#and four adopted(technically)kids

[dothestarsshine-art]

EDIT: definitely turned into a massive rant about Vander's politics, I tried to not be petty and I failed, I can't fix it with another draft, he drives me nuts. In this unassigned essay I literally will...

Vander criticism incoming because I re-watched the Sevika rematch in the last drop and holy moly did he do Vi dirty (What his guardianship style meant for Powder, Mylo, and Claggor all deserve their own posts) and I can’t think about Vi’s struggles without thinking about VanderLand™. Not saying he didn’t do good, not saying he couldn’t have been worse, just that…:

Vander preached against fighting, but lived (comparatively) large off of his reputation for fighting AND through the exchange of a blind eye from the enforcers in return for keeping his own community under heel. Grayson saying, “I keep out of your business and you keep your people off of my streets” or whatever, suggest to me the passes that Vander has enjoyed in his interests over the years.

His thriving business, the life he projects, no fighting oppression, only bar-keeping, but we see him throw his reputation around as a favor to to his friends, like Huck and Babette. Would the undercity merchant/business owner class want your protection if they knew what was up? Maybe, Benzo was on board. What about the rest of the undercity that aren't enterprising? Silco saying, "Not JUST for the Lanes, but for the whole of the underground," is huge.

It pays to be Vander’s friend, but no one else could possibly realize the success that I think he pretends he did. The lifestyle he's trying to get Vi to subscribe to (VanderLand) doesn’t actually exist. Everyone is seeing that but him and Vi is boiling over in confusion and frustration and self-doubt and anger.

If any other kids had caused the damage in Piltover that made Marcus go all ham, their parents would not have had the luxury of negotiating with Grayson, and I honestly don't believe that Vander would have turned himself in to protect them. When Vander or Grayson die, the little pocket of safety that he's carved out for the lanes will be lost, this only benefits a select few for as long as Vander can pull it off.

Bless you Sevika for leaving him behind, my god. The way he claims all responsibility for the day of ash is honestly just insulting. If you hadn’t led them across that bridge, maybe someone else would have, my guy.

Look at the lengths Sevika and others go to to fight YOU so they can have another chance to fight the real enemy without you protecting your cushy life (and kids, yeah, yeah, but it’s still painfully short sighted. People had kids the first time around, some people in the bar calling to fight back with Sevika surely also have kids. That’s -why- they want to fight) all over the conversation. He talks to vi like he opened and closed the book on revolution - get out of the WAY OLD MAN.

To Vi he’s like, Yes, I live a better life for myself, my family, and my friends leveraging just the sheer -memory - of when I used to fight, but you can’t.

There's a difference between self-defense in dangerous streets and planning a heist to steal your way through life, but he seems to lump them together. Then in the same conversation telling her that fists aren’t the answer, he checked quality assurance checked that she kicked Deckard’s ass, because ultimately that is what he expects from her. Attacking the root cause of gangs like Deckard's is immature and selfish, but you better be a good enough fighter to beat the shit out of them on call. WHAT a moving target.

What I saw in Vi’s delirium in the bar in the Sevika rematch was Vander dissing her guard and telling her she has no choice but to keep fighting, that she’s needed, whether she’s wanted or not. And yeah, it’s not Vander that said that, it’s in Vi’s head, but it's reminiscent of things we did see him tell her as a teenager, that message of “you are the only hope that the people you love have, you're responsible for everything that happens when you interact with them, you're not allowed to not interact with them, in fact you must -lead- them. Also, you're stupid.”

For that to be what her brain cooks up for her mentor to say to her to stay conscious and in the game, the way that she accepts it with a huffed laugh and it actually HELPS HER is so gaahhhhhhh.

Fundamentally, (in the admittedly very little we saw in act I of uniquely stressful time,) I feel that he offloaded the effort and responsibility of mentoring, nourishing, and raising all four kids individually, to Vi. He literally made the others leave the room before giving the soft side of his lecture in the basement, then barked at, confiscated from, and threw stuff at the Mylo and Claggor on his way back upstairs. To expect Vi to take his guidance in, make sense of it (impossible), and redistribute it to the others is not cool, and that's why he makes me grump.

[sysig]

Webkinz collecting fever (Patreon)

[animationismycomfort]

so….

I’ve given my sonadow kid dead siblings cause I wanted some added angst and some people on here inspired me to do so because of all their sonadow kids so I then made an AU where they’re alive cause I felt really bad about them being dead but now I’ve grown insanely attached to them specifically the oldest and now I just think about my main one as if all of their siblings are alive which means my shadow and sonic just have an army of kids

[feralattentionwhore]

Every spring, for the last four years consecutively, by some twist of fate, my wife has ended up adopting a cat. Every single year without fail, and recently the topic of getting a new kitten has started joining our conversations, albeit jokingly. Coincidentally our youngest cat is turning 1 in a matter of days. God help me if this idiot gets us a fifth cat I'm going to end up in jail for homicide

[rosemaryhoney27]

"Diplomacy for the Feral and the Damned"

Bruce had just sat down in the Batcave with his second cup of post-patrol coffee—black as his mood, strong enough to keep a Kryptonian awake—when his private line buzzed. Not the Batline. Not the board line. The one buried so deep in encryption and passive-aggressive threats that even Oracle called it “Extra-Paranoid Mode.”

He stared. [Incoming Call: Vladimir Masters]

Bruce blinked. “…Oh, this is going to be a day.”

He answered with the flat monotone that had driven Gotham’s underworld into therapy. “Vlad.”

The holographic screen flickered to life—and there he was. Vladimir Masters, looking every inch the eccentric billionaire and possibly more ghost than man now. Silver-haired, in a robe that screamed “I paid three million for this and regret nothing,” surrounded by classical art, levitating books, and the faint crackle of ectoplasmic interference. The whole aesthetic screamed “If Lex Luthor was haunted by a Victorian novelist.”

Vlad beamed. “Brucie!”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s lovely to hear your voice, dear cousin. It’s been too long.”

Jason, eavesdropping from the shadows with popcorn, whispered, “Wait. Cousin? Since when do we have that brand of family drama?”

“Shh,” Tim muttered, scribbling something labeled Possible Interdimensional Ghost Cousins Conspiracy.

“I need your advice,” Vlad continued. “Something very personal. Deeply serious.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What now, Vlad?”

Vlad leaned forward, the screen staticking briefly. “How do you get your children to be civil with you?”

There was silence. Real, echoing, existential silence.

“…I wasn’t aware you had adopted children, Vlad,” Bruce said slowly, like trying not to scare off a rabid raccoon.

“I haven’t. Not technically,” Vlad said breezily. “But my godson is staying with me. Lovely boy. Has the appetite of a black hole and the sense of self-preservation of a rabid badger.”

“...Oh god,” whispered Dick, “he sounds like all of us.”

“Cute that Masters thinks we’re civil,” Damian sniffed. “How charmingly misinformed.”

“Wait. He said godson?” Tim asked, eyes lighting up. “Do you think—could it be—Phantom?”

Vlad didn’t notice the peanut gallery commentary. “The boy has caused four minor diplomatic incidents, bitten a baron, vanished into the ceiling during a formal gala, and accused a senator of being a reptilian. Which turned out to be accurate, but the delivery was unkind.”

Bruce squinted. “That sounds like… Dick, Damian, and Tim at the Wayne Foundation Spring Gala ‘19.”

“I know!” Vlad pointed at him like a man discovering fire. “That’s exactly what I said! He’s like your sons! In one small, glowing, vaguely feral body!”

“Glowing?” Steph mouthed. “Definitely Phantom.”

“So, cousin dearest,” Vlad purred. “How do you get them to listen? How do you parent the chaos incarnate?”

Bruce took a long, tired sip of his coffee and simply said, “I don’t.”

“…You don’t?”

“I survive it.”

“Bold of him to call this survival,” muttered Cass as Jason started texting Alfred for cookies and emotional support.

“Each one is an unpredictable event wrapped in trauma and tactical gear,” Bruce continued flatly. “They will not listen. They may occasionally pretend to. But only after chaos. Much, much chaos.”

Vlad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So there’s no secret Wayne method? No clever strategy?”

“...Cookies?” Bruce offered.

From beneath the desk, something gnawed at Vlad’s ankle.

He glanced down and hissed, “Danny, stop that, I told you we don’t bite family!”

“He said that senator looked like a snake,” came the muffled voice. “And I was right.”

Vlad groaned. “Why couldn’t he just be one kind of disaster? Why all of them?”

Jason grinned. “I like this kid.”

“New cousin,” Steph agreed. “Absolutely chaotic. Ten outta ten.”

Vlad looked back up at Bruce. “So. No help?”

Bruce looked thoughtful. “Keep fire extinguishers on hand. Avoid hosting events near chandeliers. Always assume they have at least two hidden weapons. And get used to being called ‘Dad’ at the most inconvenient political moments.”

A pause.

“Also,” he added, “tell him you’re proud. Even when he’s a disaster. Especially then.”

Vlad blinked. “...That worked for you?”

Bruce glanced around the cave. Steph had stolen Tim’s notes and was writing “FERAL COUSIN CLUB” across the top. Jason was already planning a trip to Amity Park. Damian was silently judging the snack selection of this new relative. And Dick was on his phone already texting Danny memes.

“…Eventually,” Bruce muttered.

“Charming,” Vlad sighed.

From under the desk: crunch.

“Danny! Stop chewing my furniture!”

Danny peeked out, sharp-toothed grin gleaming, eyes flickering green. “Tell B-man I wanna go to one of those galas next time. I wanna meet chandelier boy.”

Jason fist-pumped. “YES.”

Bruce just sighed. “...I’ll warn the staff.”

[clioerato]

Steve is the very supportive “ally”

Reverse of this post.

That kind of situation where Steve is the very supportive “ally” and totally knows Eddie is gay. And Steve, bless his heart, just really, really wants Eddie to feel safe—so he does everything he can to show he’s cool with it.

And he’s absolutely, completely, mind-blowingly unaware that he’s been dating Eddie Munson for years.

1986: Steve: “You’ve never been on a date with a guy? No worries, man—I’m technically a guy. I’ll go with you.” Eddie, blinking: “…Okay?”

1986: Steve: “You’ve never kissed a guy? That’s fine, it’s kinda like this…” Eddie, stunned: That was not ‘kind of like’—that was a kiss. That was a real, good kiss. Oh my God.

1987: Steve: “Sex? Uh—I think it’s totally normal! I can, like, show you a few things? I mean, if you want…” Eddie, halfway to cardiac arrest: Am I hallucinating? Is this happening? Is this real life?

1987: Steve: “Yeah, Robin and I are moving. You’re coming with us, obviously.” Eddie: “…Obviously.” Robin in the background, sipping her coffee, watching Steve like he’s a very slow-burn romance novel character.

1988: Steve: “Hey, by the way—you should list me as your emergency contact. I mean, we live together, and Wayne’s kinda far. If something happens, I’m the guy they’d call anyway.”

Eddie, looking at the form in his hands: “…Okay. Sure. My emergency boyfriend. Got it.” Steve: “What? So... Cool!”

1995: Steve: “So, uh… Robin’s officially moved in with her girlfriend. It’s just you and me now.” (pause) “You wanna maybe buy the place? Together? Like, co-own it. Makes sense, right?” Eddie, deadpan: “You’re asking me to buy a house with you.” Steve: “Yeah. It’s practical.” Eddie: “Right. Extremely platonic mortgage.” Steve: “Exactly!” Eddie, muttering: “I’m gonna put that on a t-shirt.”

1997: Steve: “We’ve lived together for, what, ten years? I’ll help you adopt. Co-parenting’s way easier than going solo.” Eddie: “Co… parenting?” Steve: “Yeah.” Eddie, whispering into the void: Dear God, give me strength. I didn't even say that I wanted a child.

2004: Steve: “Of course I’ll marry you if you need to make it official for paperwork or whatever—wait.” (pause) “…May be you want do it with someone you love?”

Eddie, deadpan: “Sweetheart. We share a bed. We have a joint bank account. We have a child. You kissed me goodbye this morning and told me not to forget your lunch.”

Steve: “Yeah, but… I do that with Robin too.”

Eddie: “You don’t kiss Robin on the mouth, Stevie. Any kids with someone? Sex?”

Steve, indignant: "Of course not!" Steve, understanding: "Of course not…"

Steve, slowly blinking: “…Holy shit. I’ve been dating you for, like, seventeen years.”

Eddie, grinning: “Welcome to the relationship, babe. Glad you could join us.”

