#pre slash

[stervrucht]

“We need to defrost the freezer,” Steve tells Eddie when he walks out carrying a tub of ice cream.

Eddie sighs, head resting on his hands while he overlooks the empty shop. “I wish someone would defrost my will to live.”

Steve finds it funny. In a guilty snort sort of way, because Eddie’s jokes are kinda dark and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh. But yeah, working at Scoops is a drag at times, and Steve understands it at some level.

It escalates from there. 

Steve will tell Eddie they’re out of hazelnut ice cream, and Eddie will get a look on his face that doesn’t promise anything good.

“I’ll hazel your nuts.” Eddie cocks his head, staring at him in that ridiculous sailor uniform with mischief painted on his face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

Steve tries to pretend he’s weirded out, but when Eddie laughs at him like that, Steve can’t help but crack up as well. 

But that’s the normal stuff — because sometimes Eddie’s comments are hard to play off, and Steve doesn’t really know whether he’s joking at all.

“Morrison really fucked us over with the new schedule.” Steve frowns at the paper on the wall because they got like four evening shifts that week, including Friday and Saturday, and it’s messing with his dating life — even though that’s barely hanging on by a thread right now.

“I wish you’d fuck me over,” Eddie says as he cleans the glass display window with lazy motions.

It makes Steve stop in his tracks; makes his mouth run dry and his heart rate pick up. But Eddie just stares at him, same smile as always, waiting for Steve to shoot something back.

“Maybe I should.” The words are out before he knows it and Steve feels a little mortified by how much he meant it. When he looks over at Eddie, his lips are slightly parted, cheeks a little red, and the hand cleaning the window has stopped in its tracks.

Steve thinks that maybe Eddie meant his words as well.

[guys-im-literally-spiderman]

a fic inspired by this, because i could not stop thinking about it.

“What’s your name?” The girl who’s name Eddie absolutely did not catch, yelled, while holding her microphone out to him. 

“I’m, Eddie.” He yelled back at her, not quite sure if their yelling was necessary in their quiet corner of the room, but totally loving the chaos anyway. 

“Are you single Eddie?”

“I am indeed.” 

“Would you like to change that?” 

That question was not hard to answer at all. 

“Absolutely.”

“Great, because otherwise this would have been a very short video.” Eddie laughed much harder than he expected to–and oh shit he is much tipsier than he thought. 

“So what’s your type then?” 

“You’re gonna hate me,” Eddie sighed, knowing that what he was about to say was painfully contradictory, but hey, you can't blame a guy for having his taste in men be permanently altered by a guy he had a crush on when he was 20. “So I like jocks… but like pretty boy jocks.” 

“Pretty boy jocks?”

“Yup.”

A smile grew on her face

“Oh easy, give me like 5 minutes.”

And she really wasn’t kidding when she said that. 

Eddie had barely had enough time to get himself another drink when he heard his name being called behind him. He whipped his head around to see– 

Holy shit

“Harrington?!” 

Steve Harrington stared at him with a look on his face that Eddie assumed was equally as shocked as his. But then he’s the first to move, pulling Eddie into an enthusiastic hug. 

“Eddie! Oh my god, it's been so long!” 

When Eddie is finally released from the hug enough to breathe he responds, “what are you doing here?” 

“A gay bar or Chicago?” Steve laughs. 

And, oh yeah, Eddie’s stupid fucking crush. If the butterflies are anything to go by, that’s still around. 

Before Eddie can respond the girl cuts in, “I’m sorry, what’s going on here?”

“We- uh-”

“We’re from the same town.” Steve fills in when Eddie cannot find the words to explain their fucked up found family situation. 

The girl laughs, “what are the chances, jesus!”

“But hey,” Steve smiles in a way that Eddie is sure cannont mean anything good for him, “At least you got his type pretty dead on.”

“Oh my god, I forgot I told you that.” Eddie groans and full body cringes. And Steve just laughs. A frustratingly lovely laugh. 

“I’m not surprised you were very high.” 

Jesus fucking christ.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie stands at the edge of the ruined, stinking field, heart somewhere down by the soles of his feet. He watches the grey vines creep across the rotten earth, bracketing the blackened and split pumpkins.

"This can't be happening again," Steve says next to him. There's nothing in his voice, in his expression.

And Eddie doesn't know what to say because it is happening, the Upside Down is creeping into Hawkins, Vecna defeated or not.

"We have to tell the others," is Eddie's response. He doesn't know how he sounds normal when his heart is breaking, when Steve's blankness is killing him.

They walk back to Eddie's van in heavy silence. He can't read what Steve is thinking and that's--they're not something, not yet, but they spend all their time together and it's right there, under the surface, and--

He always knows what Steve is thinking, now. Can read his face like Tolkien wrote it, no matter what's happening, but right now it's empty, unreadable, unfathomable, untouchable King Steve risen from the grave.

The drive back to Hop's cabin is silent. Eddie doesn't even turn on music, his brain can't take it.

Cars fill the cabin's driveway, everyone in attendance, everyone waiting. On the porch, they hear the TV, the tinny whirr of lightsabers. It all stops when they push open the door, movie paused, conversations broken off, every face turned in their direction.

Neither of them speaks. Looking at all these faces, the kids, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Hop and Joyce, the hope and trust, and he can't--he can't.

"Well?" Joyce prompts. She's working a kitchen towel between her fingers.

He nods as Steve says, "it's back."

Eddie expects an outcry, horror, an explosion, but it's quiet. Quiet enough he can hear Steve's soft breaths next to him. Quiet enough he gets to watch as the news hits on each face in the room. It's like a punch every time.

It's so much different from planning the fight against Vecna. There was so much energy, drive, to get it done, to defeat the Upside Down forever. There wasn't silence, not ever, no faces painted with grief. Even when things were at their worst, an undercurrent of hope buoyed the group.

"Are you sure?" It's Nancy who breaks the silence, of course it is.

"It's the tunnels all over again," Steve answers.

"El?" Hopper asks. "Have you--?"

Will and El are looking at each other, Eddie's sure that no one else in the room exists for them.

"We haven't felt anything." El finally says.

"Nothing?" Mike's eyes flick between them.

"Not since Vecna," Will says.

"It's--it feels--" El waves at the back of her neck.

"Blank." Will finishes.

"Blank isn't gone," Erica says.

Dustin hums, eyes distant. "So, it went dormant."

That gets all the kids going, arguing and shouting over each other, and it isn't long before everyone is involved.

Eddie throws himself into it, grateful to be back in a familiar place of planning, discovering what they're up against, fighting. They're at their best like this, all of them, and it takes the edge off the fear eating up his insides.

He doesn't really get a chance to talk to Steve one-on-one, but Eddie's aware of him always, catches the moments in between bickering with Mike and shouting with Dustin and whispering with Robin where he goes distant, empty, just like at the field, just like in the car.

Eventually, everyone trickles home for the night, Hop's cabin emptying until it's just the Byers, Hoppers, and Steve. And since Eddie goes wherever Steve is--

Steve stands at the window in their room, back to Eddie. His shoulders are rigid, and Eddie is--he's scared in a whole new way. Steve is--he's strong, he keeps them together, he. They look to him to be brave, to be the first to jump, and--

"Steve?" Eddie comes up next to him.

His eyes are squeezed shut, fists clenched.

"Sweetheart?"

Steve opens his eyes, tears track down his cheeks. "I don't think I can do this again," he sobs. "I don't think--" He presses his fists to his eyes, like he's trying to force the moisture back inside.

Eddie grabs his wrists, gentle, murmurs, "it's okay, it'll be okay, I've got you."

"How can it be okay?" Steve asks. His face is wrecked and Eddie's heart shatters. "This was supposed to be over, Eddie. We were supposed to be done with fighting, we beat Vecna. So, tell me how it's going to be okay."

He freezes, unsure how to respond. In the end, "you're right," he says. "it's not okay. And I don't want to pretend that it is. It fucking sucks. We did the work already. We shouldn't be right back here like it never happened."

"But we are," Steve sniffles.

"But we are. And you know what?"

"What?"

"We're going to get through this. Just like we did the last time."

"We almost lost you last time, Ed. We almost lost Max. What if--what if--" Steve's eyes fill again. "I can't do this without you," he sobs.

Eddie doesn't hesitate, pulls Steve into his arms, holds him as tight and close as physically possible. "You won't." Eddie soothes. "You won't. I'll be right here with you. I promise."

"How can you know?"

Again, there's only one answer for that. "I don't. But I know I'll never leave your side willingly. None of us would. And I know that we're going to fight--all of us--like we always do."

"How can you have so much hope?" He asks. "After everything?"

"It's hard," he answers. "I'm terrified. But I know I have you, and Robin, and Dustin, and Wayne, and--everyone. We fight for each other, you know?"

"We keep going because we have to," Steve says.

"Yeah, sweetheart. We protect each other and this godforsaken town, no matter how much it sucks."

Steve's laugh is husky and short. "It sucks so much."

"Real trash heap of a place."

"And that's without the alternate dimension and monsters."

"I think we've got a really strong ad campaign for the Hawkins tourism board." The giggle that escapes from Steve is the sweetest thing Eddie's ever heard.

Later, the lights off, Steve pulls him close. "I'm so glad I have you," he whispers, fingers trailing through Eddie's curls. "You give me something to hope for."

