#my silly little ficlet

[ncruuk]

I'm sure @littlesolo could do this more justice, but here goes with a Kacy Drabble....

International Shipping

(Lucy/Kate, NCIS Hawaii)

Lucy's mindlessly scrolling down through her Instagram feed, waiting for Jesse to come back to the car when she stops, her attention 100% focused on her phone.

They're perfect.

She has to get them....

It's only when she's trying to fill out the delivery details that she realises her Instagram algorithm decided she was suddenly British - guess Kate and Ernie were right and the internet is always watching her, and she maybe has been hitting the bake off repeats hard while Kate's been in D.C. for some big FBI conference, but damnit, she has to have them.

She'd just skip her own coffee when it was her turn next week.

It was so going to be worth it when she got the opportunity to take them off Kate ...

[blushweddinggowns]

It was kinda like an open secret, the fact that they were together. And if Steve was being honest with himself, even that was a stretch.

And it was one hundred percent their fault. Well...mostly it was Eddie's fault. The second they were with whoever he deemed "safe" Eddie would be all over him. Whether it was pet names, casually wrapping an arm around his waist, dragging him to sit on his lap, a kiss to his forehead, Eddie was far from shy when it came to handing out affection.

And if Steve did absolutely nothing to stop him when it happened well...that was Eddie's fault too. What else was Steve supposed to do when the man he loved was so openly sweet and affectionate? Say no? Put a stop to the behavior that made him feel like he was the most important person in Eddie's world? Give up the chaste hugs and kisses that made him feel like he was walking on air?

Yeah, no. It wasn't Steve's fault that Eddie made him feel so good, so the blame could stay laid at his feet.

Yep, totally Eddie's fault, Steve had nothing to do with it.

But there were only so many times you could call your new "best friend" baby before people started asking questions. Robin knew, Wayne knew, Nancy knew, and Steve was pretty sure all of Eddie’s age-appropriate friends were well aware.

And the kids would figure it out when they figured it out. It's not that they didn't trust them to accept their relationship, it was more that they would be too accepting. And way too involved. And Steve wanted to bask in the honeymoon period before all of his little shits started giving unprompted advice on his love life, and Eddie felt the same way.

So they lied, but only a little. Or more that Steve lied. Whenever it was a Steve and Eddie date night exclusive and the kids were vying for attention or rides, he'd tell them was hanging out with Robin or working late. But Eddie would just smile and shake his head to any asks, always with a painfully sincere, "Can't tonight, I got a date with my sweetheart."

His sweetheart who, none of the kids could meet until, in his words, he officially locked it down, the silly little speech never failing in making Steve blush and smile like an idiot. It was always enough to make the kids back off, and for the moment, their little plan seemed to be working.

But Steve wasn't sure how long it would stay that way, not when Eddie was very suddenly elected as the go-to for advice on the kids' love lives.

Which ow. Steve had experience with relationships, maybe not good experiences until very recently, but he had them! But the kids bypassed him every time in favor of the "one" adult in their lives who actually was seeing someone. And Steve didn't have the heart to break it to them that he was the only one their new love genius had ever been with.

Lucas had started it, faux casual at a Hellfire meetup, with Steve lazily reading magazines in the corner while he waited for his nerd boyfriend to be done so their night could actually begin.

"Hey Eddie, you've been seeing your girlfriend for a while right?"

Eddie nodded, "We're closing in at six months, why?"

Lucas rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, embarrassed, "Well...what would you do if say, you know they love you, and you love them, but they never let you help them with anything? Like...they always act like they're a burden when they're really just the best?"

Steve perked up at the question. silently watching as Eddie considered it.

He nodded along, thoughtful, “I was with someone like that once, always thinking about everyone else but never themselves. I guess you kinda just have to love it out of them y'know? Like give them the space they ask for sure, but let them know that you're always there for them. Not because you have to but because you want to.” 

Eddie took a chance and glanced at Steve while he spoke, giving him the quickest wink known to mankind. Steve hid behind his magazine, ears red with a stupid, lovestruck smile as Lucas thanked him.

Then it was Dustin. He sprung it on them while Steve was driving him over to the Wheeler's place, Eddie flipping through radio stations while Dustin was prattling to them in the backseat, "So I was trying to explain it to her, and she totally flipped out and hung up! She said that I think I'm smarter than her, which is totally untrue! Suzie is the smartest person I know!"

Steve snorted, "I told you you could be condescending-"

Dustin glared at him, waving him away, "I'm asking Eddie thank you very much! "I just thought she knew that I know she's smarter than me. So what should I do?"

Eddie shrugged, "I was with someone like that once, super, super smart but they could never acknowledge it in the way I thought they should. For them though, it was because people always talked down to them and never made the effort to see how they were smart. There are a lot of different kinds of intelligence out there right? So just let her know that there are some things you're better at but you know that for most things she's the gold star child."

Eddie glanced back at Dustin, rolling his eyes when he realized the kid was actually taking notes, but it gave him a chance to stealthily grab Steve's hand and squeeze it with a wide grin, "It isn't fair, but rarely does the smartest person in a room, know that it's them."

And if Steve couldn't help but kiss the daylights out of him while they were still in the Wheeler's driveway after that little speech, he stood that it was still Eddie's fault for being so sweet.

The kids kept coming to Eddie for advice, mostly because it usually worked. Some of it Steve was there for and some of it he wasn't, but it never stopped embarrassing the living hell out of him to hear himself be talked about so positively and sweetly, especially if it came out of the mouths of one of the kid's, unknowingly repeating stories and advice centered around Steve.

It was Will who finally cracked it, because who else? They were all at the Harrington place, taking full advantage of the absentee parents and pool during a hot summer day. Wil found the two of them in the kitchen, in the middle of a stupid debate over the best action movie of the year, sharing a popsicle back and forth while they play-fought.

He looked nervous as he walked up to them, looking anywhere but at their faces, "Hey Eddie, do you mind if I ask you something?"

Eddie nodded, snatching the last of the popsicle from Steve's hand, ignoring his whining, "Sure dude, what's up?"

"Have you ever, um, liked someone who you thought didn't like you back? But then they started...acting different?"

Eddie cocked his head at him, "Elaborate."

"Like...just treating you differently. More touchy-feely and attentive maybe? Do you think...that means anything? Has that ever happened to you?"

Steve glanced out the kitchen window, eyes on Mike as he sat at the edge of the pool, legs dangling over the side while his head was on a swivel, no doubt looking for Will.

It didn't take a genius to guess who he was talking about.

Eddie shrugged, "Not exactly? But I have gone after someone majorly out of my league before. And that worked out. I'd say just be straight forward and confident. Ask if they're interested, or if you can't do that ask them how'd they feel if you got with someone else. That can sometimes get the ball rolling if they're being too tight-lipped about their feelings."

Will nodded along, "So is that how you got Steve?"

Steve froze while Eddie laughed, not even catching on to the slip, "I got Steve by crying to his loose-lipped best friend about how in love with him I was. Not the best example."

And of course, that was the moment Dustin decided to walk in the room.

Steve brought a hand to his mouth, laughing behind it as Dustin froze, staring wide-eyed at Eddie, "You're with Steve?!"

Eddie whipped around to face him, but Dustin was already staring at Steve, "So the someone like that, has been you this whole time?!"

Steve was still laughing behind his hand as Dustin skittered out, no doubt to announce to the whole backyard just where their great love advice had been coming from.

Will followed him, winking at them over his shoulder as he went. Eddie was still standing there, confused on how one of the munchkins just bamboozled him into telling the longest kept secret he ever had.

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, just as voices started to raise from the background, coupled with a few yells around someone owing Will money, "Guess the secret's out huh?"

Eddie turned to face him with a sigh, smacking a kiss to his forehead, "You realize this means you're going to have to help with the love advice now right?"

Steve groaned, "I thought my existence was the help."

"Nope, it's your turn to give the love advice about me from now on."

Steve laughed, leaning in to kiss him chastely on the mouth. They grinned at each other, enjoying their last moments of peace before the whole gaggle of kids made they're way into the room, armed with questions and accusations galore.

But that was okay, Steve was more than ready for it to be his turn.

[silverskye13]

what are your thoughts on the castle Wels is building this season? I don't know if anyone has already asked but it has Helsknight vibes to me :)

"It's very..." Helsknight looked around and searched for something nice to say.

[He'd been encouraged to do that lately: say nice things about Wels. It was supposed to "help things". He didn't particularly want to "help things", but he couldn't very well tell people it didn't work if he didn't try it first. It deserved at least a token effort.]

"... Red."

"You're too kind," Welsknight deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

"I like red."

"Red is a very you color."

They stood in bristly silence for a few moments, Helsknight looking up at the castle, and Welsknight looking at him. There was a lot of pointed staring going on. Welsknight pointedly watching Helsknight for any signs of unpleasantness. Helsknight pointedly watching the castle so he couldn't take offense and punch Wels in his stupid face. If their stares got any pointier, they might manage to stab each other just by proximity.

"Did you make it red because it was a me color, or because you like the color red?"

"I made it red because I like mangrove."

"That's the hardest tree to harvest in the game."

"So?"

"So you're not making life easy for yourself."

More silence. Helsknight could feel Wels picking his comments apart for a hidden insult. There wasn't one. He was sticking to strict observations. It was safer that way.

[Think of something nice.]

"The dungeon is cool."

"You would like the dungeon."

Helsknight felt his ears start to heat up, and he wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment or exasperation. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It just matches your aesthetic is all," Welsknight said innocently, too innocently. It was a very 'Look! See! You're the unreasonable one not me!' sort of statement. Helsknight sucked on his teeth, and slowly counted to ten.

"Dungeons don't have an aesthetic, besides unpleasant." Helsknight said with what he thought was an admirable amount of patience.

"It matches your aesthetic," Welsknight reasserted, his voice all sugary sweet innocence.

They glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes. The clenched identical fists. They both looked up at the castle.

"That's fine," Helsknight said, baring his teeth in a smile that definitely wasn't also a snarl. "The rest of the castle matches you."

"Oh?" Welsknight said jovially. "You think so?"

"Mm-hm. Grand. Showy." He flicked Welsknight a slow, sidelong glance. "Pointless."

The two knights glared at each other. They moved nearly identical hands down to rest on nearly identical sword hilts.

"Showy?" Welsknight asked, smiling in a way that showed all of his perfect white teeth, and just a little too much of the white of his eyes. "Pointless?"

Unconcerned, his face and the back of his neck burning with barely contained anger, Helsknight smiled back. "Unpleasant."

The two knights, in near perfect unison, glared at each other. The two knights, in near perfect unison, clenched white-knuckled fists around their sword hilts. The two knights, in near perfect unison, lunged at each other. The two knights, all unison abandoned, wrestled each other to the ground.

Across the river, on Hypno's roof, xB clicked a button on the side of his watch.

"Time!" xB he chuckled. "Six minutes and thirty-four seconds. Pay up."

"No!!" Hypno wailed, burying his face in his hands, "I thought for sure they would last eight minutes!"

"I told you man, they're like cats and dogs," xB patted Hypno on the back consolingly. "I'll take my winnings in diamond blocks please."

[moonriverrise]

Dreams are supposed to be subtle messages from your subconscious, right? Then why the hell did Eddie keep having the same type of dream every single night. The same dream featuring the same boy with chestnut hair, doe eyes, and freckles sprinkled all over.

He didn’t know the boys name, but he’s around Eddie’s age based on looks. His hair is styled in a certain way, swooped to the side almost perfectly. He’s pretty strong looking and pale skinned, and has the most wonderful laugh Eddie has ever heard.

In the dreams that Eddie had, he meets this boy under a tree in a long sunflower field. He’s always there before Eddie, sitting with his back against the trunk of the tree, staring at the sky or simply laying with his eyes shut.

Whenever Eddie came up to him, he was greeted with the same phrase every time, no matter what differences are in the dreams.

“Hello, Sunshine. How are you?”

It's sweet, and it warmed Eddie’s heart in a way he never thought something could. Then Eddie would sit down and they would have conversations about their lives. Because, this boy had a life, probably something Eddie’s brain made up.

“Oh, and Dust thinks he’s so much better than me just because he’s good at Algebra. Who the fuck is good at Algebra?!”

The boy is entertaining, he’s funny, pretty, charismatic. One dream he has, turns a bit different after the greeting, which is said more solemnly. Soon afterwards, the boy asks Eddie something.

“Have you ever kissed a boy before?” He asked. Eddie has paused.

“What do you mean?”

“Uhm…do you ever think you might like boys the way you like girls?” And Eddie had to pause again, because, thats how he had felt. That’s the questions he thought about, the ones he had asked Uncle Wayne.

“All the time.” Eddie responded.

“Is it..normal?” Eddie looked over to the boy, who looks nervous, scared.

“Of course. You can like whoever you want. People who don't think that are stuck up pricks.” Eddie expressed. The boy had laughed, gently. Then laid his head against Eddie’s shoulder, and then shut his eyes.

“I have a friend, you know that one I mentioned, Robbie?” Eddie hummed. “She likes girls, only girls. I want to tell her about this, but I'm afraid. Even though I know she couldn't possibly be mean, I just don't want to be abandoned.” Eddie sighed.

“It’s okay. You just need to take your time with it, talk yourself through it.” Eddie advised.

“Sunshine?”

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie had paused, once again. He looked over at the boy, who looked up at him in response, through his lashes.

Eddie traced his face with his eyes, placed a gentle hand on his face, rubbed a thumb against the boys skin, who let his eyes blink closed. He leaned into Eddie’s touch, embraced him, his being.

Eddie leaned closer to the boys face. The wind whistled loudly, and birds sang in the background. Eddie let his other hand cup the boys face, and their lips met, slowly.

It was slow, but deep. Gentle, yet hungry. They parted and Eddie stared into the boys eyes, as tears settled in them. A brief flash of panic runs through Eddie’s blood…

The boy laughed, giggled like a birds song. He wiped his eyes and whispered into Eddie’s ear.

“Thank you, for all that you are.”

Eddie’s eyes had fluttered open that morning, and he felt comforted with a sense of kindness and the ghost of tender lips against his own.

Then, Eddie got up, and got dressed, ready to go to work at the cafe down the street from his apartment in Indianapolis.

Dustin walked up to him during his shift, he was wearing a hat from that summer camp he’d gone to a few years back.

“Hey Eddie,” He said.

“Hello, Henderson.” Eddie responded, giving him a look.

“Wow! Don't have to be hostile!” Dustin joked. “You know my buddy i've been meaning to introduce you to?”

