#whenever the kids mention anything that happened that related to the upside down they cover it up by just saying it was a campaign

[ghosttotheparty]

Oh, if you’re taking more prompts, this one, please?

65.  “We could always crash the party.”

Thank you!!

-steddierthings

thank you!!!!! this was so fun to write <3 cw: weed again, referenced domestic abuse

65. “We could always crash the party.” dialogue prompts!!

Eddie’s never really understood the appeal of celebrating the new year. He stopped going to parties years ago, staying home to watch some sports game with Wayne, quietly, casually saying, “‘S midnight,” when the clock hits twelve, to get a “Happy new year, son,” in response.

But Wayne is in North Vernon visiting his sister (whom Eddie hasn’t seen or spoken to in years), and Eddie didn’t want to go.

So instead of sticking to their (sort of sad) new year tradition, he’s driving his van out into the woods to get high and watch the fireworks, because he’s never done that before.

The woods are eerily silent when he gets there, driving through them until he gets to a clearing and gets out of the van, going to sit on the hood of it. He can hear the wind, the clicking of branches and the rustling of leaves, and he thinks maybe sometimes loneliness isn’t all bad. The world is wide. It doesn’t really matter if he’s a little cold because there’s no one around.

Except there is someone around, which he realises when he hears a car door slam shut. He nearly falls off the hood of his van, fumbling with the joint and lighter in his hands as he startles, and he looks around, finding a car parked a few yards away. Someone’s climbing onto the hood of it. He hasn’t seen Eddie.

Eddie stops, watching for a moment, wondering and curious. Because Steve Harrington is sitting on the hood of his Beemer, in the middle of the woods, on New Year’s eve.

Eddie likes Steve.

He’s dealt with him a bunch of times, and Steve’s never pressured Eddie to give him more than he paid for, which is the bare minimum, Eddie knows, but Eddie thinks it’s pretty good considering who Steve is friends with.

Was friends with, Eddie corrects himself.

Steve isn’t friends with anyone like Tommy H anymore. But he is friends with the kids Eddie’s dragged into Hellfire, which Eddie thinks is pretty cool. They won’t shut up about him, especially Dustin, who seems to think he’s the coolest, most badass guy in the world.

Eddie hasn’t seen him in a while. He hasn’t sold to him in a long while, and he wonders if it’s because of the kids.

Eddie approaches, flipping his lighter over in his hand, holding the joint, and a branch cracks under his shoe as he gets closer. Steve looks in his direction, startling violently with a sharp shout. He falls off the hood of the car, and Eddie claps a hand over his mouth.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“Eddie, why?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says again, holding a hand out and helping him up again. He’s breathing hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve pants. “Great.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says apologetically, watching Steve takes a slow breath, still holding Eddie’s hand tightly. He’s shaking. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve says, opening his eyes, nodding. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m the one that gave you a fucking heart attack.”

Steve laughs softly, squeezing his hand and taking another deep breath.

“I’m fine.”

He releases Eddie’s hand and climbs back onto the hood of the Beemer, exhaling. Eddie can see his breath in the air.

“You standing a date up?” Eddie asks, following him and sitting a little too close. “She’s not gonna have a new year’s kiss.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, looking at him. “I don’t have a date.”

“No?” Eddie looks him up and down shamelessly, at his slacks and button down, at his blazer that’s hanging open. He looks unfairly handsome, especially next to Eddie in his ripped jeans and stained jacket and ratty scarf. “Then why do you look like you’re going to Olive Garden?”

Steve snorts, looking away again, his eyes scanning over the trees and the darkness like he’s looking for something.

“Because my parents are having a stupid fucking party and they forced me to go.”

“But you escaped?”

Steve nods, his mouth twisting as he stares into the woods blankly.

“Doubt they’ve even noticed I left.”

“Christ.”

“Why are you out here?” Steve asks, blinking and looking at him. Eddie lifts the joint and wiggles it in the air. Steve’s eyes follow it. “Couldn’t you do that at home?”

“I could,” Eddie says. “But I thought… the fireworks, you know.”

Steve nods.

“Smart.”

“My best feature is my mind,” Eddie quips, and Steve snorts, shaking his head. “You disagree? Oh, you wound me, Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head again, smiling softly, but there’s something behind it.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks softly, nudging him with his elbow. Steve stares at the ground for a moment before he shrugs.

“Just kinda feel like shit.”

“Hm.” Eddie nods. “You know what would make you feel better?”

“What?” Steve asks quietly, looking at him, and Eddie holds the joint up to his mouth. Steve looks at it and his smile widens before he parts his lips for Eddie to place it in his mouth, and Eddie lights it for him, clicking the lighter and blocking the flame from the wind. They’re too close together. Steve inhales slowly, reaching up to take the joint away, and he coughs roughly, holding the joint out for Eddie to take. Eddie laughs, taking it and hitting Steve’s back a few times as he coughs into his elbow.

“You good?” he asks when the coughing subsides.

“Fuck,” Steve says. His voice is quiet and rough, and it sends something down Eddie’s spine. “Haven’t smoked in a while.”