[cameron-s-gaskins]

It's 1980. The night before a big rain storm. The night before Sam's car skids into the canal. ...Except Sam opens a fob watch. A fan comic.

Chapter 2 will take place in 2007, after the 'death' of Harold Saxon.

So, this is just a fun little project I decided to do in my spare time :) It's not Ashes to Ashes complaisant, I'll admit that way way way back when Ashes first started airing, I was pretty salty about the explanation that Sam died in a car accident. I know how that show ended, and what they decided to go with, but I'm still just ignoring it all together. I guess this could be a 'fix it,' I'm not sure. Just suspend your disbelief. I'm going to estimate that chapter 2 will take about two months to finish, depending on my real life work load, but the script is already written.

[diwtara]

Theres not a big gap between when Zoro heads to bed for the night and when Sanji gets up to start work on the crews breakfast.

So one night on his way to bed Zoro gave the cook a shove to help him wake up.

Just being helpful, he would say if questioned.

And he was helpful on most nights after that.

Maybe sometimes he shoved the cook right off the hamock on his way to his own

Huh, must have forgotten how light and delicate he is, Zoro would grin, watching the blondes blood pressure raise

Sanji cant even shout at him the way he wants to - at least not after the first time, when his yelling woke up the ladies on the ship. (He of course apologized profusely to them, then spent the full day antagonizing Zoro to the best of his considerable abilities)

Now on the days when Sanji wakes up with the floor rising to meet him, all he can do is quietly and furiously make vague gestures promising Zoro bodily harm once the sun is up.

It always leaves Zoro going to sleep with a grin on his face as Sanji stomps out of the boys bunk muttering curses under his breath.

And then maybe one night Zoro is exhausted - cant even summon the energy to make it the three extra steps to his own hammock - so instead he flops down directly onto the cook.

(They argue and wrestle for a few minutes, exhaustion forgotten for the time it takes for Sanji to kick Zoro in the head, give up the fight and extract himself from the bed.

He calls Zoro several choice names before heading out to start the day while Zoro goes to sleep satisfied he got the chance to bug the blonde one last time before going to sleep.)

And maybe he keeps doing it.

Not every night, but sometimes he finds he would rather lay down in an already warm bed, particularly if they are traveling through colder sections of the grandline.

Sometimes he still manages to flip the other man out of the hammock just by jumping into it himself. Knows the blonde will make the day interesting in retaliation. Looks forward to it.

And then maybe at one point, he lays down gently, softly tells the cook its time to get up, and maybe Sanji takes his time opening his eyes, stretching out his legs, enjoying the transition to wakefulness.

Maybe it becomes a thing they do sometimes. Silently enjoying each others company as Sanji wakes up and Zoro drifts to sleep. Enjoying the closeness in a bed not built for two.

Maybe the others have woken up and caught sight of the pair curled up together in the early morning. But they would simply roll over and go back to sleep, leaving the two to their morning ritual.

And if Zoro still shoves Sanji off the hammock sometimes, well, the others are used to waking up to that too

[treasureguardingdragon]

my art for @aroaceteagirl ‘s incredible fic!! this is my second @bbcmerlin-reversebang entry, and was so much fun to do!!

Summary:

When Arthur gets sent away by Uther to secure a treaty between Camelot and Tir-Mor, what should have been a normal diplomatic trip turns into more than Arthur could have expected.

Along the way, he learns valuable lessons about trust, friendship and the weight of duty.

LINK

here is some propaganda from me to make you read it:THE STORY THAT WAS CREATED HAS IT ALL- friendship, evil plots by evil people, the power of gossiping, friendship x2, arthur trying to be the best prince he can despite the entire world seemingly being against him, arthurs internal monologue consisting of endless compliments for merlin, friendship so magical that you’re absolutely certain they’re in a qpr and can knock down cities with the power of it, magic reveals, scheming (both evil and good. it’s possible), FRIENDSHIPPPP, the perspective of a merchant having their wares mocked by two idiots

CHECK OUT THEIR STORY HERE I PROMISE ITS AMAZING

[slashyrogue]

It takes a ridiculously long time for Wade to realize he's pregnant.

Like, super fucking ridiculously.

Truth be told, he didn't know that getting pregnant was in the cards for him but when he did it was so anticlimactic that really understanding the gravity of the situation seemed like an afterthought.

Rewind a bit.

He should've known that getting kidnapped by the government would result in more than just waking up sore when Logan saved him only two days in but really he just wanted to be out of there.

The exhaustion - something that he rarely had with the regeneration and all that - made it easy to fall asleep on Wolvie's shoulder during the ride home but when he woke up all he did was want to be in Logan's pocket.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Wade just nuzzled his beard - which was just as fluffy as you'd think it was - and sighed. "Just wanna cuddle with my favorite kitty cat."

"Wade---"

"Pretty please?" he faked a cough, "I was tortured, Wolvie. Peanut, they cut things OUT I saw them."

Logan growled and the claws that had come out slid right back in. "Fine."

And so began Wade's "Week of Cuddles" which was AMAZING to say the least. Logan was NICE to him, and practically babied him better than anyone EVER had. It was like Christmas and Halloween AND his Birthday fucked and had a million babies.

100/10 would recommend.

The ice creams and chimichangas were never ending; the cuddles were abundant, and he even got to fall asleep on Logan's shoulder.

He secretly loved that one the best by the way but pretended he liked the ice cream the most.

The "Week of Cuddles" was followed by "The Week of Sleepovers" and he began "The Week of Chocolate" which was, in retrospect, a big mistake.

The minute Logan brought home the Choco-Tacos (after scouring for HOURS he found one lone store that had a back inventory that was....questionable) and he devoured it in seconds a new week began.

"The Week of Is Wade Dying Again?"

It was a terrible fucking week, mostly with vomiting but also horrible stomach pains, like something was clawing his insides and not in a fun way like the Honda Odyssey.

Logan kept telling him to "go to the damn doctor already" while increasingly seeming agitated and snarly which was cute because Wade pretended it meant he was worried about him.

He knew it was because he hated the smell of vomit with his kitty cat senses.

Obviously.

Althea finally called the X-Men because she was "sick of hearing him puke."

How did she know their number?

Apparently Colossus and here were friends or something he didn't know but when they showed up and Logan dragged him off he was toast.

And he puked twice more on the ride.

Beast then gave him the news.

"Wade, I....it seems you're pregnant."

Wade started to laugh, falling back on the hospital bed, and when no one joined him he was given the results.

Those government fuckers had somehow knocked him up.

How?

Well, it seemed that his body could adapt to anything, even a reproductive system that he shouldn't have.

Logan made Beast take the tests again, and even try to pinpoint who's kid they put inside him.

And....ding ding.

"Logan, I...." Beast said, his voice shaking, "I do believe it's yours."

Wade started laughing then, unable to stop, and Logan left the room.

What a fucking joke.

He grinned at Beast as tears filled his eyes. "Isn't anyone going to throw me a baby shower? I'm sure I'm gonna need some mittens to handle this one, am I right?"

No one laughed.

And Wade got up, still wearing just his heart shaped boxers, and went to put on his suit.

"You....Wade, you have options."

He paused, holding his suit in hand, and put a hand to his belly.

Did he?

It was goddamn selfish to see this through, he knew that, but the thought of NOT seeing it through made him immensely sad.

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

He was an incubator for potentially the next Marvel Jesus. "No," he said, shaking his head, "I don't." The team tried to talk him into staying but he didn't listen and walked outside to find Logan waiting on a motorcycle. "Did you bring that here for little ol' me, Peanut?"

Logan sighed. "Get on."

Wade did just that, holding him tight, and they took off toward fuck knew where.

All he knew was that he was carrying what might be his only offspring that was going to the most wanted mutant in the world once it was born.

Whatever government had done this would come back at the finish line.

But he had scary dog privilege who was currently driving him to his nest or whatever.

They might've thought it was a funny idea to see what would happen if they scrambled the offspring of two immortals and give them something to fight for.

Joke was on them.

There was no way that if there was a baby at the end of this mess that either of them wouldn't fight like hell.

Wade could hardly wait.

And hey, maybe this would turn out to be like one of those 90s sappy rom-coms where grumpy and the baby mama fell in love.

Ha.

Wouldn't that be something?

[farfaras]

Steddie week. Day 7: Free space. 2.1k words. Ao3 link.

@steddie-week

I’m late but I really wanted to finish the week. So here it is! The last one!

~

“What’s Eddie short for?” Steve asked Robin. They were on their break, now working at a record store after they got fired from Family Video for missing work too much.

“Why are you asking me?” She shot back. Steve simply shrugged. It honestly just occurred to him that he didn’t actually know if that was Eddie’s name or if it was a nickname.

“I was just thinking about it. You don’t know?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” That was disappointing. Robin seemed to be getting along with Eddie. Maybe they’re not that close. Would Dustin know? “You know, I think I asked him once.”

“Really? And what did he say?” She should’ve mentioned this first!

“I think he just started laughing and then deflected. Never answered me.” She stood up. They had to go back to work already. It was slow today, not much customers around so they kept chatting. “Why did you ask?”

“I don’t know.” Steve really was just curious. “We’ve all been friends for a while and I just realized we don’t actually know if ‘Eddie’ is short for anything.”