Steve: “Do we have an anniversary?” Eddie: “We have four. You’ve missed them all.” Steve: “Well now I feel like a terrible boyfriend.” Eddie: “You just agreed to be my husband, technically.” Steve: “Oh my God.” Eddie: “I’ll make you a timeline later.” Steve: “Please do.”

[m00ntunaart]

Wow, I did not expect Boba/Din and Reva/Omega to be the ships that got me to post cringe ship art lol.

You can blame @skeletons-eat for the idea of Reva x Omega. They're the one to propose it, and I adopted it IMMEDIATELY. This whole ship concept and art is kinda inspired by their Reva Padawan AU, so go check them out!

This art dumb is obviously mostly about the two ships, but it's also kinda my take on the Reva Padawan AU. More of another 'order 66 didn't happen' AU.

But ANYWAYS-some tidbits on the art:

Page 1. Just Bobadin. I love this ship and their possible dynamics. And I especially love the opportunities of YOUNG bobadin, since in The Mandalorian they meet when both are late-middle age. Basically young Bobadin is a lot more feral and violent than canon age bobadin.

Page 2. THE RARE PARE THEMSELVES. I haven’t quite decided how I would imagine these two meet, but probably through some shenanigans where they both separately set out to do a mission (Omega against her brother’s wishes and Reva against her master’s). They end up tripping over each other and having to get out of the botched mission together, bonding along the way. 

Page 3.1. Just my headcanons for the four’s LGBTQ+ statues! Din is a trans man, panzexual and Demisexual. Boba is Bisexual. Reva is a trans woman and a lesbian. Omega is a lesbian.

Page 3.2. Did I take @skeletons_eat ‘s trans Reva headcacnon? Yes. Did I see someone headcanon Din as trans ONCE and accept it as fact? Yes. Would they bond over their shared experiences? Yes.

Page 4. Just Boba and Omega getting the chance to be siblings and harass each other (Okay mostly just Omega harassing Boba. She has experience with having brothers, so she knows how to be a menace). While Reva and Din bond over the shared knowledge that their gf and bf are dumbasses.

Page 5.1. Omega and Reva in their early relationship era. Where Omega is desperately rolling Charisma on Reva in an attempt at friendship/romance. But Reva is a little too steeped in her Jedi Culture-ness for it to have any effect (yet).

Page 5.2. Boba is very not impressed with his sister’s choice to date a JEDI. Omega thinks he doesn’t get to judge since he’s dating a Mandalorian from a ex-Death Watch covert and is (technically) part of House Vizsla

Page 6. Ayee it’s the parents of our four kids! None of them are exactly THRILLED at their children’s choice of partner, but they are grudgingly letting it slide. Though it doesn’t make the family get-togethers any less awkward.

[hellowyellow1]

Ace Attorney ships are so funny because they read like a fever dream when combined into a story.

Like—this is Phoenix Wright, whose ex was so evil she literally came back as a ghost to possess his sister figure. But it’s okay, because technically he was also dating her twin at one point—who actually did love him, by the way.

Anyway, Phoenix has moved on now and is married (in spirit and courtroom tension) to his childhood friend/rival/prosecutor who once tried to get arrested for murder out of guilt. Romantic.

Said prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth, now shares joint custody of their thief daughter (don’t ask) with a detective who simps for him so hard he practically licks the courtroom floor clean. That detective is married to a cop. The kid is a world-class criminal. It's a functional family.

Meanwhile, Edgeworth also has something... going on with a literal furry. They flirt like they're contractually obligated to confuse the fuck out of me.

Also, Edgeworth’s basically sister is dating Phoenix’s best friend, who’s like a sister to him.

And Edgeworth’s adopted lesbian daughter is dating a girl who used to idolize him, but also reminded Phoenix of his sister figure.

Also, did i mention Phoenix has another ex? Who’s a defense attorney? he frame Phoenix for forging evidence, didn’t help raise their adopted daughter, and then framed him again for murder. Oh, and His brother  is now dating Phoenix’s employee. Just regular Tuesday energy.

AND PHOENIX’S ANCESTOR? He had a dramatic friendship with a defense attorney prosecutor who “died,” came back as a corrupted prosecutor, and had to be saved with the power of courtroom belief and spiritual trauma. Generational drama is real.

Ace Attorney ships are actual cinema. Not just in a romantic way. In a “this is four genres of opera and a tax fraud subplot” way. AND I LOVE IIIIIIIIITTTT ALLLL

[honeyhonest]

warning for domesticity1!!!

okay now get this. you wake up one morning and Grim is a human.

Not a teenager, at this teenage boy school. Grim is like, four years old at most. Okay, sure, he acts, and talks, and thinks like a very small child, but that was when he was a fucking cat! He poops outside and licks himself when he thinks you aren't looking!

So now you have this fucking, tiny human child in your house. Okay. And you have no idea why he is suddenly a little baby. Malleus and Vil both have a look at him and can't detect any abnormal magic. No potions, no poisons, no curses, no hexes, no spells, no blot.

You are not cut out for single parenthood. If you're going down, then someone is going down with you.

Obviously the first and second years are not equipped to be a step-father, even if platonically. The third years, too. If you even look in Leona's general direction he'll pick you up by the scruff of your neck and dropkick you off the island.

But that's no problem! You're a grown-up, there are other grown-ups here, someone has to help!

Your first pick is obvious. Lilia has the most experience, and is the most helpful. He's even offered to babysit cat-Grim before!

And he's flattered, but... no. Babysitting is quite different from raising a child, he just doesn't have the time or energy for that anymore. He has his family, and throwing another kid (+ partner?) into the pot might upset his boys, especially since Malleus'... uh, episode wasn't that long ago.

Then there's Trein. Raised two daughters on his own, years of teaching experience, reputable and reliable and- no. No, absolutely not. He's a girl dad through and through, and he's had ENOUGH of raising the NRC boys to be somewhat respectable young men. Again, he must consider his daughter's reactions to randomly adopting a baby with one of his coworkers-slash-students. And poor Lucius... so, he hands you a wad of thaumarks and tells you exactly what to buy.

Sam jokes about being a cool uncle but isn't much help otherwise. He does give you a slight discount on the diapers, though (Grim is not potty-trained).

Vargas isn't really good with the whole "baby" thing, so even if he did want to help, you'd be stuck doing most of the work anyhow.

Crewel bursts into maniacal laughter and slams his door in your face.

You're at a loss.

While everyone had offered something- their advice, their condolences, and their thaumarks- none had offered to help. How are you supposed to raise a whole BABY on your own?? Let alone one that breathes fire!!!

You can't just abandon him. He's your responsibility, and you have an obligation to...

...Oh, right.

No person, not the staff, nor your friends, had the obligation to help you.

Except for one.

All Crowley says when you throw his door open and drop a thumb-sucking Grim (not that he's that young, he's just enjoying having opposable thumbs for the first time) on his desk, is, "Well... this is quite the predicament you have, isn't it?"

"You mean the predicament WE have,"

He pales, which technically shouldn't be possible, considering the nearly blue shade of his skin.

"Now, let's not be rash, Prefect-"

"Either fix him or help me. We're your responsibility, Headmage,"

He curses under his breath (probably something like "goodness me!") and stands from his seat.

Crowley mumbles something about hatchlings being less difficult while he tries to get Grim's shoes on his kicking feet. The Headmage keeps looking at you, either for help or approval, and you have to remind him that you don't know what you're doing, either. It's not like you gave birth to this thing, anyway.

Baby Grim is also a biter. Every ten minutes you can hear Crowley yelling for you because he's got metal in his mouth again. You haven't had a moment alone in, what, a week?

Potty training is even worse than it sounds, if only because Grim refuses to do anything you ask of him. He's somehow more stubborn as a child than he was as a cat. He won't eat anything but sweets and tuna sandwiches, which you and Crowley are both getting very, very sick of.

There are some upsides to it, though. Ramshackle is cleaner than ever, since Crowley got tired of having to pry glass and peeling wallpaper out of Grim's mouth. Grim has better control of his magic now, and he's less clumsy with thumbs. The Headmage even went out of his way to buy a nicer, bigger bed for the three of you, since he was jealous that you and Grim got to have the bed and he was resigned to the couches in the guest room when he stayed the night.

Crowley is, weirdly, not awful at this. He insists on making the food and feeding Grim (it's a bird thing) and cleans him, too. Even when it's spit-up because Grim can't seem to resist testing the limits of his new stomach. But the Headmage also sees that you're sleeping enough, studying enough, and eating enough, too. And when you're running his errands under this new pretense, it feels more domestic than professional.

Everyone on campus thinks you're absolutely demented btw.

One day you'll get too lost in the sauce and Crowley will tenderly say "Let's have another one" and you'll have to remind him that Grim is a fucking cat.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for inkwell behind the cut; "Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!" (( chrono || non-chrono ))

But also, Lynn almost definitely needs to sleep if he’s really stayed awake for four whole days. Or even, like, just mostly stayed awake. Maybe Kryptonians don’t need much sleep, but Billy’s definitely heard Superman at least mention sleeping before and Lynn’s still technically a newborn, and babies need a lot of sleep, right? And so do teenagers, actually, he’s pretty sure, ‘cuz he always hears about them sleeping a lot, so like . . . 

“Your head doesn’t hurt or anything, right?” Billy asks, and Lynn stays tense in his arms, but also keeps his grip on his sweater, so Billy’s not really sure, like . . . how to take that, or whatever. “Did you get hit in it too bad at Cadmus?” 

“. . . I don’t know,” Lynn says, still stiff. Which makes sense, Billy guesses, because–“It hurt a couple times, I guess. I don’t know what’s–’too bad’.” 

“How long did it hurt for?” Billy asks, his frown deepening a little more. “Do you feel, like–dizzy or lightheaded? Or, um–cottony? Like things are maybe a little, like, not connecting?” 

“Six to twelve seconds. And, uh–no,” Lynn says. “Nothing like that.” 

“Okay,” Billy says, and relaxes a little. Lynn’s pupils are both the same size and he didn’t act sleepy or out of it ‘til now, and Kid Flash and his parents apparently didn’t notice anything like that either, so . . . probably it’s fine? He thinks? Like, he’s definitely gonna google some stuff that the wisdom of Solomon is maybe a few thousand years behind on, medically-speaking and all, and also obviously keep an extra-close eye on Lynn for the next couple days just in case, but he’s almost sure it’s fine. 

Just–as long as he keeps an extra-close eye on Lynn, anyway. He does know concussion symptoms can show up a few days later, so–yeah, definitely he’s gonna keep an eye on him. Six to twelve seconds isn’t very long for something to hurt, though, so he’s pretty sure he’s just being paranoid? 

But also he’s definitely gonna be paranoid about possible head injuries, so yeah, that’s kinda just gonna have to be a thing, Billy figures. Like that one’s just unavoidable. 

“You probably do need to sleep,” he says. “Like I don’t know how much Kryptonians have to, but if you’re getting wobbly that kinda, you know, implies you need to? Or at least need to pretty soon?” 

“. . . oh,” Lynn says. “Uh. Right.” 

Billy feels kind of guilty about saying that, because I slept for four months is a pretty blatant sign of Lynn definitely being at least a little bit leery about the idea of going to sleep on purpose, but like–well, it's gonna be worse if Lynn stresses himself out about it for too long first, he figures. And he's not gonna be a very good dad if he lets Lynn stress himself out worrying about stuff that’s, like–irrational? Which, he doesn’t wanna say that’s an irrational thing to worry about, because if Lynn’s worried he’s got good reasons to be, just–like–

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 12/05

@carcinogeneticist-writes-fanfic asked: I know your policy has been to hold off listening to the official albums until you're done with HS and I totally get that, wanting to hear them in the context of the comic first is totally valid. That said, would you be willing to give early consideration to Michael Bowman's solo album, "Mobius Trip and Hadron Kaleido?" It's got the rather dubious honor of being one of only two or three official albums (out of like 30!) to NOT see any rep in the comic at all and I'd hate for you to miss out.

Found it on the Collection! It's generally a very chill album, with a lot of lower-energy tracks that might have been hard to fit in one of Homestuck's high-octane Flash animations.

It's not really my type of music, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate something different every once in a while! I think my personal favorite is Dawn of Man.

@likelyvampirical asked: While on the subject of Bowman, On The Thirteenth Day has been sent to you.

This one's fucking great. It feels like the kind of track you'd hear over the opening/ending to a Homestuck anime.

It also sounds vaguely like Sburban Jungle, but I don't know if I'd call it a remix; it feels more like it's gesturing meaningfully in Sburban Jungle's direction, which I like a lot.

