#would anyone read them lmao

[hotchtits]

essays i want to write about hotch

hotch and fire -> who couldn't he save? what happened?

hotch and gideon's relationship -> because spencer wasn't the only one gideon walked away from

the foyet arc -> specifically the stabbing. specifically how it was almost 100% also sexual assault and how hotch chooses to deal with it

hotch and anger -> i wonder if he has his father's temper

hotch and his team -> he loves them so deeply, so completely. that has to take a toll.

the scratch arc -> being drugged like that has to leave some kind of deep mental scars. as well as seeing a victim with your name carved into their forehead. also im convinced that if TG hadn't left, spencer's prison arc would have been hotch's instead.

hotch and autism -> and how he sees a freedom in reid that he feels he's never had for himself.

hotch's childhood -> "an extremely violent, abusive household" ok lets expand on that!!

hotch and leadership -> heavy is the head that wears the crown

[kagoutiss]

green beetle black beetle

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them

[zelda-daily]

Announcement: GOAL!

Hi! So we finally made it to day 100 - the goal I set out to do from the start but had no idea if I could actually reach lol.

I made this blog in the middle of dealing with art block. I hadn't really been feeling inspired to draw or create much for about a year.

The longest I've ever lasted on a daily drawing challenge before this was day 3. Now that I've made it to day 100 and I'm finally starting to get ideas and inspiration again, I'm satisfied :]

This is NOT the end of the blog. Just a hiatus until the next art block, which (let's be real) will probably be sooner than later lol.

Thank you to everyone who's been following along so far. I really, genuinely appreciate all the tags and comments and familiar faces.

Until next time! <3

[screamingfrenchfries]

bless google scholar because i just KNOW if i searched "psychological abuse in relationships" on normal google id be put on some sort of watchlist when i'm just trying to do research for an essay on some silly little cartoon guys

[gd-dollopole]

I cannot stop thinking about the comparison between BBC Merlin and Smallville.

As the directors of BBC Merlin have said, an inspiration has been taken from the ten long seasons of Smallville, an US TV show I always loved, and literally grew up with, and since a few months back, I also made a re-watch of Smallville, I can’t stop thinking about the potential BBC Merlin could have had, if it actually followed some bits of the storyline of Smallville.

We can already see some of the similarities between the shows:

Merlin wears a red neckerchief with a blue tunic and viceversa, like Clark Kent, and whenever he’s hopeless or sad or angry, he wears worn out grey colours, and as an avid fan of Smallville, I can assure you that Clark Kent wears the same things;

Clark Kent has to hide his powers in a world that would hurt him, kill him, or experiment on him, if he let on his deepest secret, and for that, he not only loses the people he cares about the most, much like Merlin does, which are his father, his friends, his lovers, and almost even his mother, but forbids himself to fall in love, and therefore pursue any kind of relationship;

he’s witty, yes, like Merlin, but also shy and brave and lonely.

But the difference between Smallville and Merlin is that in Smallville, there is the closure I would have liked to see in Merlin:

Clark kent does hide his secrets, and he is good at it, until everyone else finds out about him, all on their own.

We’re talking about everyone (maybe because Clark/Merlin are not as sly as they think):

Lex and Lionel and Luthessa Luthor, Lana Leng, Chloe Sullivan, Pete Ross, Oliver Queen and so many others, either because they already had their suspicions or because someone else showed them.

And this brings the right amount of angst in the show, mixed with the betrayal and the lies and the secrets and the love triangles and the tropes that come out of them.

But where is Arthur in this picture?

Oh, this is the good bit.

For very obvious reasons, apart from the fact that he doesn’t talk as much as her, Arthur is definitely Lois Lane.

FROM THIS MOMENT ON, SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN’T WATCHED SMALLVILLE:

Lois Lane makes her appearance as a main character in the later seasons, after Clark understands that he has officially lost Lana, and starts working at the Daily Planet, in the same office as Lois.

But, unlike Arthur, Lois loves Superman (or The Blur, as he’s called for the entire ten seasons of Smallville, because he’s always caught on camera, but just as a blur). She talks to him in secret, and Clark masks his voice through the phone, he helps her and she helps him, he saves her innumerable times (does this remind you of anything?), and each time Lois compliments The Blur, Clark gets angry, because it’s his alter ego who gets the praise for a job well done, and not him, the clumsy idiot of the Daily Planet, much like everyone else in Merlin’s life has always got the credit for saving Arthur’s life, instead of him.

But what they should have given us in Merlin is what they gave us in Smallville, and it would have honestly made for the biggest magic reveal:

once Clark needs to fend off another enemy of the year, and thinks he’s going to officially die, he goes to say goodbye to his friends and his most loved ones, Lois included (“I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die”).

Although, unlike in Merlin, where Arthur is a sweet himbo, who doesn’t inspect, and who doesn’t suspect anything, Lois had her suspicions, given that she and Clark had not only started falling in love, but now worked together too, and since she cared a whole lot about him, she follows Clark.

In the Smallville TV show, Lois hides behind a building from where, minutes later, Clark falls from. Lois believes he’s dead (Clark is immortal, and this begs the questions again: does he remind you of anyone?), and notices that he’s been stabbed in the chest with a blue crystal (context: the blue kryptonite removes Clark’s powers, and renders him human, and therefore mortal, unless the kryptonite, much like the green one, gets away from him). Following her guts, and sad and desperate that the man she loves the most might die, and believing in her suspicions and instinct, Lois pulls the crystal from Clark’s body, but the moment she hears some clutter, probably thinking they’re the enemies, she runs away, and goes back hiding.

And there, she sees him.

Clark grunts, gets up, completely safe ad healthy, sees that the crystal may have fallen by itself, or simply disappeared (and actually asks himself how that could have happened) and runs away:

by using his super fast power.

And Lois sees him.

Now, what could have been perfect was, if Arthur did the same.

After an attack gone wrong in the woods and losing sight of Merlin, he goes searching for the idiot, yelling something very along the lines of, “Where’s that useless buffoon?”, when he’s actually worried sick, and finds Merlin stabbed in the middle of a clearing.

Now, Arthur despises magic. He loathes it, he doesn’t trust it, yet, bless him, he still tries to understand it. This could have happened after Uther’s death, the moment Arthur’s reign begins.

He watches Merlin.

Arthur’s alone and shocked and scared and sick, so he drops to his knees next to him. He does not cry, he does not scream, he does not faint, that’s not really him at the end of the day, right? (Lois is the same. She grew up in a strict household with a strict solider father, and has lost her mother, and she had to be the parent to her older sister… Very, very much like Arthur). Or that’s what he thinks, and out of pure desperation, and something that sounds a bit like love, just like Lois Lane, since Merlin flinches, when he should be dead, for goodness’ sake, and out of instics and probably destiny, Arthur pulls whatever has stabbed Merlin out of his abdomen.

But as soon as he does, and as soon as he hears the knights coming close to him, and not to alarm anyone, and because he does not want them to see him in this sort of shocked state, Arthur hides behind a tree.

And there, he watches as Merlin, half dead and half alive, calls for Kilgharrah.

And Arthur has the same reaction of the finale.

He does not act on what he just discoveres.

At first, he’s sceptical, once Merlin comes back like he always does (and now he knows why and how), so he avoids him, he makes awful jokes, or hints about magic and about how powerful and dangerous it can be.

But once he’s sort of gone over this phase, noticing that Merlin hasn’t done anything with his big powers, like showing him off or anything of the likes (because Arthur has always known, magic or not, that Merlin would have never hurt him or Camelot), Arthur becomes… Curious.

And here comes the part that aligns with Smallville (we can also add the sexuality/gender identity/coming out metaphor):

much like in Smallville, and with magic and superpowers, and like in real life, someone does not force this information out of people, but Arthur, like Lois, is dying of curiosity, and just wants Merlin/Clark to trust him/her and tell him/her his secret, because he/she already knows of it.

So Arthur starts doing what Lois did.

The day after everything is well, and Lois now certainly knows about Clark’s superpowers, and the fact that he is The Blur, she goes to work, until Clark arrives too, and tells her that he must be quick for something, and needs some documents for a research. Lois stalls, and pretends she’s being SUDDENLY clumsy and a bit of an idiot (this would go perfectly well with Arthur, because he is an idiot, and he is also smitten with Merlin), and let her pen fall under the desk, to see what Clark would do.

And he uses his powers.

So imagine a wild Arthur in his natural habitat (his chambers), bored like no one else, and on the verge of imploding, because his manservant and best friend and love of his life he’s being stubborn and an oaf and an idiot and a toad.

He lets the apples or the sword or the belt fall under the table, pretends he’s keen to an act of kindness, and picks up the items himself, instead of letting Merlin do it, while he instructs said servant to do something else in the meantime.

Shocked at first, but following through with the orders, Merlin does as he’s being told, after throwing several sceptical looks at his prat of a king, and as soon as Arthur gets up from his crouched down position on the floor, the bed is already done, and the clothes are already folded, and Arthur goes mad, because, oh, he was right, and what else can Merlin do?