“He actually seems like the type of person to just be called ‘Eddie’. Like just ‘Eddie’, full stop.” Even if that’d be funny, it’s probably not it. “Anyway, just ask him.”

“Is that not weird?” He wondered.

“I asked him. He just didn’t tell me. Maybe you’d have more luck.” She smirked and it looked like she knew something he didn’t.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I will.”

“You’re the one who wants to know.”

“Do you think he didn’t tell you because the name’s embarrassing or something?”

“He’s done so much embarrassing stuff, his name can’t be that bad.”

—

The next time he saw Eddie was when they were playing DnD, at Steve’s house. For some reason Eddie managed to convince Steve that hosting their nerd game was a good idea. He was sure it was his puppy dog eyes. Steve was not immune to those. Robin took advantage of that, constantly.

Steve almost forgot that he was gonna ask Eddie, it was when everyone left and it was just the two of them that Steve remembered the question he had been meaning to ask.

“Hey, Eddie.” He called out to catch his attention.

“Yeah?” They sat down on the couch after cleaning up.

“Is your name short for anything?”

He did exactly what Robin said he did when she asked him. He just started laughing, out of nowhere. Steve didn’t understand what was so funny.

When Eddie stopped laughing, he let out a sigh. “Anyway, what movies do you have?”

“Wha– you’re changing the subject! Why?” Steve was starting to get suspicious now.

“Why do you ask, Steve?” Eddie looked at him.

“I was just curious.” It’s true, Steve was curious. But now it felt like his name was actually something embarrassing, because why else would he avoid answering it in the first place.

“Sureee.” Eddie did not believe him. “To answer your question. Yes, my name is short for something.” Steve figured.

“What is it?” It couldn’t be bad. Steve only knew a handful of names that could be nicknamed Eddie, and those weren’t that bad.

“Ha! I’m not telling you that.” Eddie joyfully replied.

“What– why not?”

“I have to keep the mystery going.” He explained, tone completely serious.

“You’re not mysterious.” Steve deadpanned.

“Shut up, I so am.” Eddie bit back.

“It takes like, one conversation with you to know that you’re not mysterious.” Steve said. It was true, Eddie might have the intimidating look going on, but it was easy to overlook it as soon as he opened his mouth.

Eddie glares at him. “Are you done?”

“You still haven’t answered!”

“‘Cuz I’m not gonna.” Eddie grinned, he was just enjoying having something that Steve wanted to know. “Maybe you can guess.”

“Ugh” Steve fell further into the couch. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Just because I’m a generous and giving person,” Steve perked, he didn’t know why he wanted to know so badly. Maybe so he could use it whenever he wanted to scold him like one of the kids. “I’ll make you a deal.” Disappointed, Steve sighed.

“What’s the deal?” He asked.

“If you guess it,” Eddie put his hand on his chin. “I’ll give you something, anything you want.”

“What? Like a prize for guessing your name?” Steve scoffed. “What am I? A dog?”

“So you don’t want anything?”

“That’s not what I said.” Steve had a feeling that making a deal with Eddie was like making a wish to a genie. Eh, he would still get something out of it. “Whatever, sure. It’s a deal.” He just had to start guessing, until he got it. Shouldn’t be that hard.

“If you say so.”

“Is it Edward?” He gave his first guess.

“Well, that’d be too obvious.” Steve still waited for an actual response. Eddie rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not. Close, though.”

“Edison?”

“I’m so grateful it isn’t Edison.”

“Edmund?

“Oh god, they keep getting worse.”

“Yes or no?”

“No! Why would you think my name is Edmund? Do I look like an Edmund to you?” Eddie asked, scandalized.

Steve stayed quiet. “You want me to answer that?”

“Actually, let’s just watch a movie. That’s enough guesses for today.” Eddie went to shuffle through their options.

“I just started!” Steve protested. He should’ve known Eddie wasn’t gonna make it easy for him.

“I don’t feel like answering more. Try again later.”

Steve crossed his arms and pouted. When Eddie looked back at him, Steve stuck his tongue out, like a toddler. Eddie chuckled.

–

“Edwin?”

Eddie gave him a thumbs down.

–

“Edgar?”

Eddie spelled “no” with his fries. He proudly showed them to Steve.

Steve ate them.

–

“Edrian!”

“Where’d you even come up with that one?”

“I heard it somewhere.”

“Well, that’s not it.”

–

“Is it, like, just Ed or something?”

“Life would be easier.” Eddie dreamily looked to the sky. “So, no, it’s not.”

–

“I’m like, out of ideas, Robin.” Steve didn’t know whether to give up or look in the library.

“Maybe you need to look for obscure names, like really weird ones.” Robin made some hand gestures that he didn’t really know what they entailed.

—

“Can I get a hint?” Steve gave it his best shot at puppy dog eyes, he had big eyes, right?

Eddie wasn’t looking straight at him, he took one glance for like half a second and then decided to look forward. “I already did.”

“No.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “When?”

“With your first guess. I don’t think you need anything else.”

Steve let out a frustrated groan.

—

At the end, he didn’t guess shit.

Steve was dropping by some cookies he made, they were Eddie’s favorite. Steve wanted to improve some skills in the baking department, it was a win win. He got practice, Eddie got cookies. It didn’t mean anything else.

The government gave the Munsons a house after everything, it was on the outskirts of town. When he pulled up, he noticed that a letter had fallen down from the mailbox. When he picked it up he saw who it was addressed to.

Eduardo Munson.

There was no way.

Steve ran so fast his head almost clashed with the door. He knocked frantically. Eddie opened the door, Steve didn’t even wait to be invited in. He ran to the kitchen to set the cookies on the counter and raced back to where Eddie was.

“Your name is Eduardo?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “How’d you find that out?”

Steve just handed him the letter he found on the floor. Eddie’s mouth formed an ‘O’, but he didn’t say anything.

“Well?” Steve crossed his arms.

“I guess now you know.” Eddie opened the letter to read it, he made his way to the couch and sat down. Steve followed.

“Is that why you said I was close with the name Edward?” Steve didn’t know anyone named Eduardo. Well, he thought he didn’t.

“Eduardo is basically the same name, but in Spanish.” Eddie, no, Eduardo nodded.

“Why– who decided that was gonna be your name?” Did his parents just like Spanish, or something? Steve thought. He obviously didn’t say it.

“My mom. She was Mexican. This letter is from my grandma.”

“Oh. Is it…” Steve didn’t actually know where he was going with that.

“Most of my mom’s side lives in cali, or Mexico.”

Eddie had the letter opened on his lap, Steve peeked. He didn’t want to pry, it was just a quick glance. Even if he wanted to read anything though, he couldn’t.

“That is, fully in Spanish.” His face was a mix of confusion and shock.

“Uh huh.” Eddie was holding back laughter. “What about it?”

“You speak Spanish?!” At this point, he didn’t even care if he was being loud.

“My grandma calls me regularly, like, once a month. She doesn’t speak an ounce of English.” Eddie’s face was fond. That shouldn’t be as cute as it was.

Steve’s jaw was on the floor. Never once did he expect to learn all of this just because he wanted to know if the name “Eddie” was actually short for another name. Eddie reached out and closed his mouth. Steve took some time to get himself back together. He collected the cookies and brought them back for Eddie.

“So, I didn’t guess.”

“No.”

Steve sighed, forlorn. “So, deal’s off, I guess.”

“Mmhm.” Eddie was concentrating on the letter in front of him. Steve slapped his arm. “What was that for?”

“You can read that later. I brought you cookies.”

Eddie snatched them, he started almost inhaling them. Jesus Christ. “These are great.”

“Thanks.” Steve blushed.

After that they were content to just hang out, doing whatever. Eddie told him more about his mom’s side of the family. There were a lot of family members that Steve couldn’t keep track of. He talked more with his grandma, aunts and uncle. Steve found out that his mom taught him Spanish when he was little. When she died, and his dad ended up in prison, his closer relative was Wayne so he moved in with him. His mom’s family always kept in touch, though. The last time his grandma visited was before Christmas in 1985.

“Say something in Spanish.” Steve was surprised with himself for asking that. Where did that come from?

“What am I? Your personal clown?”

“Shut up.” He rolled his eyes. “It just hasn’t registered in my brain fully, that you speak Spanish. Maybe I have to hear it.” Steve tried. It was a cheap attempt at just wanting to hear it.

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie replied. Was he actually gonna do it?

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged. An idea came to him, he straightened up. “What about the way your grandma greets you on the phone, or the way you answer?”

Eddie scrunched up his nose. Cute. “Ugh… she’s so mushy.”

“Now I have to hear it.” Steve clasped his hands together, battling his eyelashes.

Eddie just accepted defeat. “Fine!” He was now avoiding Steve’s eyes. “Whenever she calls she always starts with something like ‘¿Cómo está mi niño hermoso?’ Or she’d call me ‘mi vida’, or ‘mi cielo’. Honestly she calls me a lot of things.” Steve had no idea what that was, nor what it meant. But his eyes never left Eddie’s lips, not once. Hearing that was doing things to Steve. He suddenly felt hot.

“What does it mean?”

Eddie flushed red. He turned to Steve, eyes deadly serious. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Oh, but I really do.” Eddie shook his head no. “You have to tell me or else I’m just gonna start calling you that.” Eddie’s face was so funny, he looked scandalized at the possibility. “What was it again? Cie- cielo?”

