#shit goes down

[itz-pandora]

You know I'm locked in when I darken the pages.

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[purplecatghostposts]

THE MOST BLOOD CURDLING SCREAMING CRYING BRIAN ANGST??? PLEASE???

Hehe I gottchu

Wanna Roleswap Brian? I’m giving you Roleswap Brian. You’ll figure out what role he’s taking within :)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Ambiguous Ending, Role Swap/Role Reversal, Canon Typical Operator Sickness Symptoms, Canon Typical Behavior, Guns, Blood Mention, Very brief Alcohol and Drugs Mention, It’s Not Paranoia If They’re Really Out To Get You, Mention of Strangulation (But doesn't actually happen), Intrusive Thoughts

Word Count: 2k Words. (I got carried away)

— —

Believe it or not, Brian is not immune to stage fright. He doesn't get it as bad as some people but it still shook him some days, making him jittery and tongue tied.

Working with friends made it easier but Brian still had to take a few breaks to pull himself back together at times. But fortunately he always knew what to do. Memorized it at this point.

Take a deep breath. Focus on what you are doing and let everything else drain away. Steel your resolve and do what you got to do to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

The faster he got his lines done, the sooner he was in the clear. It was as simple as that.

It’s been a little rougher as of late however. Brian struggles to articulate it to anyone but a feeling persists in the back of his head. Eyes on him, even if no one else is there. Nerves acting up for no reason. Anxiety in its purest of forms. He doesn’t understand it.

Take a deep breath, Brian reminds himself. Focus on what you are doing and let everything else drain away. The faster you get it done, the faster it’s over.

It helps a little, but not enough. Brian isn’t usually the one to jump at shadows but it feels like something else is there now. Something in the trees that he can’t quite place.

It’s probably nothing.

—

The feeling follows him home.

Brian triple checks the locks on his doors and windows but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. He lugs his mattress into the closet to sleep there. It just to feel a little safer to sleeping in a room without windows. It helps but never enough. He’s still exhausted— no amount of sleep seems to take the edge off.

His psychology grades are dropping. All the terminology blends together and Brian stares at his notes after class with a sinking feeling. It’s barely comprehensible— there’s just shaky drawings of trees and some sort of repeated symbol made over and over. An O with an X through it.

He doesn’t remember making it.

Brian stuffs the paper deep into his bag and tries not to think about it. He smiles as best as he can when he meets up with Tim for lunch and waves off the concern he gets. Tells Tim he just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. He’s not lying about that.

—

The sun has vanished from the sky, it’s dark and cold and Brian’s phone is dying, and he doesn’t know where he is or how he ended up in the middle of the woods.

He remembers driving home after a shoot. He remembers seeing a tall, lone figure underneath a flickering street light.

He remembers nothing else.

Something tickles in the back of his throat when he swallows. A cough rises, doesn’t stop, and Brian ends up bent over and hacking up a wad of blood, spitting it into the dirt. In the silence of the night, he can only hear his own heavy breathing and distant crickets.

Brian thinks something is wrong with him. The fact that he doesn’t know what shakes him but he fumbles for his phone and manages to call Sarah to pick him up.

She’s always been a light sleeper. She picks up on the second ring and Brian navigates his way through the woods as he asks her if he can get a ride. She tells him she’ll be there as soon as she can, she just needs to know where he is.

Brian stumbles out onto a street and rattles off its name. Sarah hangs up and Brian waits fifteen minutes under a lone streetlight before she finally pulls up. Her face is tight with concern, eyeing him as he buckles up.

“Are you drunk?” She asks. “High?”

“I wish.” Brian slumps in the seat and only just meets her gaze. “I’m… Fucking exhausted honestly. Can we talk about this later?”

Sarah pursues her lips but nods and shifts the car back into gear. The trip to his apartment is silent and after a declined offer to walk him inside, Sarah tells him to rest up and skip classes if he needs to. Brian just smiles and thanks her again.

He passes out the second his head hits his pillow. When he wakes up, he’s missed his first two classes and feels like death itself.

—

Brian goes to the doctor. They prescribe him some sleeping pills.

After waking up with increasingly bad headaches, injuries he doesn’t remember getting, and ending up in more and more concerning places that he definitely didn’t fall asleep in, he calls his doctor to confirm the fact that yes, he should stop taking them.

(They ask him if he wants to try anything else to see what works for him. Brian tells them he’ll think about it, with the intention of really considering it, but it slips away in the long run.)

—

Alex is yelling about nothing, ticked off by every little thing that doesn’t go his way, and Brian considers punching him. He considers it long enough to where he thinks he might actually do it.

He doesn’t understand why Alex is acting this way. It’s like he’s not even Alex anymore— he’s just twitchy and angry and Brian thinks it’s rubbing off on him because sometimes he thinks about wrapping his hands around his neck when he’s yelling and squeezing until he’s blissfully silent. Then he hates himself for it more than he hates Alex’s yelling and it just makes it all worse.

Everything is bad these days. Tim is coughing up a storm, Seth jumps at every shadow that moves, Jay has this dead stare at times like he’s not really there, Sarah looks like she could fall asleep at every moment, and Alex is being an asshole.

