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livwritesstuff · 6 months

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i hit 100 followers while i was asleep (absolutely bananas imo but i’m so thrilled y’all are enjoying my steddie dads verse bc i’ve literally never had so much fun writing before) so here's a sneak peek of a wip featuring the Harrington fam

Eddie does not understand sports.

He may be approaching fifty years old and way past his old ways of rejecting every notion that doesn’t perfectly align with his own interests, but even after all these years, the wires in his brain simply cannot wrap themselves around sports no matter how hard he tries.

And he does try because, naturally, he has three daughters, Moe, Robbie, and Hazel, all of whom play sports.

To be clear – his kids can do literally anything they want, bar none.

He’s still in goddamn awe with the whole arrangement that is the life he lives every day – kids and a house and a job he loves and all that with Steve Harrington of all people. There’s no way Eddie would start fucking all that up by projecting his own weird quirks onto his children. He refuses to be the kind of parent that prevents their kids from doing anything just because they don't get it. If the girls want to play sports, they’re gonna play sports. Nothing wrong with that.

Still, sports are one of those things he takes the back seat and lets Steve hold the reins for, especially now that thirteen-year-old Moe is pretty deep into the whole basketball thing.

Steve understands the politics of the game, both on the court — like knowing which refs are gonna be biased towards which team and noting Moe’s play-time each game — and off. He schmoozes the coach, he’s friends with all the parents, all the things Moe, at thirteen, doesn’t even notice and Eddie, while aware of it, doesn’t understand. He still can barely follow the games themselves (and he goes to as many as he can, though he and Steve are outnumbered by one and with the prospect of the girls carting themselves around still a distant fantasy their schedule is insane so he can’t make them all). He does his best to follow his husband’s lead but Steve doesn’t always react to things the way Eddie thinks he will. He doesn’t bat an eye when a kid gets smacked in the face with a ball, nor at the impossibly loud thud when someone hits the deck (look — he gets the floor is hollow, but it is loud). He’s completely unbothered by the fit Moe throws every game whenever she’s inevitably benched for having an attitude with her opponents or her teammates or the coach or the ref or just about anybody who tries to get in her way.

As is what happened at Moe’s game yesterday.

Eddie hadn’t seen it — well, he’d seen it, but seeing something and understanding what he’s actually looking at are two totally different things. From what he gathers, Moe had missed an easy shot and gotten pissed off in her own little way about it, so she’d launched herself at whoever on the opposing team had gotten their hands on the ball after it ricocheted off the backboard. Unfortunately for Moe, the team they were playing had a reputation for being a little too aggressive for a middle school league, so when she’d hit the ground, she hit it hard. Moe had been pulled off the court by her coach (carded, maybe? Eddie still isn’t sure how that works in basketball) and scowled on the bench for the rest of the game.

Steve had tried to reason with her on the drive home (an interesting choice, in Eddie’s opinion).

“Darling,” he’d said, “I totally understand being upset about missing a layup, but I don’t know how to get it through your head that intentionally fouling someone isn’t the way to go about resolving that emotion. I love you and I support you, but I’m getting tired of watching you play for three minutes and then sit on the bench for the rest of the game.”

“Talk to the coach then,” Moe had grumbled.

“About what?” Steve exclaimed, “Moe — you do it on purpose!”

The conversation had ended not long later because Moe decided to give them both the silent treatment (a clear sign that she knew she was in the wrong even if she didn’t want to admit it) and Eddie thought that was the end of it (for that game, at least). Then, Moe threw them a curveball by spending most of that evening in the bathroom throwing up, at which point she admitted that her head had caught more of that fall during her basketball game than she’d originally let on.

Steve doesn’t mess around with head injuries (for obvious reasons), so the next morning he calls Moe out of school and brings her to their pediatrician to get checked out.

A couple hours after Robbie and Hazel boarded the school bus bound for their elementary school, Steve and Moe return home.

“So what's the verdict?” Ed asks as they enter the kitchen.

“She's concussed,” Steve announces.

“Like father, like daughter.”

“No sports, no bright lights, no reading, no school, no phone,” Steve says pointedly, and Moe only scowls harder. She’d been using the incident as a leveraging tactic in her crusade to get a phone. Not being able to play sports was a no-brainer; they’d all seen that one coming, so even as recently as this morning, she’d been claiming that she’ll “die of boredom without a phone,” while she recovers.