The curiosity gets him as much as his developing feelings for the cretin, with apparently super magical powers, who could also break a neck with a flick of his eyes, if he wanted to, and Arthur starts pretending to be even more of an idiot to see more magic, without Merlin knowing that he’s actually showing Arthur his abilities.

And the best part of it all?

The magic reveal.

I love Smallville, because the way Clark confesses his secret to Lois isn’t anything grand or majestic.

Yes, Clark does take Lois flying; yes, he also shags the living brains out of her, IN THEIR FARMS IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE (I must do this again but, does this remind you of ANYONE/ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR?), but he’s just built and hot and intelligent, but also very, very shy and a bit silly.

That’s why I love Clark the most as the best version of Superman, and Merlin as the best version of the famous wizard.

So Clark calls Lois to meet him in one of the Daily Planets departments, where documents and papers are stashed and kept there, on the last floor of the building, and where no one ever goes, and he fidgets a bit with his fingers, and he stammers a lot, and Lois is about to lose it, because still, after all these years, and our love? And how can Clark not tell me? Does he not trust me? Does he not want me like I want him? And all these emotions are well encompassed on her face, because Clark fails to tell her, and he says that he’s sorry, he can’t lose her, he can’t take that risk, he has lost so many loved ones already, and what does Lois do?

She understands, because she loves Clark, and she does not want to force him.

She gulps her tears, she miles brokenly, she nods, she tells Clark that it’s fine, but when she’s about to turn on the elevator, Clark realises that the love of his life is about to slip away from his fingers, and just blurts his secret out like a bloody moron.

Much like Merlin would do.

“I’m The Blur.”, he says, and Lois smiles, she turns around, and she runs to him, and literally jumps him, until they both fall back together, and laugh and stutter out their words and yes… They end up snogging.

Now, I want you to imagine a wild Arthur standing on one of the towers or balconies in the Camelot castle, while Merlin is being the usual insecure, oblivious man Arthur’s known for over ten years, and he turns around at the confession, and he runs to Merlin, and he pulls him to him, and while in this version, Arthur gives Merlin a concussion, as he hits the stone floor (because they are romantic, but also more stupid than Lois and Clark, since they’re, you know, a bloody gay disaster), he snogs the shit out of him too, and they start working together, and getting rid of the enemies together, and form a bond that is even deeper than the one they had before already, and Arthur meets Hunith’s mother as someone else entirely, while the chaos ensue, and so do the messy feelings:

like it happened in Smallville, but did not, because Lord forbid the gays, happened in BBC Merlin.

The knights of The Round table are the other DC superheros, and Guinevere could either be a superhero of her own or the wise and smart counsellor, who would be the journalist in Smallville, and Morgana is still Arthur’ sister, good or evil, it does not matter (she could either be after Merlin or after him, the options are innumerable).

Morgana is basically the obnoxious sister Lois’ has always had, who even gets a fake crush on Clark/Merlin to manipulate the two (these TV shows are too similar, I swear).

But I’m not done.

Oh, no, I’m not.

Because imagine all of this, imagine Smallville, but as a literal crossover with Merlin:

a fanfic where Merlin is the apparent imbecile employee at the Daily Planet, who actually has so many super powers, and he’s invincible, and his boss is Arthur Prat Pendragon, who is sceptical of superheroes, and his father Uther haunts them down, and is the owner of said Daily Planet, and loathes Merlin, because he talks about superheroes in his newspapers, and about his dad, because sodding fucking hell, he could control dragons.

Imagine the mess as these two fall in love, even if Merlin thinks he hates the rich, twat boss, whose order he has to follow, while Arthur treats him like a servant, rather than a journalist; Gwen could be either Chloe or Lana Leng, the best friend or the past lover, and Lancelot becomes Guinevere’s Jimmy or Oliver Queen, and Pete Ross is Will for Merlin, and Uther, is still the mad man they have to defy.

Merlin could have had so much potential, and a plethora of ways to have the magic reveal happen, and yet it was not used, and yes, if you didn’t notice, I’m still so mad over it.

I cannot fathom the amount of happiness I would have felt if they actually merged two of my favourite TV shows ever together, a good crossover between Smallville and the Arthuriana, in this case, BBC Merlin in particular.

[triglycercule]

ok so there's murder time trio where theyre best buddies and get along and sometimes even having more than just platonic interactions. and then there's also the murder time trio where they genuinely just don't like each other and avoid each other and do NOT get along and to me there's just a VERY clear timeline of events that could connect these two group dynamics. like these 2 could coexist,,,,,,

nightmare's fresh outta his little corruption sequence and he needs his henchmen. goes out and gathers the obvious three killer horror and dust (does it really matter how he got them??? kidnapping or not the trio will warm up to him). its his first time having to deal with mentally unstable grown up mortal men and he really has no idea how to manage the team so he lets them have some slack. spoils em a bit yk yk stops fights allows them to hang out allows em to screw around the castle even COMFORTS them,,,, shocking i know (a slightly nice nightmare interpretation from triglycercule? UNFATHOMABLE!!!!)

this killer's fresh outta something new so he's still kinda curious and nosy. he hasnt seen the multiverse and especially not interacted with nightmare/horrordust so he's kinda more outgoing and friendly (ish. to get to know better everyone and satisfy the curiosity of seeing what reactions and feelings these fellas could give him.) bc killer's not that much of a prick and horror and dust would naturally SLIGHTLY get along (and if in the right environment be good buddies. which is nm's lenience and killer's not shittiness) the mtt actually get along pretty well and are good buds!! like the first group dynamic i mentioned where the bad sanses are just kinda like a friend group except they have some weird work relations

and then a fight breaks out and nightmare kills either dust or horror (what about??? anything!) likely dust first because he's more likely to be wary of nm (if kidnapped) and also because he's just kinda more actively righteous compared to horror (who likely wouldn't do much against nm) or killer (does not give a shit.) dust dies, horror likely dies defending dust and that just leaves the og killer and nightmare

nightmare is like "oh shit i just killed my workers". he'll take like a week to ponder what he did and then completely move on (because hes an ass like that.) nightmare gets another horror and dust to replace the ones he killed. and killer is just like wtf how do i deal with this. the guys i were kinda friends were are dead but their copies are right here. like he knew copies existed in the utmv but he didn't think nightmare was so willing to replace them so fast???

this killer's still adapting to the multiverse and stuff (it probably hasn't even been a year since he got snatched up!!!) and yeah hes aware that copies exist and he could get replaced by one but he didn't think that it would LITERALLY HAPPEN RIGHT BEFORE HIS EYES. so he decides to stick more around nm and avoid getting replaced like the og dust and horror because it really just hammers in the point that he's kinda useless if he speaks out like those 2. hes avoidant of the new replacements as well bc hes still new to this experience and is getting used to the whole implications of two guys that were once him and he was friends with died and got replaced by basically the same person

but they still have to work together for obvious reasons. and even if killer's avoiding horror and dust they probably aren't avoiding each other and probably are like wary friends/acquaintances. and naturally killer HAS to become okay worker buddy pals with them because hes stuck living with them. nightmare's a lot stricter and cold to avoid something like dust's rebellion against him happening again. mtt are wary of each other (mostly towards killer. horrordust are pals and killer's kinda growing more apathetic to the duo because he's already experienced a lot of the stuff before with the og two that died.) but theyre still "friends" you could say

and then perchance maybe horror and dust decide to let killer in on a lil secret theyve been cooking up. theyre planning to escape (kidnapped DUH. and nm isn't as nice as he was to og horrordust to warrent them to wanna stay) and even though they don't really trust killer theyre still letting him in on the plan and offer for him to come with them because they lowkey feel bad for him and he's really not all that bad under all the bullshit

but killer saw what happened to the og dust and horror so he says no. and the night that the duo are planning to escape he just has this overwhelming sense of dread. the next morning he wakes up to nightmare standing over his bed with a cold glare telling him of horror and dust's attempted escape and death and killer just kinda. sighs. his dread was right (he was lowkey hoping that they could escape so they didn't die like the original 2)

and then the cycle repeats. previous dust or horror or both die to nightmare or some random outside force or escape (because it has to happen eventually right??) and the pair keep getting replaced. killer keeps witnessing their deaths and replacements and at this point he's just so used to it that he doesn't even TRY to interact with the new horrors and dusts. theyre not even like real people that are getting killed and replaced like robots to him anymore they're just distant coworkers that get fired and then a new one comes to take up the position

each new dust or horror is icked out by nightmare and killer. nightmare is incredibly cold and intimidating and dictatorial and just sucks in general. and killer gives them this distant look. like he knows something they dont. he's already proven to them that he knows that they should obey nightmare and how to deal with the king and they know he's been here longer than them but even when he's not with nightmare or not talking about him they get the blank stare

sometimes when a nicer replacement of horror decides to do something nice for killer like make him a meal he just gives him that look and declines (there's already been countless different horrors that tried doing nice stuff for him. it's not new and nice in his eyes anymore.) maybe when a dust replacement gets irked by killer's apathy and decides to try and say something that'll bother him or snoop through his personal stuff killer will just walk away or kick him out of his room with that creepy ass blank stare again (it's not the first time a dust has tried to rile him up. it's not new or interesting and just predictable)

killer just doesn't CARE about the new horrors and dusts. they're all pretty much the same two guy except maybe a bit nicer or meaner or quieter or even taller or something?? all he really cares about is is serving nightmares atp, no other outside relationships. and ngl he doesn't even care that much about nightmare either. he's already figured out his thinking he's already figured out all of his likes and dislikes and what not to do to piss him off. the only reason he's still dealing with him is because he doesn't have anything else better to do and he doesn't wanna be useless to the one guy that he's served all this time

he's just kinda stuck in an empty boring limbo that killer's only maintaining due to a lack of motivation and any other priorities. and personally i just think this bad sans dynamic is lowkey tragic because like killer keeps witnessing all these guys that he used to be friends or enemies or rivals or whatever with and they just keep dying or leaving him behind. not one ever stays for THAT long (because no wayyyy a dust or horror would take being under a cruel nightmare well) and it's given him this idea that none of these people matter (aside from the important one which is nm) because they're just gonna leave me and the connections ill have formed with them will be for nothing so why even try being vulnerable and friendly and interacting with these cheap copies of the guys i USED to be friends with