“I can tell.”

Steve sighs heavily as Eddie takes a hit, looking at the sky.

“Why didn’t you go somewhere nice if you ditched your parents?” Eddie asks, blowing smoke at the sky.

“Dunno,” Steve says softly. “Got some offers from like… The Wheelers. ‘Nd Robin. But I…”

“Buckley?” Eddie questions. Steve nods, smiling.

“She’s my best friend,” he says fondly, and Eddie’s never believed someone so fast. “But I just… I don’t know. Don’t feel like being around people right now.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

“No.”

“…Okay.”

“You ever have that?” Steve asks softly, almost whispering. “Where you like… wanna be alone, but you also just… can’t stand it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “All the time.”

Steve sighs. Eddie holds the joint out to him, and Steve takes a slow drag, but he coughs again. Eddie laughs quietly when Steve mutters, “Eddie, no,” and holds it back out to him.

“Christ,” Steve says weakly.

“You ever shotgun?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.”

Steve leans closer, smiling softly, his eyes trained on the glowing end of the joint that brightens as Eddie takes a long drag. Eddie touches his chin, leaning in and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

He pulls away after a moment, looking at Steve’s closed eyes, watching him hold still and he holds the smoke in his lungs, and then Steve looks back at him, his eyes shining in the moonlight, and he blows the smoke across Eddie’s face. Eddie grins.

“Good?” he asks softly.

“Mhmm.”

Eddie touches his chin again before they pull away, and he can just manage to see Steve’s cheeks darken. He wonders.

“So why don’t you have a date for new years?” Steve asks after a moment. Eddie scoffs.

“Not many people that’d wanna date me.”

“Come on,” Steve says. “There’s gotta be girls that are into your whole… punk freak thing.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, holding up a finger.

“First of all, I’m metal, not punk,” he says sassily. “So watch yourself.”

Steve snickers. Eddie knows he said it on purpose.

“And second of all,” he continues, taking a short drag off the joint, “doesn’t matter if girls are into it. I’m gay.”

“Oh.”

Eddie waits for a reaction.

“There’s gotta be some gay guys in Hawkins,” Steve says finally. Eddie smiles at the ground.

“There definitely are,” he says. “But they don’t really want a relationship that goes beyond blowing each other in janitor closets.”

“You’ve done that?” Steve says, grinning.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie says, grinning back. “‘S fun. But that’s all I get.”

“He’s not into counting down the new year together?”

“Nah,” Eddie says, holding the joint out to Steve. “He’s probably making out with some girl by the punch bowl. Or doing a keg stand.”

Steve snorts, taking a drag and coughing weakly.

“You don’t seem too upset,” he says after exhaling.

“Guess I’m not,” Eddie says, looking at the sky. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

“I mean…” He sighs. He can see his breath in the air, like every breath is smoke. “If we go out, and people see us, or find out… His life is over.” He pauses. “My reputation can’t get much worse.”

“You’re pretty cool, Eddie,” Steve says.

Eddie looks at him.

“Are you high?”

“My tolerance has gone down, asshole,” Steve says, passing the joint back to him with a smile. “But no, I just think you’re cool.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush with warmth. It’s nice in the cold air. He looks away.

“You know, your kids won’t shut up about you,” he says after taking a hit.

“My kids,” Steve murmurs.

“Sinclair, Wheeler, and Henderson? Henderson especially, the kid worships you.”

Steve grins again, laughing softly.

“Right. My kids.”

“They told me you’ve played D&D with them a few times,” Eddie says, smiling, missing the brief confusion that flashes across Steve’s face before he covers it with a smile. “Steven the Selfless, Steven the Strong.”

Steve looks away, smiling bashfully.

“Forgot that’s what they call me,” he says quietly.

“How could you forget that?”

“I’ve had four concussions, Eddie,” he says, his voice too light for the sentence. “I forget a lot of things.”

“Four?” Eddie says, looking at him, wide-eyed. “Jesus Christ, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve laugh lightly. “Two from the old man, one from Billy Hargrove, and one from…” he trails off, staring off into the distance, his breath clouding the air in front of him. “…Something I can’t talk about.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Eddie asks softly.

Steve keeps staring, his lip twitching, his jaw working, until he says quietly, “Both.”

Eddie passes him the joint, and Steve takes a long drag, holding his breath as he passes it back before he exhales it all to the sky, closing his eyes. Eddie pauses for a moment, staring. He’s beautiful. His skin is golden even in the moonlight.

“What time is it?” Eddie asks after a moment. Steve opens his eyes and lifts his sleeve to find his watch. It's a digital watch. It looks like Dustin's.

“Almost eleven.”

“So close,” Eddie whispers dramatically. Steve smiles at the ground. “What do you wanna do?”

Steve sighs heavily.

“Should probably go back to my parents’,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says, wrinkling his nose.

“What do you wanna do?” Steve asks.

“We could always crash the party.”

Steve giggles.

“I’d love to,” he says, “but I don’t really feel like getting disowned today.”

“Doesn’t have to be obvious that it was us,” Eddie says.

