where his blood has dripped to your chin. He pushes his hips into you, and you can feel where he’s getting hard.

When he speaks, it’s little more than a whisper. “You were supposed to slash my arm, you know.”

“Wha-”

He’s not gentle when he shoves his fingers into your mouth. For all that he was laid out on the floor less than an hour ago, you can’t force his hand away with both of yours. It’s all you can do try to fight the urge to gag as you barely hold him at bay.

“Knew you’d like the gifts,” he growls down at you. “But you were s’possed to slash, hm? That’s what a good girl like you does, chased in the woods. Easy to drop a knife that way.” He uses his fingers in your mouth and thumb under your chin to make you stare up into his eyes. “Where’s a sweet thing like you learn to keep a knife close to the body? Felt you let it slide, flat. Felt you push.”

Had you? You hadn’t felt it, just the anxiety spike of being attacked, the cradle of his hand shielding your head from the ground. Just his huge body and that skull mask, on you suddenly, without warning. You can’t answer, can’t even try without gagging. Simon gives your jaw a little shake.

“You could have killed me, today.” He grinds your body between his and the wall for a moment, before stepping back. He drags you under the spray of water, other hand cradling the back of your head. You struggle to cough, try to turn your face down. Your heart races as you do, knowing it’s only because he let you.

And then he slips his fingers from your mouth and brings your face to his chest. He holds you as you cough, pets over your back. You cling to him, because what else can you do? When you finally look up at him, his pupils have all but swallowed the blue of his eyes.

“Fear looks so good on you, Precious.”

Taglist: @mishaglass, @oceanicexolorer, @whitetiger846, @iknownothingpeople, @fruitdoom, @achillesquartz, @hindi-si-ikay, @ahopelesspedantic

[kikker-oma]

@adrift-in-thyme TRIN YOU ARE AMAZING AND INCREDIBLE AND THIS FIC TORE MY HEART OUT AND STUFFED IT BACK INTO MY CHEST (in the absolute BEST way possible❤️❤️)

Please please please PLEASE give this a read, it made me acream

Warnings: blood, slit throat(after the cut)

Also, here's a bonus from @skyloftian-nutcase done in exquisite restaurant crayon lol

[mikakuna]

actually the thing that pisses me off when fandom talks about the titans tower incident isn't even just that people wildly misinterpret/overreact to it, but that they only care about it because it happened to tim

half the other unhinged shit jason has done towards heroes (beautiful and spectacular) is like. never brought up. the titans tower incident is just tim fans' way of angsting up their blank canvas

[patolemus]

wrote 1.3k words today. i'm incredibly proud of myself. i'm also so fucking behind on my assignments

[sunsetsandsunshine]

AAAHHH REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!

So proud of you for powering through your requests and wips of your own!!! You did SUCH A FANTASTIC JOB AT BY THE WAY!!!! oh my gosh!! Your creativity inspires me A HECK OF A LOT EMERY! 🫶🫶💙💙💙💙

I thought I'd might as well send you a request! (No pressure, and absolutely no need for a rush!)

Maybe something that is Halloween themed for rottmnt? Maybe they're decorating for Halloween and Mikey or Leo seems to have a disagreement with certain decorations that the rest of the Hamato brothers seem to have no problems with? Resulting in normal brother banter, but it soon turns into one of them declaring a "tickle fight"?

One of them could be like "how about we settle this with a tickle fight!" and since Mikey or Leo is the only one who has a disagreement with the decor, one of them just get ganged up on, and eventually it rules out to them loosing since it's literally a 1v3? 😭😭

I don't know! I just thought of it, but of course no pressure in writing it if it's too confusing! 🙏🙏

~ 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗 ~

❤️💜🐢💙🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @saturnzskyzz ❤️💜🐢💙🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙰𝚆𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 🥹💗💕💗💕💗!!! 𝚄𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙸𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝚂𝙾 𝚂𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄??? 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸’𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕 😵‍💫🫶🏾…! 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚍-𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘…𝚢𝚘𝚞 😭👍🏾— 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝙷𝙾𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝚁𝙾 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾?! 𝚂𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙳˚*• ̩̩͙•̩̩͙*✩＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟸𝟸𝟾

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙 

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️, 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 (𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠), 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚘 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛.

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

T𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚐𝚜𝚜𝚜𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348  @itzsana-kiddingmenow 

@giggly-cloud  @savemeafruitjuice  @rice-cake-teen10

@titters-and-tingles @veryblushyswitch @tmntalways  @mistyandsnow

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚕. 𝙸𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎, 𝚐𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 🕺🏾✨

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚢 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚓𝚜𝚓𝚜𝚖𝚜𝚓𝚍𝚑𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!!!˚*•✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Move it to the left! No…your other left! …Donnie, I just said your other left!!!” Raph yelled. 

“I don’t have 'an other left!' Are you trying to tell me that you want me to use my right hand?!” Donnie asked, irritation abundantly clear in his tone. 

“NO! I KNOW WHAT I SAID!!! WHAT I WANT YOU TO DO IS USE YOUR OTHER LEFT!!” Raphael basically screamed.

“I. DON’T. KNOW. WHAT. THAT. MEANS!!!” Donatello screeched back. 

“Oh for crying out—“ The eldest sighed, “Give it here.” The taller turtle snatched the Coraline themed paper cut out’s from his younger brother, getting tape and sticking them to the wall. 

Raph stepped out a bit, looking at where he had placed the paper cut out’s before letting out a huff of satisfation, putting his hands on his hips, “See? Now was that so hard?” 

The purple banded turtle’s eye twitched slightly, turning to his older brother and giving him a quickly glare as he put the excess decorations away, “You used your right hand to place that decoration, dumbass.” 

The eldest blinked in confusion at his brother’s statement, doing an L-shape with both of his fingers as a small embarrassed blush appeared on his cheeks, “I see...” 

The young scientist rolled his eyes fondly, shaking his head as he threw away the remainder of the paper, “You see—”

“I aham stopping you right there. Please dohon’t Dhar Man lihife lesson me right now…”

“You see…” The softshell continued, his grin widening as he heard a loud groan come from his older brother, “You should always listen to your immediate younger brother because he is just so intelligent and just so far beyond the usual intellect of the average fifteen year old.” 

The red banded turtle nodded his head, trying his best not to laugh at his brother’s silly antic’s. 

It was currently October and there was lots of spookiness in the air. Although it was literally just the 1st day of October, there was still freshly new spookiness in the atmosphere.

More or less, anyway...

The turtle teen’s were setting their lair to be a…sort of Halloween themed aesthetic. 

Did their Dad know they were basically re-decorating the whole lair? No. But he’ll just have to deal with it. 

Last year they did The Nightmare before Christmas.

The year before that they did the Corpse Bride…

…And, well…you get the idea. The rat man should be used to this routine by now.

The two eldest turtle’s looked at each other for a minute before bursting out into small laughs, chuckling at each other’s ridiculousness, “Okahay…remind me toho never doho ahanother Dhar Mann impression.” Donnie giggled out. 

“Ahalright, Dhahar Mann fam.” The eldest snickered as the two youngest turtle’s entered the living room. 

“Ew. Why did we choose Coraline as this year’s Halloween theme again?” Leo muttered, squinting at the choice of decorations in a disgusted manner, “I mean…the blue hair and pronouns girl? Love that. But can’t we just save that one for Pride month or something?” 

Raphael put a hand over his mouth, turning around and trying not to laugh as Donnie and Mikey looked at the red eared slider in confusion. 

“That’s Coraline, you idiot.” The box turtle muttered out.

“Wait…THAT’S Coraline?! What about the lady with the spider arms and looks like Jim Carrey from The Mask?”

Raphael loudly wheezed in the background at his brother’s genuine confusion, clutching his side and holding onto the kitchen counter for dear life as he laughed.

“That’s…That’s her Mom, man.” Mikey said. 

The slider blinked in awe before letting out a long sigh, “Whatever…”

The blue banded turtle went to the wall, taking off some of the Coraline cut out’s that Mikey put up and replaced them with Charlie Brown ones. 

“Charlie Brown? Really?” Donnie deadpanned as he crossed his arms.