“Your babysitter?” Eddie asked while pouring creamer into a cup of coffee.

“Yeah! Steve! He’s here, sitting next to me and Robin over there.” Eddie didn’t follow where he was pointing, instead decided to focus on throwing a portable cup onto the coffee then calling out the order number as he slid it across the counter.

“Alright, hold on dude. Gare! Can you take order for just a second! I'll be back in a minute!” Gareth groaned but begrudgingly walked over to the cash register. “Thank you, I promise to spare your next character in Hellfire.”

“You better, man.” Gareth responded as Eddie walked out to meet Dustin.

They both walked over to the table and Eddie froze entirely when he meets eyes with someone so familiar.

It's the boy from his dreams.

“Okay, Eddie this is Steve. Steve this is Eddie.” Eddie waved a hand in Dustin’s face to shut him up.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Steve. that was his name. He asked him that, and Eddie nodded slowly.

“I know you from somewhere too,” He responded. Steve’s eyes went a bit wide, and he stood, facing Eddie.

“Sunshine?” Eddie nodded, vigorously.

“Guys…” Eddie shunned Dustin with his hands again.

“Robbie is Robin- the gay friend?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded. “Dust…that’s Henderson?” He nodded again.

“What the hell?-” Robin spoke up. Steve shushed her.

“You look exactly how you did before.” Eddie said to him. Steve smiled.

“You look even brighter in person,”

[asamiontop]

Supercorptober - Wild or…

Captain Underpants (also on Ao3)

Lena: Text me when you get this.

Kara squints at the message. If she narrows her eyes to slits, the photonic assault hurts her eyeballs less. The text is from Lena, so she answers right away. Doesn’t matter that it’s far past late at night and still hours away from early morning.

Kara: hey got your message. what’s up?

She thinks, mistakenly, that Lena will be asleep. She hopes, misguidedly, that that will afford her a few precious hours of rest herself. Her phone chimes and shatters that fantasy in its infancy.

Lena: Are you home?

That’s concerning. Even through the swampiness of fading inebriation and a blossoming hangover, Kara’s synapses spark to life at the idea that Lena may be in trouble.

Kara: I’m home. everything okay?

The response comes back so fast that Kara suspects Lena started typing before she’d even answered.

Lena: I’m coming over.

Kara glances blearily at her alarm clock. 2:47am. Something is definitely wrong.

It’s a testament to her body’s exhaustion that, despite the urgency, Kara manages to fall asleep. She jolts awake to the sound of cannonballs exploding in her ears, the echoes rattling around in her skull. Her superhearing is out of whack from the sleep or the alcohol or both and nearby noise is amplified a thousandfold. The resounding knock at her door sounds more like a battering ram than a fist.

“Kara?” Lena’s voice drifts through the apartment and all other noise seems to melt away. The soothing effect is immediate. Kara’s heart slides back down her throat and thumps in relief. She sags into her pillow with a sigh before she remembers the fact that Lena is visiting her at three in the morning.

Kara superspeeds to the entryway. She just barely reminds herself to touch down on the floor before unlocking the deadbolt.

“Lena!” Kara whips her door open. She’s prepared for the whole range of human emotion, perhaps some tears or sobs or panic or any external sign of distress.

Instead Lena greets her with pursed lips (puckered in that distracting way that accentuates the crisp line of her jaw), a tilted head, and brassy raise of her eyebrow. Lena looks as beautiful as ever in the middle of the night, but she certainly does not appear distressed.

She gives Kara an undisguised once-over.

“Hello, Supergirl,” Lena deadpans.

All the oxygen leaves the room. Kara’s anatomy doesn’t require much of it, but she still feels like she’s choking on the lack of air. Her eyes bug out and she momentarily loses all cognitive function as her half-drunk system begins a hard reboot into this new reality where apparently Lena now knows her secret identity. The corner of Lena’s mouth twitches victoriously and somehow that is what kicks Kara back to the land of the living.

Without so much as a warning, she snags Lena by the wrist and yanks her bodily into the apartment. It’s a whole miracle Kara doesn’t slam the door off its hinges as Lena stumbles past the threshold.

“Heh—Supergi—that’s funny—what, uh.” Kara squeaks, sounding totally normal. She whirls around to face her friend with a manic laugh and round, wild eyes, “W-what are you talking about?”

Alex teases Kara relentlessly for her inability to play it cool. As she scratches the back of her own neck only to realize that her hair is down and her glasses are sitting uselessly on her nightstand, then completely misses the wall she intended to lean against and surreptitiously floats to keep her balance, Kara admits that her sister may be onto something.

“Kara, please.” Lena’s eyebrow lifts so high that her forehead wrinkles to accommodate it. “Don’t insult me.”

She opens her mouth to speak but something about the way Lena’s regarding her—resolute and impatient, like she’s just waiting for Kara to catch up so they can move on— makes her snap her jaw shut. Kara abandons her remaining denial with a long exhale.

She can’t help but cling to a thread or plausible deniability though.

“What, um.” Kara clears her throat. “What makes you think that I’m—” her voice cracks on the words, so foreign to her in this context— “that I’m Supergirl?”

Instead of answering, Lena raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Wordlessly, she turns on her heel and heads for Kara’s coffee table. Puzzled, the superhero follows. She just about combusts when Lena flicks on the television.

There, in what must have been filmed by a cell-phone, is Supergirl, twirling through the air suitless and cape-less—wearing nothing save for a matching sports bra and boxers. Kara’s jaw unhinges. She thinks her eyes hurt from how wide they’ve gotten. Supergirl’s hair is blowing freely in the breeze and she looks absolutely delighted as she corkscrews aimlessly above the city, half-naked and carefree.

Kara watches in horror as the video zooms in shamelessly on her butt. (Rao damn The Fruit for stuffing their mobile devices with such capable cameras.) This, mortifyingly, is precisely where Lena chooses to pause the coverage. She clicks the remote, freezing the frame on a screenful of Kara’s backside, and points an elegant but accusatory finger at the blown-up image of Kara’s favorite underwear.

It’s not just any old set of underwear. These ones are indescribably soft and comfortable. They fit just right, snug in all the right places, and they are adorned with a bizarrely adorable pattern of cartoon potstickers, puppies, and chopsticks. Most precious of all, they were a gift from one Lena Luthor last Christmas.

Kara ventures a shifty glance at the CEO, whose eyebrow is still quirked expectantly.

Stupidly, Kara blurts the first thing occurs to her. “That could be anyone.”

A second eyebrow climbs to match the first, shifting Lena’s expression from confident to incredulous in a single movement.

“I—I mean,” the superhero stammers, “it’s a really cute pattern a-and maybe Supergirl got herself the same set you bought me.”

Lena’s eyes close slowly, patiently and she shakes her head. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she mutters, “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Why not?” Kara demands, incomprehensibly committed to her flimsy excuse. “Lots of people like potstickers and puppies!”

“Because they are custom, Kara.” Lena’s head tilts sharply and she skewers the blonde with a pointed look. “I had them custom-made for your gift.”

“Oh.” Kara blinks. “You did?” Her voice ticks up at the end, betraying how oddly touched she feels at the gesture.

Lena appears exhausted but at least somewhat amused now. “Yes. Did you think I happened to fortuitously stumble upon the exact combination of all your favorite things printed on the exact type of undergarment you happen to favor?”

“Um… yes?” Kara shrugs even as the feeble defense crumbles around her. “You can find anything on the internet nowadays.”

Lena sighs. “Kara.” The super’s eyes lock on hers and Lena deliberately drags her green gaze down Kara’s front and slowly back up.

The hint of heat in Lena’s eyes isn’t lost on the Kryptonian, so her face is already two shades pinker than normal when she follows Lena’s stare down her own body.

Her cheeks flame up fully at the visual reminder that she is in fact still wearing the offending undergarments and precious little else.

“Oh.” Kara swallows. She is fully on display for Lena—not only mostly undressed, which induces its own type of stirrings in her belly, but also in clothes unmistakably identical to the superhero frozen on the screen. It’s four coincidences too many.

“Oh,” Lena parrots, nodding once.

Kara’s arms cross instinctively over her bare stomach. She’s ashamed. Not of her body, but of attempting to keep up such a charade without a lick of self-awareness. Mostly, she’s ashamed of hiding the truth from the person with whom she’d most wanted to share it.

Frankly, it’s a monumental relief to be unshackled from her secret. Without the burden of her identity, Kara can truly give Lena her full self, share all the bits and pieces of her that have sat leaden and unspoken on the tip of her tongue for months. Now that Kara has the liberty to be well and truly honest, maybe she can finally entertain the budding intimacy and extra warmth that’s been building around her best friend. She’s never felt quite so enthralled to be the focus of someone’s gaze before and maybe if—

Kara shakes her head, clearing away the cobwebs of hope. There’s a very different reality to be faced right now.

Casting an anxious glance at her feet, Kara flexes her toes and reaches for the grounding sensation of the grain in the hardwood.

Kara swallows thickly, mind alight with all the wrong turns this revelation can take, all the covert ways her secret could have already poisoned their relationship beyond recovery.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, forcing her voice to remain steady even as she collapses into a defeated heap on the couch.

After a few seconds of silence, she gathers all the courage in her rapidly accelerating heart and glances up for Lena’s reaction.

Once again her best friend surprises her. Lena doesn’t seem mad or hurt or resentful. She looks… perplexed, if not a little exasperated.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” Lena asks slowly once their eyes lock.

Kara senses her own crinkle bunching between her eyebrows to match Lena’s. “For keeping this from you,” she answers dejectly.

Lena’s eyes widen and Kara rushes to justify herself. The explanation clambers out of her of its own accord, gathering momentum and volume like a snowball rolling downhill.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you so badly, Lena. For months! You’re one of the most important people in my life! I trust you. I–I can’t really explain it, but something about you has always made me feel safe. I just, I felt like I knew you from the moment we met. And that feeling hasn’t faded at all. In fact, it’s grown stronger. I think maybe it’s even become—”

Kara stops short of broaching that subject and launches up off the couch, beginning a proper maniacal pacing across her living room floor.

“You didn’t even need to but you went ahead and proved to me and Supergirl and everyone in the world that you are even more noble and good than I imagined. You are so incredible, Lena. Of everyone I love, you deserve to know this part of me. But—but this superhero thing is so complicated. There are all these rules with the DEO and it’s not always safe for the people that know my identity and—”

“Kara—”

“—and as much as I wanted to be completely open with you, I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. I can’t. I won’t. So then—”

“Kara, darling.” The endearment smashes sideways into Kara and brings her ramble to a skidding, screeching halt. “Stop talking.”

Dumbstruck, Kara does. She turns back to Lena and nearly suffocates at the fondness she finds shining back at her. It’s accompanied by a dash of amusement and that same exasperation from before, but the affection is there and it’s so warm that Kara’s cheeks heat up to match. How Lena can still look at her like that after what Kara’s kept from her is… it feels unfair.

“I’m really sorry Lena,” Kara insists quietly, this time staring directly into those striking windows of sea-glass green and willing her to see how acutely she means it.

“Don’t be.” Lena’s expression softens even further and Kara wonders if this is how it would feel to live life as a lava cake. Airy on the outside and melty on the inside. Warm and delicious all over. It’s nice. Maybe she can get Lena to eat her if—Kara blinks out of her daze. Okay so perhaps she is still a teensy, weensy bit tipsy.

Lena doesn’t seem to notice her brief departure because she adds very earnestly, “I understand why your identity needs safeguarding. I can’t imagine very many people know this about you.”

“No,” Kara agrees, eyes seeking the floor again.

“Frankly, I wouldn’t have expected you to reveal something so sensitive to someone like me.”

The self-deprecation in Lena’s tone is unacceptable. Kara is about to protest that she wanted to—would have if not for the magical influence of Alex’s good sense—when Lena shrugs.

“And we’ve only known one another for a year. There are bound to be some secrets.” The next part is whispered, as if Lena doesn’t mean for Kara to hear. “God knows I have some.”

“Wait—” Kara teeters closer, itching with that Lena-fueled curiosity that swims constantly through her veins.

Lena’s eyebrow twitches haughtily and she smiles, reaching out to pat Kara’s hand. “Matters for another time, darling.”

She wraps her fingers loosely around Kara’s and guides them both onto the couch. Kara, ostensibly still in her underwear, pulls a throw pillow into her lap.

Without warning, Lena resumes the video. The frozen widescreen snapshot of Kara’s behind shrinks away mercifully to the top corner of her TV, revealing a smirking newscaster barely keeping her laughter at bay. Her brown eyes dance as she describes Supergirl’s latest antics in excruciating detail to whichever unfortunate souls are watching at this time of the night.

“Why are we still watching this?” Kara mumbles, hugging the pillow to her chest. Lena remains placidly silent.

Just as Kara thinks her public shaming is complete, a new video overtakes the screen. This one is shot from a much better—or incriminating—angle. Namely, a news helicopter hovering at altitude, level with Supergirl as she floats in lazy spirals then flutters hundreds of feet down, playful and giggling, before shooting back up and starting again.

Kara really takes the cake when she stops mid-somersault and flashes the camera an unfocused wave and a dazzling smile. ‘Up, up and away,’ the half-naked superhero slurs. Then she proceeds to plunge straight out of the sky, giggling gleefully as she falls.

“Oh god,” Kara groans as the camera swings wildly to chase her back into the frame. It finally catches up to her as Kara’s trajectory is intercepted by a green-black blur. She and the blur disappear in a flash of red and the video gives way to the newscaster once more, speculating about the inexplicable nature of her behavior.

So that’s why J’onn had showed up to fly Supergirl home.

“I…” Is there kryptonite in the room or is she just burning up from sheer embarrassment? “I don’t remember doing that,” Kara whispers, quiet as a mouse.

Beside her, Lena snorts. Kara swivels to glare at her but the image of Lena stifling a laugh into the tips of her fingers is entirely too cute to hold a grudge against. She pouts instead.

Eventually the CEO regains her composure and asks, exceedingly gentle, “What do you remember?”

Kara’s features scrunch into a frown as she replays the last several hours in her head. It’s somewhat blurry, but there’s a chronological consistency to the snippets of clarity.

“It… it was my night off,” Kara begins. A picture of Alex’s rowdy laugh shimmers to life in her mind’s eye and she smiles. “Sister’s night.”

Lena nods, smiles just because Kara did and that—that’s really something. Her heart does a happy little flump. Then she remembers.

“That’s why I didn’t have my supersuit!” Kara snaps her fingers. “J’onn told us he had everything covered tonight. He said we should take the night to really unwind.”