Eddie swung his hands and arms around. “Stop! Don’t you dare continue.” Steve mimed zipping his mouth. “If you must know. She just asks how I am and she calls me her boy and other pet names.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, assessing him. “Is that the truth?” Eddie nodded. “I’ll accept that, for now.”

They spent the rest of the day watching tv. By the time Steve was leaving the sun was already setting. Eddie walked him to the door.

“What would you have asked for?” Eddie blurted. “If you had guessed my name.”

Steve glanced down at Eddie’s lips for the second time that day. He looked up at Eddie, even if they were almost the same height. Steve shrugged one shoulder. “I’m sure I would’ve come up with something.”

Steve leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Eddie’s cheek.

“See you, Eduardo.”

He stepped outside and walked to his car. He heard a loud thumping noise coming from inside the house and chuckled to himself.

–

Bonus:

Steve: he speaks Spanish, Robin!

Robin: I heard you the first time, dingus.

Steve: I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation.

Robin: *blank stare*

Steve: I can’t believe I have to date him.

Robin: you don’t have to.

Steve: no, no. I’m gonna.

[mammalsofaction]

Domestic

Inspired by this old comic by @askhumanperrytheplatypus

Rating: T

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, pre-slash, domestic squabbles, misunderstandings, teasing, Doof 101 AU

A/N: Just a little thing to help me regain some lost confidence these past couple of months

"Heinz," Clara Wells calls out from the other end of the office. She's got a huffy tone that implies she had done so more than once. "Heinz." She calls again, and he finally raises a lazy hand in acknowledgement.

"Just five more minutes, Clare."

"Your husband's outside." She counters, tilting her head to further emphasize her point. "And he's been waiting for ten."

"He wouldn't've had to if he'd bothered to read my message I sent 5 hours ago," Heinz volleys defensively, if a bit distractedly. "Or pick up the phone when I tried to call him after lunch. I'll tell him I'm almost done. Say, did we mix up the answers in the scheme for number four...? Or have these freaking papers finally done me in?"

"Let me take a look at that." He hears Dylan O'Malley quip, before he feels the man's towering presence hovering over his shoulder, peering down onto the half graded quiz papers Heinz had sprawled over his entire desk, and even a little into Bess' territory on his left side. She'd gone home hours ago, though, having finished with today's marking yesterday on account of that dinner date with her sister across town, so it's not an urgent concern.

"Oh yeah, no." Dylan adds nonsensically, pointing between the bullet points of the aforementioned question. "It's technically correct, but Clara and I technically stole these questions from the finals 3 years ago and the workings are a bit outdated with the syllabus Lang wants us to use now. It's a bit trickier cus they'd need to use trigonometry on Points S in relative to Y-,"

"You don't need to tell me that, this is foundational physics-,"

"Yeah, well, the kids aren't Physicians, so most of them seem to have gotten confused. I told my kids to table it for now until the department meeting on Monday."

Heinz stops tapping his pen, looking up to the man incredulously. "Are you telling me that I've just wasted 30 minutes of my time quizzing out a tabled question?"

Dylan's answer was promptly drowned by an extremely loud and pointed car honk, and Heinz hears a startled yelp from the pantry. He finally looks up to see Perry, naturally, parked on the lot that was technically Principal Lang's, front facing the tall windows of the office.

Heinz spreads his arms wide, meeting the man's eyes on the other side of the window pane.

Perry retorts by pointedly tapping on the face of his wristwatch, then his car.

Heinz gives him the middle finger.

Perry points at him menacingly, and gestures him to walk, with two fingers on the plane of his wrist. He taps his wristwatch again, before raising his hand, palm straight out. 5 minutes.

"Oh for Gott's sake." Heinz mutters, rapidly getting up and cleaning after himself, just as he hears Adelaide Brimming on the other side of the room go; "Oh, you guys are so cute."

Heinz snorts, shoving all of the papers into the segmented file he's going to have to bring home. "Yeah, well. When I get there I'm about to be adorable."

"It's domestic." Dylan chuckles, stepping aside so he might not interfere with the Doofenshmirtz Maelstrom as he attempts to find his loafers he'd kicked out of sight, allegedly beneath his own desk. "I didn't realize you were married, Heinz?"

The Advanced Sciences teacher frowns, straightening up. "You aren't? Well," he shrugs. "You were probably better off. I'm not anymore though."

"Oh?"

"Yes? Are you sure I haven't told you this before? You've met Vanessa."

"Oh, you meant your first wife? No, I knew that. I meant-I hadn't realized you'd remarried."

Heinz freezes, his hand on the doorknob leading out the office. "What?"

Dylan frowns. "What, what?"

"Stop being nonsensical. I haven't re-married."

Clara snorts into her coffee.

"I haven't. Why is everyone looking at me?"

"You called him your husband." Dylan points out, gesturing to the impatient be-suited man standing outside.

"Perry the- Perry? No. What? No, he's-we're-I can't-you guys are-he's-!" Heinz sputters. "He's practically my parole officer!"

Dylan and Clara exchange weighted looks, the latter with a permanent smirk etched upon her face.

"You want him to be your husband though." She says casually.

He doesn't have to stand for this. "I don't have to stand for this." Heinz says, cheeks burning all the way up to his ears. High school was high school, apparently, no matter where you were on the side of staff doors. He slams the door behind him to punctuate his indignantion, though he could've sworn he still heard Clara laugh on the other side. He's still going to have to see her tomorrow.

Despite his visible impatience not twenty minutes ago, Perry's face visibly softens as he sees Heinz rounding out to the parking lot, where his teal colored OWCA standard Sedan purra idly as they wait. And Heinz hates it, hates that he's able to tell, and how it makes his heart summersault from beneath his breastbone to his stomach with an almost childish shame.

Perry, as he was naught to do, opens the passenger side door for him, as he does to make fun of him, whenever Heinz was in a churlish mood. He's even doing a stupid little teasing bow, like an unnecessarily attractive carriage master. Or a prince.

It's mocking. But his coworkers won't know that.

Heinz grabs ahold of the door, and slams it back closed.

Perry raises a questioning eyebrow. Heinz can barely notice the awkward silence between them, frozen as he was imagining his coworkers giggling over his shame like a pair of bullies.

After a second or two, he opens it back up and climbs inside.

He sees Perry hesitate right outside his door, and when he rounds over to climb into his customary driver's seat, Heinz cuts him off right off the bud.

"Not one word, Perry the Platypus." Heinz mutters. "Not one. Word."

[teencopandthesourwolf]

Oh my God. 

Their faces are suddenly so close. Like, so very, very close. 

Stiles tries to tamper down his nerves (completely unsuccessfully, of fucking course) by taking a much-needed breath.

He then stammers out the words, "I've, uh, I've, I've never, um—"

Calm. The fuck. Down. 

"It's the same as it is with a girl, Stiles," Derek says, all matter-of-factly as if they're not just about to kiss.

Holy fucking shit!

"Just… hairier," the big guy adds.

Stiles wets his lips and nods and states, “Because you're a boy," oh, so intelligently. "I mean, y'know..."

Gulp!

"A m-man."

One of Derek's thick eyebrows slowly climbs his forehead, face looking as if the haughty display should be taken as some sort of admonishment and it is so fucking hot that Stiles's ridiculous dick jumps for joy inside of his khakis.

Traitor. 

"Actually, I'm neither," says the dude who would put any of the Greek Gods to shame and he flashes that rare, toothy, wicked-sexy smile.

Fuck! 

Then Derek shifts and growls, "I'm a werewolf," before licking the gasp right out of Stiles's mouth.

.

for @greyhavenisback (and now i really must try and go back to sleep, zoiks!)

[mrspasser]

The things he does for his pack

Pinterest showed me a tweet from someone who fed his co-workers pot brownies because he didn't want to be the only one dirty on the random drug test. I had some thoughts about that and the result is this Sterek fanfic :-)

Read it on A03

There’s a chilly wind blowing that he can barely ward off with the upturned collar of his jacket, his ass has gone numb from the hard bench and a few rows below him there’s a man eating nachos with the most obnoxious artificial flavouring Derek has ever smelled. 

The things he does for his pack…

At least the game isn’t a total shit show. He isn’t all that fond of lacrosse - he was on the basketball team himself, but most of his pack plays. Boyd is the newest recruit and though he’s sitting on the bench next to Stiles right now, he’s scheduled to take his place in the goal for the last two quarters. Jackson, Isaac and Scott each usually play the whole game and Stiles plays a quarter here and there - as long as he doesn’t annoy the coach too much.

They’re ahead, with only a few minutes left of the second quarter. The Beacon Hills Cyclones started off strong and scored six goals already, to a meagre two of their opponents. If they keep this up, they’ll win the game by a landslide. Stiles might even get to play. 

Besides him, Erica cheers loudly as Isaac scores the seventh goal, right before the referee blows his whistle. The team gathers around their coach to hear his instructions, though a few of them are more focused on the water cooler than game tactics. They’re laughing and bumping into each other, ignoring Finstock when he calls them to order. It seems like they think the game is won already. Derek hears both Scott and Jackson berate their teammates. If they win this game, they’ll compete in the state championships, so there’s a lot riding on this game.