“Yes!” Leo said, “It’s the Great Pumpkin! He rises out of the pumpkin patch—“

“We’re familiar with the tale, Nardo.” The second oldest interrupted, “But…just why? You seriously want to put up an imaginary pumpkin over Coraline…?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” 

The scientist just rolled his eyes, going over to help Raph who was currently dying of laughter on the floor, “You do you brother of mine.”

“Oho I beg to differ.” Michelangelo seethed, going up to his immediate older brother, “I worked hard on those Coraline paper cut outs! You can’t just…replace them with some pumpkin from the 1960’s!”

Leonardo looked at his youngest brother up and down, “…You bought these from the dollar store and just dumped glitter on it.” 

“EXACTLY! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EVENLY DISTRIBUTE ALL THE GLITTER ON EACH CORALINE PIECE?!”

Leo hummed in acknowledgment, trying to take off more of the decorations but was basically jumped by Mikey to the floor. The two youngest playfully fought with each other’s arms, both of them trying to get the upper hand in the play-fight. “Hehey heHEY! Gehehet ohoff of me yohou overgrown frog!” Leo giggled out. 

“Oh dohon’t even, Leheheon. When yohou wear glahasses yohou look lihike that oddly proportioned 'brohother' of ours thahat’s aha disgrace to ahall turtle-kind.” The box turtle said smugly. 

“…ARE YOU COMPARING ME TO THAT UGLY ASS FRANKLIN GUY?!”

“I AM AND WHAT ABOUT IT?!”

“Oho you’re done. Done.” Leo growled, trying to get the upper hand but was pinned down by the youngest pretty quickly on the ground. The orange banded turtle grinned in triumph, brutally attacking the other by tickling his underarms.

Leo let out a loud squawk in surprise, pushing at his brother’s wrists as he clamped his mouth shut. He shook his head back and forth, trying his absolute best not to satisfy the youngest in his attack. 

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t. fucking. laugh. 

“Woah. We left for, like, 5 minutes tops. What happened?” The purple banded turtle asked as him and the eldest walked into the scene up-roaring in front of them. 

“Leo said my Coraline paper cut outs were cheap and ugly!” The youngest dramatically whined, wiping away a tear before skittering his fingers along the slider’s ribs. 

Okay, well first of all: Leo never said that. Did they look cheap? Yes. Did he think that the DIY decorations looked cheap? Oho absolutely. 

But the fact of the matter was he never said it out loud! He thought it but he never said it.

“Damn…he hasn’t started laughing yet? He would usually be squirming like a drunk mermaid right about now.” Raphael mused, poking Leo in the side repeatedly as the second youngest closed his eyes shut. “We know you wanna laugh, Leo~!” The eldest sing-songed. 

The second youngest let out a soft snort, continuing to shake his head as his legs kicked behind Mikey. Donatello raised an unamused brow, sitting down and lightly grabbing the slider’s right ankle as he tickled his heel.

“PFFTAHAH— *snort* dahAHAMMIT!” Leo screeched as he finally let out a laugh whilst stomping his free foot on the floor. The three teens tormenting their brother smiled at the long overdue flood of giggles and snorts that was escaping the slider’s mouth.

“There it is~!” Raph cooed softly, tickling under Leo’s chin as the second youngest blushed slightly at the tease. “GOHO *snort* AWAHAHAY YOHOU AHASS— *snort*!!” 

“GASP! Oh no you did not. Cussing us out now? C'mon, Nardo…you know better than that~!” The second oldest mused, using his spider arms to hold the blue banded turtle’s ankles in place as he tickled all over his feet. Leonardo laugh raised an octave at the sudden action, squirming underneath the youngest more frantically. 

The blue banded teen snorted loudly, his hands flapping on the floor which absolutley melted the other’s hearts, “GUHUHUYS S-STAHAP! IHIHIT— *snort* EHEHEHAH!!! IHIT TIHI— *snort*!!” 

“Awe…it tickles? Is that what you’re trying to say~?” Mikey asked mischeivously, pinching Leo’s hips mercilessly. Raphael grinned, holding the slider’s arms up as he tickled his stomach and sides. “Does iiiiit…tickle here? Orrrr…what about here? Here? And heeeere~?” The eldest asked as he unpredictably switched from tickling the blue banded teen’s stomach to his sides, definitely making sure to leave the leader in blue in stitches.

“Y'know, Lee…you could get out of this situation more easily if you just apologized.” The young scientist commented.

“FAHAH— *snort* FOHOR WHAHA— *snort* WHAHAT?!” Leonardo asked through his laughs.

“What do you mean 'fohor whahat?' For insulting Mikey’s precious art and calling it cheap!” Donatello said as if the answer should’ve been obvious. 

“BUHUT IHI DIHIHIDN’T!!! HEEHEE’S A *snort* LIHIHIAR!!!”

All the other turtle’s gasped dramatically, ceasing their attack momentarily as the box turtle glared at his brother playfully, “Oho I’m sorry…I didn’t quite hear you. What did you just call me?”

The lime-green eyed teen’s heart dropped at the fake sweet tone his younger brother was speaking in, he hugged his middles as more frantic giggles poured from out of his mouth, “N-Noho— *snort* NOHO! Ihi— *snort* I-Ihi dihidn’t meeheean IHIT! M-MIHIKEY WAHAHAIT!”

“And now you’re laughing at me. You must think this is funny, huh?” The orange banded turtle asked as he effortlessly pushed Leo’s hands aside as Raph casually held them up again. The eldest used one hand to hold Leo’s wrists together but wiggled his free hand near the second youngest’s neck. 

The blue cladded teen’s eyed widened, silently praying to God that he wouldn’t go to the golden gates early because of what was about to happen to him. 

Donnie hovered his hands over Leo’s knees as Mikey’s hands innocently and gently traced over his immediate older brother’s sides. The lime-green eyed mutant gulped, glaring at Mikey as the youngest happily glared back. 

“Anything you wanna say to me, Leon? Anything in particular?” The box turtle asked. 

“F-Fuhuhuck. yohou.” Leo giggled through gritted teeth.

After that extremely rude remark, the brother’s wasted no time tickling the second youngest into oblivion. Donnie tickled underneath his knees, Mikey scribbled his nails against the slider’s sides as he blew raspberries on his stomach, and finally, Raph tickled his neck as he held up his arms.

A pretty smart tactic if you ask me. A mean one? Oh 100%, but at least it was effective. 

Leonardo let out a screechy vulture-like scream before falling into loud bubbly cackles. The slider shook his head back and forth once more, squirming as best he could in the position he was in. 

“Awe…” Raphael chuckled out, letting go of his brother’s wrists to let him flap his hands happily on Michelangelo’s arms. 

“STAHAHAP!! PLEHEHEASE *snort* IHIHIT’S *snort* TOOHOO— *snort* NAHAHAH!!!”

“Buhut Ihi want my apology!” Mikey giggled. 

“MIHIKAHA— *snort*!!! SHUHUT IHIHIT!!!”

“Don’t you dare disobey me, Coraline~!” Raph snickered, using both of his hands to tickle the crooks of the second youngest’s neck. Leo’s adorable laughter became wheezy as happy tears slowly started appearing in his eyes, “DAHAHAH— *snort* RAHAH— *snort* PLAHAHA *snort* EEEEEE!!!”

“IHIHI’M SAHARRY! IHI’M SAHA— *snort*! GUHUHUYS!!!” The slider snorted as he scrunched up his shoulders. 

Mikey hummed in thought, blowing a raspberry on his immediate older brother’s ribs, “Are you apologizing for insulting my crafts or are you apologizing for cussing us out?”

“BAHAH— *snort* BOHOTH! BOHOHOTH!!! PLAHA— *snort* GUHUYS!!”

“Okahay okay…” Michelangelo giggled, gesturing for his older brother’s to stop. The red eared slider mutant layed limp on the floor, curling in on himself as his brother’s sat next to him. The art loving turtle wrapped his brother in a tight hug which the second youngest couldn’t help but melt in through his tired giggles.

“Are you guys alright?! I heard screaming.” April quickly said as she walked into the lair, carrying a grocery bag full of candies and treats. The mutants almost immediately perked up at the sound of their sister’s arrival, going over and attacking her in huge bear hug.