@shelbybunny asked: re: voice headcanons in the (as of writing) latest ask comp; i think a good voice headcanon for John is Toby Fox’s voice in his ska cover of sunsetter or Michael Guy Bowman’s cover of How Do I Live

It's still so weird hearing Toby Fox's actual voice. He feels like the kind of guy who shouldn't have a concrete presence in our reality.

Anyway, these voices are both fairly close to how I imagine John sounding. Toby even looks somewhat like John - or, at least, his hair does.

@heattth asked: Hi, I believe you mentioned once that if Tumblr died you would continue this blog on Discord. I don't know how likely this is to happen, but, could I ask you which server that would be?

I currently run an on-and-off gaming Discord which is open to all the blog's followers. If Tumblr goes down for good, I might just convert it into the new primary liveblogging platform - although Discord has its own issues, so I'm not 100% committed to that. Guess we'll see what happens!

@manorinthewoods asked: I've heard the Hockerberts (Hockengberts?) called the House of J. Unsure how common that is. ~LOSS (28/4/25) @cationicflood asked: the prospit kids may also collectively be referred to as the J-squad, as all four of them have names beginning with J (this is a trait that i do not think any other character outside this group possesses)

Yeah, there's no real way to legibly combine all four names. I came up with 'Prospit Patrol' the other day, and I honestly kind of love it - but I guess that'd technically include the Prospit trolls, too.

Anonymous asked: i think the key difference between jade and jake’s social lives despite being completely isolated is that jade at least had bec and prospit. with jakes dreamself dead (which presumably never woke up) and no guardian to speak of, hes pretty much completely alone out there

Actually a very good point. We eventually learned that Jade was in contact with the White Queen, so she was doing some in-person socialization. Clearly, that mattered a lot more than I realized.

@morganwick asked: Recall that future Jade shared your frustration over causal time loops, wanting ideas to actually come from where they came from. She did manage to get Karkat to be just vague enough to get her to do what she wanted herself to do while still giving herself enough room to come up with as much of the idea as possible herself. Karkat technically didn't even tell her to captchalogue the window, only draw it, the assumption/understanding being that she'd use the scribblepad to do so.

I definitely like that interpretation a lot better than the idea that the information was spontaneously stable-looped into existence, so I'm adopting it as my personal canon. The less loop-generated intel we have, the better.

@that-good-ol-fashioned-mothgirl asked: funny how Jane “biggest fan of a baking empire” Crocker subscribes to empiricism

Clearly, an 'empire' is any organization that values tangible evidence over logical reasoning. Jane's brainwashing is clearly benign - the Condesce is just trying to make her a better skeptic!

@that-good-ol-fashioned-mothgirl asked: the green sun is the theoretically infinite felt on English’s temporal pool table

In other words, the entire multiverse is part of Lord English's game. Seems fitting to me.

@elkian asked: Something I put together recently thanks to your blogging: the more conventially intelligent/sapient a Sprite component, the better a Sprite can communicate with the Player. BUT, these are also more independent and can operate on their own impetus, proving in some cases (like Jadesprite) to be unwilling/unable to help the Player for whatever reason. It's a neat balancing mechanic.

That's actually a really good explanation for why Jadesprite was so independent.

She's not the only one who's exhibited this trait, either - Davesprite also seemed comfortable with resisting sprite programming!

@mhafanlol2000 asked: Dave spent his childhood with Cal, too, and he doesn’t seem hypnotized. What makes you so convinced that Dirk will turn out to be worshipping English, or something?

Ah, but Dave didn't actually own the doll.

Bro was the one carrying it around all day, and he can't be flash-stepping around Dave that often. For the majority of the time, he was the one receiving the lion's share of Cal's miasma, as he has been since the moment he was cloned.

Dirk is the same, of course, but he's only had Cal for sixteen years, while Bro was in his thirties, at least. Dirk seems a lot more normal than his counterpart, so we can at least assume he's less corrupted than Bro.

Anonymous asked: I'm not going to lie, the fact that the entire acts 1-5 of homestuck are ONE DAY is one of my favorite fucked up facts about this story. Like, honestly maybe more than 24 hours passed, but because we got untethered from Earth time immediately after entering and it's not like the Incipisphere has a day/night cycle, A VERY LONG MONDAY AFTERNOON INDEED

The second the camera cuts away from John and Jade, they're going to immediately pass out for a good twenty hours.

Hey, do we think Davesprite needs to sleep? Surely not, right? Alright, he can look after them, then.

@elkian asked: Just wanted to say that I'm loving the liveblog in general, and in particular I really like your take on how the Alpha timeline works. "Based on what this character would most likely do in this situation" not only frees it from some of the rigidity of predestination, which can definitely get stifling or flatten a story if taken too far; it's also a good explanation in terms of meta. It works as both a general explanation and story-themed one, and I like it a lot. Seems accurate, too!

You can thank Terry Pratchett for putting the idea in my head, back when I was first reading Night Watch. It's a really satisfying way to resolve the identity issues surrounding time travel, isn't it?

@drakethedeep asked: Keep that thought in mind regarding a timeline involving interfering with the green sun. On a similar train of thought, timelines seemed to become doomed when they can no longer contribute to the timeloop that created them to begin with. For example, in the first doomed timeline we see, because John dies, he cannot perform the ectobiology that results in the creation of him and his friends/family. so keeping that in mind, what conclusion/ theories about the alpha timeline do you have?

Initially, I thought that any timeline which could no longer satisfy its own loops would be instantly doomed - but that would have caused Davesprite's timeline to fade long before Future Dave actually left, since John's death immediately made the Veil cloning impossible.

However, the wording you use here comes close to fixing that issue. Davesprite's timeline could never fulfil the time loop created by John's Veil cloning - but it still contributed to the Alpha Timeline, via Davesprite. Maybe a timeline only fades once it can no longer contribute to the Alpha in any way whatsoever.

@wolygan asked: Kinda neat how as Sollux is dying his powers change from the red and blue to just his blood colour, as if he is casting from his health instead of just having an ability, now that his eyes are burnt out.

Oh, interesting. I didn't consider that!

Sollux has said he's retiring his duality schtick, and apparently that includes his red/blue motif. After all, he's not really 'the duality guy' anymore - he's just Sollux.

@liliflower137 asked: This is probably a little late as I'm still catching up but,,, gush, Vriska's conversation with John, where she expresses regret, where she thinks back on what she has done… It made her my favorite character for a while. Just. The potential of her learning to be different, of becoming something more than the world she was born into. Seeing a character so HORRIBLE, so AWFUL, turn around and… realize. It's so powerful.

Yup. Super fucked up that she died before she was able to complete her metamorphosis - but I'm confident that her story's not over. After all, we've already started hanging out with her ghost!

@liliflower137 asked: Hello!! I am not quite caught up yet but your description of Scratch as thinking like an author is BRILLIANT, I never would've thought of that and it makes him make so much more sense!!! Man he's way more interesting to me now, thank you!!! This liveblog continues to be the most fascinating read of all time!!

Thanks - it just made sense to me, y'know? Scratch even talks a little like Hussie sometimes, and the idea that he's a pseudo-author is the only thing I can think of that explains some otherwise extremely strange phrasing on his part.

@liliflower137 asked: Hello hello again! I've just seen the map you showed of Rose's coordinates and you can literally see the town i live in on that map!! So I can tell you Northern New York State, at least around that section, is VERY rural. The closest Starbucks is in Canada and its mostly dairy farms and cornfields around here! New York is a big state and aside from the city itself and some other places it's actually surprisingly empty. Hell, I've lived here for like 9 years and I've never even been close to NYC! But its definitely not remote, people live and work in that national park nearby! And there's plenty of burger kings for sure. (I'd even say maybe the one 40 minutes away was the one in my town but I'm pretty sure it opened after I moved here so probably not) It's so wild I could pretty easily drive to where Rose's house would've been… crazy.

Oh, fun - it's like you're her neighbor!

If you're that local, you might be living closer to Rose's address than any other Homestuck fan on the planet. You've got to be at least in the top ten, right?

@liliflower137 asked: Another addition to the jade seer of light fakeout that I've noticed during my own reread (inspired by yours!) Remember Jade's wardrobifier? One of her possible shirt symbols was the symbol for the Light Aspect!

Hussie's Trick continues to bamboozle the unprepared.

@liliflower137 asked: After sending you a bunch of asks while reading, I'm finally caught up!! Whew I can finally stop accidentally staying up until like 5am reading your incredible analysis and being distracted at work! I'm free!! Thanks for the ride!!

Hah, this really is a serious compliment. Don't worry, I've been staying up till pretty close to 5 lately as well. That's what happens when you're gaming on a server in a US timezone!

Anonymous asked: hello ms wertsearch! i have just finished binging your entire liveblog in lieu of any meaningful way to access homestuck OR the unofficial homestuck collection (kind of a lie - i'm sure it's on the wayback machine) and i have to say you might just be the ideal homestuck reader! you analyze these characters AND this story so quickly and perfectly it is very awesome to read. i cannot wait for you to stick it out through the rest of act 6! have a wonderful day!!!

Thank you so much! As far as I'm aware, there are still a couple of unofficial mirrors of the comic floating around online. I asked around on the Discord and was provided with this link, which seems perfectly functional to me.

Anonymous asked: I just want to send a message to let you know how much I appreciate and enjoy your blog. Ive had a very rough couple of years (who hasn't, right?) and reading this blog has been such an escape. It makes me feel like I'm 13 again and reading homestuck on the school computer with my friends. You have such insightful things to say about the comic. I never really jelled with the homestuck fandom outside of my irl friends I read the comic with, so your blog is kind of like a second shot at participating in the fandom for me. I'm having so much fun. Thanks for doing this. <3

As always, messages like these are the greatest motivator I have for continuing to liveblog. I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but thank you for sharing! :)

Anonymous asked: Your liveblog is So fun to read, especially when you predict plot points that are either extremely true or extremely false (like when you theorised at the very beginning that jade was genetically modified to be a sburb player! Or when [spoiler] and also [spoiler] and especially [spoiler]) Are you planning to read through your own liveblog when you've finished reading the comments to see how many things you jokingly predicted that came true? Or are you relying on asks to point out things like that?

I'm definitely reading through it when I'm done! I've even half-jokinly considered liveblogging the liveblog, but that might be a bridge too far even for me, lmao

@manorinthewoods asked: I've found another HS liveblog! 'researchhpurposes'. They've not made it through Act 5 yet, so hopefully they're spoiler-free - although, like you, they're going in only mostly blind, so there might be a stray thing here or there. Going to read through and see if there's anything extraordinary. ~LOSS (29/4/25)

(I'm noticing they *do* engage with reblogs, so without reading the whole thing, I'd say there's probably *some* spoilers. -V)

I can't wait to take a gander at some other liveblogs - but, yes, strangely enough, some of them can still spoil the comic, even if they're even farther back than I am!

@mrjocrafter asked: Once Upon a Time, a serialized live action soap opera / fantasy show with a batshit convoluted plot on par with Homestuck (i highly recommend it) has this concept called The Author, who's an individual blessed/cursed with the power to rewrite reality by literally writing in book(s), but if this power is suppressed, overpowered, or lost, the wielder is just some guy with a pen/quill. This is how I like to think of character!Hussie in Homestuck.

I've actually been watching a Once Upon a Time retrospective series on YouTube, and it's been an enjoyable watch so far. I even checked out the first couple of seasons myself - and, yes, batshit is exactly how I'd describe the average day in Storybrooke. Why the fuck wasn't it in Kingdom Hearts?

Anonymous asked: Yo so i was just rewatching Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency and i was thinking since you like homestuck you should watch that if you haven't seen it already. Similar vibes. It's super excellent, it stars Elijah Wood. It did get cancelled after season 2 which sucks but each season is its own story with its own resolution. The stuff they were setting up for season 3 looked so dope tho, it's so tragic i'll never get to see it. It's the only thing that gives me the same feeling as homestuck. I don't want to like, say what it's about cuz like homestuck i think it's best to just jump in blind. If you have already seen it i'd love to hear your thoughts.

I haven't seen it myself, but I know the book it's based off. Dirk Gently shares an author with one of my favourite series, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so I feel like the show is probably up my alley too. Will definitely add it to the list!

Anonymous asked: Community is a sitcom about a study group at a community college. I recommend it, it's got a wit to it that I think you'd like.

I've seen a couple of clips of Community, but it didn't really click with me. That said, it's hard to judge the overall quality of a show from just a handful of clips, so I may give it another chance.