“Go get ‘m, babe!” Erica yells when Boyd jogs towards the goal after the break. The young werewolf looks back and lifts his stick in response and Derek gives him a supportive nod. Boyd joined the team mostly because of his pack mates and the role of goalie fits him well. He’s not flawless, he doesn’t have enough field experience for that, but his werewolf reflexes make up for a lot.

The game restarts and it only takes a few minutes to see that a good part of the team doesn’t have the same focus as before their break. “What the fuck are they doing?” asks Erica, gesturing towards the field where two players seem to be performing some kind of dance. It’s uncoordinated and barely recognizable as dancing, still, it is anything but lacrosse. Jackson yells at them until they get back in line, which they do with a lot of giggling.

Derek frowns at the spectacle below. The visiting team scores two goals in succession: the first is a clever trick shot that he really doesn’t fault Boyd for not catching and the second shot goes in because one of the Cyclones actually hinders his own goalie on purpose. To say the team isn’t happy with that is an understatement. Within minutes the whole game is in disarray and when one of the players stumbles off to the sideline to be sick, the referee calls the whole thing off. It’s a big mess. Derek’s proverbial hackles go up: this whole thing reeks. Something is wrong, but what?

Down on the field Jackson yanks his helmet off and tosses it down on the ground, swearing loudly. Both Isaac and Scott take it upon them to direct their unruly teammates back towards the locker rooms. “It’s like herding cats,” Derek hears Isaac complain when some of his teammates start up an impromptu game of tag and run back onto the field, leaving the young werewolf standing.

Coach Finstock is almost purple from all the yelling he does and all over the bleachers there’s confusion and amused chatter to be heard. Most people have left their seats and gone down to the field. Erica stands next to her boyfriend, who is gesturing angrily at some teammates who stumble past. 

Derek gets up and scans the field for his pack. He has a nagging suspicion of foul play and it bothers him that he can’t sense any danger. As far as he can tell, it’s just the humans and his own pack on the field. There’s no-one else. The werewolves all seem to be acting normal, which leads him to believe there was something that affected the humans. 

Stiles. Where is Stiles?

Now that he thinks of it, Derek kinda expects Stiles to be at the forefront of this whole mess, yet the lanky human is nowhere to be seen. That can’t be right. The nagging sense of discomfort that sat low in his belly turned into alarm.

The Alpha werewolf lets his enhanced senses work for him as he urgently searches the crowd, though it still takes him a while to spot the Cyclones’ number 24. Stiles is lying underneath the bench, curled up against some bags of sport’s gear. He took his protective gear off and cuddled with the shoulder pads in his arms like it’s a teddy bear. Derek rushes over, unsure of the condition his pack member is in. It’s only when he’s close that he can hear his slight snores over the din of the crowd. Relief swoops through his stomach.

“Stiles!” There’s no reaction, not even when Derek calls his name a second time. He crouches down to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Stiles! Wake up!” 

Stiles wakes up with a mumbled “Huh? Wazzit?” and a lolling search of his head towards the sound. His eyes blink open unevenly. One eye focuses on Derek and a lazy, contented grin appears on his face. “Der-bear.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the stupid pet name, though he can’t hide the relieved smile that breaks through. He helps Stiles roll out from under the bench, preventing him from bumping his head into it when he tries to sit up. “What are you doing on the ground?”

Another loopy grin. “I was sleepy.”

If Derek didn’t know any better, he’d say Stiles was drunk. He’s acting even more uncoordinated than usual and he has trouble focusing his vision. Thing is, he can’t smell any alcohol on the boy, just sweat and sweets. And he knows Stiles isn’t a big fan of drinking, having seen from up close what alcohol can do to a man. Derek has to hold Stiles by the arms to keep him sitting upright; he would pitch right over otherwise. “Stiles? What happened?” 

“I dunno,” Stiles answers, slightly slurring his words. He grips onto Derek’s forearms and tries to look around him at the field. “Is the game over? Did we win?” 

Derek jostles him a little to get his attention back on him. “Stiles. Focus!” 

Erica and Boyd come up to them, giving Stiles a scrutinising look. “What’s wrong with him?” Erica asks, cocking her head as she looks the boy over. 

“I don’t know,” Derek grits out and tries to get Stiles to stand up. It’s like wrestling an octopus. The boy is not cooperating at all and after a few moments Derek gives up and lets him sit down on the bench. At least that way he isn’t on the ground anymore. Stiles immediately tips over to lean against Derek’s hip, all heavy and loose limbs.

Boyd chuckles lowly. “Dude, is he stoned?”

“Stoned?!” Erica bends over to grab Stiles by the chin so she can look into his face. “He is!” she cackles in delight. “His eyes are all red!”

Stiles grabs Derek’s leg for stability, winding his arm around it, and sits up a little straighter. “I have red eyes?” He looks up at Derek and grins. “You hear that, Sourwolf? I’m the Alpha now!”

Boyd crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards them with a knowing smile. “He’s baked.”

“No, I didn’t!” Stiles flails and Derek has to grab him by the back of his jersey to prevent him from headbutting the werewolf in the crotch. The boy refuses to let go of his leg. “Greenberg did the baking. They were delicious!”

“What are you talking about?” Derek keeps him upright as much as he can, which is surprisingly hard when Stiles resembles an octopus ragdoll. 

“Pot brownies.” The voice of Jackson cuts through and all heads turn to the team’s co-captain that comes walking up to them. He’s looking cross. “Fucking Greenberg fed the whole team edibles before the game.” 

“They were very edible,” Stiles mumbles. His voice kind of gets lost under the astonished exclamations of his packmates. He snuggles a little closer to Derek’s leg.

“Why would he do that?” Derek growls. It’s clear the rest of the team didn’t know anything of this plan, which basically means the guy poisoned his team mates. 

“To fuck with the mandatory drug test they were gonna have us take after the game,” Jackson explains curtly. “A random check. We weren’t supposed to know about it, but Greenberg got into the coach's papers or something.”

Derek huffs. “That doesn’t explain why he fed the whole team drugs. Why risk getting kicked out of the competition?”

“Dude’s a stoner. He didn’t want to get caught.” 

Erica laughs. “That is kinda genius, if you think about it.” At Derek’s ornery look she explains: “Chances are they would dismiss the test if the whole team tested positive. They’d think it was a faulty test, or something.” 

“Yeah, or they would just suspend the entire team,” Boyd corrects her. “Where is that asshole now?” he asks Jackson. That is something Derek wants to know too.

Jackson points a thumb back over his shoulder. “Back at the locker room. Coach is ripping him a new one. Scott and Isaac are with them.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. His first reaction was to join coach Finstock in yelling at this Greenberg idiot, but was it really his place to do so? After all, most of his pack was unharmed and the one that did get affected was just high as a kite. And cuddly. He grips the back of Stiles’ neck to keep his head still, so he wasn’t affectionately rubbing his face on Derek’s hip. He sighs. “Let’s go home.” 

That does get Stiles’ attention. “Home?! I can’t go home!” He clumsily tries to get to his feet, using various body parts of his Alpha as a handgrip. Derek hauls him to his feet with a hand in his armpit before it can get any worse. “My dad can’t go home! I mean, I can’t go there. My dad is at home.” He pauses for a second. “Which means he can’t go home either, because he’s already there. Huh. What was I saying?” 

“Well, you can’t stay here either,” Derek answers impatiently. “You’ve got to sleep this off, or something.” 

“I don’t know, I kinda like him like this,” Erica smirks. She shows her teeth when Derek glares at her.

“I can sleep here.” Stiles tries to turn to pat the bench he’d been sleeping underneath earlier, almost falling over the thing in his attempt. Derek gets a hold of his arm and resigns himself quietly to not letting go until Stiles was safely at home, in bed.

“Guys! We’re getting a rematch next week,” Scott announces from afar, jogging over to them. Isaac follows him in his wake. “What’s the matter with Stiles?” 

“He ate three pot brownies, that’s the matter with Stiles,” Isaac deadpans after one look at his pack mate. 

“He ate three?!” Erica guffaws.

“They were really good!” Scott hurries to say. “Besides, I had two and I feel fine.” 

“That’s because you’re a werewolf, dumbass,” Jackson hisses and for once Derek is glad that Jackson said something so he didn’t have to.

“Oh. Right.” Scott has the decency to look abashed. He moves a little closer to his friend, who resorted back to leaning up against Derek for support. “Will he be okay?” he asks the older werewolf.

“Should be fine,” Derek grunts. “Just has to sleep it off.” 

“Oh, yeah, that should work,” Scott nods sagely. Then his face clears. “Shit! He can’t go home, his dad will know he’s high!” 

“Yeah, Der! Dad will know!” Stiles agrees vehemently, turning fast to slap Derek in the chest for emphasis. “Ohh, I feel sick,” he groans immediately afterward, his face turning white as a sheet. 

Recognising what is about to happen, Derek moves them a step away from the others and holds Stiles steady as he suddenly lurches forward and pukes on the grass. Behind them, the werewolves make various noises of disgust. Derek isn’t a fan of the stench of vomit either, but Stiles is trembling on his legs like a newborn foal and making pitiful noises in between heaving up the contents of his stomach, so he supports him with a hand underneath his chest and rubs comforting circles on his back with the other.