Lena’s unimpressed little ah sets Kara into a guilty grimace. “I… don’t think this is what he meant he meant by unwind,” Kara admits.

“Probably not.” Lena agrees. It’s a gentle admonishment and a flat tease all in one and Kara is too busy thinking that Lena is miraculous to be at all bothered by the joke at her expense. “What did you two plan for sister’s night?”

“Well… Alex came over and we had a few drinks. I remember she brought some sort of alien punch or something. I don’t know what was in it but it was really yummy. I… got a little drunker than I meant to.”

Kara omits the part where she ignored Alex’s warning about the potency of said beverages because ‘I have a Kryptonian metabolism Alex. I’ll be fine.’

“Oh. So this…” Lena gestures vaguely in the direction of the television. It’s paused on another unflattering view from below and Kara wrinkles her nose. “Was alcohol-induced?”

“Yeah…” she admits, dragging out the word.

Lena raises an eyebrow. “And… voluntary?”

“Um. Yes.”

Lena regards her for a long moment, then releases a gargantuan breath. Her shoulders fall with it, settling almost one full inch below where they’d been twisted in tension since she arrived. “Well that’s a relief,” she exhales.

“It—it is?” Kara tilts her head.

“I thought you’d been poisoned.” Lena looks at her sharply and Kara swallows. “I was… concerned.”

The flash of vulnerability in her eyes is as close as Lena gets to chastising her, but Kara still feels it like a punch to the gut. It doesn’t take much work to put herself in Lena’s shoes, to imagine the sensation of the ground dropping out from underneath her when a slew of worst case scenarios take up residence in her brain. Combined with the realization that Supergirl’s erratic behavior is also her best friend’s, it might just warrant the frazzled and urgent messages in the middle of the night.

“I’m sorry,” Kara winces. “I promise I’m okay. Just a bit hungover, probably.” She pauses thoughtfully. “If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t entirely wrong.” Lena’s brow furrows and Kara grins dumbly, if only to inject a little levity into the moment. “Alcohol is pretty much poison. I just, you know, did the poisoning myself. I had a great time.”

There’s a stifled snort sound again and then Lena’s chuckling, loose at last and shaking her head fondly. Kara melts into the angelic sound, into the familiarity and affection twinkling within.

“So long as you’re okay,” Lena adds.

“I’m alright,” Kara reassures. She reaches for Lena’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “I promise.”

Keeping their hands joined, Lena tips her head curiously. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“Yeah?”

“If you and Alex were home—here, then why did you leave without your suit on?”

“Oh, uh...” Kara thinks for a moment. “We went out at some point. Alex convinced me to go to Al’s—the alien bar—to meet up with Maggie—which,” Kara bristles and sniffs loudly, “was extremely generous of me, considering it was sister’s night.”

She glances at Lena for validation but her best friend just blinks placidly and waits. Kara pauses to wonder if she’s causing any sort of distress with all of the alien information she’s tossing her way. After a few seconds of Kara studying her, Lena finally raises her eyebrows in question.

“Sorry,” Kara shakes her head. “Anyway. We went to the bar and had a couple more drinks. And then—this is where things get kind of fuzzy.” Kara blushes. “Alex left with Maggie, I think.”

“Alex left you at the bar alone? While you were clearly not sober?” Lena’s face screws into a glare of disapproval. “That doesn’t sound like Agent Danvers.”

Kara barks a laugh at the formal form of address. “No, it definitely doesn’t,” she concedes. “I don’t think she actually left me though… I remember being in a cab. And then… um. Not in a cab.”

“Did the taxi drop you off at home?”

“No?” Kara wracks her brain. “I don’t think so. I remember wandering around a park somewhere and realizing I was lost. I know the city so well from above but down here I… get a little turned around sometimes.”

Kara’s cheeks flush at the admission but Lena’s fingers flex around her hand encouragingly and she relaxes.

“Anyway, when I realized I was lost I figured it would be best if I just flew myself home.”

The logic of the moment comes rushing back all at once and Kara feels the tips of her ears go from pink to red to redder. Lena, genius that she is, puts it together rather quickly.

“But you didn’t have your suit.”

“Yeah…” Kara affirms through a dry mouth.

“So you…” Lena begins, encouraging Kara to finish. She’s too embarrassed to even try. After several moments of nothing, Lena rips off the bandaid. “So you undressed to avoid being recognized?”

There’s an inferno blazing somewhere in this room, Kara swears it. She nods, not daring to meet Lena’s eyes.

A minuscule giggle reaches her ears and she breaks.

“I—I didn’t have a choice!” Kara whines. “It was late, I was lost, and my phone was dead and I, I… didn’t know what else to do!”

“Oh dear. Good thing you’re invulnerable.” Lena chuckles. “It's okay, darling.”

“It’s not!” Kara glares over at the TV. “I thought I was being clever. I even folded my shirt and my jeans and hid them in a bush, out of sight and everything! I figured no one would recognize me if I was quick about getting home so I took off but then…”

Lena looks at her expectantly, every bit the generous friend trying to keep her laughter trapped behind her pursed lips.

“Flying felt so good.” Kara admits, contrite. “I’m always wearing that gosh-darned suit with the long sleeves and the tights and just—the warm air felt so nice on my skin. Like the night sky was hugging me hello.”

She’s pouting up a storm now. “I really didn’t expect it. And, well, I guess I was just having a really nice time and my flight home accidentally turned into….” She gestures half-heartedly to the TV. “That.”

“Oh honey.” Lena extends one arm and Kara doesn’t hesitate to dive under it, hiding her face in the comfort of Lena’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright. It’s just a minor PR snafu. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“Alex is gonna be so mad,” Kara grouses, burrowing towards the enticingly familiar scent emanating from Lena’s skin, just a few inches away.

“Perhaps,” Lena allows, rubbing up and down Kara’s arm. It helps soothe the panic that comes with the knowledge of her elder sister’s impending fury. “But you didn’t hurt anyone. And the risk to your identity seems exceedingly low. Who else knows what I gave you for Secret Santa last year?”

Kara thinks back to the holiday, to the warm glow in her apartment and the people she loves gathered to share smiles and stories and gifts. “Just the people that were there that day,” she answers. “Alex, my mom, James, and Winn. And you.”

The memory of Lena glowing alongside her family makes Kara hum happily and nuzzle a little closer. Lena’s arm tightens around Kara’s shoulders.

“And is there any risk of them putting the pieces together from this video?”

“Well, that’s not really a problem,” Kara sighs. “My family has always known. James knew before I even met him because he’s friends with Superman. And Winn is the only other person I’ve ever told.”

She freezes, nervous that the reminder of being kept in the dark might cause Lena to put some distance between them. It’s the last thing Kara wants, to hurt her best friend. Besides, she’d quite like to stay right where she is, a scant inch away from the soft skin of Lena’s collarbone.

“There you have it,” Lena soothes, mercifully unfazed by the news of others that knew before her. “This hiccup should wash away with the next news cycle.” Lena pauses, tenses a bit. “Unless…”

Kara wriggles, prompting her to continue. “Unless what?”

“Have you…” the CEO clears her throat and from this distance Kara can hear her swallow uncomfortably. “Have you shown anyone else?”

“Shown anyone what?”

“This, uh, particular outfit of yours?”

“Pshh, no.” Kara scoffs and shakes her head. The movement brings the cold tip of her nose into contact with the heavenly warmth of Lena’s skin. Kara attributes the slight shiver that runs through her friend’s body to the shock of temperature difference. “Why would I show anyone my underwear?”

When Lena grimaces, the muscles in her neck tighten and Kara instinctively tucks her head closer to smooth the tension away.

“Well,” Lena begins, sounding a bit strangled. Her voice is lower, somewhat shy, and Kara is distracted by the way it vibrates against her forehead when Lena speaks. “If you… perhaps… brought someone home with you.”

“When I invite guests over I don’t include my underwear drawer in the tour of the apartment, Lena. That’s silly.”

“No—that’s not what I—hmph.” Exasperated, Lena finally makes herself clear. “I’m asking if you’ve slept with anyone, Kara.”

The superhero jolts upright, squeaking in surprise. “What?”

Lena clenches her jaw and releases it, taking a fortifying breath. “Have you been intimate with anyone recently that might’ve seen this set of underwear?” Kara gapes like a fish out of water and Lena rolls her eyes as she spells it out, seeming oddly pained. “Could they possibly make the connection between Supergirl’s appearance tonight and your identity as Kara Danvers?”

“Oh,” Kara breathes, struggling to sit still under Lena’s scrutiny. She peels at the fraying edges of her throw pillow. “Um. No.”

“Okay.” It may be Kara’s imagination, but it almost looks like Lena heaves a sigh of relief. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I…” the corner of her mouth twitches. “There hasn’t been anyone. Not since Mon-El.”

Kara considers the nights she’s spent with people she loves instead, the extra time that not having a love interest has afforded her with Lena and feels quite at peace with this reality. She smiles. “So I guess we’re safe on that front.”

Lena smiles back, closed-mouthed but still dimpled, and Kara feels like a lava cake again.

“See? You have nothing to worry about,” the CEO assures.

“Except—can anyone trace the purchase back to you?” Kara asks suddenly. “You said it was a custom order, won’t… won’t people think that you’re Supergirl?!”

Lena bursts into laughter at the suggestion. She howls for seconds while Kara dissolves into a panic at the idea of people going after Lena, mistaking her for the drunk Kryptonian.

“Lena, this is serious,” Kara admonishes. Lena just keeps on laughing. “You could be seriously targeted! I need—I need to protect you. Someone could try to hurt you if they thought…” her wild ideas get the best of her, spiraling out of control at the mere suggestion of increased attempts on Lena’s life.

Kara spaces out, flicking rapidly from scenario to scenario about how best to protect her best friend from this type of exposure. Maybe Lena should move in with her, so Kara can keep her safe all the time. If they share a bed, Kara will know she’s protected even while unconscious. Lena maintains an office at Catco, so the workday is covered. What about bathroom breaks, would those be—

A warm palm smooths over Kara’s forearm and squeezes until her tailspin slows to a halt. “Kara, darling. Come back.”

Kara blinks forcefully once, twice, three times, and then she’s planted firmly in her living room, staring once more at the overwhelming wealth of fondness in light green eyes. Those eyes crinkle around a smile as soon as Kara fully returns to her surroundings.

“You needn’t worry about me,” Lena assures slowly. Kara wrinkles her brow and Lena explains. “I went to a store in person to place the order and made my purchases with cash. The payment isn’t traceable to my name and no one recognized me, I’m certain of it.”

Face pinched into a frown, Kara shakes her head. “Are you sure? I won’t take that risk with you, Lena.”

“I’m sure,” the CEO smiles again and it’s nearly dazzling enough to distract Kara from her panic-fueled worry storm. “I appreciate the concern, but I doubt anyone would believe that a Luthor even knows what a baseball cap is, let alone wears one.” Lena tilts her head thoughtfully. “For that matter, I doubt anyone would believe that a Luthor could secretly be Kryptonian, all things considered.”

Kara scowls at the indirect mention of Lex, but considers Lena’s logic. She’s right in the end—short of a credit card receipt with Lena’s name on it or video footage showing her obtaining the exact same garments Supergirl is wearing, it’d be nigh impossible to make the connection.

“Okay,” she finally relents. “Okay. So now all I have to worry about is Alex’s wrath.”

The thought brings another grimace to her face and she buries it into her throw pillow. Alex is going to be so mad.

“I think Alex will be fine once we talk it through with her,” Lena offers. The ‘we’ wraps around Kara like a blanket before Lena’s arms encircle her with a comfort that Kara’s powerless to resist. She drops the pillow in favor of scooting back into her previous position, nestled into the juncture of Lena’s neck and shoulder.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Kara recovers from her shame. The lateness of the hour and the steady drum of Lena’s heart lull Kara into a dreamy, half-conscious state and before she’s fully aware of herself she asks, “Lena?”

“Hm?”

The low hum of Lena’s voice in the apartment shrouds Kara in calm and she instinctively adjusts so she can press her nose and mouth the source of that heavenly vibration. Lena gulps and Kara is too sleepy to think anything of it.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad?” Lena repeats. “Why?”

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you my secret?”

“No, darling, I’m not mad,” Lena mutters softly and places a gentle hand on the side of Kara’s head. “It’s your secret to tell. What matters to me is that you’re safe. That’s all.”

The Kryptonian smiles and snuggles close. “Well, I’m really glad that you know now. And that you still like me. There’s so much I wanna tell you.” She pouts. “No more secrets for us.”

“Of course I still like you.” Then, most miraculous of all, Lena drops a soft kiss to Kara’s forehead. “You’re lovely, Kara. Being Supergirl doesn’t change that.”

Kara hums contentedly and drowsily returns the kiss wherever she can reach. Which happens to be the exposed jut of Lena’s collarbone. She notices a shift immediately—Lena’s muscles sing with tautness and her heart rate skyrockets.

“Lena?”

“Mm?” Her response is slightly high-pitched this time, even if the rumble of it still rolls through Kara like thunder.

“Why is your heartbeat so fast?”

“What—how can you even—oh. Superhearing. Of course.”

“Mhm,” Kara smiles, wondering languidly if Lena can feel her grin even if she can’t see it, ‘cause of the way Kara’s mouth is smooshed against her neck. Lena smells really, really good.

“You smell really, really good.” Again, Lena’s heartbeat ratchets up a notch. Kara frowns.

“Lena, you need to calm down.” Kara speaks right up against the source of the hammering in her ears, feeling the corresponding pulse pound on her lips. “‘S very loud. That can’t be good for you.”

“I’m fine, Kara,” Lena squeaks. Kara has her doubts but forgets them immediately when Lena says, “Besides, I’m with Supergirl. I’m as safe as can be.”

“That’s right.” Kara grins then places another sleepy kiss directly over that drumbeat, aiming to soothe it. “Shhh, i zhao,” Kara murmurs at Lena’s pulse point. “Settle down. You’re safe. It’s sleep time now.”

The next thing she hears after a hitch in Lena’s breath is the rich sound of Lena’s chuckle. “Did you just speak Kryptonian to my heartbeat, Kara?”

“Mm, yeah.” She’s beyond sleepy, half her cognizance has already yielded to unconsciousness. “I can never sleep when it’s loud like that.”

“What do you mean never?”

“I always check on you, Lena,” Kara nuzzles. “If your heartbeat’s too loud, I get worried.”

“You… you listen for me?”