@manorinthewoods asked: There's a further benefit to the three-year time skip; it'll bring the characters roughly in line with the IRL time movement. April 2009 -> November 2011 is five months off the three-year timespan - which is sensible, since you need that time to actually write the story. Five months is. Probably a reasonable expectation, from the outset, for how long it might take to progress to the end of the timeskip - but, of course, this is a webcomic, and webcomics are very well known for taking absolutely ages to write. ~LOSS (29/4/25)

If that's true, and Hussie is timing things so that the kids emerge in November, then they're kind of playing with fire here.

I mean, committing yourself to maintain a consistent posting schedule for five months? Couldn't be me, is all I'm saying.

[evilkitten3]

...that has the potential to be hilariously funny actually

What if, Madara raised Naruto from the shadows?

[felpimburning]

SVSSS/PIDW au where Shen Yuan transmigrates as a child, like he died in his old body as a four-year-old, I'm just gonna say he was shot by some guy with a gun who was getting payed by *insert rival company to the Shens* to kill a member of the family, and the guy didn't wanna orphan some kids so he just shot one of them and ran tf out of there.

Shen Yuan just wakes up in an alleyway as some OC insert that looks exactly like him but he was basically just tricked by the system in thinking he was going to play a game. He is disgusted by how dirty the clothes he's wearing are and wants to stop playing the game so he can be clean.

Cue him eventually getting hungry and asking a lady for some food with tears eyes and the lady folds like a wet tissue to a sad child and just hands him some tanghulu, which Shen Yuan is very happy about.

Yue Qi eventually sees this young and sad child just munching on some tanghulu in an alleyway and just immediately and internally adopts him, because the boy very much reminds him of his Xiao-Jiu, he becomes even more firm on adopting this child once he learns his surname is also Shen.

Yue Qi introduces the confused but happy Shen Yuan to Shen Jiu and is excited to see how they interact. Shen Jiu kicks it off by saying he wants this new child gone, he doesn't want to share HIS Qi-ge, but he slowly grows curious enough to let Shen Yuan stay, he just wants to know why his hair is so short and why he is also a Shen, maybe they're related and he also got abandoned, because he keeps crying about how he misses his family.

Of course months go by and Shen Yuan gets severely attached to his new siblings, thinking he was abandoned by his real family and not wanting them to leave him, so he is very clingy, and Shen Jiu is not happy with this, he wants his Yuan-di to stop being so emotional, people are going to take advantage of the fact he's so nice, and Shen Jiu might not be there to help him, which makes him annoyed because he wants to be seen as strong enough to protect both Qi-ge and Yuan-di.

A year passes and Shen Jiu is six now, Shen Yuan had turned five, and Yue Qi has turned 8 and eventually presents as an alpha.

(Yes, plot twist, there is omegaverse because I said so.)

Yue Qi's alpha pheromones kick in and he becomes ten times more attached to his little brothers, and he would gladly bite anyone who hurt them (Yes, this has already happened).

Shen Jiu dislikes how strong his Qi-ge's scent is and tells him that it's so musky and he should learn to dim it down a little bit. Shen Yuan just tells his Qi-ge that Jiu-ge is absolutely right, Yue Qi agrees.

Eventually, the slave traffickers find out Shen Jiu and Yue Qi have been technically smuggling Shen Yuan around and they're happy because they have another person to get them money, so, what do they do?

They brand him and form a contract, now referring to him as Shiyi.

Shen Jiu and Yue Qi absolutely refuse to call their didi anything but his name, and of course, Yuan-di or Xiao-Yuan.

Things go as normal with the three brothers all being little shits.

Two years pass and Shen Jiu presents as an omega.

He despises it and insists on pretending to be a beta, Shen Yuan is confused but doesn't argue, he has seen how people often treat omegas, and it isn't very kindly.

[nicosasha]

Breakbee + Rubble AU pt3

Rubble is approximately four to six years old and was born almost in the late stages of the war

His primary caregiver is Hot Rod however he has help from Cliffjumper, rachet and Jazz and sometimes Prowl.

In my AU Bumblebee, Cliffjumper and Hot Rod are brothers and adopted sons of Optimus.

Rubble misses his parents very much, he prays every day to primus that his parents come back safely or are ok, he is a really happy boy. Hot Rod makes everything feel better by giving him lots of cuddles and attention every chance he gets But sometimes that doesn't work because at night he wakes up crying waking up his Uncle wondering when his parents are coming back so Hot Rod can't do anything but hug him and tell him that everything will be ok.

One day Rubble gets on Prowl's ship “accidentally” and hides for the whole trip until he reaches earth where he gets off without being seen, and starts looking for his parents only to accidentally meet Soundwave and pues..... Soundwave child who sees child who remains

I based it on the storyboard where twitch is locked in Soundwave's cavity and starcream scolds him why he can't keep it.

I found it very funny plus I've been thinking, shockwave created Breakdown so very technically he is something like his father (?) so if Soundwave is shockwave's conjxs that means that very technically he would be Rubble's grandfather, probably Soundwave is holding on to this so he can be with the kid.

Shockwave obviously tells him it's illogical and stupid.

[stellaspectral]

Hey, I really love your work ❤️, I have a bit of a long one, and I'm sorry it's so longwinded, but I would really appreciate it if you did something with it. It's like an AU zombie universe but the future of the bayverse world they get transported to. So they get transported to the future where there are zombies, they go around a bit discovering and surviving, thinking its a different reality, when its actually the future, when they run into reader. Reader absolutely freaks out, and they think its because the fact they are mutant turtles. Then, future raph comes in because he's concerned for the reader, who is his best friend. He was upstairs, and she was downstairs in this house they were looking for supplies in. They are all surprised and shocked, and they get taken back to their base. A bunch of people live there, as the turtles kind of run somewhere like alexandria from the walking dead, and they meet future mikey, who is in charge of the gardens and farms and also a solider protecting this place and he has a one month old baby and a wife, future donnie who's a medic and is in charge of all the technical stuff while also ofc being a protecter and he has a wife that died and has adopted a kid whos 10 from the apocalypse, he could have a situationship going on or something like that. Future raph is a forager and has a gf for 2 years. All the turtles look older and worn down by the apocalypse, like, for example, raph is missing an arm. The present-day turtles find out that the reader was Leo's wife, who died protecting her and their adopted son, who's 4 now. Spliter died fighting the zombified shredder who bit him as the foot base was overrun by zombies. The rest is for interpretation but just like them living in the apocalypse with their future self while reader and their son feeling strange about the situation as leo died, and sort of treat leo like their husband/dad while also realizing it's not him. All the turtles are still ofc still grieving the loss of their brother, but Raph takes it the hardest and leo made them all promise to do everything to protect the reader and their son. Just mostly consisting of the turtles living the zombie apocalypse with their future selves and future partners, mainly focusing on reader and leo. Maybe it ends with the turtles going back to the Present and reader tells leo that he will meet his own present day reader, maybe some sort of scene where he recognizes a much younger version and rescues them.

A/N: Thank you so much for the compliment; it means a lot to me! 😊

I love writing horror, so I maaay have gone a bit overboard with the details/set-up for this request 😅 I really hope you enjoy it, anyway!

The Promise He Carries (angst/horror)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Post-apocalyptic future setting, descriptive violence, blood/gore, zombies (including an implied child), grief/loss themes, major character deaths mentioned, attempted mugging, hopeful (for the most part) ending. All characters are aged-up.

One moment, the four turtle brothers are in the lair.

In the next, reality lurches. Colors bleed into nauseating streaks, the world warping, tearing away with a force that feels like being turned inside out. Then, it snaps back like a rubber band, flinging them down hard onto cracked pavement.

Heat presses in, thick and dry, the air heavy with the metallic reek of bloodshed and the cloying sweetness of rot. Towering skyscrapers stand skeletal against the sky, their windows dark. Cars lie overturned, tangled with the weeds reclaiming the broken asphalt.

Worse yet, an unnatural stillness blankets the city.

“Whoa, dude,” Mikey breathes in the oppressive quiet. “This place gives me the major creeps. Feels like a horror movie set gone way too real.” He sniffs the air. “And it smells like—”

“—something died here,” Leo finishes, cutting Mikey off before he can make an ill-timed joke. “A lot of somethings, maybe.” He scans his surroundings, his hands instinctively going to the hilts of his katanas.

Raph’s gaze sweeps over the ruined storefronts, his eyes narrowed. “Just focus, Mikey. Something feels way off.”

Donnie is already scanning the desolate landscape. “The ambient energy signature is highly unusual. Fluctuations are consistent with temporal displacement. Perhaps a tear in reality? Or spatial distortion.” He drops to one knee, examining a chunk of rusted metal. “Judging by the corrosion, it seems this place has been abandoned for a significant amount of time. Logically, this suggests …”

“Suggests what, Donnie?” Leo prompts impatiently.

“Suggests this is another dimension,” Donnie replies, pushing up his goggles as he stands. “A different reality.”

Mikey shivers, despite the heat. “Abandoned? More like apocalypse-ed. Look!” He points a trembling hand towards a toppled newsstand.

Raph goes over to it and picks up the paper. The headline, barely legible beneath layers of grime, sends a wave of unease through him. “Plague Sweeps City,” he reads aloud. “Military Retreats; NYC Declared Lost Cause.”

Mikey takes an involuntary step back, bumping into Leo. “P-plague? Like, zombie plague?!”

“The term is vague. It could refer to a multitude of infectious agents,” Donnie says. “However, given the pervasive signs of rapid decay and the complete absence of observed lifeforms—”

“Not helping!” Mikey practically squeaks.

Leo straightens, his gaze sharp and focused. “Okay. So, we’re in an alternate New York that got hit by some kind of apocalypse plague years ago. Great. Just great.” He points towards the nearest intact-looking building—a sturdy, brick-built library, its windows dark but mostly unbroken. “We need cover and a defensible position. Let’s move. And Donnie—keep scanning for energy signatures, life signs. Anything.”

“Way ahead of you, Leo,” Donnie murmurs.

Raph takes point, sai drawn, muscles coiled tight as he leads them towards the library entrance. The heavy oak doors are scarred but still hang on their hinges. “Locked,” he grunts, testing the handle.

“Allow me,” Donnie steps forward, pulling a device from his belt. He fiddles with the lock mechanism for a moment, before a soft click is heard, too loud in the stillness.

Raph pushes the door open, revealing an interior shrouded in shadow and thick with the musty smell of decaying paper. Dust motes float in the shafts of sunlight piercing through the dirty windows. Books lie scattered across the floor, shelves are overturned, and there’s broken furniture.

“Clear?” Leo whispers, peering into the gloom.

Raph nods slowly, scanning the immediate area. “Looks clear for now.”

They step inside, the door swinging shut behind them with a dull thud.

“Okay,” Leo says, his voice hushed but firm. “Donnie, see if you can get any systems online, find out more about this ‘plague’. Raph, secure the entrance. Mikey, check the surroundings. Stay close.”

While Donnie moves towards a computer terminal near the main desk and Raph wedges a broken table leg under the door handle, Mikey edges along a row of overturned bookshelves. He runs a hand along the spines, over the thick layer of dust coating them.

“Man,” he says to himself. “Talk about overdue library books …”

Suddenly, a sharp, metallic clatter echoes from deeper within the library stacks.

All four brothers freeze. Raph whirls around, weapons ready. Leo draws a katana while Donnie pauses his work, turning towards the sound with his staff extended. Mikey, meanwhile, flattens himself against a bookshelf, eyes wide. Another sound follows—a wet, dragging noise, accompanied by a low moan.

And it’s getting closer.

Leo raises a hand, fingers splayed. Hold. Raph remains still, sai gripped so tightly his knuckles are practically white. Donnie’s head whips back and forth, his goggles feeding him thermal and motion data. Mikey, still plastered against the bookshelf, doesn’t dare to move.

Then it lurches into view from behind a fallen stack of books.

It was human. Once. Now, its gray skin stretches like brittle parchment over jutting bones, slick with patches of oozing fluid. Twisted into an unnatural angle, one leg drags uselessly, scraping with each movement. Milky, cataract-filmed eyes somehow fix on their general direction.

“Shit,” Mikey breathes, his voice barely a squeak; he’s watched enough horror movies to know what that thing is.

Raph lets out a low growl. “What is that?”

“Biological entity confirmed,” Donnie reports, his voice low. “Minimal life signs, erratic neural pattern. Reads as highly aggressive. A zombie?”

The creature takes a shambling step, then another, its dragging leg catching on a pile of scattered pamphlets. It stumbles, its moan hitching into something almost like a pained snarl, before it rights itself. Its jerky movements pick up speed, launching into an uncoordinated but determined lurch towards them.