Even as recently as this morning, she’d been largely unsuccessful.

“Thirteen-year-old children do not need phones,” Steve had told her, “If someone wants to talk to you, they can call the house, and if it's urgent enough that it needs to be right now, you can get walkie talkies.”

“No one uses walkie talkies.”

“Your dad and I used walkie talkies all the time.”

“Uh, pretty sure it was just the one time, Steve,” Eddie pointed out.

“Yeah! And it worked out great!”

CONTINUE ON AO3

#did it work out great? or is steve's memory of 1986 a little fuzzy in 2014?#eddie is trying his best #basketball is very hard to follow if you don't know the game #as I have learned :/#steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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s0fter-sin · 5 months

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prince!ghost and lord in waiting!soap

ghost is a warrior prince, next in line after king price and it’s always been accepted he would be the lone ruler; never one for entertaining the courts or indulging foreign rulers trying to consolidate their power. he hardly acts like a prince at all, in name only when he spends more time as a pseudo captain of the guard. price has never begrudged him that, not when he himself has been a lone king since his inauguration

though he’s a warrior prince, he’s never lost the favour of the people; many see him as a guardian even if he doesn’t interact with the people as much as benevolent and stalwart king price. who he does interact with is the kingdom’s children; always ready to bend a knee and listen to bright voices, to praise stick swords and shields or hear the plight of a struggling family. it was a common belief that if he wasn’t out protecting, then he was with the protected; face covered, blonde curls shining in the sun

soap’s always loved ghost. as his lord in waiting, it’s been his job to attend him since they were young and even as a child, he’d idolised him; his skills in battle, his surety. he thought his life would be nothing but service, clothing a brat prince and making sure his shoes shined. but ghost has proven more than that; he treats him as an equal, consults him on strategy and court politics and over time that idolisation turned into love

and ghost has always felt the same. he’d begrudged the idea of a lord in waiting, not wanting someone always in his business but then came this spitfire who never missed an opportunity to push back on him; to make him dig deeper. johnny is more than some mere servant; he’s his confidant, his best friend, his… everything. he could be simon with him, not prince ghost

but simon figures that out too late

king price gets word from king shepherd, a kingdom they’ve only recently stopped feuding with and he’s offering up his son, prince graves, as a way to bond their kingdoms together and firmly put war behind them. price is ready to deny him, he doesn’t fear war from shepherd, when he sends some ancient laws that leave him unable to refuse. he hates it, hates that he’s ruining ghost’s happiness and feels like he’s betraying his adopted son but there’s nothing he can do

graves comes to their kingdom within the month and it’s clear from the moment he walks through their gates that he’s the opposite of ghost; arrogant and conceited, his ceremonial armour glossy and untouched by battle. he’s dismissive of their servants, of their ways, of their people and ghost hates him

graves insists that the wedding happen as soon as possible, pushing the craftsmen and cooks beyond their limits to prepare and every moment ghost spends with him, the more he dreads his wedding day. every evening he retreats to his room, exhausted, and it’s all johnny can do to keep him afloat; trying to keep him positive as ghost falls away and simon breaks in his arms. he wants to whisk him away like the old tales, the pain his oldest friend and love is in making his heart ache but all he can do is promise to be there with him

but it seems graves wants to take even him away

“soap’s been my lord in waiting since we were children,” ghost protests, voice barely clinging to civility. “i wouldn’t want to lose such a valuable worker.”

“there are plenty of decent servants in our kingdom; you’ll forget this one soon enough,” graves waves away, carding a possessive hand over his curls and it’s only bc he’s looking for it that soap sees ghost’s jaw twitch beneath his neck gaiter. “it’s custom for one marrying into our kingdom to embrace all that it has to offer, leaving who they were behind to become someone better. you’re entering a new life with me; you don’t need the baggage of this dreary place.”

soap feels sick as he walks behind them, his blank expression hiding all sign of his breaking heart.