[ghosttotheparty]

something like bones and glass

warnings: homophobia; religious homophobia; f slur (several times); brief mention of pedophilia; past child abuse and neglect; violence/fighting; blood; rough sex also on AO3

Steve’s parents come home. Without warning.

Usually they call a few days in advance, just to let Steve know, probably because they assume Steve has friends over, has parties that he has to clean up after, but it’s been a while since that happened. It’s still nice to know when they’ll be home, just so he can prepare himself. So he knows what day he can hole up in his room or escape to Robin’s or Nancy’s.

But he hears their car pull into the driveway as he’s kissing Eddie against the wall by his bed, as Steve is pushing his hands under Eddie’s shirt to press into his skin, as Eddie is pulling his hair, and they both pull away at the same time to blink at each other in confusion.

“Nancy?” Eddie questions, still gripping Steve’s hair, and Steve shrugs.

“She didn’t say she was coming over.” He pecks Eddie quickly before letting go and going to the window. Eddie leans against the wall, watching him smooth his shirt down before he freezes, his eyes widening. “Shit— It’s my parents.”

Eddie’s stomach drops.

“What?”

He crosses the room, joining Steve at the window to see Cathrine and Walter Harrington, pulling suitcases out their car, talking across the roof of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie says, stepping away from the window in case they look up. “Uhm. I can— I can hide up here.”

“Your van in the driveway,” Steve says. His voice is almost distant, and he’s still looking out the window, his face fallen.

“You can say you borrowed it from someone,” Eddie suggests desperately. “Or— Or I can say I’m doing maintenance work? I know about, like, electrical work, we can say your A/C wasn’t working, or—“

“Eddie.”

“Or I— I know about cars, I can say I was working on your car and you invited me in for— for water or something, and—“

“Eddie.”

“And I mentioned music so you’re showing me your tapes, or, like—“

“Eddie.”

Eddie shuts up, staring at Steve with wide eyes, his heart pounding. The front door opens. Steve takes a shaky breath, his gaze unwavering from Eddie’s as something clatters downstairs.

“It’s fine,” Steve says quietly, firmly. “It’s…”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly.

“It’s fine.” Steve shakes his head. They can hear his parents’ voices downstairs, muffled by walls and doors and distance. “We… We’re friends. Right?”

Eddie exhales and nods.

“Come meet my parents,” Steve says with a little eyebrow quirk, and Eddie scoffs. Steve’s smile is fake. Eddie can tell.

“They’re gonna hate me,” he says quietly.

“I don’t care,” Steve says, his voice sharper, and Eddie’s eyes linger on the way his jaw is set, the way it clenches as he looks at Eddie intently. “I don’t— I don’t care what they think. You’re mine.”

Eddie stares at him, his eyes flickering to Steve’s lips.

“Fuck. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Following your lead,” he says softly, and Steve smiles weakly, tugging him in by a necklace for a lingering kiss.

“Hey,” Eddie says as Steve is moving toward the door, and Steve pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says earnestly.

Eddie follows Steve out the door, hesitating to rip off his battle jacket and throw it back into Steve’s room. He smooths his shirt down and rolls his eyes when he realises what he’s wearing (Judas Priest; there’s a hand holding a giant razor blade, and he wonders why he didn’t just wear a plain black shirt). The chains hanging from his ripped jeans rattle as he walks down the hall and down the stairs, and he tucks his necklaces under his shirt anxiously before he smooths his hair back. Steve pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, glancing at his chest, at the absence of necklaces.

“Trying to look presentable,” Eddie whispers. Steve stares at him, smiling softly.

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Cathrine and Walter’s voices get louder as they head into the living room, where they’re both standing with their suitcases. Eddie lingers by the door, pushing his hands into his pockets in tight fists.

“Hi,” Steve says like he’s asking. Eddie watches his shoulders tighten like he’s bracing himself.

Catherine’s hair barely moves even though she whips her head around to look at Steve. It’s tall and curly and fluffy looking but stiff with hairspray, and she’s wearing a grey pantsuit, her shoulders boxy, and her heels wobble on the carpet of the living room. Walter is also in a suit, his tie loosened, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie takes a deep breath, repressing the simmering anger in his chest as he looks at them, trying hard to keep a neutral, friendly expression.

Steve’s told him about them. About how they left him at home starting when he was nine, and how he was left with nannies and teenage babysitters before that. How they’d lose their shit if he spilled juice on the kitchen floor, if he stained or tore a shirt. How he raised his voice when he was eleven and saw the back of his father’s hand and then the floor, and the gold band around his finger haunted Steve’s dreams.

How his mother constantly, shamelessly, told him it was his fault she wasn’t young and beautiful anymore. That he was the reason his father wasn’t loving and caring, as though Steve ever has any say in his own existence.

“Whose van is in the driveway?” Walter asks sharply, sans greeting even though it’s been a few months since he’s seen Steve.

“Uhm.” Steve turns slightly toward Eddie, who steps further into the room, raising a hand and suddenly wishing his nails weren’t painted.

“That— That’s mine,” Eddie says lightly, putting on a smile.

Catherine’s eyes widen, and Walter stares, facing Eddie. The room is silent except the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle.

“Steven,” Walter says in a careful, measured voice, his eyes trained on Eddie. “Why is there a killer in my living room?”

Eddie’s stomach drops further, his cheeks flaming, and he shoves his hand back in his pocket as Steve says sharply, “He’s not a killer.”

“Steven—“

“He’s not,” Steve snaps, and Eddie looks at him. “Those charges were proven wrong, and dropped, and Eddie’s one of my best friends.”

Eddie stares at Steve, at the firm set of his jaw like he’s just daring his father to argue.

The room is silent again, tense and awkward.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Walter,” Catherine says quietly, breaking the silence, placing a gentle hand on Walter’s shoulder as he and Steve stare each other down. “Let’s be polite to… Steven’s guest.”

Eddie blinks at her, trying ignore the pressure behind his eyes that always comes when he remembers that people actually believe that he’s a murderer. His hands are shaking.

“Your name is Eddie, right?” she says, sickly sweet and so kind it makes Eddie feel nauseous. It reminds him of the way kids in school used to feign interest in D&D, used to ask questions and prompt him to tell them excitedly about it just to make faces at their friends while he talked. Just to complain about how weird he is.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says tightly.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, Eddie?” she says like she’s speaking to a child.

Eddie looks at Steve.

Who’s staring back, his gaze intense, his expression firm, and he nods slightly when Eddie silently asks him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

She and Walter leave to take their luggage upstairs, and Steve tugs Eddie’s shirt, pulling him into a secluded corner in the living room, and their eyes lock. Steve looks like he wants to cry, and Eddie can hear the way his breath is trembling, and Steve’s lips are pursed to keep them from quivering.

“‘S okay,” Eddie says softly.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve says weakly, still clutching at Eddie’s shirt.

“No, stop,” Eddie tells him gently, moving closer. “It’s not your fault, Stevie.”

Steve inhales sharply, pressing his lips together.

“They are assholes,” Eddie says softly, reaching up to touch Steve’s cheek. “And that’s not your fault, you got it?”

Steve nods, swallowing.

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

He pulls Steve into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs as Steve’s arms wrap around him tightly. “And after dinner we can say my van broke down and you can take me home.” He pulls away to look into Steve’s eyes. “And you can stick with Wayne and me for a while. How’s that sound?”

Steve nods, his mouth twisting, and Eddie’s heart aches because Steve is trying not to cry.

“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “‘S gonna be okay.”

“I hate them so much, Eddie,” Steve says. His voice wavers.

“I know, baby.” Eddie kisses him. “I know. But after this we’ll go home. And we can get high if you want.”

“Will you fuck me?” Steve asks in a small voice.

“Absolutely.”