The small human giggled at the gesture, hugging her brother’s back. “I’ll take that as a 'we’re fine and not dying a gruesome death.'” She concluded as she got out of the hug to put the candy bag down on the kitchen counter. “I mean…why was there screaming, though? I honestly thought you all were getting brutally murdered…”

Donnie raised a brow, looking over at his twin, “Wanna give April the inside scoop of what went down, Nardo?”

“I’m good.” The red eared slider said as he stuck a tongue out at his older twin, which the purple banded turtle had no problem copying back.

“Leo said my decorations were cheap and ugly.” The youngest said with dramatic flair, pointing at his Coraline cut-out’s. April’s eyed widened in shock, biting down her lip as he nodded, looking away from her youngest brother’s creation. “It looks great, Mike.” She giggled out, going to the kitchen counter to take out the candy as she was happily followed by Raphael.

“Woah woah!!! Get back here! I heard that laugh, Riri!” The orange banded turtle screeched, following along the elder siblings to the kitchen as he was followed by the middle siblings.

In all honesty…perhaps the Coraline themed Halloween decor wasn’t the worst idea’s Leo’s brother’s have had. 

Leonardo could always make a Great Pumpkin Halloween theme next year.

But that did not stop the leader in blue from sticking the pumpkin sticker he had on his pouch on the youngest’s shell without anyone noticing.

Well, besides Donnie— who chuckled lighlty at the gesture as the two twins made their way to the kitchen.

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

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

[sp0o0kylights]

Adopt a Jock Part Four  / Part Five P 1 YOU ARE HERE / Part Five P 2 

As always I own my soul to @chalkysgarbagefire and Hayley for helpin out with this one! 

The problem with D&D games was that the drama room was only available on specific days.

As in, the days Hellfire was scheduled as a club for, much to said club’s distress. 

This led directly into the second issue Hellfire faced--finding a place to host them all when they wanted to do something as a group outside of the main campaign they played. 

(At least anything D&D related, with all of the screaming, ranting, and frantic dice rolling that came with it.) 

Gareth knew Eddie had been lying through his teeth when he'd try to pitch Steve's house as a Hellfire hangout. Accepted that they’d never get to use all the sweet, sweet space Steve was known to have as much as he’d accepted Steve himself. 

It was a lot, after all. Particularly when Eddie’s one-shots were known to last a good chunk of the day. 

Once again, Steve had proved them all wrong. 

(“We can use my house.” were five words not a single person at the table had ever expected to hear out of Harrington’s mouth, and it showed in the shocked silence that followed when he actually spoke them. 

“What?” Steve asked, as six pairs of eyes stared at him. “Space is the problem right? So my house is the perfect solution.” 

“Are you sure dude?” Grant asked hesitantly. “You know this one-shot isn’t gonna be a like, two hour thing, right?” 

To their surprise Steve just gave him a flat, almost dead-eyed stare in return. “I’ve hosted the kids at my place before. Believe me, I am well aware.” 

“As long as you’re absolutely sure…” Jeff had added, and could only roll his eyes when he got a sassy response from Steve. 

Gareth of course, caught the way Steve kept seeking out Eddie’s eyes, as if hoping to make their oldest friend smile simply by offering up his house. 

He didn’t even need to look to know it was working.) 

It had taken some creative thinking (and a few wild excuses) to finangle things so that he could show up to Steve's literal castle of a home before anyone else without alerting Eddie but he'd managed it.

It was in fact, looking to be the highlight of Gareth's month. 

Possibly the year, if they managed to pull off the little plot he had cooked up. 

“I still don’t get how this is a prank.” Steve said, as Gareth prepped him before the others arrived.

"Trust me. If Eddie is anything, it's a jealous bitch." Gareth replied, seated on one of the countertops. "We dethrone him and he's gonna make an ass of himself for the next week. It'll be hilarious." 

"I fail to see how that's different than usual." Steve grumbled as he bustled about. 

Upon arrival Gareth had found him elbow deep into making cookies and what appeared to be  themed cocktails, among several other bowls full of snacks of all kinds. 

There was even little finger sandwiches, the kind that absolutely looked homemade, and Gareth would have teased him about that except he’d instantly stuffed two in his mouth.  

("I won't be able to host since I'm playing, so I just want everything done before anyone comes over." Was Steve's explanation, when Gareth did manage to get out a few teasing quips.  

With the proud lack of manners so many teenage boys possessed, Gareth talked right through his mouth of food. "God you’re a dork. How the hell did you get popular?"

"Shut up Emerson, you're wearing two jackets." Steve snipped in response, as if he didn’t look like the poster boy for Nordstrom.) 

"Don't bring logic into this." Gareth continued, as he tried to snag some cookie dough. 

 Steve smacked the back of his hand with a spoon. 

"Get a bowl and a spoon if you're going to eat the dough!" Steve grumbled at him, already bustling to get said bowl and spoon himself. “God you’re worse than Eddie. And the kids!” 

Gareth waited until Steve turned before he stuck his tongue out at him. "Whatever you say, mom." 

He got an over exaggerated eye roll in response. 

 "Anyway, the point is you're gonna witness something we'll get to tease Eddie about for years." Gareth said, as he watched Steve dole out some dough. 

"You get to watch the little hamster on the wheel that powers Eddie's brain lose its shit and cause him to do something really stupid.” He made grabby hands for the bowl and spoon, and tucking in delightfully the second Steve handed them over. 

Steve himself treated the entire exchange like he was feeding a particularly vicious and wild animal, making a show of yanking his hands back like Gareth might just go for his fingers. "I just don't understand why the thing you wanna fight about is cuddling."

"Bragging rights. The jokes we can make. The fact that your thighs look like they were made out of clouds, take your pick man.” Gareth counted off, in-between bites of dough. 

"Clouds?" Steve asked, tilting his head. 

“Big muscley clouds, Harrington. Also Grant’s here.” 

Steve blinked. “How do you-” He asked, right before the sound of a car with an engine far too loud pulled into his driveway. 

“He drives an absolute piece of crap. You ride in that thing one time and you’ll be able to hear it coming for the rest of your life.” Gareth explained, as Steve peered out the kitchen and down to his front doors. 

(Plural, because he had two.

Gareth had never felt more judged by slabs of wood in his life than he had when he’d walked through them.) 

"Last chance to bail, Stevie.” Gareth teased. “I won't hold it against you if you call it off mid-show though." 

Steve didn’t answer for a moment, too busy disrobing from his baking apron—a bright yellow and red garment that practically swallowed him whole, complete with an embroidered ‘Claudia Henderson’ over the right breast. The embroidery gave rise to a few questions but Gareth decided to save them for later. 

"No, something this fucking weird has to have a story behind it and I want to witness the fallout.” Steve finally replied, before rushing out of the kitchen. 

He ripped open his front door, right after a knock echoed loudly throughout the house. 

“Shit! What the hell man, were you just waiting to do that!?” Stewart yelped, prompting Gareth to snicker quietly and Steve to apologize. 

Like the wealthy housewife he’d been no doubt raised by, Steve went through a whole spiel as he ushered Stewart and Grant in, pointing out bathrooms, letting them know where the game was going to take place (the giant fuck off table that looked like it should be hosting some kind of high-stakes negotiation instead of a bunch of nerds) and where they could put their things (into a closet dedicated to just guests.) 

The trio of Eddie, Tiffany and Jeff arrived next, the latter two having been roped into helping Eddie haul his “D&D To Go” bags around. 

Steve started his little host speech over, much to Gareth’s amusement, fluttering about and entirely forgetting about his cookies until the oven dinged, causing him to swear and rush back into the kitchen. 

“Dude, breathe.” Gareth told him, almost done with his bowl. “It’s a D&D game, you don’t gotta go full out for us.” 

“I just want to make sure everyone has a good time.“ Steve said with a shrug. Like none of the effort he’d gone to, was a big deal. 

“Careful Harrington, say stuff like that again and we’re going to start thinking you enjoy hosting us.” 

“Shut up Gary.” Steve said, setting his cookies on a cooling rack. “And put that bowl in the sink!” 

Gareth jumped off the counter, trying his best to remove the shit eating from his face.

He failed entirely. 

xXx 

As far as pranks went, this one required quite the set up. 

They couldn’t do it in the beginning of the D&D game--too obvious, and too easy for Eddie to call bullshit. 