Kara frowns again. Somehow this is only making things louder. Won’t stop her from telling the truth though.

“‘Course I listen. You’re my person,” she declares with a huff and drapes an arm over Lena’s midriff. “I dunno what’s bothering you right now though. You said it yourself, you’re safe with me.”

Lena sucks in a breath and holds it. Kara knows because she can feel the rise of Lena’s chest under her cheek and the way Lena’s throat works beneath her mouth. Kara noses against her neck, willing Lena to keep breathing and relax. Eventually she does.

Lena’s sigh comes out slow and measured and finally, her heartbeat begins to slow. She leans her head overtop of Kara’s. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Mhm,” Kara agrees. “Quiet now though, ‘s time for bed.” Lena nods above her and Kara doesn’t even deign to consider that they’re both still half upright on the couch. She does, however, remember a passing comment from earlier in the night.

“Lena?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me your secret, too?”

In the ensuing pause, Kara hears the slowing beat do a stutter step in Lena’s chest. She nuzzles into it and Lena sighs once more.

Then Kara feels the warmth of lips pressed to her temple and suddenly her own heart is mirroring the pattern of Lena’s, clamoring for more of that soft sweetness against her skin.

“I think you might already know,” Lena whispers into her hair.

With the scent of Lena in her lungs and the softness of her friend in her arms and around her, Kara thinks she does, too.

(Morning finds them in the same position hours later, curled against one another on the couch. Necks stiff and backs crooked, they startle awake to a pounding on the door and an unmistakably familiar grumbling on the other side.

“Kara, you’d better be in there! What the fuck happened last night?!”)

--

[m3talmunson]

It shouldn't have been that big of a red flag to Steve. It really isn't that big of a deal, right? It's a completely normal habit. It could even be endearing if you thought about it enough!

No. Nope. It's all bad.

Steve cannot fathom how the fuck Eddie sleeps with socks on. It's almost impossible to comprehend.

Eddie is a human furnace. He radiates all the sunshine from his eyes, turning into heat.

Eddie being warm is one of Steve's favorite things about him. It makes every passing touch all the more important, more impactful. It ensures that the cold lonely nights of Steve's past were left firmly there. It was an endless source of comfort for Steve. Even at it's most annoying, when Steve is throwing off all of the blankets in the night so he can continue to cuddle Eddie without overheating. A small price to pay.

But somehow, Eddie himself is always cold. He keeps none of his body heat for himself. His skin always feels like the sun was just bearing down upon him, but even in the sun he could still be shivering.

And he sleeps

with fucking SOCKS on.

Normally Steve wouldn't really mind. It's not like they're dirty socks. Surprisingly enough Eddie was generally hygienic when it came to his clothes. Eddie had always hated the feeling of dirty clothes. It's why he spent more time watching Steve in gym than actually participating. So it's not a smell that bothers Steve, it's not anything like that.

And if you ask Steve, he's all for supporting Eddie finding ways to keep himself warm. Steve worries, naturally. He encourages Eddie to seek warmth at almost all times. Why else would he wear a long-sleeved Hellfire shirt when it's the middle of May.

No, the problem isn't smell, or warmth, it's the fact that Eddie loves physical contact when he's asleep. He loves to be all over Steve, loves breathing in his smell even in his dreams. He also happens to love slowly trailing his leg up Steve's own. He loves slow, tender, sleepy movements. Eddie is always gentle, always barely grazing Steve's skin.

Steve does not love feeling like there's spiders crawling up his leg in his sleep.

Too many times Steve has woken up and immediately flung Eddie's foot off of him only to realize it was just Eddie, and apologize profusely. Too many times those stupid fuzzy socks have ruined a night's sleep.

"Babe, baby, sweetheart, dollface, PLEASE forgo the socks tonight. I am begging." Steve asked. He had an important day of taking care of the kids coming up, and he needed his beauty rest.

"What's in it for me?" Eddie teased.

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'Happy wife, happy life?'"

"Touché, darling." Eddie contemplated. "Maybe, for one night, I can forgo the socks."

And if Eddie found himself having more fun sticking his cold feet up the back of Steve's shirt, it was nobody's business but theirs.

[yournowheregirl]

one hand, one heart

tw: mention of HIV/aids crisis and the general blatant (sometimes violent) homophobia of the 1980s

steve harrington loves musicals.

it’s something he inherits from his mother, something he always shared with her while growing up and his father is at work. she puts on hello dolly! on vinyl and sing along as she cooks, or my fair lady as she cleans out her closet, or the king and i as she does her morning crossword. 

steve doesn’t really get the songs at first, but his mother is patient with him, explaining the stories and characters of every musical and replaying his favorite songs when he asks and soon enough, steve finds himself singing and dancing alongside his mother, knowing each and every word. 

one night west side story is on tv and his mother allows him to stay up late since his father is away again. they’re huddled on the couch together, throw blanket in their laps and hot cocoa on the coffee table and steve can’t tear his eyes away from the screen. the costumes, the songs, the dancing, he just can’t look away, it’s all so pretty. 

the movie gets a bit scary at times. during the big fight scene, he squeezes his eyes shut and ducks away into the safety of his mother’s arms and when tony dies at the very end, there are tears rolling down his face. his mother tries to tell him that it’s just a story but steve knows one thing for certain now.

it’s dangerous to love someone who’s different. 

as steve grows up, his mother seems to have less and less time for him - now suddenly joined at her husband’s hip as he goes away on business trips - and their movie musical moments slowly fade away. but it’s fine, steve is at that age that people no longer find it cute when you know every word to don’t rain on my parade. no, when he tells people that, they look at him funny and whisper something that he can’t quite make out.

so he stops talking about musicals all together.

(he still listens to certain albums when he finds himself coming home in the big, empty harrington house once again. it’s comforting, almost like he’s hugging his mother again, but not quite as warm). 

he hides his love for musicals throughout most of high school. doesn’t even try out when the drama department is doing a rendition of bye, bye birdie, no matter how much he actually wants to. laughs and lies when tommy finds the sunday in the park with george album in the living room, saying the housekeeper must’ve misplaced it. acts all tough and aloof when nancy asks him to watch grease together, even though he’s watched it four times already. 

with all nightmares he gets during year after year of somehow surviving all that upside down bullshit, steve once again turns to musicals when he can’t sleep. usually it’s just a mixtape he made, consisting of his favorite songs that’ll sing him to sleep like a lullaby. but when the nightmares are particularly bad, he drags his duvet all the way downstairs, settles down on the couch and rewatches the sound of music until his eyes start to burn. 

no one knows about it. not even robin, even though steve think she might suspect a thing after he suddenly knew exactly who julie andrews was. and he had planned to keep it that way, until one night when he finds himself on the couch once again but this time, in the company of eddie munson. 

never in his life would steve have imagined that eddie munson would be one of his closest friends, but stranger things have happened. like dragging eddie’s lifeless body through the literal gates of hell and watching how he miraculously recovered from his near-fatal injuries. 

but it’s more than friendship at this point and steve is well aware of that. others may think of him as oblivious but he knows himself. he recognizes that fluttery feeling in his stomach, he felt it dozens of times before. he notices the way his face heats up when eddie calls him sweetheart and lets his hands linger a second longer than necessary. 

he knows damn well that he’s crushing on eddie munson and it scares him half to death. 

it’s movie night and they’re on the couch together. eddie is flipping through the channels when steve notices a very familiar scene. 

“wait, no. go back.” he says, gesturing towards the tv. eddie looks confused but complies anyway, until the opening scene of west side story appears on screen again. 

“you wanna watch this?” eddie snorts.

“yeah. it’s good.” 

“...right.”

steve is well aware that eddie is even more confused than before, but at least he doesn’t seem to question steve’s sudden interest in the movie. doesn’t tease him about it either, not when steve’s feet start tapping along to something’s coming all on their own and not even when he softly starts singing along to maria. 

it gives steve enough confidence to lean in during gee, officer krupke, barely able to hold in his laughter. “twenty bucks say you pulled shit like this with hopper at least once.”

eddie rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway and steve thinks he’s just made easy money, only for eddie to retaliate during i feel pretty. “twenty bucks say you pull shit like this in the mirror at least once a week.”

“fuck off, man.” steve mutters, bumping their shoulders together in an attempt to hide the pink flush that’s spreading across his cheeks. 

“no can do, stevie. that song is practically made for you.” eddie grins. 

he doesn’t pull away after that. stays right there, glued to steve’s side for the remainder of the movie, which makes it all the more difficult for steve to focus on whatever’s happening on screen. 

it’s a good thing steve knows this movie by heart already because it quickly becomes virtually impossible to focus on anything other than eddie when he notices eddie’s hand moving closer and closer towards him on the couch. and as soon as he feels eddie’s pinky finger curling around his own, steve’s pretty sure his brain goes static at the mere feeling of eddie’s calloused fingers against his skin.

now, it has been said that steve is the bravest one out of all of his friends - always throwing himself in danger headfirst to protect the others - but steve can still feel his heart beating in his throat as he lifts his palm and links his and eddie’s hands together. it shouldn’t be as scary as facing a demogorgon, but it’s still the most courageous thing he’s done in a long time. 

with one small, almost insignificant movement, steve can suddenly feel eddie’s eyes on him. feels his gaze burning into his skin, though he doesn’t have enough courage anymore to look back at him. instead, he lets outs a shuddering breath and tries to pay attention to the story again. 

and even though holding eddie’s hand seemed scary at first, steve soon comes to the conclusion it’s the best decision he’s made in a logn time because it’s just so fucking nice. their hands fit perfectly together and it gives him something to hold onto. an anchor of some sorts to get through the last few emotional scenes of the movie. 

eddie’s hand keeps him grounded, keeps him from bursting into tears when tony dies like he did the first time he watched it with his mom. still, that scene does something to him. hits him right in the gut and he can feel himself stiffen as maria finds tony’s lifeless body on the ground. eddie must notice it too, because he squeezes steve’s hand a little tighter, runs his thumb across steve’s knuckles, helps him stay in the moment.  

not much later, the credits appear on the screen and steve knows he no longer has an excuse not to look back at eddie. he takes a deep breath and glances to his left and- yup, grave mistake because eddie’s gaping at him, with his dark doe eyes even bigger than usual. 

still, steve can’t look away, even though the silence between them stretches longer than it should be. he should say something. anything. ask if he wants something to drink. if he wants to watch another movie. if he-

“steve?”

“yeah?”

“can i kiss you?”

steve just blinks at him, a response of any kind dying on his tongue. fear creeps up on him - what if he’s dreaming, what if eddie doesn’t mean it, not in the way steve wants him to, what if-

but he was brave before, he can be brave again. he meets eddie’s eyes and nods, trusting his body just enough to take over and say what his words can’t. 

as soon as he feels eddie’s lips pressed against his own, steve is hyper-aware of every sensation - the lingering taste of diet coke, the slight stubble on his chin, the loose curl that brushes against his cheek. he almost feels like he’s floating, like the fluttering feeling in his stomach has lifted him up and transported him to a world where it’s just eddie and his lips gliding in synch against his own and it feels so, so good.

okay, screw the hand holding - this is the best decision steve’s ever made.

as eddie moves closer and tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, steve’s hand find its way to eddie’s chest. he lets it linger over eddie’s heart, almost as if he’s trying to make sure that this is really happening. that eddie is here and he’s alive and he’s kissing him.

it’s only their first kiss but steve decides then and there that he doesn’t want another day go by without kissing eddie. doesn’t want another go by without eddie in it, period.

fuck. this is more than just a crush, isn’t it? this is so much more than that. this is almost like love. this is... this is a lot.

and that’s when it hits him. the message that’s been burned into his brain ever since he saw west side story for the first time - that loving someone who is different is dangerous.

not because he plays a fantasy game that no one seems to understand. not because he listens to metal and sold drugs in his spare time. not because he got falsely accused of murder and the whole town looks at him with disdain.  

it’s dangerous simply because it’s another guy. 

steve’s not stupid. he reads the newspaper, he watches the news, he knows all about the protests and the hate crimes and the thousands of innocent people dying of a disease that no one seems to care enough about to help. 

it’s terrifying to love someone when the entire world seems to be against you.

he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he tastes the saltiness of his own tears and feels eddie pulling away from him. eddie’s eyes are filled with worry and that’s somehow enough to break steve, the tears just keep coming and coming with no end in sight.

“hey, hey, look at me.” eddie says softly, his hands gently cupping steve’s face. “did i do something wrong? what’s going on, baby?”

steve shakes his head, unable to form any words just yet. there are just tears and sobs and terrifying thoughts of what would happen to them if one of them- no, he doesn’t even want to think about that, it’ll only make him more upset. 

“okay, take your time. i’m here.” eddie mutters. he presses a kiss to steve’s forehead, his hands never once leaving steve’s face. 

the tears slowly but surely stop after that and steve somehow manages to regain control of his voice, even though it’s raspy and broken.

“it’s just... i just like you so much and it makes me so fucking scared. because what if...” he swallows the lump in his throat again, gasping for air. “what if we end up like them? what if we end up like tony and maria? it just takes one wrong move and we’re- you could- i can’t lose you, eddie.”

“then we’ll go somewhere safer. we’ll go to chicago, or new york, or, or, literally anywhere you wanna go where you feel safe.” eddie says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. his thumbs wiping away the tears on steve’s cheeks. “it’s like that movie said, y’know. ‘there’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us. peace and quiet and open air waits for us, somewhere.’”

steve’s eyes widen. he blinks once, twice, almost feeling speechless. “you know this musical?”

“i may have seen it before. i was in the drama club after all.” eddie shrugs, but when steve looks at him in disbelief, he sighs and adds: “okay, maybe i rewatched it because i was bored on a saturday once. it’s a good movie.”

“it really is.” steve nods, a small smile playing on his lips.

“we’re gonna be okay, y’know.” eddie assures him. “we survived literal hell, what’s a few bigots in comparison to that?”

steve nods, and as his tears are starting to dry, he’s finally starting to believe that that eddie means it. that he wants him, that he wants them, that he wants a future, together. and that might just be just enough reason for steve to lean back in again and kiss eddie with every ounce of his being, slow and warm and deep until all his worries float away and eddie is the only thing left on his mind.

(and later on, when eddie’s whimpering ‘steve’ over and over and over again, steve fully understands what tony meant when he sang that a name could almost sound like praying)

hi friends! it’s been a damn minute, i’ve been dealing with one hell of a writer’s block but this just appeared outta nowhere so i hope you enjoyed! thanks as always to @legitcookie & @sidekick-hero for their endless support as i went through the five stages of grief every time i attempted to write ilyyy <3

[tough-n-dumb]

lullabies

this ficlet is shamelessly inspired by the ending of No Reason to Be Afraid by @insignificant457 because i couldn't get inej wishing kaz a goodnight out of my head. thank you for writing this beautiful pre-canon fic—all credit goes to you!