“I’d like to key all their cars,” Steve says thoughtfully. “But I keyed my dad’s car when I was fourteen, I think it’d be too obvious it was me.”

“…You’re pretty cool, Steve.”

Steve giggles again, scrunching his nose. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“What else could we do?” he says. “Something subtle. Just to fuck with them.”

Steve hums quietly, looking at the sky.

“Could shut off the power. But I don't know how to.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“We could,” he says. “I know about electrical shit.”

“You do?”

“Mhmm. Odd jobs and shit.”

“Okay,” Steve says, grinning. He looks away, his tongue sliding over his lip. Eddie watches it. “We could… We could shut it off so they miss the countdown,” he says.

Eddie’s face lights up, and he jostles Steve excitedly.

“Now you’re thinking. Raise hell, Steve Harrington.”

They finish the joint together, and Eddie puts it out on one of the buttons of his jacket. Steve watches almost sceptically, but his eyes flash with something when they meet Steve’s.

They take the Beemer to the Harrington house and park around the back. The front driveway is packed with shiny cars. Eddie wants to key them too.

Steve leads Eddie to the breaker panel. It’s in the basement, and they have to find it in the dim light, finding their way around storage boxes and old furniture that Steve says he wants to burn. Steve finds it and calls Eddie’s name quietly.

“What time is it?” Eddie asks him softly when he comes over. Steve checks his watch.

“Forty-seven.”

“Should we wait until it’s closer to midnight?”

They barely even have to whisper, standing so close together.

“We can,” Steve says. “We’ll have to bolt, though.”

“‘Course.”

Steve is smiling, and his eyes flick across Eddie’s face.

They both stand in silence, listening to the party above them. Even the music is pretentious.

“God, I hate rich people,” Eddie says quietly.

“Tell me ‘bout it.”

“You are rich people, Steve.”

“That’s all daddy’s money,” Steve says, repeating Eddie’s own words back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Gotta feeling he’s gonna take it all back from me.”

It sounds like he cuts himself off, looking away.

“Why?” Eddie questions softly.

Steve looks at him, hesitation on his face for a moment before he says quietly, “Because I’m not who he wants me to be. And I’m never gonna be.”

Eddie looks back at him.

“Your dad’s a royal dickhead,” he says. “…I’m glad you’re you.”

Steve smiles softly, his cheeks darkening, and his eyes flick across Eddie’s face again before he looks at his watch and looks back up with a grin. They move around each other so Eddie is closer to the breaker panel, between the wall and a stack of boxes. Steve’s hand presses to Eddie’s back and trails across it as they move, and Eddie’s eyes widen, his breath caught in his throat.

It takes Eddie a moment to figure out the panel, and as soon as he shuts it off, the basement goes dark and there’s a scream. Steve bursts into muffled laughter, covering his face, and Eddie turns to shove at him as there’s a commotion upstairs.

“Go, go, gogogogo!”

They struggle to wind around the boxes in the dark, laughing and shushing each other. A box falls as they get closer to the door, and something inside it shatters.

“Oh my god,” Steve says breathlessly as they’re driving away. Eddie is laughing almost deliriously in the passenger seat, covering his face. “That was so stupid, why am I so excited?”

“You never had a rebellious phase, did you?” Eddie asks, taking a breath, looking at him, slumping in his seat. Steve is grinning.

“Did when I was fourteen,” he says. “Dad beat it right out of me.”

“Well it’s back,” Eddie says, swallowing the anger that rises in his throat when he thinks about Steve’s father beating up a child. “And you get to keep it.”

Steve's grin widens.

He pulls the Beemer up right next to Eddie’s van when they get back, and after turning off the car, he looks at his watch.

“Wanna watch the fireworks?”

“Yeah.”

They get out and sit back on the hood of the Beemer. Steve looks at the sky. Eddie looks at Steve. He watches his breath for a moment.

“Wait here,” he says, getting up and going to the van. He finds another jacket in the back. He drapes it over Steve’s shoulders, and Steve smiles, pulling it tighter around himself.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

They’re sitting closer together. Eddie’s side feels warm, almost pressed to Steve.

“They probably have the power back on by now,” Steve says quietly. Eddie snorts.

“It was still fun.”

They’re looking at the sky. Eddie looks down when he feels Steve’s hand on his arm, his fingers gripping Eddie’s jacket.

“Think this is the best new year I’ve ever had,” Steve says softly. Eddie suppresses a smile.

“What about all the ones you got to kiss pretty girls for?”

“This is better.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“What, new year kisses?”

“Yeah.”

They’re barely whispering.

Steve looks at him, his eyes shining and lidded, scanning over his face.

“Maybe a little,” he breathes.

Eddie swallows his nerves.

“You want one?”

Steve’s eyes are on Eddie’s mouth, and he takes a breath.

“Yeah.”

They’re closer now. Eddie didn’t even realise they’ve been leaning toward each other, but Eddie could count his eyelashes if he wanted to. (He kind of wants to.) Steve’s hand tightens on his arm. Eddie nudges their noses together before pulling away to look at him.