Doing it at the end wouldn’t work either. Eddie would know they were trying to rile him up and would no doubt find a way to ruin it. 

Years of being Munson’s best friend had afforded Gareth the knowledge that this was going to have to be split in two parts, and the first part, the setup, started now. 

Slowly. Methodically. 

In a way that wouldn't spook Steve, or trigger Eddie's sense for trouble. 

Gareth began by selecting a seat as far away from Eddie as possible, knowing his lovestruck idiot friend would be pulling out all the stops tonight in order to impress Steve (and get him to keep playing, of course.) 

Sure enough, as soon as Eddie was done setting up he crooked a finger in Steve's direction.

“Harrington you’re here, next to me.” Eddie flashed him his most award winning grin, the one that said he was up to trouble in that charming, ‘aren’t I just a charming ol’ rogue?” sort of way. 

“I made you a human fighter, just to start you off." He continued, as Steve took the seat next to him. "You can always make your own character later if you don't like playing this class, but I made this set up as straightforward as possible.” 

“Human fighter huh?” Steve said, glancing down the sheet. “Okay.” 

“You have any questions, you just ask. I promise I won’t bite. Not for your first time anyway.” Eddie winked, dipping in and out of Steve's space as he did so. 

“Dude, I am begging you to please stop saying shit like that.” Jeff said with a long suffering sigh. 

“No.” Eddie replied promptly, sticking his tongue out. 

Steve just ducked his head to hide his smile. 

A harsh clap halted any further response, as Eddie settled back into his seat and dipped into his DM narrator voice. 

"Alright my little adventurers! Are we ready to begin?"  He looked around as everyone looked towards him, the energy shifting instantly in the room. 

Eddie grinned gleefully. "Perfect. You all wake up at an Inn, with no memory of how you got there…" 

A story was quickly spun, one of mysterious memory loss and a sense that the group needed to stay together. Introductions were given once everyone came into the tavern of the inn, cut short when they were interrupted by a lone barkeep.

“Is the barkeep a human?” Steve cut in. 

Eddie paused, temporarily thrown, but nodded encouragingly. “Yes, he is actually!” 

Grant and Jeff both went to open their mouths, no doubt to tease, but Harrington beat them to it. 

“Okay, I roll to fight him, or whatever.” Steve said.

“I--what?” Eddie asked. 

“I roll to fight him.” Steve repeated. “Oh and my character screams “Death to humans!” before he attacks.” 

He sat back with a smug little grin, and watched as Eddie froze in surprise, while Grant and Stewart's jaws promptly hit the floor. 

“Harrington, you menace.” Tiff cackled, delighted. 

Eddie just threw his head back and laughed. 

It set the tone quite nicely for the rest of the one-shot. 

xXx 

“Grant, why are you looking at me through a fork?” Steve asked, about thirty minutes into the game. 

“I’m pretending you’re in jail.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Grant, whose character had to physically carry Steve's fighter out of two altercations he started,  just gave him a flat look.  “It’s spiritually healing.”

"Hey Jeff." Gareth asked quietly, as banter was traded. "I'm catching a hell of a draft over here." 

Jeff raised an eyebrow at him. "And what do you want me to do about it?" 

"Switch me seats?" 

Jeff rolled his eyes, but gave in easily enough. 

"Fine."  He said. 

Gareth did his best to keep his grin off his face. 

Step one, complete! 

xxx

"You come upon a door." Eddie said, sitting deep in his seat while steepling his fingers. "It's a normal door, unremarkable in every way except for two things." 

Groans filled the room, startling Steve. 

"Oh god, not again." Stewart moaned, raking his hands through his hair. "I can't do this again!" 

Eddie's grin merely grew. "The first odd thing you notice is that the door has been put into the wall at a tilt." 

"I'm gonna kill him." Tiff snarled, writing something frantically in her notes. "Munson is a dead man walking." 

"What is happening?" Steve asked, glancing around. 

"The second thing is that you recognize this door." Eddie's grin was Cheshire cat-esque, smug in the chaos he was causing among his friends. "It's the same door you saw at the beginning of this adventure, leading into the room the Innkeeper asked you to stay away from." 

"We're boned." Grant announced, throwing himself dramatically back against his chair. 

Gareth made his own dramatic, frustrated noise, banging his fist on the table. 

The full glass of soda next to him wobbled dangerously. 

With a cough, he made another loud "ugh!"  smacking his fist down a second time, closer to the glass. 

As intended, it spilled all over Tiffany. 

"Dude!" She exclaimed, shoving her chair backwards and jumping up. 

"Oh shit Tiff, I'm so sorry!" Gareth gasped. 

It was hard to keep a straight (albeit very sorry, least Tiffany hit him with her papers) face, but he managed. 

Barely. 

"You got my shirt wet you dick!"

"Here, switch it with this."  Gareth stood, unwrapping the red and black checkered sweater from his waist. He offered it up with an apologetic face as Tiff snatched it out of his hands with a glare. 

"I'll switch you seats too!" He called as she stormed off towards the bathroom. 

Jeff and Grant both stared at him with raised eyebrows as Gareth quickly shuffled his and Tiff's stuff around, taking her now sticky chair. 

"Maybe we should take a break?" He suggested, trying to act embarrassed when he was anything but. "This whole area needs to be wiped down."

"Five minutes." Eddie conceded. "I wanted one of Stevie's delicious cookies anyway." He stood, putting his arms up in a lazy stretch. 

Steve stood with him, leaning over to examine the mess Gareth had made. “We can wipe this down but this wood’s kinda funny, it’s gonna be wet for a bit no matter how much we dry it.” 

“Well shit.” Gareth said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about the table man.” 

Steve waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, the kids spill on it constantly. You are probably going to need a different chair though unless you’re fine with your ass getting wet.” 

“Do you have another chair somewhere, Stevie?” Eddie asked, making a show of looking around. “Cause I’m not seeing one. Not that I care if Gary-Berry sits on the floor.” 

Steve had several extra chairs in fact, but he and Gareth had hidden them all away before anyone else had arrived. 

“I used to, but Mike broke two.” Steve said, and Gareth found himself insanely impressed by the improv on display. 

He hadn’t thought Harrington had that level of acting in him. 

“If you’re okay with sharing though, the chair’s are big enough that we can kinda squish together.” Steve continued, completely ignoring the way Eddie’s eyes about bugged out of his head. 

“Only if you’re sure, man. I don’t want to be more of a bother.” Gareth put on his saddest, ‘I dun fucked up’ face, and shuffled his feet a little, just for dramatic effect. 

This was the performance of a lifetime and Gareth wanted his Grammy after it, because he and Steve had planned the entire thing right down to the shared chair bit. 

“You’re not, Dustin does this constantly.” Steve replied easily. 

“Or we could just put down a towel.” Jeff said, with a look on his face that said he thought everyone in the room was a fucking idiot. 

Gareth could’ve strangled him. 

“That’s probably a smarter idea.” Steve agreed, like the traitor he was. “I dunno if that’s gonna work for your papers and shit though, so you can just hedge into my space.” 

Which wasn’t what Gareth wanted, but he had to give Steve props for the quick thinking. 

At least it was just a minor setback. 

“I’ll get a towel.” Jeff continued, and at least they all got to witness the look that graced Eddie’s face upon realizing that Jeff of all people, knew where Steve kept his towels. 

xXx

"What the hell else can we do to try and open the door!?" Jeff snarled a while later, slamming his pencil down. 

They'd tried multiple different approaches and so far nothing had worked to set off whatever trap Eddie had set up. Something that made their DM absolutely delighted, while frustrating everyone else. 

"I still don't get why we can't just try to turn the knob." Steve complained, staring in confusion at the absolute riot Eddie's "completely normal" door had caused among the rest of his party. 

"Do not touch that door Harrington!" Grant bellowed, pointing at him. 

Steve raised his hands in the air placatingly. "Easy, easy, I was just making a suggestion." 

Gareth, wedged as close into Steve's space as he could get, tapped his fingers on the table twice. It was the little code he’d come up with to alert Steve that he was about to do something to piss off Eddie related to the prank (mostly, so Steve had a heads up Gareth was about to touch him, not that Gareth had spun it that way when he’d explained it) before patting Steve’s shoulder, hooking his elbow on it and leaning over. “Not gonna lie man, it’s not a bad idea. We’ve tried right about everything else.” 