“Goodnight,” she calls after him, then winces. Goodnight? You’ve just joined a gang, Inej, have a little dignity. He pauses, already halfway out of view, then leans back to look around the doorframe, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Goodnight,” he says stiffly. She gives him a weak smile, which he registers before leaving without further comment.

Read below or read on AO3

It becomes a habit; a nightly routine. A goodnight, Kaz her closing remarks of most evenings—or sometimes in the dark and early hours of the morning, depending on the day. More often than not, he’ll murmur it back. If he doesn’t, she’ll give him a little tsk and a hushed, chiding manners before slipping out the window. 

They spend more time together than she thought they would—probably more than he thought as well. But after jobs, she begins to linger, the windowsill in his attic rooms now her designated perch. From it, she can watch both him and the city like the spy he’s crafting her into. She likes to dangle her feet into the cool air and observe the stars that burst through Ketterdam’s cloudy sky. They’re in different places in the night sky here than in the Ravkan plains and mountains, but the constellations are familiar. She is so far from home, but the longer she spends in the Slat, in her perch in this dangerous boy’s room, the more the definition of home starts to change (though for her, home has always been other people). 

She sometimes uses variations like sleep well or sweet dreams though she knows he’ll most likely have neither. She tries not to worry about that; tries not to listen to his pacing above her, the way his bed will creak in the middle of the night from him tossing and turning. She can only imagine what he sees when he closes his eyes in the dark. She understands what it’s like to face your demons even in sleep. 

When she uses these softer variations, he’ll often smirk and offer a wry remark in return. Something along the lines of, “What’s next Wraith, you’ll sing me lullabies?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” she shoots back. She gets comfortable, teasing him like this, and it pleases her that he doesn’t seem to let anyone else get away with it. 

But what neither of them know—and how could they?—is that years down the line when those same nightmares come knocking she will do just that, lending him the lilting words her parents sang to lull her to sleep whispered into his hair, the rich Suli consonants curling around them in the darkness. Their voices, they find, are one of the best ways to bring each other back from the crumbling ledge of their memories—though they’ve always known to some degree that that was the case. 

One night, she’s reclined on the sill, legs stretched out and head tilted back, the warmth of summer bathing over her even after the sun has set. She yawns and rubs her eyes, and when she opens them, Kaz is staring at her. He clears his throat and looks away, shuffling some papers on his desk in a manner she knows is just for show. 

“Go rest, Inej.” It’s a dismissal, but not an unkind one. Simply a directive. She nods, rubs her eyes once more and sits up all the way, about to wish him a goodnight when—

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” He mumbles it while still staring down at his mess of papers. 

She freezes and lowers her hands, a big smile spreading on her face. 

“What was that?”

“Go to bed, Inej.”

“Oh, no, that’s not what you said.” She is absolutely grinning now, much too pleased that she’s taught her Barrel boy niceties. She thinks his face is slowly turning pink, the tips of his ears bright with color. 

When he finally looks up at her, she feels her chest tighten at the sight. His eyes are so dark they’re nearly black in the room’s low light. The shadows crease his face into hard lines, but yes, there it is—a high blush spreading across his sharp cheeks. 

“Goodnight,” he finally repeats. “And have the sweetest of dreams, darling.” He’s injected a gratuitous amount of sarcasm into the words, but the way his eyes dart over her face—and, she thinks, settle on her lips before he looks back down at his desk—gives him away. 

“Goodnight, Kaz,” she says before slipping into the night. Tonight, she isn’t plagued with her usual nightmares. Tonight, she dreams of a leather-clad hand in hers, warmed by the sun, and sea breeze in her hair.

[castieldelamancha]

Castiel stares at Dean, standing at the doorway of his bedroom, his hands are in the pockets of his coat, one of them closed tightly around his gift.

"Okay, man, I've emptied a side of the wardrobe and a couple drawers for you," he doesn't really have any clothes yet, but Castiel appreciates the gesture immensely nevertheless, "you have your own side on this bed, you can come in." Dean doesn't even look up from the book he is currently reading and Castiel appreciates the little, if slightly annoyed, push Dean has given him to do what he has to do.

He steps in the room, closing the door behind him, "there is something I wanted you to have," he says, he takes his hands out his pockets, one empty, the other one holding the feather, Dean puts the book down and looks at him, expectantly, "before I set my grace free I had the chance to keep something of my old self with me," he walks to the bed and sits down heavily on the mattress, he opens his palm and shows the feather to Dean, jet black, glowing with the pulsating light of the last drop of his grace, that seems to shine brighter now due to its closeness to such a familiar and beloved soul for it, "I chose this feather, and I'd like you to keep it." His past is irremediably linked to Dean, as his present is and, if everything goes well, as his future will be. He is giving Dean a reminder of that, "the angel I was might be gone, but the memories we made together aren't." just like he gave him his heart a long time ago too.

Dean takes it from his open palm, reverently, cautiously, he shallows, looking at Cas with those eyes that tell him he is a bit at a loss of what to say, or what to do, even if he can tell he is also already working out where he is going to keep it so it's safe, even if the pass of time won't affect it in any way. He simply puts his arms around Cas, the tip of the feather tickling the back of his neck, he hugs back. Castiel doesn't need words to understand all Dean is telling him right now.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Fic: Roy & Jamie & and that time when Jamie was NOT in a car crash

With ten minutes left until training officially began and still no sign of Jamie, there were a few raised eyebrows and murmurs and Isaac telling Will to put the player down for a 100 quid fine, but no one thought to be worried. People ran late, sometimes. Not usually Jamie, no, but Colin figured there was a first time for everything. Besides, he was busy listening to Bumbercatch explain the intricacies of post-Brexit labour shortages and the way it served to reproduce notions of capitalist realism, none of which Colin understood, but Bumbercatch was at his fittest when he was passionate and mysterious so Colin hung on to his every word all the same.

When Roy stepped into the dressing room a little while later and noticed the distinct lack of number 9 and rang Jamie to demand where the hell he was only to receive no answer, a slight sense of unease settled over the room, though Colin suspected that had more to to with the sinister look on Coach’s face rather than any real fear that Jamie might be in danger (at least not until he showed up and had to deal with Coach anyway).

And then they heard about the car crash.

---

It was Sam who – always eager to play peacemaker, bless him – checked his phone to see if Jamie had left any messages in the group chat to explain his absence, and Sam who went very quiet and stared at his screen in silence for so long that everyone else fell silent too and turned to stare at him. Never a good sign, that sort of silence in the dressing room.

“Yo, bruv, he write something?” Isaac asked when it became apparent that Sam was not going to volunteer whatever information he had found.

“No, nothing,” Sam said. “But… “

“But fucking what?” Roy demanded, words sharp and jagged like broken glass.

“There’s been a car crash,” Sam’s voice was quiet and slow and reluctant. “A big one, not far from Jamie’s house. At least two people are dead, and several injured. It doesn’t say anything about Jamie,” he quickly added into the collective intake of horrified breath. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah,” Thierry agreed quickly. “He probably just got delayed because it caused a traffic jam or something.”

Eager nods around room, and Colin found himself nodding along because of course that was the most reasonable explanation, of course Jamie hadn’t— he wasn’t—

“But then why didn’t he pick up his phone?” Bumbercatch asked. “Or call to say he’d be late?”

A relevant question, and as with most of Moe’s questions, without a ready answer.

“We would have heard, wouldn’t we?” Nate suggested uneasily. “I mean, they would have called, if— “

He didn’t finish the sentence. No one else spoke.

Trying to distract himself from the quickly growing pit in his stomach, Colin turned his gaze on Roy, who had gone so still that he didn’t even seem to be breathing. His face was a blank mask, utterly devoid of any emotion, but his fists were clenched so tight that Colin’s own hands twinged in sympathy.

“I’ll go talk to Higgins,” Beard said abruptly, breaking the fraught silence.

“Yeah, no, that’s a great idea,” Nate quickly chimed in. Like Colin, he’d been eyeing Roy nervously. “He’ll know what—“

The door slammed open. Jamie rushed inside. “Sorry, sorry I’m late,” he called as he dumped his bag on the bench by his cubby and started pulling his vest off, “been this massive car accident, was stuck for ages and then the road was closed off so I had to go round and— Eh?“

Cockburn, by virtue of being closest, had pulled Jamie into a tight hug, and the rest of the players immediately closed in to follow suit, Colin among them. In his relief he wasn’t sure whether to kiss Jamie or smack him on the head for worrying them, and in the end he settled for briefly squeezing his neck. Jamie grinned at him, at all of them, looking a little bemused but very much delighted by the attention.

“Fucking hell, lads,” he laughed. “Thought I’d be getting a fine, not a fucking group hug. Realized how dull training would be without me, huh?”

“You are getting a fine,” Isaac told him, even as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and shook him gently. “But we’re fucking happy you’re here, yeah?”

“We thought you had died in the car crash,” Jan explained.

“Sí, amigo, we were so worried for you!”

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m fine. Not fucking Colin, am I? I don’t get into any car crashes.” He caught Colin’s eye and winked, sticking his tongue out like the utter tosser he was and Colin rolled his eyes and was so, so stupidly happy the idiot was there to be annoying.

Eventually, after everyone had gotten to hug Jamie or pat him on the back or ruffle his hair (to his loud but clearly half-hearted protests), the team drifted back to their own cubbies, happily chatting amongst themselves—

— leaving Roy standing on the middle of the floor, staring at Jamie with a look on his face that had Colin take an involuntary step backwards. Their gaffer did not look relieved. In fact, he looked absolutely murderous.

“Why the fuck,” he intoned, emphasizing each word, “did you not fucking call to say you were fucking late? And why the fuck did you not answer your fucking phone?”

The tone of voice would have had anyone with even an ounce of self-preservation running for cover if directed at them, but Jamie just blinked. “Oh, er, left it at home, didn’t I? Already had it in me black bag, right, only I realized the tan one went better with this outfit so I grabbed that instead, but I forgot about the phone ‘cause I was in a bit of a rush, yeah?” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was stupid. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re sorry about that, are you? Do you have any fucking idea—“ Taking a step closer, getting right up into Jamie’s face, Roy launched into a dressing-down of such volume and viciousness Colin was convinced it had the walls vibrating. Even by Roy Kent’s considerable standards, it was a lot and it lasted for well over a minute until Roy growled, “If you’re not out on the pitch running laps in two minutes you won’t have to worry about getting into any car crashes going home ‘cause you’ll be here all night, running ‘til you fucking drop in your own puke, got it?”

Initially, Jamie had seemed slightly taken aback by Roy’s furious remonstration, but then something that looked strangely like understanding passed over his face and he settled into a determined stoicism, neither talking back nor looking cowed. By the end of it, though, there was definitively barely suppressed anger glinting in his gray eyes, leaving Colin worried he might snap and then they’d have a full-on brawl on their hands, just like back in the bad old days when Roy and Jamie well and truly hated each others’ guts and wouldn’t that be exactly the sort of fun they all wanted on a Tuesday?

He gave a sigh of relief (and could hear Richard do the same just next to him) when Jamie just offered a curt, “yes, Coach,” and set to getting changed at an appropriately hurried speed.

“And fucking apologize to your teammates for delaying training!” Roy barked.

“We’d be out there already if you hadn’t spent the last hour shouting at me,” Jamie muttered to the boot he was tying.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach. Sorry, everyone.” He looked up. “Really am,” he added, sounding quite sincere about it. “Didn’t mean to hold you up or, you know, worry you or nothing.”

---

Training was an awkward and quietly tense affair. Once Jamie had finished his laps and was allowed to join the rest of them, Roy pointedly and resolutely ignored him, refusing to so much as spare him a glance while the team muddled through the day’s exercises and scrimmage.

Jamie, for his part, seemed utterly determined not to give a shit. He went through the drills as diligently as ever, dribbled and passed and shot with his usual flair, shouting encouragements and slapping Colin’s butt after a particularly good free kick. For all intents and purposes, it was just another day at the job for Jamie Tartt – but Colin saw the looks he kept shooting Roy when he thought no one was watching, and he noticed how Jamie didn’t just play well but played brilliantly, stubbornly lining up one little footie miracle after another on the pitch. He wasn’t being a prick about it either, prompting Colin to mutter to Isaac: “Looks like Jamie’s trying to get back on Roy’s good side by going for player of the year.”

Isaac glanced over at Jamie, then shook his head in dismissal. “Nah, bruv,” he said. “He ain’t trying to appease the gaffer. Sticking it to him, innit.”

“Oh. Okay.” Colin frowned. That… didn’t make a lot of sense, really, but Isaac usually knew what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like Colin begrudged Jamie a little bit of pushback, not after the way Roy had chewed him out in front of everyone. It was just that, if this escalated and the two of them got into it properly, the way they used to back when Roy was still the captain rather than the coach… Well. It’d be a shit time for everyone. Colin could do without it. They could all do without it.

Not that that sort of consideration had ever stopped either Roy or Jamie before.

On the other side of the pitch, Jamie threw himself down in a bicycle kick that saw the ball soar right past two defender’s and Thierry’s outstretched hands.

“Whistle,” Roy snapped. “Training’s fucking over.”

---

“Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Colin, with Dani, Jeff and Jamie in tow, had almost made it out of the dressing room, freshly showered and changed and very ready to put the training session behind them, when Roy’s bark brought them to abrupt heel. Dani stopped so suddenly that Jeff almost walked straight into him, and Colin himself accidentally elbowed Jamie when he startled at the sudden roar.

You’d think they’d be more than used to Roy’s yelling by now, Colin thought. Then again, he supposed it’d been a strange day and they were all a little on edge. Jumpy.

“We’re going to my place, Coach,” he quickly offered, hoping to stave off another round of shouting. “To play some FIFA.” He briefly considered inviting Roy to join them, it would only be polite, right, and could be good for morale maybe, but he was held back by the notion that the gaffer might say yes.

“Tartt isn’t,” Roy informed him curtly.

Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m not?” Definitively a hint of challenge in his tone, and Jesus, this was all going to go straight to hell, wasn’t it? And after they’d almost made it out of here, too.

Roy was unmoved; unyielding as stone. “No, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you since you’re too much of a fucking child to be trusted on your own.”