“Cool.” He exhales and pulls Eddie into a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Eddie kisses him again, pulling back when a door shuts upstairs, but Steve tugs him close, kissing him chastely before he carefully pulls Eddie’s necklaces out of his shirt.

“Don’t hide.”

Eddie melts a little bit.

Eddie fidgets with his necklaces while Catherine scours the fridge and freezer for a dinner to her liking, complaining about how unhealthy pizzas are and just sighing when Steve points out that he babysits children. She settles on a lasagna that she finds buried in the freezer and some lettuce. Without dressing. (Eddie thought rich people were supposed to eat better.)

Steve sits next to him at the dinner table. Eddie’s never seen plates on this table. It’s usually filled with cards or dice or maps and drawings and crayons. Steve stares sullenly at his plate, poking at his food with his fork as Eddie chats with his mom as best he can. He can still hear the ticking from the clock in the living room as they talk.

He tells her that he met Steve through Dustin, that he knew Steve at school because everyone loved him, and then he found out everyone loves him even outside of school. That the kids he babysits practically worship him. He catches Steve fighting a smile as he speaks.

The conversation dies down after a while. Under the table, Steve sets a hand on Eddie’s thigh and squeezes tightly. He’s shaking.

Eddie subtly reaches under the table and squeezes his hand, rubbing the back of it gently.

“Mr Harrington,” he says politely when they let go of each other. “Steve said you had work in, uhm, was it San Francisco?”

“That’s right,” Walter says dryly.

“I’ve never been,” Eddie says, trying desperately to keep his voice light. “How is it?”

Walter sighs, taking a bite.

“Not as nice as it used to be.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity for a real conversation. “Why’s that?”

“Not as clean,” he says. Eddie hates his voice. So pompous and dry like the world bores him. “Posters and banners everywhere, all these fags walks around the streets holding hands. Disgusting.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. In his peripheral vision he sees Steve tighten.

“Oh.” He twists his fork, seeing Steve’s hand grip the table cloth tightly. “Sounds real different from Hawkins.”

“Sure is.”

Eddie shifts so he can press his foot to Steve’s because he can’t lean over and kiss him. There’s a long stretch of silence. Eddie counts seventeen ticks of the clock before he speaks again, the silence unbearable.

“Mrs Harrington, Steve mentioned that you collect pottery.”

When he mentioned it, he said he wanted to smash all of it. Eddie doesn’t say that.

“I do,” she says brightly. “I started collecting when I was nineteen, after I married Walter—“

“Why is it disgusting?” Steve interrupts abruptly, looking across the table at his father. Catherine falls silent, staring at him. Eddie says his name softly.

“I’m sorry?” Walter says, lowering his fork.

“The fags,” Steve says coldly. “If they’re just holding hands. What’s the problem?”

Walter stares at Steve, a challenge in his eyes, but Steve keeps his ground, staring back, unblinking.

“You know why.”

“No. I don’t.” Steve lifts his chin defiantly. Eddie wants to marry him. “Tell me.”

“It’s not right.”

“Why?” Steve says, but it’s hardly a question. He almost growls. Eddie shifts in his seat.

“Men are supposed to be with women,” Walter says, his voice measured like he’s lecturing Steve. Eddie can hear the way Steve is breathing, can see his fist trembling as it grips the table cloth. Eddie kind of hopes it rips. “Homosexuals— They— They go against God’s word.”

A small part of Eddie is happy to see him get flustered.

“Right,” Steve breathes. “God’s word.” He’s nodding, his jaw tensed the way it does when he’s particularly mad. It’s hot. Eddie sets his fork down. “Because God always wants the best, right?”

Walter just stares. Catherine’s hands are in her lap.

“That’s why priests rape little boys when they go in for Sunday school, right? Because they know God’s word.” Eddie looks at him, taking a deep breath. “That’s why you married an eighteen year old when you were twenty seven.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks at Catherine, who clears her throat delicately and wipes her lips with her napkin even though there’s nothing there. Walter’s face turns red.

“God also says don’t get drunk,” Steve continues, his voice strong. “And we all know you don’t have an issue with that.”

“Steven,” Catherine says firmly, but Steve doesn’t spare her a glance. The air feels like it’s tightening, like they’re all holding their breaths.

“So what’s the problem with fags?” Steve asks, his cheeks red. “Why do you hate them so much? You’re not better than them.”

“Why are you so defensive—”

“Because I am one.”

Steve is yelling.

Steve never yells, not like this. He yells to be heard over rambunctious bickering and laughter, he yells to be heard across the trailer or the house. He doesn’t yell out of anger. But he is now.

The rooms falls silent. Eddie looks from Steve to his parents, to their wide eyes, and he slowly reaches for the knife next to his plate. He grips it in his hand, his muscles tense the way they were when he was fighting the demobats with Dustin. Ready to move at any given second, like his veins are stiff with adrenaline.

“What are you saying?” Walter says coldly, quietly.

Steve scoffs, humourless.

“I think that was pretty clear.”

“Steven—“ Catherine tries to say, but Steve interrupts.

“But you want me to be clearer? I can be clearer.” He pushes his plate away, toward his dad, and leans over in emphasis. “I like men. And I’ve known for years, and I never told you because I knew you’d try to beat it out of me, but you can’t do that anymore.”

Walter throws his fork onto his plate with a clatter, his mouth twisting, and Steve just grins.

“I can be more specific,” he says in a low voice. He leans back, moving his arm to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair more gently than Eddie thought possible at a time like this. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” Steve says. Eddie smiles at him. “And I love him more than life itself, and I love when he holds my hand, and when he kisses me, and—”

Walter interrupts by moving out of his seat, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, his face bright red, as though anything Steve’s said is scandalous. Steve seems to have the same thought, pulling his hand away from Eddie and standing too, his eyes following Walter as he moves away from the table.

“I can tell you more,” he says loudly, defiantly. Eddie scoots his chair back, watching raptly, just in case. “I love it when he fucks me.”

Catherine gasps, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie as he watches Walter’s face redden even more.

“And he fucks me hard,” Steve continues, ignoring his mother as she says his name weakly and begins to cry. “And I fucking love it. And I bet that pisses you off even more, doesn’t it.”

He’s breathing hard, and his whole body is trembling, and Eddie feels prouder than he’s ever felt in his life.

“That I’m the one taking it,” Steve says, quieter as Walter stares at him. “You always wanted me to be a man, but I love it when my boyfriend makes me his bitch.”

Heat pools in Eddie’s stomach. He slides his tongue across his lips, wanting to pin Steve to the wall and kiss his breath away.

“And aren’t you angry,” Steve breathes. “That you don’t have another son to fix the Harrington name.” He’s moving closer to Walter, and Eddie watches carefully. Walter’s hands are shaking, his chest rising and falling with each breath that rattles around in the quiet room. “Because you’re an only child,” Steve says thoughtfully, like it’s a new discovery. “And you only had a faggot,” he adds quietly, close enough to press two fingertips into Walter’s chest as he whispers, “Harringtons end with me.”

The air snaps.

Catherine screams when Walter’s fist hits Steve’s face, and Eddie stands from his chair, his vision red, moving quickly as Catherine cries Walter’s name. Walter is trying to hit Steve again, and Eddie grabs the back of his jacket, jerking him off and holding him back as Steve takes a breath.

His eyes are shining in a way Eddie’s never seen before, with malice and rage and twenty years of anger boiling and bubbling out of him. His cheek is already blooming red, and Eddie can see the subtle mark of Walter’s wedding band. Eddie jerks his jacket again, holding him in place.

“I’m not fourteen anymore, Dad,” Steve says evenly.

The crack of his fist on Walter’s face echoes around the room, and Eddie finally drops the jacket, but not before shoving Walter against the wall hard to disorient him. He steps away as Steve punches him again, watching.

Catherine is yelling at them to stop, her voice shrill and high, but Eddie just… watches.

He’s heard Dustin and the others tease Steve for not winning fights. Losing the fight with Jonathan Byers, the fight with Billy Hargrove. But he’s also heard them all praise Steve for beating demodogs with a baseball bat. And he’s seen Steve throw a demobat into the ground by gripping its serrated tail, seen him step on its wing and rip it right in half before flinging its body away and spitting its blood on the ground. And Eddie’s known, for as long as he’s known this Steve Harrington, that he pulls his punches.

But he isn’t tonight.

Walter’s face and Steve’s hands are painted red with blood, and the sound of them both yelling and Cathrine sobbing and the sound of bone and blood are echoing around the kitchen until Walter is dropping to the floor.

Steve is gripping the front of his blood stained shirt, hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, and Eddie startles at the sound of the front door breaking in, blinking hard and realising that the room is lit up by red and blue flashing lights, that Catherine isn’t in the room.

He steps forward to pull Steve away, his vision focused on Steve as shouts fill the room, but Steve shoves him back and Eddie gets a glimpse of his face.

His top lip is split, bleeding, and his cheek is darkly bruised, and he’s crying.