When his stomach is finally empty, Stiles leans forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Scott helps his friend drink a cup of water from the team’s water cooler. Stiles is too out of it to do much to help. “I feel like shit,” he says in a wobbly voice. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees gently. “Let’s get you home, alright? You can stay at the loft until you feel better.” The boy will probably be alright after a good sleep.

“Thanks,” Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. He even starts tipping forward alarmingly. 

“That’s it,” Derek decides out loud and scoops Stiles up so he can carry him to the car. “We’re out of here.” He walks off in the direction of the parking lot, Stiles dozing in his arms, trusting the rest of his pack to sort things out when it comes to grabbing their stuff and finding their own way back to the loft. 

Stiles wakes up a little when Derek positions him carefully in the front seat of his car. “Der?” he asks, his head lolling back against the seat. 

“Hmm?” Derek reaches across him to fasten his seatbelt. From the corner of his eye he can see Stiles following him with his eyes, a smile on his face that’s a cross of loopy and fond.

When Derek leans back, sitting on his haunches next to his car, Stiles strains forward in his seatbelt conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Scott, but you’re my favourite werewolf,” he whispers.

Derek huffs a laugh despite himself. He shakes his head and gets up to close the car door.

“You gotta promise, Der,” Stiles urges. “You can’t tell Scott!” 

The werewolf nods indulgently. “Sure.” 

But Stiles isn’t happy with that answer. “You gotta promise!” When Derek doesn’t react to him sticking out his pink, he shakes his hand in front of his face and urges: “Pinky swear that you won’t tell!” 

“Stiles, come on, lets just get you home.” Derek is a grown ass Alpha werewolf. He isn’t gonna pinky swear with a teenager that’s still pretty baked. 

Stiles points at him with a stern finger. “Pinky swear or you’re no longer my favourite werewolf!” 

And Derek…. Well, he can’t help it. As much as Stiles can be annoying and a handful, he’s also smart, loyal and, God help Derek, funny. 

“Can’t have that, right?” Derek chuckles and hooks his pinky finger around Stiles’. He’s awarded with a bright grin when he declares solemnly not to tell Scott that Derek is Stiles’ favourite werewolf.

With Stiles satisfied, Derek can close the car door and finally get into the car himself. Stiles watches him start the car with bleary eyes. He’ll probably fall asleep soon. 

“Don’t puke on the upholstery,” he warns his young packmate, just to be sure. 

“I promise,” Stiles responds, as serious as he can while breaking into a yawn. He’s still a bit pale around the nose, though Derek suspects he can keep himself collected during the short ride to the loft.

It’s quiet for a bit as Derek navigates the school parking lot and drives out onto the main road. “Hey Der?” it sounds softly from the seat next to him after a few minutes. 

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek signals for a corner.

“Am I your favourite human?” 

The tentative way the words are spoken makes Derek look over. Stiles actually seems bashful, it’s an odd look on him. 

Derek hesitates for a second, but… Whatever. They’re alone and there’s a chance that Stiles won’t remember this conversation by tomorrow anyway. The werewolf puts his hand on the boy’s knee and squeezes. “You are, Stiles.” 

“That’s nice,” Stiles says in a whisper. He sounds pleased. And half asleep, that too. However, half asleep as he is, Stiles still holds out his hand with his pinky outstretched. “I won’t tell Scott,” he promises when Derek hooks his own pinky in after just a short moment. 

“Good,” Derek agrees with a smile. The childish secret between them makes him feel oddly giddy. 

The boy sleeps for the rest of the ride and doesn’t wake up when Derek lifts him from the car and carries him up the stairs. He gently tucks Stiles in in his bed, figuring he can stand to have his bedding smelling like his favourite human tonight. When he gets back downstairs, his betas look at him questioningly, but they don’t say anything, especially not after he gives them his credit card to order dinner. 

Stiles wakes up around nine PM, hungry like a wolf. He scarfs down the pizza the pack left for him in a remarkable show of restraint and resigns himself to their teasing easily. It looks like he indeed doesn’t remember all that much from what happened. More importantly, besides ‘feeling a bit crunchy’ - Stiles’ own words - he’s not much worse for wear from the whole thing. Perhaps Derek really doesn’t have to go after that idiot of a Greenberg. 

By eleven, Derek evicts his pack from his home. He loves them, honestly, but there’s only so much teenage bullshit he can stand. He makes Scott drive Stiles home in the Jeep, not listening to Stiles’ protests and even flashing his red eyes when the boy doesn’t give in quickly enough. Stiles wrinkles his nose at him, though he complies easily after that. 

Around midnight, when Derek is reading in bed, his phone lights up with a message: [ FYI. I changed your name in my contacts from Sourwolf to F.W. So now we match! ]

Derek texts back a question mark. It’s a common occurrence when texting with Stiles.

A moment later there’s a reply. [ Can’t have Scott find out, can we? ;-) ] 

It’s only then that Derek notices that the name on the texts doesn’t say Stiles, but Favourite Human. He has no idea how or when Stiles got a hold of his phone this evening.

He thinks about changing it for a second, but puts his phone back on the nightstand instead and shuts off the light so he can go to sleep.

The things he does for his pack.

[metalhoops]

Remember this post? 

They were in the belly of the beast. 

The Creel House stood resolute, tinged the colour of a freshly heal wound, reopened. The same sickly red stain of The Upside Down sky, brown boards blue-hued from strange smokes and cinder. Part of Eddie felt like he’d seen the house before, in some half-remembered nightmare. Deep in the back of his brain, where all strange primal fears were housed, there was a spot saved for the decaying manner. 

By all rights, Eddie shouldn’t have been in the house. If they’d followed the original plan, he’d have been on the roof of the trailer. It’d been Wheeler, of all people who’d changed things. She was a smart girl, too damn smart for her own good in Eddie’s opinion. She’d pointed out all the ways their plan could go wrong and as much as Eddie wanted to redeem the Munson name, he didn’t want to walk into a death trap if he could help it. 

Nancy was right. That didn’t change the creeping sense of dread he felt whenever he looked her way. It was like one of Vecna’s vines had made a home in his stomach and was creeping up towards his mouth each time the girl did something impressive. Eddie had the sneaking suspicion something was swaying his feelings towards her. Something with light brown hair, who had entered the Creel house brandishing a baseball bat like a medieval sword. 

Jesus H. Christ. Seeing Steve Harrington wield the tetanus trap of a baseball bat, full of splintering wood and rusted nails wasn’t a sight he’d ever pictured living to see. 

Drifting in from the wasteland beyond the open door, Eddie could hear his amps playing ‘Master of Puppets’ on the boom box they’d borrowed from the Harringtons’. The poor little player had never gotten the taste for good music. Eddie had to admit it was a good idea. 

He, Steve and Dustin set up the trap. Once the bats began to swarm the trailer the two older boys boosted Dustin up and out of the portal, much to the kid’s protest. They then snuck around the back of the trailer, while the girls waited in the woods ahead. Nancy had her sawn-off trained on the swarm. Robin had her Molotovs. Range weapons, waiting in the wings. He and Steve were the best at evasion. If this were a campaign, he’d say they made a pretty balanced party, all things considered. 

The interior of the house was worse than Eddie expected. It was filled with rotted vines and ash, making the air smell of must and mildew. Eddie’s brain kept telling him to turn tail and run, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

He shifted his shield from one hand to the next as they moved deeper into the house, channelling his nervous energy away from his feet. One misstep and their distraction would be for nothing. Their plan was a house of cards. One gust of wind and the whole damn thing would blow over. If Eddie screwed up Red, along with everyone else in the Creel house, would be dead before the world had time to end. 

Steve took the lead up the stairs like Eddie knew he would. He had a hero complex Eddie couldn’t unpick. Once everything was over, he had questions about what the party had seen the last three times they’d decided to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight. There was something about Steve Harrington he couldn’t put his finger on. Sure, trauma could change a person, Eddie was learning that lesson the hard way, but the man charging up the stairs towards their inevitable death in too-tight pants and an army jacket had some explaining to do. 

He wasn’t sure who’d done it in the end. Whose foot made first contact with the blackened tendrils, the dominos fell too fast to pinpoint an epicentre. Nancy's body jerked one way, while Steve was sent skyward. His back hit the walls of the house with a sickly wet thud, a mass of undulating vines threatening to swallow him whole. Robin was on the floor at the foot of the steps, hacking away at the vines with an axe. Eddie was pushed against the bannister, all the air fleeing his lungs. This was how he would die. 

The sound of distant wings grew ever louder as Eddie’s vision began to blacken around the edges. 

In Eddie’s fading vision, he watched as a sliver of light glinted off something overhead. The axe fell like a guillotine, too close to Eddie’s head for comfort. He was free. He took greedy gulps of air, his eyes making contact with Buckley’s. She looked as shocked as he did, like a nocturnal animal caught in floodlights.

They didn’t have time. Robin was off, desperately hacking skywards at the vines still ensnaring Steve. He’d managed to wedge the bat between the vine and his throat. Rusted nails dug deeper into the black mass as it attempted to constrict, but it also buried the nails deeper into Steve’s flesh. 

Eddie ran to help Nancy, her lips blue as her fingers blindly grasped for the shotgun that’d landed just out of reach. Nancy was smart, but like all people, the fear of death made her dumb. A bullet to the jugular wasn’t going to fix this. 