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, both faces shadowed by stubborn scowls. Colin realized he was holding his breath, and glanced over at Isaac getting ready for dinner with his parents in front of the mirror to check if he, as captain, was maybe planning to step in and deescalate the situation. How he was going to do that Colin had no idea; he wasn’t the captain.

Isaac said nothing, though, just watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Figures, Colin thought a little sourly; his friend was utter shit at keeping secrets but could pull inscrutable like nobody’s business when it suited him.

“Fine.” In the end, Jamie relented with an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m taking me own car, which I have, what with me not actually being in a car crash today and all.”

Roy looked furious at that, as if Jamie’s lack of fiery death in a burning inferno was somehow a personal insult to him, but then he pressed his lips together and jerked his head in a sharp t nod. “Fine.”

He spun around and stalked away, leaving Jamie rolling his eyes and muttering Jesus fucking Christ you overdramatic grumpy fuck under his breath. Then he turned to the rest of them and shrugged. “Sorry, lads. Another time, yeah?”

Dani made a small, unhappy sound. Colin exchanged a look with Jeff, who looked about as unsure and uncomfortable as Colin felt. Over on the other side of the room, Isaac was still quiet, potentially a sign to the others to keep out of it as well, but in spite of that Colin found himself compelled to ask: “Boyo, do you want us to… talk to Coach?”

It was a mildly terrifying idea, and it very much went against the unspoken agreement that nobody interfere with the continued absurdity that was Roy and Jamie’s relationship these days. But, today had been weird in a way that seemed to have little enough to do with training, extracurricular or otherwise. A particular kind of weird, even for these two. Besides, his whole idea of an impromptu game night had been, at least in part, a bid to cheer Jamie up after all that, and it seemed a shame that he’d miss it for more of the same.

Jamie, however, waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, mate, it’s fine.”

He looked like he meant it, too. There was a frown on his face, sure, but as far as Colin could tell it spoke more of mild annoyance than actual upset or worry.

“But forgetting your phone was a simple mistake, and it is not your fault you were late. It’s not right that Coach should keep punishing you for it.” Sam, who had declined FIFA in favour of being a responsible restaurant owner (“and bad fucking flirt, it’s been almost a year mate, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”), had walked over from his locker and was eyeing Jamie with customarily earnest concern.

Jamie just shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and off their worried stares added, “He’s not going to do anything bad or anything. It’s just, I fucking scared him, right, and he’s being a twat about it ‘cause he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to have feelings properly and he’s only been in therapy for like three months and it’ll probably take a year for anything Dr. Sharon says to go through his big stupid head, yeah? That’s all.”

Which. Okay. Colin could see how the prospect of Jamie actually dying might scare even Roy, but on the other hand… it was Roy. Roy Kent. And besides—

“I don’t know, man, he didn’t seem scared,” Jeff ventured.

“No, amigo, he seemed like he wanted to rip your head off,” Dani helpfully filled in. “And maybe use it as a football.”

“Yeah, because he’s a twat,” Jamie said. “But it’ll be fine, I promise. Probably just wants to make me dinner or something.”

Colin blinked. That… was a leap. Even by Jamie’s particular kind of logic, that was definitively a leap.

“He’s right.” Oh, so now Isaac decided to speak up. “Roy’s not mad at Jamie, he’s mad because he was frightened.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at their captain. “Yeah, that. So don’t worry.” Adjusting his cap he shot Colin a cheeky wink. “Whoever plays me better score a fuckton of goals tonight, yeah? See you tomorrow, lads.”

And he was out the door, fucking humming as he went. Doing that Jamie Tartt thing of untouchable and unshakeable confidence and you think you can get to me? Nothing ever gets to me and even now that Colin knew Jamie wasn’t quite as invulnerable as all that, some of the old awe and jealousy stirred, mixed with concerned incredulity.

“Is it just me,” he asked after a protracted moment, “or are those two getting even weirder?”

“It’s not just you,” Jeff muttered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” Dani promised brightly, “I will play Richmond tonight and score a fuckton of goals and I will crush you for the sake of our amigo Jamie.”

Colin sighed. “Fantastic.”

At least he’d have the comfort of knowing that getting trashed by Dani Rojas was still far, far better than whatever cruel and unusual punishment Roy had planned for Jamie.

---

Jamie leaned back against Roy’s surprisingly comfortable couch and let out a small sigh of contentment. He wondered whether he ought to be still annoyed with Roy for being a massive wanker or pleased with himself for how utterly he’d called this. He settled for alternating between the two; he was complex like that. People didn’t know it, but he had depths.

Roy hadn’t tried to make him run a marathon or do a million burpees or whatever Colin and the rest had imagined. He hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t said much at all, really, since Jamie stepped through the front door without knocking; mostly he’d glared and grunted and used those funny little head jerks to communicate that Jamie should sit down and be quiet and drink the water Roy put in front of him.

Jamie had sat down and drunk the water. He had not been quiet. He’d watched the Spurs game on the telly last night and he had opinions relevant to their upcoming match against them, which by rights should interest the gaffer and if it didn’t, too fucking bad.

Roy hadn’t told him to shut up.

Instead, he’d made them dinner (fucking called it), a nutritionist approved salmon pasta with saffron and fennel that Jamie was particularly fond of, and then sent Jamie off to the couch while he did the washing up. He hadn’t said a word about Jamie’s choice of entertainment either, when he appeared a little while later with two steaming cups of tea and found the telly turned on to an old episode of Doctor Who. The show had been a staple of Jamie’s early teens and remained a nostalgic comfort; just a bit of silly fun, really, and so naturally something Roy fucking loathed, sad old fuck that he was.

Normally even the suggestion of watching it (or anything else even halfway interesting) would have been met with foul-mouthed refusal and something about Roy’s house, Roy’s rules, but tonight Roy just put the tea down wordlessly and sat down next to Jamie, as on the screen Martha, Jack and the Tenth Doctor (fittest of them all, although Jamie had a soft spot for Eleven) narrowly escaped an exploding flat.

Jamie smiled to himself. For all Roy was utter shit at saying stuff, he could be fucking transparent at times.

It had been dead obvious when Roy’s anger finally and fully faded, and guilt started trickling in to fill the void. It was right there in the way Roy went all the way quiet and started shooting him little looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought Jamie wouldn’t notice throughout dinner; there in the way he sat down far closer to Jamie than he normally would on the couch now, their legs all but touching.

It was as blatant an invitation as you could ever expect from Roy Kent, and tempting, but Jamie stubbornly held himself to himself, upright and with his arms crossed over his chest. Roy had been a right proper arsehole today and he hadn’t even said sorry so if he wanted a cuddle he could fucking ask for one, or he could wait until Jamie felt inclined to indulge him.

Eventually, though, after what Jamie deemed an appropriate amount of time (which may or may not have amounted to two whole minutes), he relented and allowed himself to lean against Roy, casual like, and tipping his head to rest Roy’s shoulder.

He smirked at how Roy not only failed to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing but also was very quick to put a tentative arm around his shoulders, the grip growing firmer when Jamie didn’t shrug him off or ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

For a while there was only that; the warmth of Roy’s body pressed into his; the sounds of the television. I love it when you say my name, the Master declared.

“I’m sorry about today,” Roy said suddenly. The words came haltingly, reluctantly. Still, he pressed on. “I … fucking overreacted.”

Jamie snorted. “Little bit, yeah.” Then he added, not bothering to conceal his smugness, “All the lads think you were dead mean to me.”

He glanced up at Roy who was determinedly staring at the telly while his eyebrows were doing something complicated and seemingly painful. “I think that… maybe… I got a bit… fucking worried, when we thought you’d been in that car crash.”

He offered like it was some great admission, a grand fucking reveal, and Jamie rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, mate, I know.”

Roy’s eyes snapped to his face at that, all disbelieving like, so Jamie rolled his eyes again, even harder. “Come on, man. Pretty obvious, that.”

For a long moment, Roy didn’t respond. He looked away from Jamie again. Then finally, “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

And the thing was, Roy sounded so fucking unhappy about it that Jamie clamped his mouth shut around a reflexive no, but you’re an idiot.

“Maybe something for Dr. Sharon, yeah,” he suggested instead, noting with some satisfaction that he was being really mature about all of this.

He’d have liked pointing that out to Roy, too, but had a feeling that maybe that would take away from the maturity a little. He’d mention it to Keeley later instead.

“Yeah,” Roy said after a moment of looking like he’d rather let Isaac kick a football straight at his head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And maybe fucking apologize to my teammates for delaying training,” Jamie added innocently, feeling a smirk tug at his lips and then blossom into a full-fledged grin when Roy pulled back a little to stare at him, seemingly trying to gauge whether he was serious or not.

“You’re a prick,” Roy said eventually, relaxing again and sounding right fond about it.

“Mmmhm,” Jamie agreed happily, pulling his feet up on the couch and curling up closer to Roy. It was nice, this. Worth all that, maybe. “And here you are, fucking glad I’m not dead and all.”

Roy sighed. His arm around Jamie’s shoulder was warm and solid.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly enough that they might both pretend it wasn’t meant for Jamie’s ears at all. “I am.” 

[fionnemrys]

There's a Cat in the TARDIS

What if, one day, a cat just wanders into the TARDIS and never leaves?  

(I feel like the Doctor would get along swimmingly with a cat. He would absolutely just talk to her like she was any other person.)

The Doctor greets her amiably. “Hello! How’d you get in here?”

The cat, a ginger tabby with sparkling green eyes, looks at him enigmatically.

“I always wanted to be ginger,” he says as he frowns at a lock of very not-ginger hair. “You’re very lucky.”

She head-butts his leg.  He scritches her behind her ears.

“You know, every ship should have a cat. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of this before. Would you like to be my Ship’s Cat?”

“Mrr,” she says as she rubs against his leg.

“Brilliant! Do you have a name?”

“Mrrp?”

“No? Would you like one?”

“Meow.”

“Hmm. Okay then. Jonesy? No. He was a great ship’s cat but that movie was racist. How about Goose? No, you don’t really look like a Goose. Chewy? Nah. Oh! How about Ripley? I read a story once about a cat named Ripley. She was brilliant! Lived on a space station with her two mums.”

Ripley jumps up onto the console, accidentally sending them to [someplace/somewhen cool].

After banging about together for a couple of days, they make it back to the TARDIS.

"That was brilliant!" the Doctor exclaims.

"Let's have another go!" and invites Ripley up onto the console again.

--

@mycatismyeditor, I hope you don't mind. I think Ripley missed the stars. The Doctor will bring her home often.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝚃𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙸𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝙱𝙱𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙶𝙶𝙶𝙶. 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝙱&𝙹 𝚍𝚞𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝙼𝙽𝚃 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚠— 𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚞𝚘’𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚌 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚟𝚋𝚏𝚋𝚏𝚑𝚍𝚓𝚓 𝙸 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙿𝙱&𝙹 ✊🏾🥲…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟻𝟷𝟸

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛. (𝙶𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝? 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝 = 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 = 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜/𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙? 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝).

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

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

@saturnzskyzz @giggly-cloud @savemeafruitjuice

@rice-cake-teen10 @titters-and-tingles @tmntalways @my-l0v3r-v3rse

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝟷𝟶𝟷% 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔����𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 <𝟹

𝚃𝚆: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚒𝚝!!!

̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜…𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 /𝚛𝚎𝚏˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Alright. Hear Mikey out on this one, okay? Because in all honesty, this was originally a fire plan. A lit plan. Some might say that the fire from the plan was sooooo hot it was practically blazing due to the fact of how awesome it was.

…okay. Well perhaps maybe people don’t say that exact term but they definitely should!

Anyways, it started off as a pretty chill day for the orange banded teen. I mean, it was Summer for crying out loud! These next few months were supposed to be absolutely nothing but pure chillness.

If your Summer isn’t even a bit chill in the slightest, then you’re doing something totally wrong. 

Daylight savings was over, school was over and most importantly…homework was over! (Besides the fact that Mikey and his brother’s are forced to do dumb reading reports over the break because the school system dumb)…But other than that, Michelangelo was basically free! Free as a bird. 

And so, like any sane studious kid that has been in High school for about a year…Mikey has been doing something he hasn’t done in a while since school started…

…Absolutely nothing.  

He’s been spending the past week or two playing Roblox on his IPad while eating Doritos mixed with Skittles.

Look, don’t even judge until you try, it’s actually pretty good!

But anyways, as Mikey was playing Flee the Facility, he randomly came to terms with the fact that he needed to steal some of his brother’s clothes for today…

Random thought, I know. 

The youngest has (and always will) politely take his brother’s clothes during the Summer— preferably hoodies and/or shirts. It’s basically a forced hand-me-down/Yard sale the youngest turtle always looks forward to. And today marked the 29th of June— 8 days from June 22nd. 

And if you’re unfamiliar, the 22nd of June marked the official end of Spring and official start of Summer! So the smallest turtle’s annual raid of his elder brother’s clothes was loooooong overdue. 

Last Summer, Mikey took Raph’s Detroit Become Human t-shirt, his WWE shirt, one of his polos and one of his The Walking Dead t-shirts (Raph had a TON). 

And the Summer before that, Mikey took Leo’s Squidward hoodie. And…yeah. That was basically it— the eldest was a pretty bland guy and there was really nothing worth taking from his wardrobe. 

So if you did your Math correctly, you would realize that this year it was Donnie’s turn. And so that’s what the youngest of the turtle teens was planning…

How the absolute hell could he take some of his immediate older brother’s clothes without taking ALL of them? 

Because believe it or not, the nerdy turtle of the group had a pretty good fashion taste and sense. His style was simple but not too bland or standout-ish. Donnie’s style was just a simple array of sweatshirts— a piece of clothing the smallest turtle could never EVER have too much of. 

But the tech-y turtle of the family definitely did. Just looking at his side of the shared bedroom, you could see sweatshirts and hoodies galore just scattered everywhere. 

The orange banded mutant looked through the sweatshirts and hoodies, trying to figure out which one he should now claim as his own.

A Sailor Moon hoodie? Too bright. 

An MHA sweatshirt? Too basic. 

An Attack on Titan hoodie? Too edgy. 

The youngest sighed in frustration, digging through his brother’s mountain of clothes before settling on a nice black hoodie with Gojo Satoru on it.

…what? Gojo Satoru was cool! Even though the orange banded turtle had only seen him in TikTok edits…those edit’s were pretty fire.

Just like his plan of taking his brother’s anime merch because he simply just could. 

The orange banded teen looked at himself in the mirror right next to Donnie’s tent, humming the popular yet overused tune that Gojo is associated with to himself, trying (and failing) to do the popular dance. 