“You realise how gay this is, right?” he asks hesitantly. Steve’s lips curve into a smile.

“Gayness isn’t the craziest thing in the world,” he murmurs, pulling at Eddie’s arm.

“What is?”

Steve’s eyes are reflecting the moonlight. His tongue slides over his bottom lip. Eddie might be dying.

“Monsters,” Steve whispers.

His watch beeps.

Eddie leans in and their mouths crash together.

Steve’s hand jumps from Eddie’s arm to his face, and Eddie shifts to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist, but they startle apart when fireworks burst in the sky, wide-eyed at the loud cracking.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes. “Second heart attack of the night.”

Eddie laughs breathlessly, looking at Steve. His eyes are shining, reflecting the flashes of redorangeyellowbluegreenpurple, and he’s smiling, his cheeks rosy, every breath glowing in the air. His fingers are in Eddie’s hair.

Eddie realises he’s staring when Steve looks at him again, grinning. Steve leans closer, nudging their noses together. His breath is warm.

“Happy new year,” Steve says softly.

Eddie smiles, pressing his hand against Steve’s back to draw him closer.

“Happy new year,” he murmurs.

Steve tugs him into another kiss, grinning as he bites at Eddie’s lower lip, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck and moving to swing a leg over Eddie’s legs so he’s sitting on his lap. Eddie hums softly, and it briefly occurs to him that Steve’s suit is getting creased, but Steve doesn’t seem to care, his hands sliding from Eddie’s hair to his neck, tucking under his scarf.

His fingertips are cold, but his palms are warm, and Eddie pulls him closer, harder, his jaw dropping so Steve can lick into his mouth. He can hear the soft noises Steve is making, quiet whimpers and hums, even over the loud snaps of the fireworks exploding. (It’s Eddie’s new favourite song.) Eddie’s never been kissed like this before.

“Holy shit,” he gasps when they part, breathing hard. Steve is beaming, heavy on Eddie’s lap, fingertips pressing into the sides of Eddie’s neck. “Think I get the tradition now.”

Steve giggles, his forehead pressing to Eddie’s.

“Good way to start the new year,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

He kisses Eddie chastely, shivering. Eddie reaches up to his scarf, pulling away to unwrap it and then setting it over Steve’s neck, using it to pull him into a lingering kiss before he murmurs against his lips.

“Eighty-six, baby.”

Steve smiles again, tracing his fingers over Eddie’s now exposed neck before he kisses him again, holding him tight under the sparkling night sky.

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Midna wheezed. "Oh- Oh, Three protect me-"

"Midna, ya ain't even supposed to be here, I can make ya le- Twi, stop laughing, you're barely any better."

"Sorry." He gasped out. "How do you even cover that up?"

@peachy-scars hi! I'm the one that wrote your gift! (Hope it's not too bad...)

"Link." Midna greeted him, cup already in her hands. 

"Midna." He said, sagging down into the chair across from her with a sigh of exhaustion.

She slid a cup of warm tea over to him. "What happened?"

He picked the cup up, swirling the liquid inside. "Do you have anything stronger?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why, Captain! Drinking on the job?"

"I'm not technically on duty." He grimaced. "I probably shouldn't drink though, you're right."

"I never said you shouldn’t drink." Midna said, getting up to retrieve a flask. She sat back down, and poured whatever was inside into his cup until it was nearly over the top.

He took a sip, and held in a gag. "Three Golden Goddesses, what is that?"

"Just some traditional Twili whiskey." She said, pouring some into her own cup. "You're already handling it better than my husband."

"What's he like?" He asked. Midna had mentioned her husband a few times, mostly in the context of her rejections (the ones that weren't extremely brutal, at least), but she had never gone into any detail. "Other than, uh, 'abs for days and a cute little squishable face'."

She raised an eyebrow. "Attractive." 

(Yeah, he kind of walked into that one.)

He downed the rest of his whiskey and tea combination, grimacing. "Anything else?"

"Nice tits."

"Okay, I will lead by example." He held up a finger. "Uh, Kree is kind, and he's a knight, and his hair is very soft, and he's good with kids, and he has nice arms– fuck–"

"Feeling the effects of the whiskey so soon, Captain?"

"No." He grumbled. Surely he wasn't that much of a lightweight. He had never been one for drinking, but he had done it a few times.

"Really?" She said, pouring more into his cup. He had the feeling she was trying to get him drunk so he would say something embarrassing, but he had had a long day and didn't really care anymore.

"Yeah." He said, holding the tea cup delicately. "I'm fine."

And the next thing Link knew, he was waking up in Midna's bed, her hair in his mouth and their clothes switched.

"What happened?" He asked groggily, sitting up and adjusting her robes, which he was now all too aware were very revealing. He had a very vague memory of actually doing the complaining he came there for, but nothing that would indicate how that had happened.

Midna slapped her hand around, searching for the flask. "I think we drank too much." She held her prize upside down, and a couple of drops fell onto Link's (now hers) tunic.

"Do– doya think anyone saw us?"