“soap is beholden to me,” ghost declares. “we were sworn together by the old laws. i’m afraid a custom isn’t enough for me to break a vow to the gods.”

graves lets out a disgruntled noise, tugging harshly at one of ghost’s curls with only a thin veil of fondness; his conceding smile not reaching his eyes.

“i never made a vow to the gods,” johnny points out later. “price gave me to you because he was sick of me setting fire to the kitchens.”

simon hums and sets his freshly cleaned armour aside, turning to him with a twinkle in his eyes he’s barely seen since sheperd’s missive. “you pinkie swore that you would never leave me; that’s more powerful than any promise to the gods,” he says and soap’s thrown back fifteen years, to a willow tree big enough to touch the sky; to two boys from different stations who didn’t care that one was dressed in silk and the other in scraps.

johnny feels a lightness he hasn’t in a month as simon winks at him. “besides, do you really think graves is smart enough to figure it out?”

the days pass quickly, graves’ veneer of affection growing ever thinner, and before either of them are ready, it’s the eve of ghost’s wedding.

he’s said nothing, done nothing but stare at the wedding robes graves had tailored for him in the fashion of his kingdom and johnny doesn’t know how to break the silence. he draws out each second as he fusses with the cape piece and ensures the shoes shine in the fire light until he has no more excuses.

he sighs as he straightens up, brushing off polish onto his pants. “i suppose this is where i leave you,” he says with a weak smile but it quickly dies when simon still doesn’t look at him. “i’ll be here in the morning to help you get ready… good night, simon.”

johnny bows and makes for the door, trying to convince himself he didn’t just say goodbye.

but he’s stopped by simon’s hand loosely wrapping around his wrist.

he looks back as simon finally tears his eyes away from the robes, looking at him with such clear longing it almost brings him to his knees.

“i don’t want graves to be the first man to touch me, johnny,” he confesses and johnny’s breath hitches. “i don’t want to be married to another… not when the one i’m set to wed isn’t you. but if i have to do this… please let me feel loved one final time.”

simon’s thumb brushes the back of his hand; their kingdom’s greatest warrior caressing him with a touch light as silk. he doesn’t pull johnny in, doesn’t need to; johnny’s already sinking into his touch.

desperation and love tinge every movement; johnny dancing his fingers over simon’s neck gaiter until he all too happily removes it, baring his scarred cheeks and lips. johnny kisses each one, willing his love and his touch to linger above all others as they move together; sharing breath, sharing body, sharing soul the way they wish they always have.

when ghost makes his way down the aisle, it’s not in the fine embroidered robes graves had laid out for him. he’s in his battle armour; dark and weathered, the sign of the ghost, the warrior prince, going to battle. the only thing missing is his helm, tucked under his arm.

showing his hair; curls gone and shaved tight to his skin.

a thing done only in a time of great mourning.

graves looks irate and it’s the only spark of joy ghost feels as he stops before the altar; set beneath the willow tree where johnny promised himself to him. one final insult.

ghost is silent throughout the ceremony and in spirit and in grief, so is the entire gathered kingdom until the priestess reaches the final vows and suddenly, a great roar rises above the crowd as seemingly every child in the kingdom swarms the altar.

ghost is too shocked to do anything but let them push him away from graves, bullying their way between them like they’re preparing to protect him just as he’s always protected them.

graves is furious but the children stand firm in the face of his threats until he moves to strike one-

and freezes as soap’s blade finds his throat.

“you would dare hurt these children?” he growls, sword following graves as he stumbles back. “you’ve kept up your charade the entire time and here is where you show your true colours. i think it’s time i show mine.”

graves splutters as johnny turns to the priestess and king price, falling to one knee and offering up his blade. “your grace, i wish to challenge prince graves for the hand of prince simon!”

his voice rings clear and he feels the eyes of every person in the kingdom.

but he only cares for one man.

who is watching him with more love than he’s ever felt.

“who are you to challenge me?” graves sneers. “you’re nothing more than a servant; no better than the dirt on my boots.”

johnny doesn’t bother to look at him, too caught in the love in simon’s eyes and the grateful look on king price’s face. “then you should have nothing to worry about. you’ve been crowing your accolades from the rooftops since you got here; let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

because simon only ever introduced him as his lord in waiting.

never as sir soap- his second in command and one of the greatest swordsmen their kingdom has ever seen.