Tears mix with his blood as they slide down his cheeks, and Eddie knows it must hurt as a tear hits his lip, and even though Steve must not be able to see well, he isn’t stopping. Eddie desperately shouts his name, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him away from Walter, who falls onto the floor, weakly saying something about Steve being a bastard. Catherine is sobbing in the doorway as cops pull Walter off the ground, and Eddie holds Steve back.

Steve is sobbing too, and Eddie’s whole body hurts. He’s saying Steve’s name, trying to get him to look at Eddie, wants to prompt him to breathe in all the way, but Steve won’t look at him, his arms straining against Eddie’s grip. He’s still yelling.

The cops push Walter toward the door as one of them, Powell, moves toward Eddie. Eddie recognises him. He was there when Eddie came back, when Hopper came back. He arrested Eddie once when Eddie was fifteen, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge was Hopper and Joyce Byers filled him on the shitshow that been going on in Hawkins for the past few years.

Powell is staring, wide-eyed, at them, his mouth hanging ajar with an unspoken question.

“He threw the first punch,” Eddie says, gesturing to Walter’s wriggling body as he’s led outside, his voice shaking.

Walter is yelling at Steve, even though he can’t see him. Calling him a bastard, and a faggot. Yelling that Steve isn’t his son.

As soon as he’s out the door, Steve’s body relaxes, and Eddie pulls him close, tugging him into a hug. He’s breathing hard, and shaking so hard that Eddie can feel it even though Steve’s fists are gripping his shirt tightly. The cop looks at them, watching, but Eddie doesn’t care. Let him see.

Eddie holds his face gently when Steve’s crying slows, and he watches the flashing police lights reflect in his glistening eyes and his tears. Eddie wipes a drop of blood from his lip, nodding when Steve’s chin quivers.

“You’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. His hands are shaking too. Steve takes a deep, trembling breath, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s.

“My ear’s ringing.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he reaches up to Steve’s right ear, touching it gently. There’s some blood in his hair above it, and anger flashes in Eddie’s chest. He wants to go outside and beat Walter some more, regardless of the cops, regardless of his already garbage reputation. But he doesn’t. Because Steve is clutching to his shirt, and he’s crying.

“Can you hear me still?”

Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Eddie pulls him into another hug, moving so his mouth is above his right ear, and he knows he’s getting blood on his face, but he doesn’t care.

“‘S gonna be okay,” he says softly. “I got you, sweetheart, you’re alright.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and they sway, and they can still hear the distant, unintelligible shouting of Walter outside. Powell waits next to them patiently until they part slowly. Steve is sniffling, and Eddie wipes his face, under his eyes, under his nose, wipes away the blood on his lip.

“Steve,” Powell says gently. “You gotta tell me what happened.”

Steve takes another deep breath, swallowing thickly before he looks at Powell, setting his shoulders and jaw again.

“I’m queer,” he says firmly. Powell doesn’t react, just looks at him. “I told him.”

“He hit you first?” Powell asks, reiterating what Eddie said earlier. Steve nods.

“I…” He hesitates, reaches down to take Eddie’s hand, and Eddie laces their fingers, squeezes tightly. “I provoked him. Taunted him.”

Powell pauses, looking out the window to see the cars outside, and he slides his tongue over his teeth, seething.

“Wait here a minute.”

Eddie nods, and Steve leans against him as Powell leaves. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve tightly, pulling him close.

“God, you did so good, Stevie,” he murmurs in his good ear. “‘M so proud of you, baby.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. His voice is rough. Eddie kisses his forehead gently.

“I know, baby,” he says just loud enough that Steve can hear him. “But it’s done, okay?” he says. He looks into Steve’s eyes. “You’re done with him.”

Steve exhales, closing his eyes.

Eddie shifts, pulling to guide him to the table, but Steve tugs at his shirt, opening his eyes and leaving a hard, lingering kiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie closes his eyes, holding Steve until he pulls away, and when Steve looks at him blearily, he lets out a soft laugh that seems out of place.

“I got blood on you,” he says quietly. Eddie scoffs.

“I’ve had worse bodily fluids of yours on me.”

“Gross,” Steve says, grinning, and he winces when it stretches his lip. There’s blood in his teeth.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, pulling him over and pushing him to lean against the table between Eddie’s and Catherine’s plates before he goes to get a paper towel. Steve snatches it from his hand as he stands between his legs, and Eddie lets out a small indignant noise, but Steve shushes him, reaching up to clean blood off his lip. Eddie waits, holding Steve’s hips.

“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs.

“Love you too.”

“Is your ear still ringing?”

Steve shakes his head before he pauses, tilting his head and closing his eyes as his brows furrow. Eddie takes the paper towel.

“Little bit. Not as bad. I think it’s fine.”

Eddie gently, tenderly wiping blood off Steve’s lips before he presses it to the split, watching Steve wince slightly. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his fingertip. It’s still fast.

“Deep breath,” Eddie says softly. Steve closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I got you, baby.”

Steve’s hand finds his waist, holding him tightly as he exhales.

Eddie leans in and kisses his forehead softly, feeling Steve fall forward against him. He pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing across his forehead, kissing his temple, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s ear tenderly. He whispers to him quietly.

When Powell comes back in, Eddie has to nudge Steve’s cheek gently to make him open his eyes, and Steve turns his face slightly. Eddie pulls away the paper towel. His lip doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

“He’s being held overnight,” Powell says, pushing a notebook into his pocket. “Paying bail, should be released around noon tomorrow.”

Steve nods.

“Your mother’s going with him,” Powell continues gently, like he can see the anguish it causes in Steve’s eyes. “She’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”

“Okay.”

Powell hesitates, looking from Steve to Eddie.

“You have a place to stay?” he asks. Eddie guesses it’s unspoken knowledge that Steve can’t stay here.

“Yes.”

Eddie knows Steve knows he can stay at the trailer for as long as he has to. And Claudia Henderson’s offered her guest room, as well as Joyce and Hopper. Robin’s offered her bedroom floor. Nancy’s offered her basement.

“And you?” Powell asks, looking at Eddie. Eddie starts for a moment, blinking at him blankly before he nods.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay.”

Powell hesitates for a moment longer before he looks at Steve, his eyes shining earnestly.

“He shows up again,” he says carefully. “At your work, or wherever you stay, if he threatens you… Or tries anything.” He points at Steve, so serious the air feels tense again. “You come to the station. You tell me, and if I’m not there you tell Flo, and she’ll find me, okay?”

Steve nods, staring at him, biting his lip.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“And if you need another place to stay,” Powell adds. “Let me know. My wife and I have a spare bedroom.”

Steve smiles weakly.

“Okay.”

“You too,” Powell says to Eddie. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie says, smiling softly.

Powell claps Steve on his back gently.

“You’re a good kid, Steve.”

Steve pulls Eddie closer when he leaves, and Eddie moves between his legs again, touching his hair gently. The blood above his ear is dry.

They stand in silence as they listen to the cars leave the driveway. Three cars. After a moment the red and blue lights are gone, and Eddie exhales.

Eddie gazes at the bruise on his cheek. His lip is a little swollen, crusted with dry blood. After a moment, Steve leans forward, resting his head on Eddie’s sternum, and Eddie runs a hand over his hair gently.

“What do you need?” Eddie asks quietly. “You wanna shower? Go to bed?”

Steve lifts his head and looks up at him.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Eddie stares at him, looks back and forth between his eyes, watching them shine earnestly, and he stands up straight, tossing away the paper towel.

“Turn around.”

Steve grins and stands up, turning around to face the table, already tugging his shirt off and tossing it across the room. Eddie steps up behind him, tugging Steve’s hair to make him tilt his head before he presses kisses along the side of his neck.

Steve hums breathlessly when Eddie pushes him so the fronts of his legs press to the table, and Eddie reaches around him to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

“Colour?” he asks roughly, pausing as he grips the waistband of the jeans, and Steve whines, his head falling back to Eddie’s shoulder.

“Green, baby, please.”

Eddie grins, shoving Steve’s jeans and boxers down his legs and pushing at his back so he bends over the table.

“Spread ‘em,” he says, kicking at Steve’s foot, and Steve spreads his legs, groaning softly and turning his head so his cheek presses to the table. “Pretty boy.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie murmurs. He leans over and kisses his back, down his spine. “So fucking much.”

He kneels on the ground behind him, running his hands over Steve’s ass and his thighs, squeezing and kneading before he leans in to bite at him for a moment before he licks across his hole, holding him tightly.

Steve whines loudly, pushing his ass back toward Eddie, who snickers quietly before eating him out in earnest, licking and sucking and nibbling as he listens to the sweet sounds Steve makes above him.

Steve is groaning and whimpering and whining, and Eddie has to pull away to laugh when a plate falls from the table and shatters on the ground.

“Fuck, sorry,” Steve says, laughing, and Eddie stands to find him gripping the table cloth tightly.

“‘S okay,” Eddie says, breathing hard, tugging Steve’s hair so he stands up again, and Steve releases the table cloth. Eddie wraps his arms around him, kissing his neck. There’s some blood on the table cloth, and Steve is drooling, and Eddie smiles. “Love it when you get all wild. My perfect boy.” He lifts a hand, presses two fingers to Steve’s lips, and Steve whimpers, opening his mouth.