“Not exactly the welcoming committee,” Leo mutters grimly. “Alright team, tactical—”

He’s cut off by another moan, echoing from the shadowy depths of the periodical section to their left. And then a third, a wet, rasping cough that sounds disturbingly close, from the nonfiction stacks to their right.

“Multiple hostiles!” Donnie calls out.

The first zombie is almost upon them now, its arms reaching, fingers tipped with cracked, yellowing nails.

“No time for tactics!” Raph bellows, surging forward. “Just bash ‘em—and don’t get bit!” He slams into the zombie’s shoulder, but it barely seems to register the impact as it swipes clumsily with surprising speed. Raph dodges back, aiming for the creature’s limbs, wary of whatever contagion it carries.

Leo moves instantly to Raph’s flank, katana slicing down in a precise arc, severing one of the zombie’s reaching arms at the elbow. It doesn’t scream, just continues its forward momentum, the severed limb falling to the dusty floor with a wet slap.

“Gross! So gross!” Mikey yelps, scrambling backwards towards Donnie near the main desk.

Another shambling figure emerges from the stacks on the right, this one smaller, perhaps once a child, moving with the same jerky gait.

“Donnie, status!” Leo calls out, parrying another clumsy swipe from the first zombie while keeping an eye on Raph and the emerging threats.

“Working on it!” Donnie yells back, tapping furiously at the terminal with one hand while using his staff to fend off the smaller zombie attempting to flank Mikey. “I can’t access anything! The system is ancient and mostly offline!”

The smaller zombie, ignoring the defensive sweep of Donnie’s staff, lunges past it with surprising agility, snapping its rotten teeth inches from Mikey’s retreating ankle.

“Eeep!” Mikey shrieks, scrambling backwards for a moment before adrenaline takes over, whipping out his nunchaku. “Get back, you freaky little ghoul!” He brings his weapon down hard, connecting solidly with the side of the zombie’s head.

It stumbles sideways, its jaw hanging loose and askew, fluid dripping onto the floor—before it recovers with unnatural speed, turning its blank gaze back towards him.

“Whoa, persistent!” Mikey remarks, swinging again—this time aiming for a sharp, decisive blow at the zombie’s temple. The impact sends it crumpling to the ground, finally motionless beside a scattered pile of poetry books.

Mikey pants, staring down at the small, still form. His eyes dart towards Leo and Raph, who are still battling the larger, one-armed zombie, dodging its clumsy but powerful lunges. Then his gaze flicks nervously towards the shadowy aisles, where the dragging sounds and low moans are definitely getting louder. Closer.

“Dudes!” he shouts, his voice tight with panic. “This place is zombie-central! Forget the computers, forget the info! We gotta get the hell outta here! Like, now!”

More shambling figures are lurching into view, their silhouettes framed by the dim light filtering through the tall windows.

“Mikey’s right!” Leo yells, dodging another swipe. He brings his katana up in a swift decapitating stroke. The head thuds onto the floor, rolling before coming to rest against a library card catalog drawer. The body collapses instantly, twitching for a second before falling still. “Donnie, forget the tech! Raph, with me! We need an exit, now!”

Donnie abandons the useless terminal and intercepts another zombie with his staff, knocking its legs out from under it. “Back here!”

“Go, go!” Raph roars, shoving past the downed zombie before barreling towards the corridor Donnie indicated.

Leo follows behind Raph, slicing at any reaching limbs that get too close. Mikey sticks near Donnie, creating a small zone of defense around them as they retreat down the hall. They reach a metal door marked ‘Emergency Exit’. A push bar spans its width.

Raph slams against the bar, and the door flies open with a screech. “Move!” He holds the corridor, watching for the advancing creatures.

Leo shoves Mikey through the doorway, and Donnie follows. “Raph, now!”

Raph disengages, kicking one zombie back into another, sending them flying before diving through the doorway. Leo slams the heavy door shut and looks at the others before darting down the alley, motioning for the others to follow.

“So where to now, fearless leader?” Raph asks as he closely trails his older brother. “Kinda exposed out here.”

“Agreed. Remaining in the open is tactically unsound,” Donnie says. “We still lack essential supplies—clean water, uncontaminated food sources, medical equipment.”

“A place to rest,” Mikey chimes in.

Leo sprints towards a familiar neighborhood. “Then we find what we need and figure out how to get out of this damn nightmare.”

Their search leads them to a promising target: a two-story house, seemingly less disturbed than the surrounding residences. Weeds grow thick and wild in the small front yard, strangling rose bushes that once might have been beautiful. It’s not exactly pristine, but the house might still have supplies worth scavenging.

“Alright, standard sweep,” Leo says, signaling. “Raph, Mikey, take the upper floors. Check every room, quiet as you can. Donnie, you’re with me downstairs. Priority is medical supplies but grab any usable food or water. Alert on any contact, living or … otherwise.” He grips his katanas, ready once more. “Let’s move.”

They enter, silent as a phantom. The air inside is stale, heavy with the scent of dust. Furniture lies askew, cushions slashed, drawers pulled out and emptied. Scavenged before, but perhaps not thoroughly. They move cautiously through the ground floor—before they see a figure crouched low, back towards them, shoving goods inside a backpack.

Human. Alive.

Leo raises a hand, halting Donnie. Then he takes a slow, deliberate step forward, keeping his voice calm. “Hello? We don’t mean any harm. We’re just looking for supplies, too.”

You flinch violently at the sound of his voice and spin around. Your eyes fix on Leo, the color draining instantly from your face. A strangled gasp escapes your lips as you rise, backing away, your hand flying to your mouth. You trip backwards over an ottoman, your gaze locked on Leo like he’s a ghost risen from the grave.

He might as well be.

“Whoa, hey, easy!” Leo says, holding his hands up placatingly. “We’re different, yeah. But we’re the good guys.” He assumes, like always, that the shock stems from their mutated forms.

“No …” You shake your head frantically, tears welling, blurring your vision. “No, i-it can’t be … Leo?” The name is a broken sob.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps pound on the staircase. “Are you alright? Did you find something?”

A figure appears at the bottom of the stairs—and all four present-day brothers freeze.

He’s a turtle. Raphael.

But older, broader, scarred. Deep lines carve paths around his eyes and mouth. Scars crisscross his visible skin. He wears rugged, patched leather and canvas gear—but most startlingly, his left arm is gone, replaced with a crude but functional-looking metal prosthetic.

His gaze snaps from you, now huddled on the floor, to the turtles standing before him. Recognition flickers, then ignites into stunned disbelief, his jaw dropping. He stares—first at Leo. Donnie. Then at the younger version of himself and Mikey. His mind struggles to process the impossible sight.

“What … what in the goddamn hell?” Future Raph murmurs, incredulous, his voice deeper than his counterpart. He then steps protectively in front of you, using his formidable frame to block the others, his glare fixed on them. “Who the hell are you? And how did you get here?”

“We … we got transported,” Donnie stammers, adjusting his glasses nervously. “We were in our lair, and then there was this energy surge. It seems we’ve ended up in another dimension.”

Future Raph lets out a short, harsh laugh devoid of humor. “Dimension?” He shakes his head, a grim, pitying look entering his eyes. “You ain’t in some other dimension. This is home. Or what’s left of it after the world went to shit. You’re in the future. Your future.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of the revelation. Their future—this is what awaits them?

Future Raph sighs, the fight draining out of him. “Alright. Come on, all of you. We’re heading back to base. Looks like we got a hell of a lot to talk about.” He turns back to you, his voice softening fractionally. “You okay?”

You nod mutely, still unable to tear your gaze from Leo. Future Raph offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him help you up.

“This way,” Future Raph says, nodding towards the back door of the house. “Streets are quieter back here, usually.” He leads the way, moving with a practiced efficiency that speaks of years navigating this broken world.

You follow close behind him, still trembling slightly. Your gaze keeps flickering back to Leo, who walks near the rear of the group, his expression a mixture of confusion and determination. Every time your eyes meet his, a fresh wave of shock washes over you.

It’s him, but … not him. Younger. So much younger.

The present turtles trail Future Raph. Present Raph watches his older self intently, taking in the missing arm, the scars, the grim set of his jaw. Donnie scans their surroundings while Mikey stays close to Donnie, his youthful energy completely extinguished.

“So,” Leo starts, his voice low, addressing Future Raph’s broad back. “The future, huh? How… how far?”

“Long enough for things to go sideways and stay there.” Future Raph glances back briefly, his expression unreadable. “About fifteen years.”

You emerge into a narrow alley choked with overflowing dumpsters and rusted fire escapes. Future Raph moves quickly, checking corners before waving everyone on. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the scuttling of unseen things in the shadows and the distant, mournful cry of the wind whistling through broken skyscrapers.

“Where are the others?” Mikey asks quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “Splinter? April? Casey?”

Future Raph’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t turn around this time. “Some made it. Some didn’t.” His voice is flat, which somehow makes the words hit harder. “We talk when we get inside. Too exposed out here.”

He leads you through a labyrinth of backstreets and crumbling alleyways, avoiding the wider, more open avenues. You pass skeletal remains of cars, graffiti from the old world, and faded posters. Once, a low moan echoes from a nearby building, causing everyone except Future Raph to freeze, weapons instantly ready.

Future Raph just puts a hand up, listens for a second, then shakes his head. “Moving away. Keep going.”

Eventually, you reach your destination. It’s a fortified section of the city, reminiscent of old apocalypse zombie fiction. High walls, constructed from welded scrap metal, shipping containers, and reinforced concrete encircle several blocks. Armed lookouts patrol makeshift walkways.

And inside, a semblance of a community survives.

Future Raph leads everyone into the command center, a converted warehouse. There, they meet the others.

Future Mikey is leaning against a wall, gently bouncing a tiny, swaddled infant in his arms. He looks older, the perpetual grin replaced by a more reserved, watchful expression. Though a genuine softness illuminates his face as he gazes at the baby. A woman with tired lines around her eyes but a warm smile stands beside him: his wife, Sarah.

Future Mikey’s in charge of the community’s gardens and farms, which are crucial for survival. But his worn combat gear speaks of his other role as a protector. Seeing his younger self, his eyes widen in disbelief, then fill with a profound sadness. He just shakes his head slowly.

In a cordoned-off section brightly lit by LED strips, Future Donnie meticulously cleans a wound on a survivor’s arm in the makeshift infirmary. He’s thinner and moves with an efficient, almost detached professionalism. His tech is a marvel of apocalypse engineering: salvaged computers, solar panels, jury-rigged communication arrays monitoring the perimeter and vital systems.

A quiet girl, around ten years old, sits nearby, drawing: his adopted daughter, Maya. Future Donnie explains that his wife, a fellow scientist he met after the outbreak, died during a supply run two years ago. Rumors suggest a ‘situationship’ with one of the other medics named Elena. Seeing his younger self, a flicker of his old curiosity sparks in Future Donnie’s eyes. But knowing what’s in store for his counterpart quickly overshadows it.

Future Raph puts a hand on the shoulder of a tough-looking woman with short-cropped hair and a kind smile. “This is Cara,” he introduces gruffly, but with underlying affection. “My girlfriend. Two years now.”

Cara offers a curt nod, her expression guarded but not unfriendly. They share a look, a silent communication honed by hardship and nightly watches on the wall.

Then Future Raph gestures towards you. You stand nearby, your four-year-old son now clinging tightly to your leg. He stares curiously at the newcomers—especially Leo.

“This,” Future Raph says, his voice thick with emotion. “This is—was … Leo’s wife. And their son.”

The present turtles reel. Air punches out of Leo’s lungs. He stares at you, then at the boy. His wife? His son?!

“Was?” Present Leo forces the word out, his throat tight.

Future Raph nods slowly, his gaze distant, lost in a painful memory. “Leo … our Leo. He didn’t make it. Died about six months back, protecting his wife and Leon during a breach on the west wall. He went down covering their retreat.” His gaze fixes on Present Leo. “He made us promise—all of us. To protect them. Keep them safe, no matter the cost.”

The grief emanating from the older turtles is palpable. Future Raph seems to carry it the heaviest and most visibly, his usual anger tempered into a deep sorrow.

The younger brothers learn about Splinter, too. How he fell fighting a zombified Shredder after the Foot Clan’s base was overrun in the early days. He took the monster with him, but not before receiving a final, fatal bite that forced their older counterparts to put him out of his misery before he turned.

As for Casey and April, they died years apart. Casey—a decade ago during a breach similar to Future Leo. And April, just shy of five years ago, during a supply run gone wrong alongside Future Donnie’s wife.

With all this information now known, the present-day brothers are determined to find a way back home—and not let their own world turn down this horrific path.