Eddie tried to slide his fingers between the vine and her throat, to relieve some of the pressure. His fingers kept slipping, sticky with sap or blood. He didn’t know. He wished he had a knife as he tried to untangle the vines from ensnaring her body. There was nothing more he could do. He had to sit and wait as he felt the fight begin to fade from her convulsing body. He listened distantly to Robin’s slew of curses as she hacked at drywall. For each vine cut from Steve’s body, there was another waiting to ensnare him. 

Life-or-death situations had a strange way of bringing one's true feelings to the surface. Eddie crouched beside Nancy, his hand clawing at the vine encircling her throat, watching as her panic-ridden eyes flickered across his face. He noticed her hand twitching up trying to pry the vine from its hold on her throat and Eddie’s arm. She was so weak he hadn’t noticed her attempt. He ran a thumb absentmindedly back and forth across her knuckles, trying to soothe her. 

“Hey, no. Hey. You’re fine, Wheeler. You’re okay. Slow breaths, alright? You’ve got this,” he muttered hating how uncertain he sounded, how strained his voice was. 

He didn’t hate Nancy. He’d hate himself if he let Steve’s chance of a storybook ending die in his arms but Christ that was a lot of pressure. 

He crouched there until his fingers turned white and an axe descended upon the vines, cutting them both free. Wheeler gasped, taking deep shaky breaths as she squeezed Eddie’s hand, locking eyes with Buckley over his shoulder. She schooled her features when Steve came into view. His throat wept blood but he was upright, which was more than Eddie could’ve hoped for. 

The vines began to retreat for a reason they couldn’t discern. The group rushed to the second-floor landing, as the swarm of bats descended upon the house, rushing in through the open door. Eddie watched as something shifted in Steve’s stance. He twisted the baseball bat in his hands, familiarising himself with the weapon before taking a few practice swings. 

“Keep going. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Steve spoke. 

Eddie knew it wasn’t a good plan. He knew what happened to the people who stayed behind. Steve had warned him about playing the hero. Eddie wasn’t going to let him have all the fun. 

He held his shield aloft in front of himself, trying to see how much of his body he could brace behind it. If this were a campaign, Eddie knew fighting something that nasty on your own would be akin to a death sentence. 

“I’m staying. Even the odds,” Eddie spoke, as though two boys fresh off the heels of adolescence taking on a swarm of hundreds of unearthly horrors was in any way shape or form, even.  They just had to hold them off until Vecna was dead. The hellscape couldn’t survive without him. Cut off the head and the rest would follow. 

If they had more time, maybe things would’ve gone differently. Maybe they would’ve come up with a better plan, but there was no time. Robin looked poised for an argument or a thought-out speech but Nancy cocked the shotgun and dragged her forward. She knew the silent promise that came with goodbyes. 

The boys were faced with a black mass of writhing wings. They found a rhythm with ease. Steve swung his bat in a perfect arch, sending any unfortunate hell spawn in its wake flying into Eddie’s waiting shield, empaled on the jagged nails. 

Eddie was surprised at how easy it was to find something akin to peace at that moment. He and Steve knew how to move around each other, and how to anticipate each other. They watched the other’s back and oftentimes found themselves back-to-back. Steve’s broad shoulders were grounding where they pressed into Eddie’s. It was the world's strangest game of baseball. With Steve at his side, the horror of the moment seemed to fall away. 

They worked better together than Eddie could’ve imagined and lasted longer than he’d thought. Yet, they couldn’t hold out much longer. The room smelled of rotted iron and Eddie’s sides throbbed. He was too hopped up on adrenaline for the seriousness of the situation to take hold, but one look at Steve in his periphery let him know they were both in bad shape. 

The boy was covered in blood. The wound in his side was torn open once more. Someone could trace their movement by the bloody footprints littering the floor. 

They were dying. 

Eddie tried not to let the enormity of the situation swallow him whole. 

“Hey? How’s it going in there? You killin’ the son of a bitch or just admiring the view?” Eddie screamed above the beating of wings. When a response didn’t come, Steve and Eddie exchanged worried looks. 

“Rob?” Steve yelled, casting a glance through the doorway. 

The moment of distraction left him wide open for a bat to swoop, wrapping its twisted tail around Steve’s arm and tugging him upwards. Eddie acted fast, grabbing Steve’s ankle, and pulling him back to the relative safety of the rotting boards, bloated and warping from the mingling blood and black, bat ooze. 

“I can’t find the lighter,” Robin’s voice called at last. It must have fallen from her pocket when the vines attacked. Shit. 

Eddie plunged his hands into the depths of his jacket pocket and thanked the god he didn’t believe in for his habit of chain smoking in times of crisis. He’d brought another lighter. 

“Watch my six Stevie, I’ve got one,” Eddie called, rushing into the room leaving no space to argue. 

Nancy had slung the rifle over her shoulder and had taken Robin’s axe, making short work of the few bats that’d managed to sneak past his and Steve’s defences. 

Eddie ran to Robin’s side, noticing how the girl’s eyes swelled at seeing him. He was definitely in bad shape then. Her hands trembled as she held out the bottle. Time and time again, Eddie tried to light the cloth. It wasn’t working.

Nothing was working. Panic finally took hold of Eddie. They were going to die. He wished he could say he made peace with that knowledge, but he couldn’t. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mumbled as the lighter continued to dull and spark. 

“What’s going on? I’m coming in,” Steve yelled as he appeared in the doorway barring the opening as best he could, trying to hold the flimsy wood as it buckled beneath the bats' weights. 

Steve’s eyes shifted over the scene, assessing the situation within seconds. 

He charged forward, taking the bottle from Robin’s hands, and letting the rag fall to the floor. 

“Nancy, get ready to shoot,” Steve called as he stalked closer to Vecna’s dangling body. A look passed between the two. The glance told Nancy everything she needed to know.

“Eds, lighter,” Steve called over his shoulder extending his hand. Eddie blinked, tossing it to Steve. 

Eddie would remember what happened next for the rest of his life. Whether that life lasted for minutes or decades, it didn’t matter. There was no such thing as a perfect moment, but what followed was as close as they could come. 

Steve took a deep swig of vodka, filling his cheeks with the bitter liquid and held Eddie’s lighter aloft, the small flame illuminating Steve’s features, a final spark of warmth amongst the blue-grey walls and ash of the house. His hands dripped blood, what was left of his skin was pale from the loss of it. 

Steve spat the alcohol in a perfect arc, through the flame, breathing fire over Vecna’s body, catching the dark wizard alight. Steve was a fallen king turned dragon. A higher kind of nobility. Breathtaking, unearthly, and dangerous. 

As Nancy littered Vecna’s body with bullets, Eddie kept his eyes trained on Steve, his heart in his throat. Eddie wasn’t one for sudden affections. His heart was an alley cat, wary and distrustful by nature. Yet, despite everything, Eddie fell in love with Steve at that moment. His heart soared straight past ‘crush’ and on through to adoration. Maybe it was the blood loss but with Vecna’s dead body on the floor at their feet, he knew at that moment, his life would be inextricably connected to Steve’s. 

The boy shot him a smile over his shoulder, his lip bloody, vodka smattering his chin. The room smelled of kindling. 

The girls rushed to Steve, taking turns embracing him. The sound of bats at the door had finally stopped. It was over. They’d won. 

Eddie watched on helplessly as Steve rested his forehead against Robin’s, holding the girl close, his face contorting in pain. Robin muttered a string of incoherent words just loud enough for Steve to hear before pulling back. 

Nancy was next. Their hug was less feverish, more familiar. Nancy’s chin rested on Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s hands gripped the back of her shirt as they had a hundred times before. They looked good together. It made Eddie ache. He looked away. 

When he looked back, to his surprise Robin had scooped Nancy into a too-tight hug, blathering about how petrified she’d been and how amazing Nancy was. Much to his surprise, Steve was looking at him, his arms open in offering. 

The others were close. They had gone through hell together. Eddie was the outsider. It felt strange being offered a place amongst them, but he didn’t know when he’d get another opportunity, so he strode forward letting Steve’s arms encircle his body. 

It wasn’t the kind of hug he’d expected. It wasn’t feverish, like Robin’s or as solid and steadfast as Nancy’s. Steve clung to him, his hands gripped at Eddie’s forearms, as though trying to map out the uncharted territory before pulling him closer. His hands snaked around Eddie’s body, finally finding a home, clutching at the shirt fabric around his shoulder blades.

Eddie didn’t know what to do with his hands, finding them slipping beneath Steve’s jacket, just above his waist. His head found its way to Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s did the same. He could feel the boy’s heart pounding. He smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. 

“You’re a total badass, Steve Harrington.” Eddie gasped. His breath was hot against Steve’s ear. The boy chuckled, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

“I don’t know, Munson. That’s high praise comin’ from a hero,” Steve spoke.

“I’m not-,” Eddie began, but Steve wasn’t having it. 

“Take a compliment dude. You went to Mordor,” Steve spoke in the tone of a man who still didn’t know exactly what ‘Mordor’ was. 

Hawkins’ golden boy, trying to ‘speak nerd’ to him wasn’t quelling any of Eddie’s feelings. 

“Yeah well, next time we go somewhere let’s make it nice. Check out The Rockies, The Grand Canyon, maybe California.” 