"I have a reputation." She said, throwing her arm across her face. "I can't be seen drinking with you."

"What's that mean?"

"Captain, and I mean this with the utmost respect– you are boring."

"Why does everyone think I'm boring?" He groaned. "Y'all– y'all are so mean."

"'Y'all'." She giggled, and then clutched her head. "Ow."

-----

And then, whenever there had been a particularly stupid officer bugging him, Link would head over to Midna’s tent. Apparently, the bonds forged when you got drunk and made a fool of yourself were strong.

(He thought Midna just liked to talk shit about people, though.)

"Have I ever told you I'm married?" 

"Twilight." Warriors said, grunting. "I don't really think this is the time."

He rested his head on Warriors’s shoulder, leaning more of his weight on him. (Rude; he wasn't the only one injured, here.) "She's beautiful. Orange hair, just like a fire, the most beautiful tattoos…"

"Twilight, if you don't shut up, I'm going to leave you here to stitch your own wounds up." Had their potions been spiked, or was he just delirious with pain?

"She's a queen, ya know." He sighed. "I don't know why Midna picked me."

He nearly dropped him at that. "Midna?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it's not a Hylian name because she's not. Hylian, I mean."

"Really?" His voice seemed squeaky. Was it squeaky?

"Yeah." He frowned at him. "You don't have a problem with that, right? Some people think she's a monster just cause she's not Hylian–"

"What? No, I don't care."

He relaxed. "Good. I think she'd like you. You're easy to make fun of."

"Yeah, I know she would." He grumbled.

"What?" Twilight asked.

"What?"

"One time I heard her screaming." Twilight continued, either not caring about his evasive answer or too concussed to notice. "Found her standing on the table, staring at this tiny little bug in the corner."

-----

"Captain Link!" The soldier saluted. 

"At ease. Any news to report?"

"Ah." The soldier gulped. "Lady Midna is here."

"...Lady Midna?"

"Yes. She asked to meet with you specifically."

He stifled a groan. He had all of his duties to catch up on, no matter what Zelda said about special circumstances, and Midna was not someone easy to ignore.

(And there was still the matter of whether his Midna and Twilight’s were the same.)

----

"Hello, Captain." A voice said from behind him, just before an arm leaned on his head. "Been a while, has it not?"

"...Hello, Midna."

"Is that how you greet your friends, now?" She picked up a piece of paper from his desk. "You said something about a quest in your last letter, how's that been going?" She raised an eyebrow as if to indicate that that was a proper greeting (it wasn't, in Warriors’s opinion).

"It's been fine."

"My husband is on one, too." She tossed the paper aside. "I haven't seen him in months."

"So, uh, why are you here?" He bit his tongue, trying not to mention that her husband was on the same quest as him. He didn't know for sure that they were the same Midnas. It could have just been a very… odd… coincidence (but probably not, considering all the things they had told him. Goddesses, they were going to kill him when they realized how much embarrassing information he knew).

"Everyone in Link's village is… dull." Was that the first time she had ever said his name? "And I needed a break from my duties as queen."

"So, you came here to– what, mock me or beat the shit out of my soldiers?"

"Well, actually, I came here to beat up your soldiers and mock some of your government officials." She smiled fondly. "Zelda and I have such fun doing that."

He wasn't sure if she was talking about his Zelda or hers, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"Warriors?" A knock came at his door, accompanied by a familiar Ordonian accent. "Wild was wondering whe–"

Midna strode over to the door swiftly, yanking it open. Twilight was standing there, hand still raised, open-mouthed.

"Link?" She stared down at him.

"Midna?" He said, voice a bit shrill. "How are you–"

"The War of Eras. How are you here?"

"I'm– I'm on a quest with him?" Twilight pointed at him.

Warriors's eyes darted over the window, and he wondered whether he could make it over there before they caught him. He'd survived taller heights.

"Oh, no, Captain." Midna said, apparently realizing how grave the situation was and dragging him away. "You're going to tell me everything embarrassing Link told you."

"I don't know anything!" He squeaked. He knew lots of things; he knew too much about both of them. Was this how he would die?

"Ah, Midna, wait." Twilight said, pushing his way in front of Warriors. He could have cried, happy for the first time ever to see that ugly wolf pelt. "Don't you want to ask him what's all going on?"

"You're right." She narrowed her eyes. "I am curious why he kept this from us…"

"Because I knew this would happen!" He said defensively. "You're going to interrogate me!"

"Well, he's not wrong." Twilight said.

"Of course I'm not!" 

Midna patted him absently on the head. "Yes, yes, thank you." She turned to Twilight. "I can't believe he kept this from me. We bitched together. Does that mean nothing? And I'm the one who's supposed to have blackmail on him."

Well, that was a slightly concerning statement, but–

"Half of my letters I couldn't send anyway, Midna– Y'all'd've known that if you actually read them–"

"Y'all'd've." Midna said in delight, any signs of being upset disappearing immediately.

His eye twitched. He worked hard to cover his accent, yet it seemed Midna was always able to draw it out at the perfect opportunity to make fun of him.