He could feel Eddie's eyes burning a hole in his skull from here and he delighted in it. 

“Do not encourage him.” Grant said through gritted teeth. 

Gareth leaned his face on the arm perched on Harrington, his hair tickling Steve’s cheek as he tried to look as angelic as possible. “I couldn’t possibly know what you mean, Grantman.” 

He was flipped off in response. 

xXx

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Stewart howled, and even Gareth’s jaw dropped when Steve finally gave in and tried to turn the knob--only to succeed and swing the door open. 

“Well Munson? What happens to him?” Tiff said, having refused to call Eddie anything but his last name since the door had first appeared. 

“Nothing.” Eddie practically purred. “I told you, it’s a totally normal door, and the only weird thing about it was that you recognized it and that it was put into the wall a little tilted.” 

“Fuck you dude.” Stewart practically growled, balling up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on and flinging it towards their DM. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck. You!” 

“No thank you.” Eddie replied cheekily, twirling a finger in his hair. 

“We spent almost an hour trying to figure out how to open a regular door.” Jeff said, clearly processing. “An hour.” 

Eddie just shrugged, shit eating grin plastered across his face. 

Gareth once again tapped his fingers twice against the table, waited a moment, before banging his head gently against Steve’s shoulder. “I hate him.” He groaned. 

After a long moment, Steve gently, if not a little awkwardly, patted him on the head. 

“There, there, Gary. We defeated the door in the end.” He said calmly. 

Gareth laughed, absolutely delighted. His head jerked up and a grin crossed his face as he immediately looked to see what Eddie made of that. 

Pure murder, going by the face Eddie poorly tried to cover. 

Perfect. 

xXx 

“With his last few moves, Sir Carrington-” 

"I refuse to let that be my character's name.” Steve interjected, as he had every time Eddie brought up the name they’d apparently argued over. “If I have to figure out how to change it legally in your dumb game I fucking will."  

Eddie didn’t even look in his direction. 

“--Sir Carrington leaps into the air, swinging the sword of truth. It cleaves right through the Innkeeper, revealing him to be the dastardly villain you’ve heard so much about, Tareth the Trait. He’s gained an unusual amount of power after stealing the Inn from the former Innkeeper--” 

“Really bro?” Gareth said, sending Eddie a flat look. “Tareth the Trait?” 

“--With this final blow, Tareth collapses to the ground, dead. The Inn returns to its prior form, a safe haven for adventurers, instead of a trap.” 

“Shut up guys, we did it!” Stewart said, throwing his hands up in a victory pose. 

“Not gonna Eddie, I liked the twist.” Tiff complimented, a rare thing from her. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Eddie stood up, sweeping an arm across his chest as he bowed. “Give yourselves a round of applause as well, especially for our dear Steven, who just completed his first D&D game!”

A cheer went up, causing Steve to flush red. 

Gareth pretending to drum, knocking his shoulder into Steve’s much the way he had seen Eddie do as Steve sent an embarrassed smile around the room. 

“We should celebrate.” Jeff said, as the chaos finally died down. 

“I conquer, Jeff the Chef!” Eddie hollered, putting his foot on Steve’s chair. “Stevie-boy, you gotta have some good stuff around here for those big basketball wins!” 

“Get your foot off the chair, Eds.” Steve groaned, but stood up (forcing Gareth to get up as well considering how far he’d been leaning into Steve’s space.) “And yeah we can order like pizza.” 

“Pizza and beer?” Grant suggested.

“Oh my friend. I can do better than that.” Steve replied, a flash of his old, charming self coming through. “Allow me to raid my father’s liquor cabinet.” 

“Hell yes!” Grant yelled, pumping his fist. 

Tiffany rolled her eyes but didn’t protest, and neither Gareth noted, did anyone else. 

Which was exactly what he wanted, because he hadn’t managed to land the perfect ending he and Harrington had planned. 

Gareth would make it into Steve’s lap tonight, even if it killed him.  

(Or worse, even if Eddie got there first, a thing that may very well happen considering Eddie was clearly annoyed with how Gareth had been hogging Steve. 

Just as intended.) 

SOME NOTES: I don't play d&d so writing it always requires a lot of research. Several pieces here (like the human fighter bit) are based off of/stolen from memes, videos or stories I read. If I fucked it up thaaaan idk squint and pretend its right LOL. 

This one doesn’t have a bonus because I had to split Chapter Five into two parts. This is Part One, it’ll be one chapter on A03.  It just kept going.

Also Adopt a Jock is officially going up ON A03 so I will no longer be accepting tags ( Ch. One is already uploaded I’m just struggling with the summary lol. I will make a post and link it to my pinned post when it’s up.) I will still be updating here since I am only updating chapters on A03 as fast as I can edit them, which is not fast at all, so I imagine the next few chaps will be here before there but eventually shits gonna even out, so those who did not get onto the tag list can subscribe to the A03!  

Finally, Sorry this took so long, I have a prior ongoing medical issue and getting laid off fucked up my insurance. Had to cram in some procedures before it ran out. Long story short all I've done is sleep, go to a doctor or rant about one of the two lmao. Legit slept 18 hours yesterday ahaha k i l l m e 

[adverbally]

Lovers Forever, Face to Face

Written for the @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt “lingerie” | wc: 1,851 | rated: E | cw: none | tags: Eddie in lingerie, body insecurity, mirror sex, body worship, dirty talk, buttplug, anal sex | title from “Leather and Lace” by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley

———

Eddie curses himself and scowls at his reflection. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

He turns away but twists his upper body back, trying to see his ass in the mirror. Still flat, he notes, just covered in a layer of dark fabric that looks terrible on him. The panties, stark against his skin, make him look more pale than he actually is. Sickly, even. Fragile.

It doesn’t seem fair. Steve looks so good in lingerie. He’s got a certain softness to him that’s enhanced by satin and lace— the curves of his pecs cradled by a bralette, his ass and cock barely contained by skimpy underwear, sometimes even a pair of stockings straining to contain his shapely calves and thick thighs. Always in jewel tones, emerald and sapphire and amethyst, that pop against the warmth of his skin.

More importantly, Steve wears lingerie with a confidence that takes Eddie’s breath away. He’ll stalk across the room with a sway to his hips and a fire in his eyes that tells Eddie he knows exactly how sexy he looks. He’ll grab Eddie’s hands and place them where he wants them, encouraging him to squeeze until the lacy pattern leaves an imprint on the skin beneath. He’ll grind their pelvises together, panties still on, until the fabric is wet with their combined precome and his cock is hard enough to peek out over the waistband. He’ll command Eddie to come on him, painting the material with a glaze of white that he’ll have to wash out by hand the next day.

Steve in lingerie? Insanely hot. Eddie? Not so much. He stares into the mirror and feels nothing but pathetic at the sight of himself in a black matching set. Too angular, too harsh, too awkward.

“Eds?” Steve’s voice, though muffled from the other side of the bathroom door, still makes Eddie jump. A tentative knock follows. “You okay in there?”

He should just change back into his boxers. No harm done, lingerie just isn’t for him. Steve doesn’t even have to see how stupid it looks.

Except that the doorknob is turning behind him and Steve is sticking his head into the room and there’s no way Steve isn’t getting the full view right now. Not just Eddie’s ass, which is facing him, but the reflection of his front in the mirror across the small room.

Eddie meets Steve’s gaze in the mirror. To his surprise, Steve isn’t laughing or grimacing or making that weirdly blank face he gets when he’s trying to be polite and not say whatever bitchy comment is on the tip of his tongue. No, Steve looks… flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. Gobsmacked.

“Oh my god.”

Immediately, Eddie goes on the defensive. “I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. I’m gonna take it off and we can pretend this never happened.” He twists his arms up behind him to struggle with the hook and eye closure on the bralette. It took him, like, ten minutes to get it on, and he suspects it will be even harder to take it off

“No!” Steve exclaims, voice echoing off the shower tiles. Eddie can feel him looking up and down his body, can see something like awe in his eyes. “Please, don’t take it off.”

“Um.” He releases the band where he had tugged it halfway down his back to reach the clasps more easily.

Steve steps up behind him. His hands hover over Eddie’s shoulders. “Can I— is it okay if I touch you?” he asks softly.