Eddie bites his neck as Steve’s tongue swirls around his fingers, pressing desperate kisses around the back of his neck until he reaches his right ear.

“You have any idea how amazing I think you are?” Eddie asks softly. Steve moans, his head falling back as Eddie pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth, pressing into the pooling spit under his tongue. “Love of my fuckin’ life.”

Steve reaches up and pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair as soft noises escape his throat.

“You feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. Steve moans quietly, nodding. “You wanna feel better?”

Steve smiles around his fingers, giggling softly, and he tugs Eddie’s hair as he nods.

Eddie pulls his hand away from Steve’s mouth and takes a moment to look at Steve’s spit dripping over his fingers before he reaches down to press a finger inside him.

“Fuck,” Steve groans loudly. Eddie beams.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, Eddie, I need— Gimme more, baby, please—”

“I’ll take care of you, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs into his ear. “I got you.”

“Feel so good, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles again, biting at his neck, fingering him open as he whispers to him. Tells him how pretty is. He gets three fingers in before Steve finally whines, tugging sharply at his hair.

“Eddie,” he gasps. “Please, please, I—”

“Bend over.”

Steve grins again, leaning to lay on the table again, resting his head so his right ear is up.

Eddie kisses his back before he steps back, unbuckling his belt as he moves to the the counter, noisily opening and shutting cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for.

Steve whines Eddie’s name, looking up at him, and Eddie pulls his belt from the loops of his jeans, shaking the bottle of olive oil at him with raised eyebrows. Steve snorts loudly and lets out a childish, juvenile laugh, grinning and hiding his face in his arms.

Eddie’s always hated this olive oil. It’s Catherine’s, expensive and fancy and ordered from Italy, always hidden away in her special occasions only cabinet. But Eddie thinks this counts as a special occasion, because the man of his dreams is bent over the dining table and Eddie doesn’t want to go all the way upstairs for lube.

Steve’s fists grip the tablecloth when Eddie pushes in, the same way he clutches at the sheets when they’re in bed. The cloth comes up, and a glass falls the floor, shattering, and Eddie laughs again, setting the olive oil down.

“You’re makin’ a mess, baby.”

Steve just lets out a long groan.

Eddie gazes down at him, at the scars that cover his back and backs of his arms, at the mess of his hair. He slides a hand over his back, smearing oil over his skin.

“How do you want it?” he asks breathlessly.

“Hard.”

“Got it. Hold on.”

Steve giggles, gripping the tablecloth, and he lets out a sharp gasp as Eddie snaps his hips into him.

Eddie loves when Steve gets like this. All loose and relaxed, going with every movement Eddie makes. Unfiltered and loud, groaning and whining and almost screaming when Eddie really gets going, his hand to the small of his back. He’s always like this, even when Eddie fucks him softly and kindly like the first time they had sex (or made love, as Eddie put it dramatically once they’d finished. Steve shoved him away and then promptly pulled him closer to tuck his face into his neck.), tangled in blankets in the back of Eddie’s van, breathing into each other’s mouths, whispering and giggling.

Another plate falls from the table.

Eddie is grinning down at him, watching, listening as he swears and moans.

“Eddie,” Steve wails. Tears are sliding down his face, staining the tablecloth.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says roughly, his hands gripping Steve’s hips tightly. “What do you need?”

“Fuck, spit on me,” Steve whimpers. “Make me yours, Eddie, please.”

Eddie exhales, running a hand down his spine tenderly. (That night in the van, Eddie also learned, to his delight, that Steve is even kinkier than he is. It’s fun.)

“You are mine,” he says gently. “Always.”

He fucks into him three more times as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he pauses, letting it drip over Steve’s back. Steve lets out a soft yes, almost hissing it, and Eddie smiles down at him, rubbing the spit into his skin as he moves again.

“Eddie, right there—”

“I got you, baby, I know.”

“Eddie, please, Eddie, EddieEddieEddie—”

He presses his hand against Steve’s back hard, fucking him harder, faster, until Steve is sobbing, until the two remaining plates and the bottle of olive oil fall to the ground and shatter to pieces. Eddie laughs again.

Steve comes on the table cloth. Eddie lifts him up to wrap his arms around him when they finish, and Steve’s head falls back against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie doesn’t pull out, just holds Steve close and pulls his necklaces around to hang backwards so they aren’t pressing into Steve’s bare skin.

“You okay?” he asks softly after pressing a soft kiss to his earlobe. Steve exhales.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He presses his hand over Eddie’s forearm, slides it down to lace their fingers.

“Look at that, baby,” Eddie says softly, nudging him so look at the table. Steve’s eyes flutter open, finding it. A mostly empty glass, rolling on its side in spilled water, the pale blue tablecloth uneven and folded and stained with blood and oil and come. “That’s all you.”

Steve exhales, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’d say you helped.”

Eddie snickers into the side of Steve’s neck, his arms tightening, and Steve moans softly.

“Smartass.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Steve sighs. Eddie can feels his pulse on his lips. It’s slower.

“What now?” he asks quietly.

“Shower,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “And pack.”

Eddie hums and kisses his neck tenderly.

“And then we’ll go home,” he murmurs.

Steve smiles.

“Then we’ll go home.”

They shower slowly, carefully washing each other’s hair and bodies, washing away blood and sweat and come in the hot, running water. Steve’s shampoo smells warm, like cinnamon and other spices Eddie’s never been able to afford to keep in his cabinets. (Nutmeg? Allspice? Eddie doesn’t even know what he would use them for.) After they dry off and dress, Eddie stuffs the shampoo, along with his conditioner and body soap, into a plastic bag to take with them. Steve adds two cans of Farah Fawcett hairspray.

Eddie helps him sort through his clothes, pick what to take and what to leave behind. He finds one of his own sweaters in Steve’s closet as Steve is stuffing a bag with underwear and socks, and he giggles to himself before throwing it at Steve. Steve’s cheeks flush pink, and he wordlessly stuffs it into the bag.

Steve packs most of his shirts, except a few he says his mother picked out, and most of his jeans. Eddie gets a garbage bag for the clothes Steve doesn’t want anymore, and he laughs as makes his way through the kitchen, looking at the mess he and Steve made and next behind. They aren’t going to clean it up. Just because.

Steve’s room is pathetically empty by the time they finish packing. It was already pathetically empty before, if Eddie’s honest. No framed pictures, no keepsakes. No stuffed animals or childhood toys. Steve’s bags, a duffel bag and a backpack, are both stuffed with clothes and soap, with a bottle of cologne and a copy of the Hobbit that he tried to hide from Eddie.

Eddie finds it, of course. And looks up at Steve with a beaming grin, even as Steve rubs the back of his neck, blushing bright red.

“You love it so much, I just…”

Eddie crosses the room and wraps his arms around his neck, swaying like they’re dancing.

“Do you like it?”

“I’m trying to.”

“You don’t have to like it,” Eddie says, grinning. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. “It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I know,” Steve says shyly, swaying with him again. “Think I’m just a slow reader.”

“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. “You don’t have a due date or anything.”

“Thank God.”

They go to bed in the Harrington house for the last time.

Eddie wakes up to Steve’s lips pressing down his neck, and he smiles at the ceiling without opening his eyes, tilting his head back to give him room. He hums softly.

“Whassa time?” Eddie mumbles weakly, reaching blindly to find Steve’s hair.

“Six twenty-seven,” Steve says before he licks a slow line up his neck. Eddie groans.

“Forgot I’m in love with a morning person.”

“‘S sweet,” Steve says lightly. “Just relax, baby.”

Eddie sighs, tugging at his hair again, but his hand falls when Steve moves, tossing the blanket up so he can duck under it. Eddie shivers at the gust of cold morning air that hits his body, and then he shivers again as Steve tugs at the waistband of his boxers.

“I’ll make you coffee,” Eddie says breathlessly when Steve comes back up from under the blanket, cracking his eyes open to find Steve grinning brightly at him. His split lip doesn’t bleed even as he smile. The bruise on his face is colourful, reddish purple and blue, and somehow achingly beautiful even as it makes Eddie’s chest hurt like he’s been shot.

“I’d like that,” Steve says softly.

They get out of bed slowly, lazily, and Eddie tugs on one of Steve’s hoodies as he yawns.

Steve always looks beautiful in the morning light. Even in gray mornings like this, he seems to glow brighter than the sun.

Steve goes to the bathroom while Eddie goes down to make the coffee. He finds Steve’s favourite mug in a cabinet, the cute blue one, and he leans against the counter as he waits on the coffee, looking at the dining table and smiling to himself.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by a car pulling into the driveway.

He blinks, tilting his head to listen like he can’t tell where it’s coming from, and he turns around, leaning to look out the window to see Catherine.

Anger flares in his chest, and he’s swinging the front door open before she’s even out of the car, careless to the fact that he’s in his boxers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks sharply as she approaches the door. Her eyes skim over him, her hands folded in front of her. Her hair isn’t as nice as it was yesterday, and Eddie can see traces of her makeup that ran down her cheeks last night.