Life settles into a surreal, strange routine.

The present turtles integrate cautiously into the community, learning the brutal ropes of survival in this future. Present Raph joins Future Raph and Cara on foraging runs, learning how to move silently through zombie territory. Present Donnie spends hours with Future Donnie, working to figure out a way back home. Present Mikey works alongside Future Mikey in the gardens, finding a strange comfort in the repetitiveness of cultivation.

Present Leo, on the other hand, walks a tightrope of conflicting emotions.

Leon instinctively gravitates toward him—the one who looks, sounds, and moves so much like the father he barely remembers. He even starts calling Present Leo ‘Daddy.’ Each utterance is a fresh wound for you, and a confusing jolt for Leo.

Present Leo sees the life he could have had, the love he could have shared, shattered by this terrible future. He feels the weight of his future self’s promise; it manifests as an intense, almost overwhelming urge to protect you and the boy. He tries to be there for Leon—playing with him, answering his innocent questions about the ‘before.’ All while navigating the minefield of your grief and his own tangled emotions.

You struggle, caught between the sharp, persistent ache of grief and the presence of a younger version of the man you loved. You find yourself watching him—the way he moves, the cadence of his voice. So familiar, yet so different. But he doesn’t have the weight, the scars, the shared history.

And you sometimes slip, treating him like your Leo. Asking him about things he couldn’t possibly know, catching yourself starting to share a private joke. A memory. Or simply reaching out to touch his arm in a familiar way—before pulling back sharply, the reality that this isn’t him crashing down anew, as if it happened just yesterday.

Your grief is a constant, raw torment.

Weeks turn into a month. Then nearly two.

Future Donnie, working tirelessly amidst his medical duties, pores over the temporal data logged by Present Donnie during their arrival. After cross-referencing reading and residual chronal signatures, they believe they’ve isolated the specific energy frequency. And found a way to replicate the event by creating a controlled, localized burst.

Finally, they can return home.

The future turtles gather with their young selves near the Donnies’ temporal rig. Future Raph claps a heavy hand on Present Raph’s shoulder.

“Keep your head on straight, you hear me?” he advises. “Protect your brothers. Especially him.” He nods towards Present Leo. “Don’t let him be reckless.”

Present Raph can’t help but chuckle softly. “Isn’t that my job—the reckless part?”

Future Raph playfully smacks his head, grinning. “Smartass.”

Future Mikey offers Present Mikey a small, genuine smile. “Find your sunshine, kid. Even when it gets dark. Mine���—he glances towards where Sarah holds their baby, “is worth fighting for.”

Future Donnie adjusts his glasses, meeting his younger counterpart’s gaze. “Knowledge is power, but wisdom is knowing how and when to use it. Don’t let the logic blind you to what matters.” He glances towards Maya, who gives Present Donnie a small wave. “Protect what’s important.”

Finally, Present Leo stands before you. Leon reaches out, holding his hand, and Leo lets him one last time. Tears track silently down your face.

“He loved you all so much,” you say, meaning his future self, though your gaze remains fixed on Present Leo. “He never stopped fighting. For us. For this place.” You crouch in front of your son. “Say bye-bye, sweetie.”

Leon looks up at Present Leo, his small face serious. “Bye, Daddy. Be safe.”

The words twist in Leo’s chest. He kneels too, meeting the boy’s eyes. “You too, little man. Stay strong and listen to your mom.” He stands, his gaze finding yours.

You place a hand on his arm. “Leo,” you say. “When you get back, you’re going to meet her. Me. I won’t—she won’t know what you’ll mean to her, what she’ll mean to you. But you’ll find her. Keep her safe. Keep yourself safe.” You pause, before continuing, “Don’t let this happen.”

Leo can only nod, his throat thick with unshed tears.

Once the present turtles are near the pseudo-time machine, Future Donnie adjusts a few things before throwing the final switch. The energy field crackles before reality begins to blur and warm around them. The perpetual stench of decay recedes, replaced by the familiar damp smell of the sewers as they find their footing on concrete.

They’re back. Disoriented, shaken.

And fundamentally changed by the knowledge they now hold from the future they witnessed.

Weeks pass.

Training sessions are more intense. Leo feels the change most acutely. He pushes himself the hardest, the memories of you grieving and Leon’s trusting eyes burned into his mind. He carries the weight of his older counterpart’s sacrifice. The burden of the promise made by his future brothers.

One rainy evening, Leo moves across the rooftops near April’s apartment building. As he patrols, he hears a commotion in the alley below. Two rough-looking men have cornered someone against the brick wall, demanding their bag.

“Just give it to us, and nobody gets hurt!” one snarls, brandishing a switchblade.

Leo doesn’t hesitate. He drops down from the fire escape above, landing almost silently on the wet pavement behind them. “Leave her alone.”

The thugs whirl around, startled by his sudden appearance. The one with the knife lunges. Leo moves with blinding speed, disarming them with practiced ease, sending the weapon clattering harmlessly away. A well-aimed kicked to the man’s chest has him sprawling against the dumpster.

The other sees the writing on the wall and runs away into the night, his partner in crime joining him a few beats later once he’s gathered his bearings—and picked his pride up from the grimy alleyway ground.

Leo turns his attention to the person they were harassing.

You.

Younger, perhaps. Face streaked with rain, clutching a messenger bag protectively. Your eyes are wide, reflecting the dim alley lights. Fear lingers, but there’s also a spark of defiant anger under the surface.

You haven’t seen the end of the world yet. The deep lines of grief haven’t etched themselves around your eyes. You don’t know him.

You stare up at the towering mutant turtle, water dripping from his shell, mouth slightly open in stunned silence. Finally, you find your voice, though a little shaky. “Uh … wow. Thank you.”

Leo looks at you, really looks at you. The woman his future self loved and died for. The mother of their child.

His promise for the future starts now.

“No problem,” he says, his voice softer than usual, tinged with an emotion you can’t possibly understand. Not yet, anyway. “Just … be careful out here. This city can be dangerous.”

He offers a small, fleeting smile, imbued with a sadness that seems out of place. Then, with the same impossible silence he arrived with, he turns and melts back into the shadows of the fire escape, rappelling upwards and disappearing onto the rooftops.

You stand alone in the rain, staring after him, heart pounding, wondering about the melancholy you saw in the eyes of the giant turtle who just saved your life. A strange feeling settles over you, a sense that something significant just happened.

Though you couldn’t possibly guess what.

[runraerun]

ao3 • 6.1k • @steddie-spooktober day 30 prompt: “Where did you find that costume?” • beta: @netflixandchilis 🧡🖤

Summary:

“This is not a sex costume.” Steve rolls his eyes, “I swear, I could show up dressed as a clown and you guys would accuse me of—”

Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself before Eddie reaches forward and yanks. The sound of tearing velcro is deafening, and so is the silence that follows afterward.

His entire cop costume is suddenly off of his body and somehow, inexplicably, in the hands of Eddie Munson.

Or, unbeknownst to Steve, he shows up to Eddie’s Halloween party dressed as a stripper.

*Knock knock knock*

Steve steps back from Eddie’s front door, then rocks back on the heels of his boots that he hasn’t fully broken in yet. He knows that technically, he could just stroll into the trailer—he’s done it before after all, but sue him; he’s feeling playful tonight. And if there’s one night a year you’re allowed to embarrass yourself a little in the name of shits and giggles, it’s Halloween, right?

Steve had drawn the short straw between the four of them and was saddled with babysitting duty earlier tonight. As usual, Steve thinks with an amused sort of bitterness. Always the goddamn babysitter…

He’d just finished dropping the kids all off at Henderson’s house for a sleepover, but this was after they had forced him to trail after the lot of them for what felt like an eternity while they filled their pillow cases up with sugary garbage. Steve’s fucking exhausted.

When no one answers the door, Steve steps forward again, delivering three sharp knocks in quick succession.

“Hawkins PD, open up,” he bellows, giving what he considers is a fairly decent Hopper impression.

Steve’s skin prickles against a sudden cool breeze. He hooks his thumbs into his belt and waits on the creaky front porch, trying not to squirm against the wedgie that this outfit seems determined to give him.

Cheap ass costume…

The front door swings open, and Steve is suddenly bathed in the warm, welcoming light of the trailer’s interior. Robin, who has a football helmet on, along with some kind of orange jumpsuit with tubes wrapped around her torso, looks him up and down.

Before she can even say a single word though, Steve cuts her off, playing at arrogance.

“Got a couple of noise complaints, ma’am. Are your folks home? I’m gonna need—”

Robin holds her hands up with barely contained glee, “Wait wait, hold on! Just stay right there.”

The door slams shut in his face, leaving Steve in the darkness of the porch again. Through the door, Steve hears Robin yell for Eddie, but can’t make out much of the muffled voices after that.

Left on the porch with nothing but his thoughts Steve can’t help but wonder if Robin even recognized him. The fake stache wasn’t that convincing… was it?

“Man, c’mon…” Steve sighs, stepping forward and knocking again, this time with more force. He’s very quickly regretting his decision to ham it up as opposed to just walking in, kicking off the uncomfortable boots he’d been wearing all evening, and plopping down on Eddie’s lumpy, yet deceptively comfy sofa.

“C’mon, open up, Hawkins Police.” Steve calls again, trying to keep his exhaustion out of his voice.

In a blink, the door swings open again. Steve makes the extra effort to push his shoulders back and puff out his chest. This time, instead of Robin being the one haloed in the dingy light illuminating the trailer, it’s Eddie. A very confused, shockingly pale, cape-wearing Eddie.

Steve tilts his head back and peers down through his dark aviators at his friend, trying to maintain a stern, authoritative demeanor. His lip itches from underneath the stupid fake facial hair he’s got taped to his face. He can’t wait to rip the damn thing off.

Eddie grips the edge of the doorway, apparently stunned into silence.

“Sir, did you or anyone in this household place a call to 911 this evening?” Steve barks, trying his best to lean into his power-tripping asshole persona he’s decided to adopt.

“What the–” Eddie starts, but doesn’t seem to have any words to follow. His wide, dark eyes roam over the uniform and his twitching smile says enough.

Steve’s putting on a good show, it seems.

“Because it’s a criminal offense to prank call an emergency hotline, sir.” Steve leans forward, hoping for intimidation, “I could have you arrested.”

Steve suddenly becomes aware of Nancy and Robin both snickering in the background, watching the interaction with seemingly great interest. Eddie, for the most part, appears frozen at the door. It’s an odd bunch of reactions if Steve is being honest—he’s just dicking around, after all. Was he really being that out of pocket?

“Shteve, where in the fresh hell…?” A bewildered looking Eddie begins, his words slightly slurred, almost as if he has a lisp. Then Steve spots them; the sharp toothed plastic tray of vampire teeth that Eddie’s got stuffed into his mouth, making his lips pucker out just a bit. He looks ridiculous. If anyone should be laughing, it should be Steve. But instead of waiting for everyone to get their shit together, Steve forges on. He makes a show of sniffing the air. He slowly pulls the aviators down his nose to shoot Eddie a look. “Is that marijuana I smell, son? You kids smoking the devil’s lettuce in there?”

Robin sounds like she’s choking on something, Nancy’s all but retreated back into the trailer, unable to contain herself. Was it really that funny? Steve knows he can get the girls laughing on occasion, but he’s not like, a comedian or anything. And this cop bit he’s doing wasn’t even all that funny, even he can admit that. It’s just dorky fun. But Eddie’s shoulders are shaking and he’s giggling hard enough that he’s gone all quiet. Steve briefly wonders if he has something on his face…? Besides the stache, of course.

A particularly cool breeze hits his side, and he can physically feel himself break character as he brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to brace against it. This cheap fucking costume does absolutely dick all to keep the cold out.

“Alright alright, jokes over, just let me in already.” But when Steve takes a step to pass through the door, Eddie quickly holds a hand to Steve’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. With his other free hand, he noisily pulls the vampire teeth from his mouth, a string of spit connecting the two until Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of a hand.

“Slow your roll, Sargent Cinnamon,” Eddie exclaims, barely able to contain his laughter to get the words out, “Jesus Christ, Steve, you’re gonna get the actual cops called on us.”

Sargent Cinnamon?

Steve takes off his aviators, perplexed. “What? Why?”

“Just—just turn around for me for a minute.” Eddie says. His hand falls from Steve’s chest as Steve begrudgingly takes a step back.

“Yeah, give us a spin, Steve.” Robin calls from the kitchenette, and Eddie gives a noisy laugh through his nose in what looks like a failed attempt to withhold a full on fucking belly laugh from escaping.

“Why?” Steve makes a face as he asks again, defenses up.