Twilight snorted. "Damn, Captain. Even mine ain't that bad."

"Shut up." He hissed, not even trying anymore and letting his accent come out full force. He wasn't ashamed of where he grew up, after all.

Midna wheezed. "Oh– Oh, Three protect me–"

"Midna, ya ain't even supposed to be here, I can make ya le– Twi, stop laughing, you're barely any better."

"Sorry." He gasped out. "How do you even cover that up?"

"Practice."

"It's thicker than mud!" Midna leaned on his desk, gasping for breath. "Yet you sound like the perfect little city boy!"

He crossed his arms. "No one respects ya if ya have an accent like mine."

Twilight nodded, sobering up a bit. "Yeah, you're right."

His eyes flicked down to their matching wedding bands, and he stood up. "This has been nice and all, but I still have work to do–"

"I'll forgive you just this once, Captain." Midna said, leveling a finger at him. He had the feeling that she had just been messing with him the entire time. "Only because your accent is hilarious."

"It sounds just like his!" He protested. 

He coughed. "Well–"

"The thickness doesn't change how it sounds, Twi." He hissed.

Honestly. No one would have ever been this rude about an accent in Ordon.

[zuluoscarecho]

Same Same But Different

idk what this is. I wanted to write some smut. Instead I got feelings. I started watching Scorpion a week ago and I love one Dr Tobias M. Curtis more than anything else. Set after 2X06 Tech, Drugs, and Rock ‘n Roll.

Also on AO3

Happy stopped beside his desk and it took him a second to move his head to look at her. He didn’t hurt yet but he could feel a dull ache building. Right now he just felt like he was made of lead and moving, even to look at Happy, was a Herculean effort.

She was looking down at him, head cocked to the side studying him. “In your medical opinion, is it safe for you to go home alone?”

He paused, mind going a mile a minute, observing, calculating. He clocked the tense set of her shoulders - she was nervous, the way she made her own observations of him with her eyes tracking over him - she was…worried?

“Doc. You all right?” Her voice was as gruff as usual but she peered down at him rather than walking away.

“Yeah. Yeah I…” he trailed off as his brain got stuck on the wrinkle between her brows as she frowned at him. She was worried.

Happy took a step forward and touched his arm. The frown grew deeper and her other hand twitched like she wanted to reach for some tool to fix it, fix him.

He looked down at her hand on his arm and back up at her in what felt like slow motion.

“You don’t look so good. I’m not so sure you should be alone. Where are your keys? I’ll drive.” She was as abrupt and brusque as Happy ever was but there was a slight tremble in her usually surgeon-steady hands and despite not taking her eyes off him, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Happy was worried about him, she was concerned about his health, she cared. This wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt during a job, definitely not the first time any of them had been hurt but this was the first time Happy had sought him out to check on him and definitely the first time she’d offered to drive him home.

Happy turned and picked his keys from amongst the mess on his desk. She tugged on his ash covered sleeve with the other hand and he followed her without thought.

He’d follow her anywhere.

Happy was silent on the drive, which was no surprise, she wasn’t particularly loquacious at the best of times, especially not after a long and stressful day. What was a surprise is that Toby was also quiet.

He felt like his world had been turned upside down with Happy being nice to him, not that she was ever mean, she just wasn’t actively nice. He felt a little fizzle of warmth slide through him at the thought. He’d known that she liked him, or else she wouldn’t have been so upset when he messed up. But in the last few weeks, they’d settled back into their old friendship, albeit slightly stilted whenever their banter threatened to slip in to flirting. He’d thought it was too late, especially with Chet on the scene, but maybe not all hope was lost.

His brain was so stuck on Happy being concerned about him, playing their interaction in the garage on loop, that he didn’t notice where they were, or more accurately where they weren’t, until they were out of the car.

“This isn’t my apartment,” Toby said, glancing around owlishly as he followed Happy down a hallway to stop in front of number 7.

Happy looked back at him and shrugged one shoulder. “Nah, I don’t know where you live. This is my place.” She paused after she opened the door and turned a scowl on him. “Don’t touch anything, okay?”

He held up his hands in surrender as she opened the door. “I would never.”

She led him into the studio apartment. It was pretty spartan except for the multitude of appliances and engine parts strewn over anything that even resembled bench space. Both stools at the breakfast bar contained tool boxes and the coffee table was strewn with motor magazines. “Bathroom’s through there if you wanna shower.” She ducked down to rifle through the drawers of what looked like an old mechanics tool box and pulled out some clothes for him.

“Wait, who do these belong to?” he asked, holding up a pair of sweatpants and an old faded jumper. “Are these Chet’s?” He was exhausted and starting to feel that ache that always came after a physically hard job, not to mention the probably bruised ribs he had from Happy’s CPR, but he had a visceral reaction to the idea of wearing Happy’s boyfriend’s clothes. So much for independence.

Happy rolled her eyes. “No. Old boyfriend from college.”

Toby nodded, satisfied that at least the guy who’d owned these clothes was long gone, and turned towards the bathroom.

“Towels are under the sink!” she called after him.