Eddie doesn’t know if he can speak, nerves squeezing his throat shut. He nods instead.

It’s just light pressure at first. Steve’s fingers skim along the bralette’s straps, down Eddie’s back and up again, tracing over his shoulders until they reach the triangles of lacy mesh that serve as the cups.

“Look at that,” Steve breathes. “Gorgeous.”

Skin meets skin now as he steers away from the fabric and follows the lines of Eddie’s tattoos. The spider below his left collarbone, the demonic face beneath it. On the other side of his chest, more recently inked, a pair of twenty-sided dice showing rolls of one and twenty.

“The black really stands out against your skin,” Steve tells him. “Matches your tattoos.”

“Steve,” Eddie protests. His face is heating up, a flush spreading across his cheeks, down his neck and chest. He watches his skin going pink in the mirror, which makes him flush even more in a feedback loop of embarrassment.

Steve gently runs his palms up and down Eddie’s upper arms. “You don’t like it.” It’s not a question; he saw Eddie’s reaction, his body language screaming his discomfort.

Even knowing that Steve knows the answer, it’s hard for Eddie to say it out loud. “Not really.” He shifts his weight, awkwardly folds his arms across his front.

“Why not?” When Eddie’s reflection just gapes at him, Steve elaborates, “What’s wrong with it? Is it how it feels?”

No, Steve had chosen well with this set. It’s not scratchy or restrictive or anything, perfectly sized for Eddie and comfortable enough to wear all day, he thinks. “It’s not that.”

Steve frowns. “Is it… I don’t know, is it too girly for you?” He had struggled with that at first, the way it forced him to embrace a side of himself that he had always rejected. Now he has fun exploring his feminine side.

Eddie doesn’t have particularly strong feelings about gendering underwear, though, so he doesn’t think that’s the problem, either. He struggles to find the right words for a moment before he settles on, “It just doesn’t look good on me.”

“I think it does,” Steve says simply.

How can it? How could anything possibly look good on Eddie’s scrawny, scarred body? He almost wants to ask Steve what he sees in him, but he’s scared that the praise will sound like it’s for another person entirely.

As always, Steve seems to read his mind. “Black is your color, obviously. It makes the rest of you look like you’re glowing or something. Like the moon.” He tugs one of the bralette straps aside to plant a kiss on Eddie’s shoulder. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve’s hands come up to cover the lace panels adorning Eddie’s chest. “So pretty. I can’t decide if I want to take it off you or leave it on.” He pinches one of his nipples through the fabric, prodding it into hardness. “Does that feel good?” he asks Eddie, almost as an aside to his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Eddie rasps. Fuck, his mouth is dry. He can feel Steve’s cock, half-hard against his ass, and his own dick plumping up in response.

“Yeah,” Steve echoes absently. His chin rests on Eddie’s shoulder for a better view of the mirror. “Yeah, I bet my mouth would feel good, too.”

It would, Eddie knows it would. He watches Steve’s hands teasing him in the mirror and pictures his tongue licking over the material, his mouth sucking the taste of Eddie’s skin right through the lace, turning the fabric dark with spit.

“And this—” Steve wiggles a finger under the band, pulling it away from the skin only to release it with a sharp snap that steals Eddie’s breath. “I could jerk you around with this. Leave it on while I fuck you from behind and use it to pull you back on my cock. Keep it tight enough to leave marks under your tits.”

Eddie can’t do anything but groan and bend over the counter in invitation. Sadly, Steve lets go of the bralette rather than letting it keep digging into Eddie’s ribs, but he makes up for it by grabbing his lace-covered hips and grinding his cock against Eddie’s ass.

“Perfect,” he breathes. “I can see right through your panties when you bend over like that. You didn’t tell me you were gonna wear a plug, too.” Steve’s thumb trails down the seam at the back of Eddie’s underwear, tracing it until he hits the silicone base of the toy plugging Eddie’s hole. He nudges it deeper just to hear Eddie’s breath hitch.

“Didn’t think you’d wanna wait,” Eddie explains, pressing back into Steve’s touch.

Steve chuckles. “You mean you didn’t wanna wait.” When Eddie looks up at the mirror, Steve’s reflection is looking right back at him. His eyes are molten with want. “You wanted me to push you down on the bed, tug your panties to the side, and slide right in, huh?” His fingers follow his words, pulling the lingerie out of the way and coaxing the plug out of Eddie.

“Steve,” he begs, keeping their gazes locked in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Steve tells him, reaching for the bottle of lube Eddie had left on the countertop. “You’re gonna get exactly what you wanted.” He slicks up his cock, wiping the excess from his fingers around Eddie’s hole, and then he’s lining up and pushing inside.

Eddie is suddenly aware of everywhere the lingerie is touching— the elastic waist and leg holes of the underwear leaving indentations in his skin. The band of the bralette fighting the expansion of his lungs if Eddie breathes too deep. The mesh covering his nipples chafing a little when Steve holds his torso against the counter. The wet spot where his cock leaks into his panties making him shiver when it presses into the cold edge of the sink.

And there’s Steve, around him, inside him, kissing the bumps of Eddie’s spine, fucking him so good it makes Eddie’s eyes water, trying to get Eddie to see himself like Steve sees him, something dark and beautiful and his…

In the mirror, Eddie watches Steve’s face as they both reach their peak. Creased brow, bitten lips, eyes scrunching shut against the inevitability of his orgasm. He feels the throb of Steve coming inside him, the weight of Steve’s hands anywhere he can reach, touching Eddie like he’s something holy. That touch grounds both of them when the pleasure threatens to carry him away.

For a moment, they both slump against the counter in exhaustion. Then Steve reaches down to feel the mess Eddie made of his panties, rubbing the come-soaked fabric against his cock until Eddie’s knees are shaking with oversensitivity. He does the same when he pulls out, kneeling behind Eddie to clean him up by sucking his own come through the gaps in the lace.

“Stevie, wait, too much,” Eddie slurs, waving a trembling arm back in Steve’s direction to make him stop.

“Sorry, baby.” Steve catches his hand and tangles their fingers together, then leverages himself back to his feet with a huff. “Hard to resist.”

Eddie turns around to face Steve, not his reflection, for the first time this evening. He looks the same but he’s warm flesh instead of cool glass when Eddie pulls him in for a kiss. “Thank you,” he says into Steve’s mouth.

Steve brushes their noses together affectionately. “Any time. Change your mind about the lingerie?”

He grins back. “I could be persuaded to give it another try.”

[purgaytorysupremacy]

oh nuts. a life experience has given me a new layer of perspective on Cas's homosexual declaration of love to Dean.

recently I had occasion to tell a person I had feelings for them knowing full well they didn't feel even a twinge of the same thing for me. while the whole thing was a decidedly unpleasant experience, I kept laughing at myself internally bc I didn't want to say "the happiness is just in saying it" like fucking Castiel over here. (we don't need to talk about it, it's fine.) (I am happier having said it and it's kind of bullshit, but I digress.)

because the thing is, the happiness isn't in just saying it, right? the happiness is in the having. I made a whole TikTok "proving" that the Empty didn't come for Cas when he confessed his love, but rather when he realized Dean loved him back. even for Cas, the happiness was in the having, not in the saying, however brief it was.

and I've always been one of those people who rolled their eyes at the whole concept. why would the happiness be in just being, in just saying it, if it's right there in front of you to have. and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks (as I was washing my kitchen counters).

Cas really didn't think he could have Dean.

at all. in any capacity. he really, truly, and honestly felt to the depths of himself that Dean did not have any twinge of similar feelings, that this really was a Hail Mary shot-in-the-dark. and I think me, personally, really didn't understand that about Cas. that his belief in his love being unrequited was that unshakable.

something else I've been pondering is how audiences have so much more empathy for fictional characters who share traits that IRL they find objectionable and unappealing. but the thing is about fictional characters is that we follow them around in their most private, vulnerable moments. we see Dean mourning Cas when he dies, literally killing himself because he can't live without him, but it's so easy to forget that we're the omniscient ones here.

Cas never knew.