“It’s my house,” she says primly.

“Well we’re not gone yet,” Eddie snaps. “Come back in a few hours.”

She takes a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but Steve’s voice interrupts her.

“Eddie?” Eddie turns sharply, looking to see Steve coming down the stairs, and Steve’s face hardens when he sees his mother on the front step. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to deal with this, baby,” Eddie says quickly. “Just get your stuff, we can go.”

Steve pauses, staring at Catherine coldly, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he says, “No. Let’s have coffee,” in a voice that’s far too calm, too light.

He continues down the stairs and turns wordlessly into the kitchen, and Catherine steps past Eddie.

Eddie shuts the door, his stomach knotting, and he follows them to the kitchen. Steve is sipping from the mug, leaning against the counter, and Eddie joins him, watching with a suppressed smile as Catherine looks at the table.

“What do you want?” Steve asks coldly.

“What happened to the table?”

“Eddie fucked me on it. What do you want?”

Catherine’s face turns red, and she looks away from the table, clearing her throat delicately.

“I wanted to talk.”

“So talk,” Steve says dryly, sipping the coffee. He’s still staring at her, almost seething.

Catherine hesitates, taking a breath and looking at the floor, eyeing the broken bottle of olive oil, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“I know,” she says slowly. “That what happened last night is not… reversible.”

She looks up at Steve.

“But you are still our son,” she says kindly, and Eddie scoffs. “And I want you to know that you still have a home here.”

“No.”

She blinks.

“No?”

Steve inhales deeply, biting his lip, and he carefully holds the mug out to Eddie, who takes it as Steve crosses his arms.

“I have never had a home here,” Steve says calmly, “Mom.”

“Steven,” she says softly. Like it hurts.

He shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

“I’ve never felt…” He pauses, swallowing. “I’ve never felt safe here. Or— Or loved. I’ve never felt fucking— at home here. This has always been just— just a sad empty… lonely house for the sad empty lonely little boy.”

Eddie looks at the floor, biting his lip as he focusses on the heat of the mug in his hands.

“I know you don’t mean that, darling,” Catherine says softly.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Steve says coldly.

“Steven, of course I do—”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shouts. Eddie flinches, and he turns to set the mug on the counter. “No, you don’t,” Steve repeats, breathing hard. “You don’t know shit about me. You know my name because you picked it, but you don’t know who I am.”

“Steven—“

“You left me,” Steve interrupts, his voice shaking. “You— You left me. Here. With— With teenagers, while you went off on holidays and fucking business trips, you left me here, while I was trying to grow up, and then I had to figure out to be a grown up, all by myself because you weren’t here.”

His lip is quivering, and he steadies it between his teeth.

“You don’t know me,” he says again, quietly.

“Steven, you’re my son,” she says softly.

“I’m half deaf.”

She blinks.

“What?”

“One of my ears,” Steve says slowly, “has no hearing.” He stands up straight, off the counter, and gestures to his ears with a hand. “Can you tell which ear it is?”

She stares, wide-eyed.

“Steven—“

“Can you tell me,” he says shakily, “when my hearing started going?”

Silence.

“Because I can tell you,” Steve whispers. “The fucking day.”

He moves closer, his breathing unsteady.

“July sixteenth,” he says quietly. “Nineteen eighty.”

Eddie grips the counter, biting his lip as he watches. Catherine’s are welling with tears, but Steve doesn’t seem to even notice.

“When your husband gave me a concussion,” he continues, whispering. “And I looked up to see you leave the room, and shut the door behind yourself.”

Eddie’s eyes jump to Catherine, his vision red. Her lip is quivering. Eddie doesn’t care.

“I have had four concussions in my life,” Steve says, holding up four fingers before he lowers two of them. “Two of them… were from your husband. And both times, you left.”

“Steven,” she says weakly, but Steve snaps.

“You left,” he shouts. Catherine flinches. Eddie doesn’t. “You picked him,” he says, pointing toward the door. “Twenty fucking years, and you picked him, again, and again, and again.” He chokes, and his voice breaks. “My whole life,” he says weakly. “You picked a man, who never loved you, over your son.”

Eddie’s eyes burn, and he looks at the ground, swallowing thickly.

“And last night you picked him again,” Steve says.

Catherine stares at him. A tear slides down her cheek.

“So no,” Steve says after taking a breath. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get to. This is all you get.”

He stares her down for a moment, and Eddie blinks his tears back, watching proudly.

“Fuck you,” Steve says softly. “And fuck him, and fuck this house. I’m fucking done.”

“Steven, please,” she begs quietly. “You don’t have to come here, or— or see him, but I still want to be… a part of your life, darling, I—”

“You’re not better than him,” Steve yells, crying. “You let him, you let him do everything he did to me.” He’s panting, and Eddie’s chest tightens. He stands up straight. “You made me hate myself before I was old enough to understand why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, darling—”

“Well you don’t fucking love me either,” Steve yells. He stops short, blinking like he’s realises it just as he says it, and Eddie wants to pull him into a hug, but he also wants to find Nancy’s gun and shoot both his parents for ever making Steve feel like this. “Even if you think you do,” he says softly. “Whatever kind of love you think you have for me. I don’t want it.”

He stares for a moment longer before wiping his face hard and shaking his head.

And he leaves.

Eddie holds his breath, listening as Steve storms up the stairs, listening as Catherine cries quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth. Steve comes back down after a few moments with his bags, and he pauses in the doorway, looking at Eddie, who looks up.

“Go to the van, I’ll be there in a minute, babe.”

Steve looks at him for a moment before he steps close and tugs him by his shirt into a kiss, sliding his tongue into Eddie mouth and holding him close desperately. Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, closing his eyes and exhaling, tasting the coffee on Steve’s breath.

They’re both breathless when they part, and Steve looks into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie nods, touching his cheek.

Steve goes outside.

The door shuts behind him, and Eddie hears the van door open and shut. And then he just hears Catherine’s soft breaths. And the ticking of the clock in the living room.

He leans against the counter, looking at the floor, hesitating before he looks up at her.

“He is… the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Eddie says slowly, softly, his voice almost echoing in the kitchen. “He is the bravest, kindest, strongest, most— most selfless person I have ever known.”

She’s still crying. But she’s looking at him, listening.

“And you…” He pauses, taking a deep breath, his hands shaking, his lip quivering. “And you fucked… every chance you got to have him in your life. Twenty years. You got twenty years of chances, and you fucked them all up.”

He stares for a moment.

“I can tell,” he says softly, “that there’s… a small part of you… that cares about him. Somewhere in there. So to that… small part.” He steps forward, his eyes burning. “I swear, I will… love him, and care for him, and look after him, and do everything I fucking can to make sure he feels as loved and protected as he is.”

He points a trembling finger at her.

“Because that is a privilege that I have.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes burning, his heart pounding in his chest. “And I will do everything in my power to not lose that privilege.”

He hesitates a moment longer, watching her cry before he turns around and picks up the mug and dumps the coffee in the sink. He rinses the mug quickly and shuts off the water harder than he needs to.

And he leaves. Without giving her a second glance.

He hands Steve the mug as he slides into the driver seat, and Steve laughs wetly, taking it.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Eddie looks over at him, biting his lip. His face is tear-streaked, his lashes clumped, his cheeks and nose rosy red.

Broken and slowly pieced back together.

His eyes are gleaming, and he looks so awfully exhausted that Eddie wants to tell him to get in the back of the van to take a nap, but he also looks so relieved that Eddie just pulls him into a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “With all my fuckin’ heart and soul, baby.”

“I love you too,” Steve whispers back.

Eddie kisses him again, sucking on his lower lip for a moment and holding his chin gently, and he pauses when they part, taking a soft breath.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Steve says, laughing tearfully again, and Eddie scoffs, blinking tears back as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Who gives a shit?”

Steve giggles, clutching the mug to his chest.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

[hayaku14]

Hot take: I don't think Shinichi would ever call Kaito "Kai." I don't he's ever called anyone he has cared about a nickname like that before and I don't think he's a nickname type of guy either. If anything, I think him calling you by your first name is the most endearment he can have for you (or "baro" LOL).

Kaito, on the other hand, would definitely call Shinichi "Shin-chan" just for the sake of annoying him LMAO but it's entirely possible that he says it so much that it sticks and Shinichi actually eventually lets him call him that like he does for his mom (and he lets kaito call him all the other terms of endearment too because he's weak like that lmao)

Also, I think Kaito doesn't need to be called Kai. Literally just Shinichi calling him Kaito alone would send butterflies in his stomach. Cause finally the Great Detective is calling me by name!!!! He knows my identity!!!! He knows me!!! Not KID, me!!! Just being called by his real name would already melt Kaito into a puddle that man is a goner.

Also also!!!! I think Shinichi calling Kaito "thief" gets Kaito misty eyed sometimes because Shinichi is Shinichi and he knows I'm a thief and yet he's still here despite it all. LIKEEEE "thief" is a lil funny silly goofy nickname until kaito reflects on the implications and he's all:

OKAY BUT AN EVEN HOTTER TAKE: Who tf cares about all that shit I just said!!!! You can make Shinichi call Kaito "Kai" if that's what you want, go fuckin crazy with it!!!!!