“We just have to confirm something.” Eddie says, playing coy.

Now that Steve’s really looking at him, he can see Eddie’s clearly dressed as a vampire. He’s all in black, though most of him is covered up by the long, heavy looking cape that’s tied around his shoulders and draping down his back. The collar of it looks stiff, its points reach damn near up to his cheekbones. His eyes are rimmed with dark makeup, making them pop even more than they usually do. Most striking of all though, is the white makeup that’s smeared all over his face, down his neck, and even over his mouth. It makes for a shock when he speaks or laughs, the deep red of the inside of his mouth contrasting sharply with the undead paleness of the rest of his face.

He looks… good. Spooky, but good. Especially now that those chunky fake fangs are out. Maybe Steve should have dressed as something spooky too…

“C’mon, just let me in. I don’t wanna spin.” Steve frowns. He does not pout. His lip may or may not jut out the tiniest of amounts. But Steve Harrington does not pout.

Eddie’s brows pinch together in mock sympathy, “oh, I’m so sorry Officer, but in that case, we’re gonna need you to come back with a warrant.”

Steve sighs. He’s cold, annoyed, and he’s pretty sure there’s two big watery blisters on the backs of his heels that’ll need patching up before the night is out. “Dude–”

Eddie holds out a finger, silencing Steve, “ah ah ah. You don’t get to show up here dressed like that and not put on a show.”

Steve’s brain stutters to a halt. “...I’m just dressed as a cop. What’s the big deal? Why’re you guys acting so weird?”

“Less yapping, more spinning, Deputy.” Eddie smiles wide, tilting his head. Despite being a total shithead at the moment, that smile never seems to fail at making Eddie look strangely endearing. It’s like a trap—one Steve always seems to be tumbling into as of late.

He gives a noisy groan of frustration to show exactly how ridiculous he thinks this whole thing is, before he complies and slowly turns around on the spot. Steve puts out his arms in defeat, suppressing yet another urge to dig at the wedgie now firmly up his ass. “There. Happy? Any more questions or demands?”

“Yeah, just the one,” Eddie says, seeming no less entertained than if Steve had just burped the whole alphabet backwards while simultaneously juggling a set of kitchen knives. “Where did you find that costume?”

Steve feels his neck go red, then his ears. He stuffs his hands under his armpits to try and warm them up, then shrugs defensively, not fully knowing why he is so embarrassed, only that he is. “Just a regular costume store.”

“What store exactly?” Robin calls from behind Eddie while she nurses a beer, “was there, oh, I don’t know, lingerie in the window of this costume store?”

And with that, there’s simply no helping it; Steve’s face goes scarlet. “No! It was just that pop-up Halloween store—the one next to Family Video. Robin, you went there too, what’s the big deal?”

“Did you happen to have crossed a beaded doorway in order to get to this costume by any chance?” Eddie asks in mock curiosity, barely withholding more of his obnoxiously loud laughter.

Steve opens his mouth to deny the downright weird accusation but… thinking back on it, he may have hit some beads at a certain point while he was in that shop.

Oh God…

“There’s that lightbulb,” Eddie gives a smarmy type of smile, “knew it would turn on eventually.”

Steve casts a glare between Eddie and Robin. They’re just poking fun at him, surely. If he’s being honest, he’s sort of sick of them ganging up on him lately. It’s like, all of the sudden, Eddie and Robin had just decided to become besties. They were always whispering and sharing these weird, heated looks between the two of them, ones Steve could never interpret. Like they suddenly had a whole slew of inside jokes that they refused to let Steve in on. It was infuriating!

If he didn’t know for a fact that there was no possibility of a romance between the two of them he would think they were hooking up. But no, apparently they’ve just bonded over their shared love of torturing ex-jocks. It’s like fucking Revenge of the Nerds out here.

“This is not a sex costume.” he growls, bunching his shoulders up just a little in an attempt to keep the breeze away from his neck.

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice goes soft, as if he’s opting to break the news to Steve gently, “you’re dressed as a stripper, man.”

“No, I’m not!” Steve shouts before he thinks better of it. He reels it in, but only a little, “It’s just… I’m just a cop. Okay, maybe it’s a sexy cop, but it’s just a stupid joke costume! It’s not my fault the outfit looks good on me, alright? That doesn’t make it a stripper outfit.”

Eddie nods empathetically, “right right, sure.”

“It’s true!”

“Totally, yeah.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Oh, I know you are.”

“It’s just a little tight is all.”

“I’ll say.”

Steve huffs, “I swear, I could show up dressed as a goddamn clown and you guys would accuse me of–”

Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself before Eddie reaches forward and yanks. The sound of tearing velcro is deafening, and so is the silence that follows directly afterward.

The entire front of his cop costume is off of his body and somehow, inexplicably, in the hands of Eddie Munson. And without the support of the front piece, Steve feels the entire back half of his costume follow suit, slipping down and off of his shoulders. Humiliatingly, the only reason it doesn’t hit the ground altogether is because the fabric is so securely lodged in between Steve’s ass cheeks.

Either way, he’s standing there, on the Munson’s front porch, in front of Eddie, in nothing more than his bright red boxers that he put on this morning, his uncomfortable fucking boots, his fake stache, and the octagonal police cap he’s got resting atop his head.

Eddie takes a deep breath, not even bothering to try and hide the way he’s basking in Steve’s utter humiliation. “Well well well. Looks like Christmas came early this year, huh?”

Robin at least has done him the good favor of collapsing somewhere in the living room, shrieking in laughter.

“Wh–Why would you do that!?” Steve clumsily grabs for the cap atop his head before holding it to his crotch in a flimsy attempt to preserve at least some of his dignity.

“Honestly? Because I don’t have a lot of impulse control,” Eddie admits truthfully, “but mostly I did it to prove to you that you did, in fact, show up to my party dressed as a stripper.”

Steve’s had enough. He grumbles out every single curse word he knows and shoulders his way into the trailer, yanking the remainder of the costume off of his body and out of his ass as he goes. If Steve was cold before, he’s freezing now. His nipples could cut fucking glass.

“Don’t tell me you took the kids out trick or treating in this.” Eddie says, motioning towards him with the bundle of thin fabric that had been, up until a few seconds ago, Steve’s costume.

Steve snatches the dark blue remains of his outfit, suddenly furious. He’s sure his face matches the red of his boxers at this point. Boxers that are now on display for all to see, apparently!

He reaches up to angrily tear off the mustache from his upper lip, and has to bite back an honest to god scream as it tears away, taking some of his actual lip hair with it. It was like a fucking wax strip!

“You did.” Eddie gasps, all but clutching his damn pearls, utterly scandalized. “You really went around and gave the good folks of Hawkin’s a free fucking show tonight, huh? Jesus Christ, Harrington, you probably sent some poor fucker out there into cardiac arrest!”

“No, I–” Steve sputters, “well, yes, I wore the cop costume while I took the kids around a couple of neighborhoods, but there wasn’t any kind of show.”

“Were the mothers especially kind to you, Stevie?” Robin asks from her position on the sofa beside Nancy, one sandy brown brow arched. “Did they give you extra candy?”

“One, I didn’t go trick-or-treating, so I didn’t get any candy at all,” Steve says, suddenly reluctant about taking his boots off, wary of losing any more of his clothing. As he speaks, he shuffles behind the countertop in the kitchen area instead, hiding at least his lower half from further attention. Everyone had already seen his hairy chest plenty of times, but still. It was the indignity of it all! “And two, I didn’t know it was a stripper costume. And three, screw all of you.”

Thank Christ the kids seemed oblivious to that sort of thing still. Steve’s as relieved at preserving their innocence as he is grateful they didn’t bear witness to his great blunder.

“Didn’t it feel weird when you had to velcro the sides shut..?” Nancy asks, sheer amusement playing across her features.

“Well, in hindsight… yes.” Steve has to stop speaking because all three of his so-called friends dissolve in further fits of laughter. He has to shout to be heard over their cackling, “but I just thought it was because the costume was cheap!”

“Oh, Steve.” Nancy shakes her head, still giggling. She sounded a little drunk.

“Sweet, naive Dingus.” Robin adds, as if she were finishing her girlfriend's thoughts.

So now Nancy and Robin were ganging up on him too. And after Steve gave Robin his blessing to date his ex-girlfriend! Traitors, all of ‘em, Steve thinks haughtily as he crosses his arms and glares.

“C’mon big boy, you can borrow something of mine.” Eddie says, finally deciding to take pity on Steve. “Unless, of course, you want me to help velcro your ass back into that little number..?”

That’s the absolute last thing he wants. So, with an angry grumble, Steve accepts Eddie’s offer for clothes and follows him down the narrow hallway, into his bedroom. Steve all but collapses on the end of Eddie’s unmade bed, snatching a pillow and holding it to his lap as he watches Eddie dig around his dresser drawers.

Steve notices that Eddie’s oddly quiet now that they’re alone.

Steve was sort of used to Eddie’s constant prattling on when they were together—so much so, that the lack of it seems unnatural in its own sort of way. It’s damn near unsettling to be near Eddie and not have him chewing his ear off.

Eddie pulls some soft, gray clothing from his drawers, attempts to discreetly give it the cautionary sniff test, then turns to offer them up to Steve. “Here, these, uh, they should fit you. Elastic waistband.”

“Thanks.” Steve mumbles, still a little pissed at Eddie for the whole tearing him out of his clothes thing. To be fair, Steve would have probably returned the favor if the roles had been reversed and would have laughed just as hard. Maybe harder.

He shoves the shirt on, then discards the pillow in order to stand and attempt to rid himself of the godforsaken boots from hell... Steve is unnervingly aware that the red of his underwear stands out like a fucking fire engine.

Eddie turns his painted face away, suddenly very interested in the various posters on his wall.

“Oh, sure, now you’re shy.” Steve snorts, but when he steps on the backs of his heels in an effort to toe off his boots, he sucks in a sharp breath and wobbles back onto the bed, cursing. The sharp stinging pain from the blisters is enough to cut his breath. “Shit, shit, shit–”

“What is it? What happened?” Eddie’s full attention is back on Steve, and Steve’s insides squirm a little at the intensity of it. He kind of loves that about Eddie; how he can be flighty and erratic one minute, but wholly and completely laser focused on something the next.

And Steve is man enough to admit that he sort of likes it when that undivided attention lands on him. Admittedly, he likes it when anyone pays attention to him, but… it’s different with Eddie. Even Steve’s not entirely sure why. It just makes him feel… seen, maybe. Special. Understood?

Steve doesn’t fucking know. He gives his head a shake.

“It’s just these stupid boots. I’ve only worn them a few times and they always give me blisters. I shouldn’t have worn them tonight but I just thought they went good with the outfit...” Steve explains, as if it’s a confession. The price of vanity, he thinks bitterly. Steve lifts one of his feet until it’s propped up his opposite knee and begins working the boot off, flinching as he goes, “they’re just stinging a little, it’s fine.”

“I’ll get some band-aids.” Eddie mutters as he darts out of the room, nearly tripping over something in his haste. Steve can hear him digging through the cupboard in the bathroom through the paper-thin walls of the trailer. Eddie sounds like a goddamn tornado. But hey, what’s new? Dude is tornado incarnate.

By the time Eddie’s back, armed with a battered box of band-aids and a tube of Neosporin, Steve’s already managed to work off a boot and peel away one of his socks. He’s poking the painful, fluid-filled blister with a grimace.

“Here.” Eddie awkwardly passes both of the items to Steve. He practically shoves them into his hands. Steve accepts them all with a quick thanks and gets to work. He half expects Eddie to go and just leave Steve to it, but he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie just stands there, hovering in the middle of his bedroom, staring like a weirdo.

Which sounds harsh even in Steve’s own mind, but there really was no mistaking it; Eddie most definitely is a full-blown, bonafide, one-of-a-kind weirdo. But as time’s gone on, and the further Steve’s gotten away from high school, the more he’s realized that his favorite people in the whole world—the ones he’d lay down his life for any day of the fucking week—are all freaks and weirdos. And maybe that made him a weirdo freak right alongside them. And hey, if all the best people were weird, shouldn’t he be proud to be counted among them?

Steve finds he doesn’t entirely hate the concept.

“You must think I’m a moron, huh?” Steve mutters as he smears some of the antiseptic cream over the blister, then a band-aid overtop, flinching the whole way through.

“For getting a blister? Or for accidentally cosplaying as a sex worker?” Eddie asks, grinning. Knows he’s being a cheeky little shit.

Steve just scoffs and rolls his eyes, “it could’ve happened to anyone, y’know. The costume thing, I mean.”