Dean's whole thing was pushing him away, keeping him at arm's length, making it seem like whatever heroic thing he does for Cas he'd do for anyone. he downplays how important it is for Dean to share the Deancave with him, to show him his favourite movies, share his favourite songs. he acts like the things Cas does for him don't mean that much to hide how much they do mean. he uses "we" whenever he even gets in the vicinity of expressing a feeling. "We were worried." "We're glad you're back." "We needed a win." "You're our brother." The audience knew the difference. We saw how he'd clench his jaw or swallow hard or make a face that said "God, I'm being such an idiot". Because we saw him in those little moments. We got to see the cracks in the mask.

but Cas never knew.

the self-hating angel of Thursday was never going to think it was all a way for Dean to protect himself. obviously, that's the delicious tragedy of it all, but what I think I realized at the end of all that is Cas confessing his love to a Dean who didn't love him back wouldn't have worked. Because the happiness really is in the having. If happiness was just in saying it, then The Empty would have come before Cas even finished getting the words out of his mouth.

so Cas's plan wouldn't have worked if Dean didn't love him back.

this is just me yapping on about my own nonsense, but I do think it's really interesting. there's contentment in "just saying it". there's freedom and relief and an unburdening. I think one can argue that it makes being happy in the being easier. there is certainly some joy in telling a person you think that highly of them. but true happiness?

nah.

true happiness is always going to only be in the having. Cas didn't understand the difference until he experienced it, and by then, it was too late.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Hey do you wanna read about Ed Teach whimpering? Then boy do I have the fic for you. Here's a sweet one where Stede takes precious submissive Ed to a kink club and they have just a lovely time.

Featuring even more gratuitious use of "kitten" as a pet name, Ed's collar (and matching panties 👀), and Stede being the softest dom to ever soft dom. Ed spends this entire fic feeling needy, whiny, squirmy, desperate, and he is mewling and whimpering and bucking his hips and that is my promise to you. I would never lead you astray. About 3.5k words, rated E.

[fuwahua]

Worm my way into your heart

Happy belated birthday to genshin's worst ginger!!!!

WC: 2.8k

tags: zhongli / childe , established relationship , fluff!!!

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Excuse me?”

Zhongli blinks incredulously at Ajax’s furrowed brows and pout, falsifying hurt as he repeats himself. “I said, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“I… apologize. I believe I misunderstood.” May still be misunderstanding. The puzzlement on his face must be readily apparent since Ajax’s facade cracks into an amused smile, patting his shoulder patiently. “May I inquire about the source of your curiosity?”

“Well, Wanderer—”

Ah.

Ajax’s description of yet another debacle between the Traveler and their partner from Sumeru is no surprise, though the contents of said debacle are… interesting, put mildly. Lumine, for all her graciousness when speaking to him, seems to prefer the saying “might is right” when it comes to her new Anemo companion. He had never seen her so triumphant and boiling over with irritation as when returning from her weekly spats with the other; not, of course, that Wanderer was innocent by any means. One might suspect he enjoyed riling her up just to see the consequences she’d unleash upon him.

In that aspect, he and Ajax were remarkably similar.

“Then he called her a worm, like usual.” Of course, the usual. Zhongli nods as Ajax outlines the encounter, hands moving in the air to give a better approximation of the two combatants until they meet at the center. “And she was pissed, but instead of caving his face in like I would, she just said aww, would you still love me if I was a worm then? You should’ve seen it xiansheng, his face was hilarious.”

Wanderer’s bared teeth flash in his mind. “I imagine he was fuming.”

“Yep.” The word comes out popped, buoyant, and perhaps Zhongli should not feel so enamored by his lover’s amusement at another’s misery. Alas, it is a dilemma for another day.

“So? You getting it on with worm me or not?”

Befriending animal companions is a rather mundane pastime for a god who could carve stone into life. He humors Ajax with a hum. “The optics of this scenario are rather unclear: would you retain your same spirit, just encased in a different body? Is it temporary or permanent? Would I be able to communicate with you in human speech to confirm your consent to continue courting you? I would hate to offend you and any new instincts your worm form may give you, but in the case that we could no longer verbally communicate we should set up a system now: at the very least, yes, no, food, water, sleep, should be set in various signals. As worms have no hands, we could communicate with the number of times you wriggle your new body, but that comes with its own complications if you grow too tired of movement to—”

“Xiansheng! It’s not that serious!”

“I am merely concerned for your wellbeing,” Zhongli replies. He smiles as Ajax sputters, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. “Regardless, I suppose that answers your question quite clearly. In the highly improbable scenario that you are cursed to become a worm, I would still love you.”

“Thanks. Really feeling the love here.”

He chuckles, indulgent, and Ajax beams at the noise. He is beautiful in every sense of the word, but especially so when he gives to others, when his smile melts and gentleness smooths the vanguard’s harsh reputation. Zhongli reaches out his hand and Ajax takes it, filling an ache he never notices is there until it’s already soothed.

“And I?”

“Hm?”

“What about you?” Zhongli asks. “Would you love me if I were a worm?”

Ajax laughs, leaning into a kiss. “I mean, yeah? Rex Lapis already kind of looks like a furry worm, and I love you, so…”

“I–excuse me?”

“What?” Ajax bumps his hip, teasing. “I said I love you, worm and all.”

“You did. You also said that I already look like a furry worm?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, Natlan dragons are, uh, bulkier? They’ve got stronger arms and legs to traverse with but Rex Lapis, well—” Ajax huffs, amused. “When you fly, don’t you wriggle around like a worm?”

Zhongli gapes at him.

A worm. Six thousand years of history embedded in that body, carved into caverns long before they inherited the name of Liyue, worshiped across illuminated beasts and mortals alike. Even now, after his public death, the name and shape of Liyue’s deity remains holy to many.

Yet Ajax, his lover, called him a furry worm. 

“Hello? Earth to Wormli?”

Zhongli’s neck might’ve snapped if he were a mortal at the speed with which he turns to Ajax, affronted, displeasure and sheer bewilderment draining his face of color. Wormli? Worm-Zhongli? The strangeness of the combination aside, it was mind-boggling that Ajax would decide to call him such a thing. What had he possible done to incur such a horrendous word—

Ajax’s grin meets his gaze. Oh.

“You are deliberately trying to get a rise out of me. Not unlike Wanderer.”

“Don’t compare me to that shortie.” That grin grows pinched, Ajax’s brow twitching. He’d almost pin the look as guilty if not for the determined mischief that crosses Ajax’s face, intent on pushing until he wins his prize. Were it anyone else, it would irk Zhongli to have his buttons pushed so brazenly, not an ounce of respect for his person; but it is Ajax and for him, Zhongli is more than willing to let his buttons be pressed.

It helps that he knows Ajax enjoys his buttons being pressed much more.

“And yet you are deliberately acting like him.”

Ajax heaves a dramatic sigh before him and flops across his lap, arms raised in a manner that has the hemline of his shirt rising. His stomach winks as red fabric pulls taut, and Ajax flashes a crooked smile at Zhongli when he realizes he’d been caught staring. ‘What a terrible thing to accuse me of! Maybe I like the fluffiness of Rex Lapis, huh?”

“Is that so?”

His hands move slowly, hovering, and Ajax’s eyes dart between him and his face with growing trepidation. He hums, patient where Ajax is not, and his lover chuckles. “You’ve got a dangerous look on your face, xiansheng.”

“I’m pondering,” Zhongli says, “how best to respond to your taunts.” His hands touch the surface of that belly at last, skimming the skin with the back of his knuckles. It tightens, instinctual, but the grin on Ajax’s face doesn’t face and Zhongli indulges in his own smile as he tweaks the open side to Ajax’s flinch. “Would you prefer my traditional form? To be held down; to have fur caress the skin you enjoy flaunting, just like this?” His hands turn, nails pinching the thin layer of fat covering Ajax’s abs, and his love shivers. “Or perhaps you’d prefer my claws appreciating every centimeter of you, the pieces you hide from other gazes but eager to expose under mine?”

“That’s… a difficult decision to make.”

“I’m sure it isn’t so hard, considering your attempts to goad me.” Zhongli leans downward, arms holding Ajax steady as he kisses him. The warmth of it lingers and he hums. “If you’d like some attention, you could simply ask.”

“Yeah,” Ajax says. His grin is dopey, keyed up with his prize in his, well, Zhongli’s lap, and his arms loop around Zhongli’s neck. It leaves him defenseless, shirt spilling further open and skin eager for Zhongli’s touch. “But where’s the fun in that?”