Toby nodded as he shut the door behind him. The rush of the shower water helped calm his mind and for 4 blissful minutes he didn’t think about anything more than washing the soot and sweat from his skin.

Happy was fiddling with what looked the insides of an alarm clock on her kitchen bench when he came out of the bathroom, towel over his head as he scrubbed at his wet hair.

“Now I just want to sleep for a week,” he said with a weary sigh, voice muffled from under the towel.

Happy blinked at him. She’d never seen him look so soft and vulnerable. He looked dead on his feet and his usually considering gaze was almost blank from exhaustion.

All the times he’d spouted off about his feelings for her, playing at being sincere, and she did believe his feelings were real, but there was always some sort of agenda in the way he spoke to her, to anyone, some facade or wall between him and whatever could hurt him.

She could relate, but it made seeing him like this, his cheeks flushed from the shower and his hair sticking up in all directions rather than flattened by his hat, feel like she was seeing another side of him she’d never even gotten a peek at before.

“Uh, you sleep on the left, I like to sleep on the right.” Happy ducked down to dig out pyjamas for herself so she didn’t see the raised eyebrow or following shrug as he crawled into the left side of the bed without question.

“Anything I need to worry about with you tonight?” she asked turning back to him. “You know, medically?”

Toby’s eyes were closed when he replied and he looked almost asleep already with one arm tucked up behind his head. “No. As long as my heart doesn’t stop I’ll live.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll listen out for it.” With that she turned and headed into the bathroom herself and Toby was asleep before he even heard the shower turn on.

When Happy came back from the bathroom, Toby hadn’t moved. She stood beside the bed as she towel dried her hair, too tired and too concerned about waking Toby to use the hair dryer. She considered how on earth she was supposed to check if his heart stopped beating in his sleep.

She hung the towel up in the bathroom and carefully slid into bed beside him. She slowly moved closer to him and carefully lay her head on his chest, damp hair splaying out behind her. She could hear the steady thump-thump of his heart beat beneath her cheek and she felt herself release the tension she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding on to.

Ever since Walter had flicked that switch and she’d watched the oxygen levels drop, and Toby with them, she’d felt on edge, a tightness crawling across her skin. Even literally breathing life back into him hadn’t made the feeling go away but she could feel it ease now with every beat of his heart beneath her head.

When Toby woke up it was still dark. He could see brightness from the streetlights outside leaking in around the drawn curtains. His whole body hurt, but especially his head which is why it took him a minute to realise the pressure on his chest wasn’t the probably fractured ribs from Happy’s CPR but Happy herself curled up against him.

He blinked down at her head, dark hair spilling out behind her before he decided to ignore whatever this was and go back to sleep.

The next time Toby woke up he was alone but he could hear quiet movement and he dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom before finding Happy in the kitchen.

She was supervising an old Happy-style refurbished mixmaster that was slowly stirring a bowl with a wooden spoon.

Toby ran a hand through his hair, feeling it stick up and reminding him why he always wore a hat. “Hey, uh, thanks for driving me back here and letting me stay last night. I probably just would’ve crashed at the garage and we all know that couch is older than dirt. Anyway, I’ll go home and get out of your hair.”

“You don’t have to go. I’m making pancakes. You should probably eat something anyway.”

“Happy…” Toby trailed off, eyebrows showing his confusion. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but what’s going on? You bring me back here, let me sleep in your bed, I wake up in the middle of the night with you asleep on my chest - which admittedly could have just been a really good dream - and now you’re making pancakes? This is…not like you.”

“Iwaslisteningtoyourheartbeat,” she mumbled to the pancake mixture.

“What?”

Happy huffed and turned to glare at him without saying a word.

“Why are you glaring at me?” he asked in bewilderment.

“I was lying on your chest because I was listening to your heart beat!”

Toby still looked confused. “Okay?”

“You know, so you wouldn’t die,” she said turning back to her pancakes. She turned off the mixer, getting out a frying pan to heat. “You almost died yesterday, or you did die, I don’t even know.”

Toby shrugged nonchalantly, like it was something that happened all the time. Near death experiences hadn’t actually been super common for any of them up until a few years ago. Unless you counted the number of daring escapes Toby had made from people he’d owed substantial amounts of money to. “Technically dead, but not brain dead seeing as you resuscitated me in time.”

“Whatever. I just wanted to know you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” Toby said slowly. “And we all almost died yesterday. You were stuck in the pump room that was on fire, Sly was stuck with the kids, also on fire, and Walter was…Walter.” Toby shrugged as if that explained Walter and to be perfectly honest it kind of did.

“It’s not the same,” she said. She turned to face him and looked at him the way she always did when she couldn’t find the right words but knew he’d find them for her. “You know it’s not the same.”

Toby shook his head and moved to stand in front of her. “No, I don’t know that it’s not the same. You froze me out, you said we were just friends, colleagues. It is the same, Happy.”

Happy bit her lip and looked up at him. “It’s not the same.”

Toby let out a breath and nodded at her, or himself. “Okay then. I’ll stay for breakfast.”