Later Eddie would blame the blood loss for being so bold. 

Steve pulled back, just far enough to look at Eddie’s face. To his surprise, Steve shot him a goofy grin. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

[pantasticloser]

I wrote a Sherlock and Co fic on my phone while the internet is down. Kind of a preslash jonklock. Fic under the cut. It's also posted on Ao3 here

In So Few Words

Summary:

For a split second, a mere blip really, as his eyes open, John almost wonders if it would hurt this badly if the bullet had just killed him outright.

Set the morning after The Dancing Men pt 3.

For a split second, a mere blip really, as his eyes open, John almost wonders if it would hurt this badly if the bullet had just killed him outright. He groans, rubbing his hands up the stubble on his jaw and over his eyes, flinching and cursing under his breath at the deep achey pull from the left side of his ribs. If he didn't have to pee he'd lay here all day.

John forces himself out of bed and drags himself to the bathroom. He's just got his sleep pants, a hideous orange color his mum gifted him, and he forgoes trying to find a shirt. Moving his arms that much makes his side flare up just thinking about it. After handling his business, he takes a moment to look at the damage. It's ugly all right, maybe not as bad as the Ied burn, but hideous nonetheless. He traces the edges with his eyes.

It's a raised purple splotch in the middle, working its way through the rainbow in outward moving rings. Underneath he knows there's a rib with a hairline fracture and bruised bones, but there was also a pair of lungs breathing and a heart that kept beating, so pain or no, he was lucky he'd worn the vest.

Down in the kitchen he can hear Sherlock pacing, back and forth, 8 steps one way, then a turn, 8 steps again, repeat. God, Sherlock. John had been petrified when Slaney fired the gun, too busy falling and having the air slammed out of him to do much but wheeze, but Sherlock had never sounded more scared than when he'd screamed John's name. He'd also never been scarier than when he'd tried to kill an already dying man. Not scary, John corrects. He could never be afraid of Sherlock, but dangerous, yes. Sherlock was dangerous, fascinating and deadly.

The stumble to the kitchen isn't what John would call graceful. He damn near trips over Archie on the way as the dog lays snoring in the middle of the floor, and every step tugs on his skin, but he grits his teeth and bears it.

Fate would have it that he missed the dog just to slam into Sherlock mid step anyways. John can't help the hiss that comes out as he flinches back, instinctually slapping a hand over his ribs as he breathes out slowly. "Sorry Sherlock, I wasn't paying attention."

Silence meets him, and John doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he opens them to an eye full of panicked detective.

To anyone else, Sherlock would look annoyed, maybe even angry, but John knows that tilt of his mouth, and the intensity of his gaze. It's worry. His eyes are locked onto John's side, mouth opening and closing just a fraction, like he's trying to speak but never finishes the first word. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

Sherlocks mouth clicks shut audibly, and his mouth presses into a thin line as he nods once, and whirls around to the kitchen counter. Before he has time to think, a plate has been pressed into John's hands, and he's being herded to the couch, gently but insistently by hands on his shoulders.

"You made me...breakfast?" John hazards. It's beans on toast, a bit too wet for his liking and a side of eggs, overdone. Sherlock nods again, more hesitantly this time as he drops onto the opposite end of the couch. The man curls himself up in a way John thinks should be impossible. Long legs tucked up in front of his chest, arms wrapped around and his chin on his knees. A finger points at the plate, then to John's face and he gets the meaning right away. "Okay, okay mate I'll eat." He shoves in a fork full of egg, and mumbles a thanks in between bites.

The silence stretches on, and it's not that John's a prude, but the staring is beginning to make his skin crawl. He finishes quickly, setting the plate down perhaps a little too roughly and tries to turn to Sherlock. Big mistake that, and his ribs scream at him as he gasps. "Fuck, that was stupid." He breathes out in a slow measured breath before he turns just his head to Sherlock this time. The worried look is back, even more intensely this time.

"Is there a uh, particular reason? You're giving me the silent treatment?"

He should've expected the eye rolling, really, but Sherlock is shoving a phone into his view shortly thereafter, a section of article highlighted.

John mutters as he reads. "Some autistic individuals may experience bouts of being non-verbal, as opposed to a constant state. The exact cause of these triggers is unknown, but it's often assumed that stress and overstimulation can contribute. Huh, so you're okay then? Just a bit too much excitement yesterday?"

The withering look he's given tells him excitement was the wrong word to use. "Sorry, not excitement. Bad word, won't do it again, scout's honor." An eye roll this time. He can work with this. "You are though, right? Okay, that is?"

The phone is pulled back, and after a moment of furious typing, it's thrust back into his vision. It's the note app, and in bold font it reads 'I'm not the one who got shot.'

"Well yeah," John snorts, "Slaney got shot, quite a lot actually and well obviously he's not okay he's dead, pretty thoroughly and-" his voice drops off. At that moment, John wonders if this is what Sherlock feels like when a case reveals itself, when everything falls into place."You mean me. You mean that I got shot."

A solem nod and a look that's calling him a moron without so many words.

"Sherlock, I'm okay. A bit bruised, possibly with Marianas cold coming on but I'm, really." He pushes Sherlocks hand with the phone down, leaving his atop as he holds it to the cushions. "You don't have to make me breakfast, though I do appreciate it, or stare at me like I'm going to drop dead".

John lifts his hand from Sherlocks and brings it up onto the back of the couch, gesturing with his right to his open side. "See? Just some bruising and a hairline fracture. Nothing too bad."

John would like to say he doesn't startle easily, but having a grown man very suddenly in his space has him frozen mid breath. Sherlock has his gaze locked on his bruise, and slowly, a large warm hand is resting over his ribs.

Sherlock is gentle about it, sweeping his hand over John's side, prodding medically and methodically, but decidedly gently as well. It would almost be ticklish if it wasn't hurting so much, but the warmth feels nice and John relaxes back into the couch as much as he can and lets his eyes shut.

When Sherlock seems to be done, he lets them open just a sliver, but the worried look is still there. "It wasn't your fault, Sherlock."

Intense eyes snap to John's, and he'd flinch if he had the energy. "It's nobodys fault but Slaney’s." Slowly, so he can pull back if he wishes, John takes Sherlocks hand in his own and brings it to his chest, right over his heart. "I'm alive, healthy as a horse, well not like the ones we've met those ones were messed up-"

Sherlock seems to relax at the contact, letting out a small chuckle as his hand presses further into John's heartbeat. John continues. "The point is, I'm okay. I’m okay, you're okay, Mariana's okay other than her cold."

A solemn nod. This clearly isn't working to make Sherlock relax completely. One last idea then.

"Would a um, would a hug? Make you feel better?" John doesn't get a verbal answer, not that he was expecting one, but he does get a lap full of detective. Sherlocks arms are thrown around his neck, and he's hunched himself down, legs across John's lap and head tucked into the curve of his jaw. For the first time this morning, John can see the tension finally begin to leave Sherlocks frame, and he wraps one arm around his middle, the other hand coming across the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him into where John knows he's listening to his pulse. "I'll take that as a yes to the hugging, then."

Sherlocks breath is warm on John's collarbone, and the hair is soft as John threads his fingers through it. "I'll be okay. I'm hurt, my pride is definitely hurt, but bodies heal." He gives Sherlock a gentle squeeze before tipping his head back into the cushion just a fraction.

He should get up. Should remove Sherlock and take care of Archie and the editing for the episode, but Sherlock is warm and alive in his arms, and John lets sleep pull him back under. The doctor did say to rest after all.

[coca-colas-truck-driver]

its a vastly different feeling from how he felt eyeing pretty women at bars than when he lost just enough self control to let himself check out sam (probably some time in the summer before he left for Stanford, the knowledge that he’ll be even more alone than he already is settling in); whose bent over a pool table trying to hassle money from an old southern guy with more bald spots than patches of hair at this point, while dean got them another round.

dads on a hunt across a different state line, with less words than usual before he left; just a gruff repeat of practically the only words he and dean exchange anymore, “take care of sammy for me”.

for the last however many years deans been pining for, he never let himself consciously check out sam. hes almost regretful of that when his eyes catch on sams ass, hes eternally grateful no one knows them here, has no idea they’re related, when sam turns around and almost immediately meets his eyes with a smile and wave. he barely even notices the old guy walk away from the pool table with twenty less dollars in his pocket, when he approaches instead with two of the cheapest beers the bar had in hand.

and hes never been stupid or blind, he can see how others also look at sammy-watching him with such interest, its disgusting-so he trails a wandering hand across sams waist then his back as he walks past. its not bold enough to draw suspicion from sam himself, but makes the women who were peeking glances at either of them, sigh and look away, resigned

he feels a little petty, but mostly proud of himself for successfully warding off interested onlookers.

[cameron-s-gaskins]

Decided to make a Life on Mars/Doctor Who crossover comic, about Sam being the Master, that no one asked for and is about 15 years too late 😂

Chapter 1 is almost done, I’ll hopefully have it posted here and on AO3 in the next week. Thinking of naming it “Sam Tyler Doesn’t Exist.” First chapter will stand alone, but I’ve written a script for a second chapter already. Mostly ignores Ashes to Ashes, and anything after series 4 of Doctor Who.

Gosh!

[madarinniki]

After: MANA, The 3 day disappearance