And Ajax wonders how exactly he resembles Wanderer. But whereas Lumine has grown fond of might, Zhongli has come to appreciate other forms of discipline—if it could be called that, when Ajax craves it so. Who is Zhongli to deny his wishes?

His hands trail the window of exposed skin, gentle, kneading at the places he knows Ajax likes best. He likes a slower, deeper touch on the hips, light presses on the shallow curve of his stomach when sucking in; the shape of his abdominal muscles, stark against his skin when tense, are eager to be traced over with blunt nails. His hands press against the sides of Ajax’s waist, thumbing the backside that is often forgotten, and Ajax’s legs kick out at the sensation. There’s a chortling noise that escapes from his mouth, strained, and his brows knit together.

“C-cohohome on,” Ajax grits out, teeth clicking as he cranes his neck to Zhongli. “Is thahat all you nn got?”

“To properly map out its route, a worm must carefully explore its surroundings. It would be no good for it to rush through.” Zhongli says, drumming his hands on the twitching stomach in his lap.

“You’re nnnohat aha worm though!”

“Aren’t I?” His eyes twinkle in amusement, pinching the sensitive skin of Ajax’s underbelly and earning a bark of startled laughter. “That’s not what you said earlier.”

“T-thahahaha—!”

What snippy reply Ajax has is lost to a high-pitched wheeze as Zhongli’s hands move upwards, digits hidden beneath crimson red as his nails scratch in the divots of Ajax’s ribs. His lover gasps, head bobbing left and right before giggles break through his clenched jaw, hands tangling in Zhongli’s hair as they scrabble against his shoulders for a semblance of control; the warmth of those hands against his back is gentle, careful to not pull at his loose hair, and Zhongli finds himself distracted by how easily Ajax gives his care and joy away, a present in his lap.

It's with that thought that he leans over, kissing Ajax’s reddened cheeks, chuckling as they seem to flush deeper. “Have you thought about your answer?”

“Whahahat ahansweheher?”

“You seemed rather taken with the idea of my former body, so I asked you simply: do you prefer it for the fur or the claws?” He clicks his tongue, scrunching up the shirt as he thumbs the divots under Ajax’s outstretched arms. Ajax’s back arches, gasping, and his feet slap against the floor as he squirms in laughter. “I could give you both, if you wanted.”

“WaHAHAIt—nAHAHA!” A flash of panic crosses Ajax’s face before his head tips back, hands clenching and unclenching against his back as Zhongli presses against the curve of his uppermost rib and the bottom of his armpit, an area Ajax protests being teased at because he doesn’t know if the hands will rise or descent. He bounces in Zhongli’s lap as they linger, shaking.

Zhongli drinks him in, the sight of his open mouth, eyes scrunched in delight. It’s dangerous, what the idea of bringing more of that giddy, unrestrained laughter does to him; power thrums in his arms, prickling, and Ajax reacts to it with a shriek as he drums his way back down to his sides.

“You wouldn’t even have to wait. I could give either to you now,” Zhongli croons, and he nuzzles Ajax’s neck to a choked-out protest. His illuminated form, his old Archon robes, the body he’d built that had carried the traits of both… There was never a reason in modern day Liyue to shift back to those bodies and yet there has never been any temptation stronger than the sound of Ajax’s laughter, the sight of his smile, the touch of his hands warm against his back.

Ajax trashes in his lap, hips bouncing away from wandering fingers but never far enough to avoid them entirely. “PleaHAHAHSE!”

“It would be easiest if you preferred my claws. Hands are finicky to create, human ones especially, but manipulating the shape of the nailbed is a far easier transformation. Would you like that? Longer nails pressing against you like this,” he presses Ajax flat against his lap with the palms of his hands, nails skittering the jut of his hips and carving out a space that earns him desperate, shaky giggles. “It’d be easy for me to love your favorite spots, wouldn’t it? Like here,” they skim the taut skin of his stomach and Ajax trembles when they scratch against his navel to wild cackles. “Would you like that?”

“I CAHAHAN’T! AHAHARCHONS NNAHAHAHA DON’T!”

“No? You’d prefer fur?”

“ZHOHONGLIII!”

Ajax’s head shakes, hair matted to his forehead and cheeks with sweat, and Zhongli sees unshed tears beading at his eyes as he begs; his arms remain up and willing, but Zhongli has always appreciated Ajax’s limits more than he has. His hands slow, moving to dig into Ajax’s sides and earning deep belly laughs.

“I’ve had forms with my tail in the past; I didn’t need one as Zhongli, ordinary mortal, but I suppose there’s an appeal. I had a plume, you see, at the end of my tail. If you wanted,” he caresses bare skin as breathless whines punctuate Ajax’s tired giggles. “It could adore you as much as I do. Would you like that? For it to love you like I do?”

The garbled noise that escapes Ajax could easily be mistaken for a please. A plea for what—more or less, remains unclear, but Zhongli takes the opportunity to move his hands up to cup Ajax’s face instead, pulling him upwards for a kiss. Ajax is flushed red, ear to collarbone, and adoration bubbles in him as he presses another kiss against hot skin.

A hand presses against his lips when he goes in for a third and Zhongli blinks upwards to Ajax’s amused grin, arms dropping to his side. Lingering giggles leave him as his shoulders slump. “Hehehey there.”

“Hello,” Zhongli replies. He nuzzles against Ajax’s hand and presses a kiss to that open-faced palm. “Did I go too far? Are you feeling alright?”

Ajax scoffs. “I didn’t say stop, you know.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Peachy,” Ajax says, snorting as Zhongli picks up his other hand to deliver a matching kiss. “I’m fine, seriously. I could have kept going.”

“You push your limits too much.”

“Do you dislike it?”

The sound of Ajax’s laughter rings in his head, bright and free, skin warm as it twisted and bent beneath his hands. He thinks of that willing body darting away but never too far, laid bait to an ex-archon. Ajax bats his eyes at him, conniving, and Zhongli relents.

“No,” he says, “I don’t think I ever could.”

Ajax flashes teeth, pleased, before his eyes slant, familiar mischief already rearing its head. He pulls on Zhongli’s hands to kiss them in blatant mimicry. “Were you saying that stuff about transforming just to mess with me or were you serious?”

“A bit of both,” Zhongli admits. He chuckles when Ajax nips at his palms in reply. “It has been many years since I took on a form between this mortal one and the illuminated Rex Lapis; it’s wholly possible and I’ve done so many times before, but it would be a bit unfamiliar to do so without prior preparation.”

“Really? How much notice do you need?”

“Perhaps a few days at first though it should be an easy shift afterwards. Think of it as using old muscles—they are still fit to be used but require some stretching before they can be utilized effectively.”

The words leave him before he recognizes the grin already pulling at Ajax’s face though it is already too late. “So, if you start preparing now, I can see it in a week?”

“Ajax.”

“I’m just curious,” Ajax purrs. Zhongli’s eyes narrow, warning, though it has the opposite effect of stretching Ajax’s grin wider. “What was that you said about a tail? That I’d like it to love me like you do?”

“That wasn’t my intent.” Warmth flushes his cheeks. He would never be ashamed of his affection for his lover, but the heated replication of his words, teasing as they were meant to be in the moment, is embarrassing in how it affects him. Worse so the knowledge that his tail, if he were to have it out, would most certainly make its pleasure known by wrapping around Ajax’s waist and pulling him closer.

“It’s my intent,” Ajax replies. He pinches Zhongli’s cheek. “So, in one week’s time, I’ll get to see wormli?”

This, again? Zhongli sighs, pressing one hand over his eyes. He loves Ajax, he does, but it’s times like this that he sometimes wishes he could throttle the other. “I do recall saying that if you’d like attention, you could simply ask me.”

“I could,” Ajax says, “but what fun would that be?”

If nothing else, he supposes it’s a charming quality of how quickly Ajax can recover from his antics. Zhongli’s eyes narrow, considering, before Ajax yelps when he’s pushed downwards before bursting into giggles as hands grapple at his waist. He may not be able to throttle Ajax in good conscious, but there is plenty else he can do to entertain in the meanwhile.

(Ajax ends up very fond of the tail)