[rigginsstreet]

*alexa play he had it coming*

[raycatz]

PLEASE TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOUR DARK CRYSTAL AU (if you want to)

OH MY GOD YES PLEASE THANK YOU HELLO

Thank you for giving me an excuse to write this all out. I've written a rambly essay about wings, brief timeline thoughts, and dreamfasting!

I've been thinking way too much about gelfling wings. I like the headcanon that Hyrule is trans ftm so he gets wings (since gelfling born as girls have wings and boys do not)! I don't think he minds them at all. But it's got me thinking about other trans gelfling or how wings relate to gender for gelfling, if at all, and their utility. I've watched the original movie, the netflix series, and have read The Power of The Dark Crystal. I've skimmed Beneath The Dark Crystal and it seems like the flying troops and ground troops are split mostly between those with and without wings. One of the significant side-characters is trans and has a set of wings which are attached to like, a corset, wrap, thing. She gifts them to Kensho and he flies with them. There is a comment that "the council wants a winged leader anyways" which speaks back to the matriarchal society of Age of Resistance, but Kensho does not change anything gender-wise and still becomes leader pretty sure so like, leaders being women is what has been done traditionally but isn't required. But also like, are the worn wings magic? Can they fly on their own? In the movie Kira can't fly with her wings but only glide. Do different wings have different function, have they changed over time? I did a google search and came up with a quote from the novelization that it's the latter, that gelfling have lost the ability to fly. But then they get it back by PoTDC. Was it a symptom of the darkening, then?

BUT ANYWAYS- how does this apply to LU? Also I haven't read any of the other comics or books so I'm making a lot of this up. BUT LIKE wings seem like they'd serve a great utility. Especially for warriors even if they cannot fly but at least to glide (in the situation where the worn wings aren't magic). Maybe wing harnesses that can be worn? So Wild and Sky would get a pair as gliders. Four and Legend get a pair in place of the roc's cape and feather. I swear I saw a picture of the puppets once where it's shown Jen or Rian maybe have the outline of wings on their backs but I could also completely be making this up. But like, is the emergence of wings a coming of age thing? And if male gelfling do have vestigial wings what if there's gender affirmation surgery for trans mtf gelfling? Would it be for gender affirmation and presentation? Would it be for fashion? Utility? Would the wings have function? For gliding? What about full or partial flight? Genderfluid Wild where he's had the surgery and has some flight capability yet his wings are too small on their own so she still keeps a separate full pair which clip on and are then secured with a harness which allow for full flight. And they can swap between depending on how they feel like presenting or for utility. Legend also has a worn pair. He wears them to dress more effeminately, sometimes for gender, sometimes vibes, or as a fashion statement. (Wars too) He might also have a pair of wings that emerged but never developed to flight. There's a lot of interesting things to be done with the headcanon! (worn wings with different shapes to telegraph their function? Legend would have so many pairs, then!)

Would the worn wings be fabricated or something inherited from a passed family member, warrior, donated? There is Onica who has lost her wings so I don't think they grow back. I think Aughra would be miffed but proud of the gelfling's ingenuity: "Gave gelfling binaries to make things simple! Easier to understand! And yet they choose to listen to Thra anyways! Find their way back! PAH! What marvelous creatures! Seems they don't need Mother Aughra after all! PAH" and all the gelfling are like oh stop we do love you.

(and you know what? we can redirect Legend's righteous god-hating anger towards the Skeksis. This man would get along with Mother Aughra like a house on fire. Maybe she gives him too many quests, and maybe he resents her somewhat, but he's too fond of her as well. Aughra is Thra, after all. Maybe he just stops listening for a while. OoooOO internal conflict that has consequences in the world!!! >:D )

aaAAA Happy Pride?! Gender affirmation surgery for gelfling!

I've also been thinking about where to place these guys on the timeline. I think it'd be a shame to take them out of the same reality as the series as the preexisting cast has so much lore. Which I am not as versed in as I could be. But Age of Resistance is what sparked this so probably somewhere in that time or nearby. There's literally a great tree which bestows a vision unto Deet to leave home and save Thra but I don't want Hyrule to replace her... hmmm... I know I want them to be facing the darkening and that the crystal calls them (or calls their Zeldas). From there, idk. I mostly have ideas for some encounters for these guys with the creatures of Thra and general designs and how they're living taking the AoR clans as inspiration. (Currently I've placed them in Thra. I could also apply Thra to Hyrule. I need to weave in more Zelda elements.)

Wind would be Sifa. atm Hyrule is Grottan though that may change. I think Legend would be Sifa and Spriton, spending the harvest and planting seasons with the Spriton, and at sea the rest, but spends most of his time now traveling after an incident at sea. (He does not trust dreamfasting. OH GOD THE POTENTIAL ANGST FOR DREAMFASTING. Dreamfasting has been shown to share experienced memories- I'm unsure about actual dreams or imaginative things. Are the voiceovers in the shows shared through the dreamfast or are the gelfling speaking aloud, I'm not sure. I think that the great tree and probably Aughra might be the only characters shown to share visions? Can you imagine Legend refusing to dreamfast because he doesn't want to find out if Koholint is something he experienced in person or only dreamed of??? You also cannot pass on someone else's dreamfast and it's believed madness can be transmitted through dreamfast so there's that as well. Would there even be a way for him to tell? What if he can share it but is convinced its madness that he willed into memory? Wild's regained memories on the other hand can be eerily confirmed through dreamfast. Though that means I need to find a place earlier on the timeline to place him where something traumatic happens.) (THOUGH THE DARKENING SICKNESS- it manifests in various ways- in Power Of it grows on the gelfling and needs to be burned off with fire or purified by the crystal. It's how Kensho got his scars! It could be how Wild got his scars!) (there are lots of potential little ties to malice, gloom, and the triforce)

Wolfie is very big and has lots of teeth. I want him to be a much scarier creature to gelfling than a wolf is to a Hylian. Currently with six legs and amphibious.

That's all I've got for now. Props if you read everything! 'xD Thank you for asking!

Here are the downfall duo again!

[viioggvl]

Valentines with (some of) my favorite dc ships :)!!

I forgot about this blog im so sorry lol

(HalBarry)

Hal: Hi Barry!

Barry: Yes, Hal?

Hal: Will you be my valentines..?

Barry: I was gonna ask you that!

Hal: ..So..

Barry: Yes!!

(Hal and Barry had a space date ☺️)

(JayRoy)

Arsenal: Hey, birdy!

Redhood: I will murder you where you stand.

Arsenal: Right, well~

Red Hood: No! I want to ask you first!

Arsenal: Nuhuh! Fuck you I’m asking! You asked me last time!!

Red Hood: Do you want to be my valentines, asshat!?

Arsenal: Yeah I would love to, dipshit!

(Jason took Roy out to a fancy diner bc Roy yk is Oliver’s kid and really likes those fancy places. And Roy took Jason to the carnival.)

(LindaWally)

Wally: So…

Linda: (Writing a draft for her book) Yes, Wally?

Wally: Do you want to be my valentines?

Linda: We’re already married!

Wally: Hal says it’s better to still ask than assume. He said he learned that from dating Carol.

Linda: I would love to be your Valentines, my love.

(Wally bought Linda chocolate and flowers while Linda planned their Valentines date lol)

(KyleWally / KyleWallyLinda)

Green Lantern (Kyle Rayner): Flash.

Flash (Wally): What’s up, man?

GL: Will you be my valentines?

Flash: Um, I already have Linda as my valentines..

GL: I was gonna ask her next. Yes or no?

Flash: You were gonna ask my wife to be your valentines?

GL: Yes so we can spend valentines together.

Flash: Um, then sure? I’d love to be your valentines, Kyle.

(Linda also said yes and they all went on a picnic date)

(If any requested dc ships for valentines (including how they get asked + date) feel free to ask in my inbox☺️🫶🏼)

[harrowscore]

why are you, as an adult in 2024, still hung up on reylo. why are you still mocking the shippers. why do you believe yourself to be superior only because you dislike a stupid ship from a fucking space fairytale. girl (gnc) get a grip

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive been unhealthily fixated on kubosai for the past few weeks, i just have no idea how to put it into words. kuboyasu aren and saiki kusuo are in love btw

[ccbatman]

woe. bruce and dinah friendship be upon ye:

"Someone has to have our backs. Keep us honest. That's why I'm here." / "Batman needs a conscience? Okay, I'll bite."

{ The Brave and the Bold (1980) #166 • JLI (1987) #13 • Batgirl Year One (2003) #7 • JLI (1987) #6 • JLI (1987) #7 • JLA: Incarnations (2001) #4 • Green Arrow/Black Canary (2007) #1 • Injustice 2 (2017) #4 • JLI (1987) #13 • JLI (1987) #11 • Justice League of America (1960) #84 • Justice League of America: Rebirth (2017) }