He settles his bare foot on the ground and starts on his next boot.

“Maybe. But it’s funny because it happened to you.” Eddie aims a set of finger guns at him. Steve, despite himself, chuckles a little under his breath. It was sort of funny.

“I don’t, though, by the way.” The couple of words tumble out of Eddie’s mouth. Steve knows by now that when he isn’t following Eddie, all he usually needs to do is wait a few seconds. Eddie never seems to mind taking the time to further explain himself to Steve, unlike most other people. So, Steve just spares him a glance and waits. “Think you’re a moron, I mean. You’re just… more of a do first, think later kinda guy. It doesn’t make you dumb. Maybe a little foolhardy, is all.”

“Foolhardy?” Steve’s hands stop what they’re doing as he looks up at Eddie. Steve’s pretty sure he knows what it means, but who the hell throws around digs like that?

Well, come to think of it, Eddie Munson would. Between writing his own songs and making up those D&D campaigns, Eddie’s inner voice probably speaks to him in sonnets and soliloquies.

“It’s a good thing—well, it is when I say it…” Eddie rushes to explain, but seems to abandon a few trains of thoughts before shaking his head, “whatever, nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“I know what foolhardy means I just–” Steve doesn’t have any fight in him though, too focused on how fucking painful this blister is compared to the last. The sharp sting was enough to make his eyes embarrassingly prickle. “Fuuuuuck…” he groans as he pulls.

“Stop, stop, just–” Eddie kneels, taking a knee, before he grabs Steve’s boot.

“No no, Eddie, don’t–!” Steve shrieks, suddenly terrified of Eddie’s jumpy, erratic movements he’s known for. His foot can’t fucking take it…

“Calm down, I’ll pull it off slow. I’ll even give you a countdown. You just–just relax, alright?” Eddie says, looking downright ridiculous in his costume. And yet, despite how crazy he looks, Munson seems sincere. He liked to poke fun at Steve, sure, but Eddie wouldn’t hurt him. Steve knows that. And when Eddie’s fingers curl around the back of his calf, the touch is gentle. Steve’s skin heats underneath Eddie’s hold. It’s enough to make his head go a little fuzzy.

Trying to follow Eddie’s instruction, Steve hesitantly leans back on the heels of his hands, allowing his leg to go slack in Eddie’s grip. “Relax. Right. Okay.”

“Alright. My safe word’s Ronald Reagan, but you can borrow it for tonight if you want me to stop, cool?” Eddie looks up at him through his lashes. The liner around his eyes was really something else… And his hair looked especially poofy tonight. Like Steve’s hands could get lost in there. Were those plastic spiders in his hair? God, Steve hoped they were plastic spiders…

A beat passes before Steve’s brain catches up with him. “Why the hell is Ronald Reagan your safe word?”

“Because nothing kills my boner faster than thinking about that dickwad. Duh.” Eddie explains, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was, but Steve wasn’t exactly experienced with things like safe words and… well, the things that normally go along with safe words.

He feels himself shift anxiously at the idea. He wondered if Eddie was just making a joke or if he actually…

“Ready?” Eddie interrupts and utterly derails that particular train of thought. He’s cradling Steve’s booted foot, one hand low on Steve’s calf, the other gripping the bottom of the boot. Real comforting like.

Steve takes a quick breath before giving a sharp nod. “Ready.”

“3, 2, 1, deep breaths everyone!” Eddie says, and true to his word, he pulls off slowly, trying to angle the boot away from Steve’s heel as best he can. Steve clenches his teeth through the whole thing, determined not to utter the president's name. “Aaaaand we’re done!” Eddie says triumphantly.

Steve sighs, and lets himself fall onto the bed in relief. He’s built up a bit of a tolerance for pain over the past few years (purely out of necessity), but he still fucking hates it. Even if it’s something small like this. Call him a pussy for it, whatever. Steve doesn’t care.

When he feels Eddie begin peeling off his sock though, Steve bolts upright, returning to his seated position. “Y-you don’t gotta do that part–”

Eddie shrugs nonchalantly and continues peeling away the sock. “It’s okay, I wanna help.”

“My feet probably fucking reek, dude. I’ve been wearing those all day.” Steve wrinkles his nose. The idea that Eddie could possibly be repulsed by him in some way just doesn’t sit right with Steve. “You don’t–... I-I can do this part.”

“I told you, I don’t care.” Eddie says as he peels away Steve’s sweaty, ripe sock before sticking it into the no doubt equally sweaty, ripe boot.

Eddie's now kneeling in front of a pantless and sockless Steve—to say he felt exposed would be an understatement. He watches as Eddie takes the tube of Neosporin in hand and squeezes out a glob onto his finger and lines it up with Steve’s heel.

“Unless,” Eddie halts, as if an idea had just occurred to him, “unless you don’t want me to.”

The two of them just stare at one another for a few seconds, as if they’re both just realizing that they don’t really know the limits of their friendship yet. Both of them seem to be asking the other for permission to cross some kind of a line that they don’t know even exists or not. It should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t. It’s a little uncomfortable, sure, but… exciting, in a weird way.

Steve swallows, “no, I want you to. I mean, if you want to, of course. I—”

I like it when you touch me.

The thought hits Steve with such a sudden and sharp clarity that for a second he’s not sure if he’s said it out loud or not.

But if Eddie somehow heard it, he doesn’t let on.

Instead, the sides of his mouth twitch into a tentative grin, but then Eddie ducks his head before Steve can watch it blossom fully into a smile, though he can tell by the way his cheeks rise near his eyes that it indeed does.

Eddie smears the antiseptic cream on Steve’s blister with guitar string scarred fingers, with more care than most people bother using when they reach for Steve. Then he wipes his hands on his own bed sheets before unpeeling a bandaid from its wrapping and laying it overtop of everything. He smooths a finger overtop of it, once, then twice for good measure. Why Eddie runs his finger over the band-aid a third time, Steve hasn’t got a clue.

There’s something about the way Eddie so can flip the switch from being a loud, boisterous, all out terror of a human being, to this sincere, gentle… almost sweet person. It’s hard for Steve to wrap his head around. Especially since Eddie doesn’t show the second side nearly as often as the first–and only to a lucky handful of people. Steve’s one of those happy few.

It’s like a secret Eddie.

Steve briefly wonders if there’s a secret Steve, but if there is, not even he knows about him. Steve has a feeling he’s more of a ‘what you see is what you get’ kinda guy. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean he’s shallow.

And just when Steve thinks Eddie’s done with him, the guy spins around and rummages in his top drawer for a few seconds before turning back with a rolled up set of fresh socks for Steve. Without a word, he kneels and begins putting them on Steve’s foot for him.

Which…

Honestly, Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it. Good, obviously. That much, at least, is crystal fucking clear. But there’s more. Like the fluttery sort of warmth that comes specifically when someone brings you a bowl of hot soup when you’re sick, or cares enough to hold your hair back for you while you puke your guts out after drinking too much. It’s that same sort of feeling. Only more.

“Thanks, man.” Steve says, utterly relieved his voice comes out sounding steadier than he’s feeling. Because… Well, because no one takes care of Steve, except Steve. It’s been that way since he was old enough to tie his own shoes. He’s always on his own. Self-sufficient. Steve takes a sort of pride in it.

But here’s Eddie, on his knees, tending to him, even though Steve can do it perfectly fine on his own. He’s still doing it for Steve, and for the hell of him, Steve can’t wrap his head around why. And all of it over some stupid blisters. It makes Steve’s chest ache, fixing to burst.

“No problem, Officer. Just doing my civic duty.” Eddie’s tone is soft when he flicks his eyes up briefly, paired with a grin. He finishes putting the fresh set of socks on Steve’s feet, careful to avoid the blisters. The socks are pilled, and scratchy, as if neither Wayne nor Eddie bothers with fabric softener, but they’re comfortable enough and blissfully warm.

“Well the city of Hawkins thanks you too, Mr. Munson.” Steve replies with a two fingers salute, attempting to match Eddie’s energy, but the words sound so deeply stupid when they’re strung together like that, that it has them both chuckling.

“Christ, you’re cute.” Eddie mutters, dragging a knuckle under his eye to clear away the stray tear that had formed from all of the laughing he’s done tonight. Then Steve watches as that easy smile that he had just been so admiring quickly fall away as Eddie seems to realize what he’d just said.

Eddie thinks he’s cute?

The question of what kind of cute he was referring to bombards Steve's brain. Cute could mean a hell of a lot of things—from puppies with big wet eyes to Michelle Pfeiffer in a skin tight leotard. Or maybe Eddie didn’t mean to say cute at all. Yeah, maybe it just slipped out. Hell, maybe Eddie’s just high. He does get a little extra tactile and emotional when he’s high. And Eddie definitely smells like weed, but—well, Eddie always smells like weed.

“Here’s your–” Eddie suddenly stands, cape fluttering behind him, and tosses the sweatpants from earlier back at Steve who catches it with ease, despite the newly unmoored feeling he’s got in his gut. Steve suspects Eddie’s blushing by the way he’s holding himself, but because of all the makeup, Steve can’t be sure. Eddie anxiously twists his rings around his fingers muttering a quiet, “sorry, man.”

It’s said so timidly that Steve almost misses the tacked-on apology entirely. Now, timid isn’t usually something that Steve would associate with Eddie Munson but, well, there it is. And despite their playful back and forth with one another, Steve can tell this is wholly different. He doesn’t—can’t leave Eddie standing there with egg on his face.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not—it’s whatever, dude.” Steve says, forever baffled at how the English language, the only language he even knows and is apparently fluent in, still manages to sound like knotted garbage when it comes out of his mouth. He shoves his legs through the sweatpants, yanking them up to his waist.

Eddie seems to get it though, thankfully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve says, quick, casual-like.

Eddie chews on his lip. “I didn’t make it weird?”

At this, Steve barks out a laugh. Because, yeah but… well, if Eddie started going around apologizing every time he did something weird the guy would never stop apologizing.

And Steve likes Eddie’s flavor of weird anyway.

“Hey, I’m the one who showed up to your house dressed as a stripper, didn’t I? If anyone’s made it weird tonight, it’s me.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, briefly concerned about how the stupid hat probably left an embarrassing indent where it was sitting.

Eddie’s wide smile is back, the one that lines his face and makes his eyes do that starlight thing. “That’s true.” He chuckles.

“I like your costume though.” Steve grins, feeling that fluttery feeling in his chest when he gets Eddie smiling like that. “Vampire, right?”

If possible, Eddie’s eyes widen further, giving him a manic look. He hastily pats his various pockets before finding his fake fangs and shoving them into his mouth. They look terrible, but admittedly, they sort of complete the overall look.

“That’s Count Dracula to you, foolish mortal.” Eddie says with a truly terrible Transylvanian accent as he dramatically swishes his cape over one of his arms, then positions it underneath his kohl-rimmed eyes.

Steve pretends to cower, but he’s always been kind of a shitty actor so he just ends up snorting and shaking his head. “Terrifying. If you hadn’t torn it off me earlier, I’m sure I would have shivered right out of my uniform.”

And again, it’s enough for Eddie to break character and bark out a laugh around his plastic fangs. He recovers quickly though, a smile still pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“C’mon, the girlsh have probably put the movie on without ush.” Eddie says with a very distinct lisp. It’s sort of adorable.

It’s profoundly less adorable after Steve hears how Eddie needs to suck back the spit trapped between his teeth and the tray so he doesn't drool all over himself.

Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t end up wearing the fake fangs for the whole movie, especially not after Nancy demands their removal after two or three noisy, spit-retrieving sucks. There’s some petty back and forth that lasts a couple of seconds, but it’s settled quickly and amicably, as most of their squabbles are.

Steve and Eddie spend the majority of the horror flick pressed up against one another, from shoulder to knee. Steve’s not entirely sure what the hell is happening between them, but whatever it is… it’s nice.

And when there’s a particularly scary bit that makes Steve nearly jump out of his skin, Eddie teases him and slaps a patronizing hand to his knee just to further torment him, but it’s the damnedest thing. Even after the joke’s over, and their collective focus is back (in theory) on the movie, Eddie just… doesn’t take his hand back. Neither one of them seems keen on addressing it either, afraid to spook whatever it is away.

They stay that way for the rest of the movie. He doesn’t risk putting his hand over top of Eddie’s—he can’t. Not yet, at least. But Steve will think about little else besides the feeling of Eddie’s warm hand curled around the top of his knee, searing into him like a brand, for many nights to come.

It’s hands down the most embarrassing Halloween Steve’s ever had—but it’s also kinda the best, thanks to Eddie.