“Ugh…how did Donnie do it again…?” The chocolate eyed teen inquired, attempting to do the dance one last time before lightly falling on his shell; the other sweatshirts and hoodies breaking his fall. 

“Dude…” A voice giggled behind him.

Mikey’s eyes widened at the sudden but familiar voice, glancing upwards to lock eyes with the one and only Donatello, peering down at him and smirking. 

“DONNIE!” Mikey shouted in surprise, getting up and whirling around so that he faced his immediate older brother as he tried to look as casual as possible, “Donatello! Dee! Don-bon…what’s…up…?” The youngest grimaced, sending awkward finger-guns as the hood to the hoodie fell down, completely covering his eyes due to how big it was on him. 

The elder snickered, putting a hand over his mouth as he tried to stifle them a little. “Oh shut up…” Mikey huffed, taking the hood off as the other turtle chuckled in amusement again, going to his younger brother and standing right next to him.

“My sweatshirt literally engulfs you.” The turtle that wielded glasses chuckled soflty which only caused the youngest to roll his eyes annoyed at the entire situation. “Shut. Up.” He pouted, crossing his arms as he glared at his older brother, “It looks good on me!”

“It swallows you…” The other said back. 

“I’LL SWALLOW YOU!” Mikey retorted, turning away from his brother angrily. 

The purple loving teen sighed fondly and laughed slightly at the automatic retort, raising a teasing brow at his younger brother, “Are you attempting at trying to look like me~?” 

The orange banded turtle blushed profusely, glaring at the other turtle’s question, “HELL NO.”

“Thehen why do you hahave the hoodie I wear literally everywhere? You know damn well Gojo is my go-to anime character of all time.”

Michelangelo grumbled, looking to the side of him as he swayed his arms at his sides. Okay…well, perhaps out of context it did seem like he was trying to look like Donnie. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

The only reason why the youngest “steals” clothes from his brother’s is because…well, he can and it’s easy. And it’s just…sorta comforting in a way. Not the stealing part…but…

Look— it’s dumb and confusing don’t think about it too much. 

The elder teen huffed out a small laugh, “Why did you choose my Gojo Satoru hoodie of all things, though?” 

“…I keep seeing him on TikTok and he’s the only anime character that hasn’t made me cry out of cringe in a way...” 

“Ooookay. Good for you, bud.” Donnie nodded, putting his hand out “Now give it here. Me and the TMLBANOT21stC are meeting later today to have a JJK meeting.”

The chocolate eyed turtle blinked, “Your going to…what…?” 

“My club stands for The Most Logical, Big-minded, Anime Nerds of the 21st century. Duh.” The honey brown eyed mutant said sassily, “Now give me back my hoodie or I’ll be late!” 

Mikey blinked once more, a small cheeky smile plastering on his face, “And what if I don’t want to?” 

“Michaelangelo—“ 

And with that, the smallest turtle ran out of the shared room, moving his legs as fast as he could that the other in the room just saw an orange and green blur sprint past him. 

“MIKEY!!!” Donnie howled angrily, running out of the room to catch up with him. The second youngest bumped in between the two eldest turtles, quickly apologizing to them as he ran after the youngest.

The leader in blue scratched his head confused, “Should we…?”

“Nah.” Raph commented. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Donnie was internally groaning. If he couldn’t get his hoodie back from his brother in the next 10 minutes he would be late to his own club. 

Imagine that.

…Exactly! You can’t. 

The second youngest looked around the living room, trying to figure out just where his little brother was. In the last couple of years, the honey brown teen didn’t really mind the youngest taking some of his clothes (even if Donnie would’ve preferred him just normally asking).

But Donnie needed this hoodie. More than anything and one way or another he would get it. 

Suddenly…an idea popped into the geniuses brain, smirking widely as he leaned on the wall. He closed the door without stepping outside of the kitchen, still in the room to make it seem like he left. The youngest peeked from behind the couch, him and his brother making immediate eye contact. 

Ha. Got em. 

The anime loving turtle basically lunged at the smaller turtle, sitting on top of him as the other tried to squirm away. “I GOT YOU, YOU LITTLE TURD!” The purple cladded teen smirked triumphantly, crossing his arms and watching amusedly as his little brother tried to escape. 

“Just give me back my hoodie, man. You’re making it seem like I’m asking you for your liver.” 

“YOU DID ONCE!!!” 

“That was for a Bio experiment.” The elder corrected almost immediately, “But that’s not the point just— UGH! Give me my dang hoodie!!!” 

“NO!!!”

The purple banded turtle glared, uncrossing his arms as he wiggled his fingers in the air, “Wanna do this the hard way? Because we can do the hard way, little brother…”

The brown eyed mutant paled, shaking his head back and forth at the question. Well…this didn’t go exactly as planned.

Donnie just scoffed, his hands immediately going for the other’s underarms but Mikey put his arms down, sputtery giggles escaping his mouth as he did so. “P-Plehease! Deehee!”

“Don’t 'plehease Deehee' me! Give back me back my JJK hoodie!”

“BuHUT—“

The elder turtle lost his patience, effortlessly raising the other’s arms as he scribbled his free hand’s fingers all over his underarms. The smallest turtle squawked, falling into loud giggles. He kicked his legs underneath his older brother, “DOHOHON— NOHO!”

“Someone is sensitive here!” Donnie mused.

“STAHAP— I AHAM NAHAT!!”

“You’re not? Not what~? Ticklish~?” The anime loving turtle asked, his smiled widening as he saw how flustered his baby brother was getting. “STAHA— STAHA-! DEEHEE!” Mikey shrieked, “NOHO TEEHEEASING!”

The glasses wielding teen gasped dramatically, “No teasing? You take my hoodie and now you’re telling me what to do?” 

“NONONONO WAH— *squeal* WAHAHAIT!!!”

The tech whiz wasted no time prodding his thumbs on the youngest hips. The brown eyed teen squealed loudly, hugging his middles and just not even trying to stop Donnie’s hands at this point.

The last time he attempted to, his immediate older brother spent the next half an hour scribbling the orange banded teen’s palms…

That was hell in itself and Mikey was not trying to relive that again if he could help it.

“Awe…does this tiiiickle? Is this tickling you~? Maybe that’s cuz you’re reeeaally ticklish here…” 

“IHI— *squeal* QUIHIHIET!” Michelangelo demanded loudly. 

Donnie smiled at the weak retort, kneading the other’s hips harder, “What happened to all that smugness, hm? Where’d it all go, little guy~? Do I have you in a giggly puddle because your tickle tickle ticklish and I’m tickle tickle tickling you~?”

“STAHAHAP *squeal* SAHAHAYING *squeal* THAHAT, AHAHASHOLE!!!”

“Stop saying what~? Tickle? Ticklish—?”

The orange banded teen squealed loudly once more, accidentally cutting his brother off with his teasing. The glasses wielding teen couldn’t help but laugh softly at it, “Awe…look at my baby brother…” Donnie cooed. 

“NAHAHAHA!” The youngest threw his head back in loud laughter as Donnie now tickled the sides of his shell. Mikey arched his back, trying to buck his older brother off of him but Donnie held on easily, continuing to tickle him. 

“PLEHEASE! PLEHEHEASE!!!” 

“'Plehease'? Please what~?”

“JUHUST *squeal* NAHAT *hic* THE SHEHELL!” Mikey despretley cried, turning to his side as other small hiccups followed as the end of the hoodie went up a bit, revealing some of his plastron. 

The honey brown eyed turtle giggled at the perfectly played out action, “Oh…would you look at that~!” He mused, “Last chance to give me back my hoodie, bro.”

The smaller turtle’s eyes widened in realization, looking up at his brother from the corner of his eye, “Yohou *hic* wohohoudn’t…!”

“Oho wouldn’t I~?” Donnie grinned, gently holding Mikey’s waist and blowing multiple upon multiple raspberries on his stomach whilst scribbling his nails on his sides. “DAHAH— *squeal* DAHANNIE!” Mikey cried. 

“Jeez…your mega ticklish here, huh?”

“SHUHUT— GEHET— PLEHEHEASE!!!” The brown eyed teen rambled through his laughs, shaking his head. 

“Why— would— I???” The tech whiz mocked playfully, now blowing raspberries on his little brother’s neck and scribbling his fingers all over his stomach. “NAHAHAT THEHERE!! BROHOHO COHOME OHAHAN!!” The youngest squealed and squeaked. 

Donatello smirked, ceasing his 100% justified attack for a second, “You saying 'nahahat thehere' is genuinely so funny, Mikes. Like, I was going to tickle you here regardless but, hey! Thanks for confirming how badly it tickles for you.”

He resumed his tickling onslaught on his younger brother, the younger brother in question basically falling limp due to how hard he was laughing. The only body parts that were really fighting for his life right now were his legs, that still did not cease desperately kicking the floor. 

The purple banded turtle now started lightly giving ticklish nibbles on his younger brother’s neck as his light scribbles on the smaller turtle’s sides became quick and fast squeezes. “Om nom nom! Hm…you taste like…giggles! And ticklishness~! My favorite food combo!” The elder teased. 

“DEEHEE DEEHEEHEE?! WHAT DOHOES THAHAT EHEHEVEN MEEHEEAN?!?!” Mikey cried desperately, his voice sounding like a tea kettle brewing because of how squeaky and high pitched it was.

“Awe…you haven’t used that nickname for me in ages~! It must tickle that bad, huh?” The glasses wielding turtle cooed.

“IHI *hic* CAHAN’T!”

“You can’t~? Can’t what~?”

“IHIT— *hic* NAHAHAH!” Mikey silently wheezed, throwing his head back as he shut his eyes tight. “Is someone giving me the silent treatment?” Donnie snickered, “Pfft— get it? Cuz you’re laughing silently~? Eh? Eh?”

Okay, even if Mikey was the comedian of the family, he would’ve admitted that was a pretty solid joke if he wasn’t getting slaughtered right now. “FIHINE FIHINE *hic* HAHAVE *hic* IHIHIT BAHACK!!! TAHAKE IHIHIT!! PLEHEASE *hic* JUHUST STAHAHAP *squeal* I’M GOHONNA *squeal* DIHIHIE!!!”

“That would be kiiiiiiiinda funny making your grave honestly.” The tech loving teen smugly said, “Michelangelo Hamato. Reason of death? Being too freaking ticklish.”

“DEEHEEHEE!!!” The youngest cried. Donnie stopped, getting up and laying next to his brother, wrapping him in a side hug which the smaller turtle immediately melted to. “May I plehease hahave my hoodie back?” 

“Ihi juhust sahaid yehehehes!” The orange banded teen groaned, literally throwing the hoodie at his immediate older brother. The anime loving teen smiled, putting on the hoodie as he grinned in triumph. “For real real. I feel like new...” He said to himself proudly. 

And if the youngest knew his brother (which he did), that was probably a quote that that Gojo fellow has said. 

“Oh! And by the way, little bro. My club doesn’t have a meet up today. It’s tomorrow.” Donnie snickered, walking away and leaving Mikey left in complete and utter awe. 

That freaking asshole.

Okay, well now Mikey’s definitely taking that MHA hoodie next year.

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

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

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve Harrington, cat whisperer

steddie | rated: teen | 1.8k

Read on AO3

Steve is having the worst day of his life.

Okay. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but he woke up late for work and couldn’t stop to get coffee, so he was grumpy all morning.

And then when he took his break and finally did go to get coffee - because caffeine is a drug, kids, don’t do it - some maniac spilled hot coffee all over his white button down shirt as soon as he walked inside the coffee shop.

Seriously. Who is drinking hot coffee in August? And why was this guy walking around with a to go cup with no lid on it?

It’s boiling outside and Steve is still not used to the oppressive southern heat even after living here for years now. So he was already wiping sweat from his brow on his five minute walk to the coffee shop before he got doused in hot coffee and it’s just. Not a good day.

When he returns to work, he’s red in the face, not only from the heat, but from the embarrassment of having all his coworkers see him waltz in to the impromptu all-staff meeting with a tight, tight t-shirt with Ariana Grande’s face plastered on it (which he nabbed from his car on the way back to work - he took Robin to the Ariana Grande concert last month and she made him buy a $10 shirt from some sketchy guy in the parking lot who only had women’s size medium shirts.)

The all-staff meeting is a disaster. Corporate legal reps come sauntering in with their unsympathetic smiles as they tell a room of 100 employees that a third of them won’t have a job by the end of the week.

(“Some sacrifices have to be made.”

“We promise it’s not a reflection of your work.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

Okay, so maybe they didn’t actually say that last one, but that was definitely the vibe they gave off.)

He couldn’t concentrate after that. He had a deadline to meet, but he was plunged into a spiral of existential thoughts all afternoon.

How had he ended up here? He’s 29, stuck in a dead end job that has no chance of upward mobility that he only really got because his dad put in a good word for him and now he doesn’t even know if he’ll have a job next week. His thoughts keep circling back to having to ask his dad for help finding somewhere else to work and he does not want to do that. His slightly strained relationship with his parents has mellowed out over the years, but he doesn't want to rock the boat by asking his dad for a favor.

He simmers on it for the rest of the day. He doesn't get much work done, but in the end, he really can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn't do meaningful work. He works to help keep the rich CEO rich. It’s kind of hard to care about numbers in a spreadsheet when he might be screwed out a job at the end of the week.

He takes a walk after work. He has so much pent up energy and he can’t just go home and be left alone with his thoughts all night or he’s gonna do something stupid like try to cut his own bangs.

He immediately regrets his decision to take a walk in the park by his office because he forgot how hot it gets at 5pm. He’s contemplating just turning around and heading home to mope all night when he hears a shout from behind him.

He’s about to turn around to see what all the commotion is about when he’s assaulted by… some kind of creature? It climbs up the back of his pants leg and hooks its sharp, little claws into Steve’s shirt as it climbs up. Ow.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I can’t believe he just did that. Let me just-”

The weight of the animal is lifted from his back, but the claws remain and double down, poking through the shirt to grasp at his skin.

“Ow, fuck! What is happening back there?” he asks.

“I’m so sorry, he’s not normally like this. Ozzy, you have to let go. You cannot just attack people like that. Please let go?”

Steve’s shirt is tugged as the stranger attempts to wrestle his pet away from Steve. The claws aren’t digging into his skin anymore, but this little guy won’t let go of Steve’s shirt.

“Ozzy! I swear to god if you don’t let go-”

There’s a ripping sound and suddenly, Steve feels a breeze on his back.

“Oh no,” the stranger whispers.