[tessatechaitea]

Scarab #6

I don't know what's happening on this cover but I definitely have a new sexual fetish.

This comic book stars a raccoon. Rating: A+.

Most of the weird dialogue in this comic book probably comes from John Smith's high school notepads full of terrible poetry. I mean, this part about winter isn't too bad! I kind of like it. It's almost as if William Carlos Williams and H.P. Lovecraft were caught in a Star Trek transporter malfunction where their minds were melded but they had to overcome the horror of their new two-dicked physical existence to continue writing poetry. I knew John Smith was English from his previous work on 2000 A.D. and other British comic book periodicals but then he uses the phrase "Chinese whispers" in this issue and I think, "If I hadn't already known he was English from his previous work on 2000 A.D. and other British comic book periodicals, I'd now know he was English by his use of the phrase 'Chinese whispers.'" Here are some of the ideas John Smith throws into a two-page account of Scarab's recent adventures that he couldn't bother writing into full scripts but wanted everybody to know he thought up anyway: a television at the Waldorf haunted by the 20th Century, a pervert breaking the spirits of kids with his Zoo of Shame, The Phantom Barber stealing scalps from runway models, the world's sexiest man raped by Tarot cards, and the Electric Fetus Machine which manifests as a large organ whose music foments rebellion in fetuses. Is this how the British writers took over DC's adult comic books? By occluding our minds with so much random and weird pseudo-philosophical garbage that we couldn't think straight? Sure, I guess an Electric Fetus Machine sounds like a way better story than Batman beating The Riddler near to death. But is there really any substance there? I suppose there could be if the idea were fleshed out and some kind of theme built around the idea of fetuses rebelling. Maybe all of these ideas John Smith throws out are just a game of Chinese whispers where he takes, say, a story by John Barth from Lost in the Funhouse about the thoughts of a sperm considering how the race toward life is pointless and, maybe, they should all just give up, and he turns it into the Electric Fetus Machine so that when I read it, I don't instantly think, "Isn't this a John Barth story?" Instead, I think, "That's a better sounding story than the one where the guy is raped by the Three of Wands!"

Meanwhile, Scarab spends his downtime watching Eleanor turn into a Dr. Seuss tree. Or a mushroom cloud (because remember the theme established by the beginning quote and title?!).

Try to ignore Scarab's ass in the previous scan. It's phenomenal. If you're training to be a comic book artist, you need to spend a lot of time getting the ass right. And once you do, you'll never get an ass in pants right again because all you have ever learned to draw is a naked ass which readers will know is actually under skin tight Lycra unless the colorist completely shits the bed. The guy in the jar on the cover is a Russian experiment in psychotropic warfare called a Gloryboy. There are three of them and they're some kind of pacifist dream come true. They constantly mutter Vertigo phrases in a tonal frequency that makes normal people vomit and shit themselves. It's the Brown Note theory of winning battles but taken to the Vertigo extreme. Instead of a whomping bass sound system, the noise comes form a naked albino in a jar composed of dream matter. Maybe they're not composed of dream matter. And maybe they're not about pacifism at all. It seems they've been altered and experimented in such a way that they can give voice to "the Scream over Hiroshima!" That sounds pretty bad. It's probably some form of psychic bombardment, comparable to a nuclear blast, which drives everybody in the vicinity completely insane. Or maybe it really will just be a thing that pacifies everybody because have you ever tried to do anything while shitting yourself? I mean other than read the ingredients in your shampoo. And even then, I bet you take your eyes off the bottle for a moment to really be in the moment. As an aside, do women find shitting as enjoyable as men or is it just the fecal matter pressing up against our prostate as it passes that makes a big shit feel so good? The Russians test the Scream Over Hiroshima on London. What it does is project into the minds of everybody who hears it the entire reality of what happened in Hiroshima. It's the truth of war. It's pure horror and death and consequence. It probably also makes everybody shit themselves. But when it's done, they'll all understand, on a physically primal level what war is. And the assumption is that everybody will finally be against it, I guess? I've been on Twitter for many years and the one thing I know is that even physically experiencing the horrors of the bombing of Hiroshima isn't going to change the minds of most idiots. I mean, if you didn't become a vegan pacifist hug machine after hearing Sting's song, "Russians," why would you become one after living the horror of fifty thousand lives snuffed out in an instant?! Some people, you just can't reach. London turns into a burning chaotic mess as everybody flips the fuck out from suddenly experiencing the most painful thing they've ever experienced. Scarab arrives after it's all over and everybody is afraid of him. Surprise! There's nothing he can do. He just observes the mess and meets a psychic who tells him that Eleanor is coming back. And isn't that the most important part of this eight issue story? That Louis the Scarab's love returns to him while the rest of the world falls into death and chaos? Scarab #6 Rating: C. Smith seeded this issue with more story ideas than story. The main story is an idea that really goes nowhere as well. It's a thought experiment. It's a minor philosophical musing. And Scarab doesn't do anything but distract himself from his wife's condition. But it also wasn't uninteresting. So I think that means it's a C? What am I, a high school teacher? I don't know how to grade shit!