Steve just closes his eyes and breathes out slowly for a minute. The universe has it out for him today.

He opens his eyes after a moment of silence for his Ariana Grande shirt and turns around to see-

“Are you okay? I mean, your shirt is kind of ruined, but are you okay? Did he hurt you at all? I am so sorry.”

It’s like all the air has been sucked out his lungs. Because this guy? This guy is gorgeous beyond belief. His curly, black hair is windswept and his face is flushed and he has a scar covering the lower half of one side of his face, little tendrils of texture that Steve wants to touch.

He looks like something from Steve’s dreams.

Of course the universe would have him meet this beautiful guy right now when he’s looking like a hot mess. What’s the opposite of meet-cute? A meet-ugly? A meet-ugly, where this guy’s gremlin of a cat destroyed Steve’s shirt after an already horrible day.

And- oh. It’s a cat. The thing that attacked him and wouldn’t let go is a cat. It’s a cute cat. A deceptively cute cat considering he just attacked someone.

Steve realizes he’s been staring when the guys concerned face grows even more worried at his silence.

He shakes himself out of it. He says, “I’m okay. It was just a shock. I didn’t know what was happening back there. That’s all.”

“He just slipped out of his collar and ran after you. He’s never done anything like that before.”

“Do you, like, normally walk your cat?” Steve asks, unable to keep the judgment out of his voice.

“Hey, he likes it. It started out as a joke,” he says, running his hand over his cat’s fur. Ozzy. He thinks he remembers him calling the cat that. “He really likes it though. He begs me to take him out, usually.”

Steve smiles at that. “That’s kind of cute.”

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” the guy says, stretching his hand out.

Steve takes it, shakes his hand, and says, “Steve.”

Ozzy starts struggling against Eddie’s chest where Eddie has him in his other arm, like he’s still trying to get at Steve.

“I don't know what he wants. He really seems like he wants you to hold him or something. Do you want to pet him or hold him maybe?”

Steve feels powerless to say anything other than, “Sure. Give him here.” He is so weak when it comes to pretty people.

He reaches out and Eddie places Ozzy in Steve’s hands and as Steve brings him into his chest to pet him, Ozzy starts climbing him again. Steve lets it play out this time without freaking out and Ozzy kind of awkwardly settles with his paws on Steve’s shoulders and his body pressed around Steve’s neck like a scarf.

“That’s um,” Eddie stammers. “That’s really cute. He used to curl up on my neck and kind of bury himself in my hair when he was a kitten. I haven’t seen him do that in a while. He’s usually not very social around strangers. I’ve never seen him climb someone just to curl up around their neck.”

Steve brings his hand up and strokes the fur of Eddie’s cat. He’s pretty docile now that Steve is petting him.

“I don’t know. I’m somewhat of a cat whisperer,” Steve says around a laugh. “My cat, Han Solo, was the neighborhood nuisance when I first moved here. Always getting into fights with people's dogs as they were walking them, always getting into my neighbor’s yards and destroying their flower beds, that kind of thing. He was scratching at my door one day and I opened it and he just walked inside like he lived there and just never left. So maybe your cat was just picking up on the vibe that I’m good with cats?”

Eddie perks up and says, “You have a cat named Han Solo? That is - it's cute. You don’t really seem the type to like Star Wars.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t everyone into Star Wars these days?” And then, at Eddie hum of approval, he says, “Han Solo was pretty much my bi awakening.”

Eddie brings his hair in front of his mouth, hiding his smile as he says, “I sincerely hope you’re not talking about your cat.”

The laugh that’s startled out of Steve's chest also startles the cat lounging across his shoulders. Ozzy stands up and tries crawling down the remnants of Steve's shirt, getting his claws stuck in the fabric once again.

Eddie steps closer and helps wrestle Ozzy away from his shirt a second time.

“Man, he really hates that shirt,” Eddie says, grinning at him. “I would offer to buy you a replacement considering he absolutely destroyed it, but I don’t know where I’d get such a masterpiece.”

Steve looks down and laughs. Ariana Grande’s face is still in tact, but with most of the back of the shirt hanging loosely at his waist, this shirt is hanging on by a thread.

“Yeah, I think I can live without it. My best friend kind of bullied me into buying it, anyway.”

He feels the lull of silence that washes over them in his bones. He wants to keep talking to Eddie, wants to suggest they go get dinner together, wants to ask him on a date, wants, wants, wants.

Because he’s had such an awful day and this interaction has made him smile more times than he can remember smiling in the last month.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Eddie beats him to the punch.

“I know this is a little weird, but my apartment is, like, right up the block. I’d hate to send you off wearing the scraps of your best Ari gear. I could grab you a shirt, drop this little guy off, and we could get dinner? If that’s something you’d be interested in.” Eddie bites his lip, looking like he doesn't know that the answer is a resounding yes.

“We should dinner, yeah,” Steve says and cringes. We should dinner. Who talks like that?

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, smiling. When Steve nods, he says, “Okay, let’s get you a shirt, something a little more metal. And then, we should dinner.”

Steve knows he’s being made fun of a little, but if it’s by Eddie, he kind of doesn't care.

[slusheeduck]

New Tricks

“Zel. Zel. Get back down here!”

Astarion had always liked cats. So, once he and Falerin had set up their home in Neverwinter, the half-drow had surprised him with a little grey tabby kitten. And she was precious. She chased around the ribbons and cloth he worked on, she dove and pounced on anything that had the slightest chance of being prey, and she snoozed in the one little streak of sunlight allowed in their home. He adored her, possibly more than anything else he’d ever encountered—yes, this included Falerin.

Now, though, as he hissed the words up to the kitten, perched up on a neighbor’s windowsill, he was wondering if he was actually more of a dog person.

He’d tried everything. Treats, toys, catnip, every manner of pspspsp and tststs and kissing and whistling. And all she had done was look down at him through half-lidded eyes, then turn away from him to curl up. And now he was stuck.

Falerin might be able to use some kind of fey magic to lure her back down, but he was out at a lecture for aspiring wizards. And the damned warlock was so keen on talking to people that there was no telling when he’d be back. So he was on his own for this.

He huffed to himself, setting his hands on his hips. There had to be a solution. There had to be. He had been a thief. A good one, by the way! And a vampire besides. If he could tackle every lock and trap in Baldur’s Gate, he could get a damn cat down.

Finally, he stepped up to the wall. It was a sheer climb up (how did the cat even get up there?) but…well, maybe it wasn’t as sheer as it looked. Uneven bricks and that sort of thing could provide some footholds, if he was careful.

So he went up to the wall, reached up, and pressed his foot against it to push up. And it worked. Remarkably well, actually. He went up easily, one foot after the other; his hands couldn’t find purchase, but it must be some balance thing keeping him level. After a few moments, he was face to face with Zel.

“Got you, you little shit,” he hissed at her. She blinked at him, getting to her feet and stretching before lightly bapping his nose with her paw. “Yes, yes, very cute. Time to go.”

He reached over to scoop her over as carefully as he could, but he could barely get his hand beneath her when he heard a breathless hiss of “Astarion!” from down below. He looked down.

“Falerin! You’re back early,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be down in a moment, I just…”

“What in the hells are you doing?” Falerin interrupted, making his way over to him as quickly as he dared.

“I just climbed up to get her.”

“How?”

“There were footholds?”

“There are not. Look!”

Astarion finally glanced down at his feet. There were, in fact, no footholds—the side was smooth and even, and even he had to admit, it looked a bit unsettling to see the balls of his feet just…sticking in place. He blinked.

“I…oh. I didn’t know I could do that.”

Falerin covered his face, then quickly looked around. “Fuck. Fuck. I…stand on my shoulders, right now,” he said, going over to stand beneath Astarion.

“I’m not standing on your shoulders, you have a heart condition!”

“And so will you once someone puts a stake in you!”

Astarion started to argue, then stopped. “Fair point.” He shifted down, trying to keep a grip on the wall as his feet rested on Falerin’s shoulders. And with perfect timing; the window opened up, and their neighbor--a half-orc woman—stuck her head out.

“What in the hells is all the racket, how…” She locked eyes with Astarion, who gave her a sheepish smile.

“Ah, hello. Looking lovely, Lagazi.”

She blinked at him, then looked down at Falerin, who gave a little wave. “Cat rescue.”

Lagazi looked at her windowsill, where Zel was still perched. She purred, sidling over to throw her body weight against Lagazi’s arm.

“Oh, what a little sweetie!” she suddenly cooed, odd neighbors forgotten. “Oh, let’s get you back down to your daddies.” She scratched beneath Zel’s chin, then gathered her up in her arms. “I’ll meet you boys downstairs. Can’t let this little darling risk a tumble.”

She moved away from the window, and Astarion looked back down at Falerin. “We’ve adopted a monster,” he said, glancing around before dropping back down to the ground. Fal rolled his shoulders, giving a little smile.

“Well, she does take after you.”

~

Cat returned home and snoozing ever so peacefully on the sofa after her adventures, Falerin and Astarion sat together at their dining table, the former poring through a book on vampirism—he’d gotten it ages ago, just in case there was something about letting them walk in sunlight. Now, though, he was looking through abilities.

“Aha, yes, I thought I read this before,” he said, tapping on the page. “Spawn can spiderclimb.”

Astarion squinted. “I had no idea.” He frowned, a hint of a sneer on his face. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Cazador kept our abilities from us. That would have made it easy to escape.” He pulled the book over, reading through it. “Climbing on ceilings would have been very helpful last year, but I suppose we managed all right. All the weaknesses, I know…fast healing…” He blinked, then leaned in with a smile. “Oh, hello.”

Fal’s brows drew together. “What?”

“’While a vampire spawn does not have the same scope of power as a true vampire, they have the ability to dominate the minds of the mortals around them.’” Astarion shut the book sharply, getting up to his feet. Falerin pushed himself up immediately.

“Astarion, love…Astarion, where are you going?” he asked, voice just a touch tight as he followed. All manner of horrible situations flashed in his head: Astarion subduing the local government to do his bidding, Astarion failing at subduing the local government to do his bidding, Astarion trying to get away by climbing on the ceiling, Astarion with a stake in his chest because yeah that would make people realize he was a vampire.

 Astarion smirked as he reached the door. “I’m going to test it out.” He opened the door. “It’s three weeks now that Cerydan’s stiffed me for that hat commission, and I think it’s time to talk.” He looked back as Falerin let out a sigh of relief. “What, did you think I was going to dominate the local government or something? I’m not stupid, Falerin.”

“No…no, of course you’re not.” Falerin weighed stopping him, just in case, but…well. Astarion probably should test it out, and Cerydan really was a bit of an ass. It was fine. He leaned forward to kiss Astarion’s cheek. “Go have fun.”

“I intend to. Don’t wait up!” With that, Astarion flounced out.

Falerin sighed, going back to drop onto the couch. Zel woke up from her nap, and she looked up to purr at him. He sighed, scratching her ears.

“You really do take after him, you know.”

[runayachi]

the first time kanoka serves in front of runa and yachi, she manages to render them speechless.

she jumps up and hits the ball–it's a nice, satisfying hit, and the ball lands in the corner she'd been aiming for. she turns around triumphantly to look at her girlfriends, both of whom are sitting off to the side. runa's knees are tucked against her chest, hands clasped by her ankles. yachi's sitting cross legged, hands pressing down her skirt. both of them stare at her with wide eyes and slightly parted lips as she waits for them to say something.

of course, no one says anything. she stares at runa and yachi, and they stare back at her with twin expressions of...shock, she thinks. but why would they be shocked? they've seen other serves before...was hers bad?

"ah…" kanoka laughs nervously. "it's, ah, it's not as strong as the guys i'm sure-"

"no no, it was wonderful!" yachi practically shrieks. her face heats up and she waves her hands frantically. "i was just really blown away by your strength!"

runa nods so fast that it looks like her head might fall off. "yeah! you looked really cool!" she says.

"really cool," yachi agrees.

"yeah. really cool." runa ducks her head down behind her knees after she says that. "i've never seen anything like it."

kanoka blushes. "thank you," she says. there's another moment of silence, before kanoka picks up another volleyball and spins it between her hands. "do. um. do either of you want to try?"

"oh…i've never actually served before," runa confesses. she's still hiding behind her knees. "hana usually handled that…i just throw the ball."

"i can teach you?" kanoka offers. she looks at yachi, who starts nodding almost immediately. "you too, if you want."

"sure!" yachi rockets up to her feet, then flails about as she nearly overbalances, before she manages to catch herself. "kageyama and hinata have taught me a little, but i'm not that great," she tells kanoka. "some tips would be nice."

"sure thing!"

runa slowly gets to her feet. "thanks for offering to show us," she says. "so, what's the first step?"

kanoka smiles at her girlfriends. "okay," she says. "so what you wanna do is this…"

(propaganda for @hqrarepairtournament)

[masterwords]

I don’t know if you got that prompt but if not the three were their laughing and kissing between Hotch and Morgan ?

Laughing and kissing! Hotch smiles when he kisses and it's one of the cutest things about him. How about a little ficlet? Because I can't write full stories right now apparently.

**********

"First childhood crush...what show?"

"Batman." Hotch doesn't even give it thought.

"Batman?" Derek asks, one eyebrow quirked. Not what he expects. "Who?"

"Not fair, that's two questions..." Hotch is smiling wide and easy, eyes bright. He's manipulating the game. He doesn’t want to answer. "You owe me first."

"The Facts of Life."

"I never watched that."

Derek shrugs and his fearures melt into a dreamy grin. "Tootie," he says reverently like her name is an incantation. "Damn. She was fine. A little cute a little sexy, she had it all." Hotch leans forward and kisses Derek, soft at first, eager and searching and smiling. Derek almost takes the bait too. Almost.

"No no no, not yet...Batman. Who did it for ya?"

"You know me so well...guess..." Hotch challenges, smiling into another kiss meant to distract. He’s getting closer. It's not that he's ashamed he just doesn't like talking about himself. He'd rather hear more about Derek.

"Gotta be Catwoman, but which actress? Julie Newmar was a fox...but I think you liked Eartha Kitt and her sexy ass voice. Yeah?"

Hotch laughs and it crinkles his nose and his eyes become obsidian slits. He's blushing, a little flustered and asks "Is that surprising?"

"Maybe a little."

"Nice to know I can still surprise you."

"Yeah? Got any other surprises?"

Hotch's answer comes in the form of another kiss, this time accompanied by roaming hands that slip up under Derek’s shirt. He moves quickly, shifting and sliding, straddling Derek’s thighs, and puts a definite end to the conversation.