Everything is bad and Brian doesn’t understand why until one day, he’s over at Seth’s place to get out of his apartment and not think about the feeling of someone or something else being there with him. Seth focuses on editing Marble Hornets but at some point, both of them lose time because abruptly it’s night and Seth passes out at his desk. Brian sighs and walks over to wake him so he can get up and go sleep in a real bed when he sees what’s on his computer. He freezes.

It’s footage he took with Alex earlier. A scene in the car— Brian can’t remember what it was about, unable to take his eyes off a figure in the background. A figure he recognizes.

A figure that’s been following him around for weeks now but that he was so sure was just a trick of the light. A shadow he mistook for a person. A million different excuses to avoid the truth.

But it’s there. On camera. And suddenly Brian is confronted with the idea that the thing following him around is a lot more real than he previously thought and that—

That’s.

Brian takes a deep breath. He minimizes the editing program so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore but then a file on Seth’s computer catches his eye. It stands out among the rest, its name in all caps.

‘OPERATOR’.

Somehow Brian knows what’s going to be on it before he clicks on it. He does anyways, despite the feeling of dread in his chest, and stares at a file full of still images and clips. All of them with the very same monster that’s been haunting him.

The same monster that’s haunting Seth. Seth, who jumps at shadows and clutches Alex’s camera like a lifeline sometimes. Seth, who edits all of Alex’s footage alone and without complaint or without asking for help, taking any tape Alex hands over without question.

Seth, who barely acknowledged he was there while he was editing. Not even a hum when Brian attempted to ask him about what he was doing or how his classes were going.

The pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. Brian doesn’t like the picture it makes.

—

Brian can’t hear it move but he knows it’s there. He presses his back against the closet wall and tries to breathe quietly but there’s static in his head and he’s terrified and trapped and can’t fall asleep.

There’s a monster in his apartment. It won’t kill him, Brian knows that deep down, but what it will do is so much worse.

He can feel it. The way it changes him, the way all his bouts of anger are accompanied by a faint feeling of static in the back of his head, the way he can’t sleep because every night his home is invaded and if he falls asleep then he’ll wake up somewhere else and covered in his own blood and he fears that one day, he might wake up in someone else’s.

It’s changing him. Affecting him. He doesn’t know what it wants, only that it will ruin his life to get it, and now Brian knows that he’s not the only one. It’s after his friends too. It wants…

It wants to feed on all of them.

He doesn’t know what it eats but he knows it’s something it gets from them. Their pain? Their fear? Their suffering? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything at all except that it has to stop.

—

Brian buys a gun. He doesn’t think it’ll do anything against that thing but he needs something or he’ll lose his mind.

The gun feels heavy and wrong in his hands. Brian carries it anyways.

—

Everything gets worse. Brian doesn’t think he can stand much more of the anger that comes out of each shoot, like everyone just wants to bite each other’s heads off.

Then Alex takes him to a solo shoot at an old abandoned hospital. He’s unsympathetic when Brian voices how he doesn’t want to be there and Brian feels a familiar anger rise up that he bites back down. The trees have eyes. He ignores them the best he can, but largely fails.

Alex hands Brian the currently recording camera to hold while he sets up the stand for it. He struggles with it, multiple curses and frustrated noises leaving him, and Brian stares at him and wonders when the last time he saw Alex happy was. He can’t remember. He can’t even remember what his smile looks like anymore.

His pocket of his fading yellow hoodie feels heavier than it should be. Brian reaches into it and is immediately met with the cold metal of his gun.

He doesn’t remember bringing it. It never should’ve left his house.

But as he stares at Alex, hearing him dissolve into a coughing fit, hands shaking badly as he tries to power through it and set up the camera properly, it dawns on him. That this thing— this Operator, as Seth had called it— makes people miserable. That Alex— snappish and impatient and twitchy— is miserable. This project should be bringing him joy but there are bags under his eyes and Brian thinks about how all of them stopped asking about his own insomnia when they started developing it themselves.

It’s changing them. Maybe it feeds off of that— misery.

And maybe Brian can stop that. Right here, right now.

Alex’s back is to him. He’s not even paying the slightest bit of attention.

Brian slowly draws the gun. It feels wrong and weighted and his insides twist but Brian takes a deep breath. The faster he gets it over with, the faster he gets it done.

He’s not doing this to hurt Alex. He’ll take no pleasure from it and it’ll be quick. Either he does this now or that thing drains Alex until he’s a shell of who he used to be. Until it kills him.

His aim levels as he focuses on this moment and only this moment. Everything else drains away.

His finger tightens on the trigger.

— —

I think role swaps are interesting as hell and had to pull one where Brian takes Alex’s place. Brian is deep in the Operator’s influence at this point without realizing it and what happens to Alex, and what happens afterwards, is up to you.

Hope this was some good Brian Angst! Thank you for the request, feel free to send another! :)

[cheese-ducks]

chapter 9 of twrp origins will be posted later today!

[unfinishedzizzy]

Qivobit is up next! A ringleader Pre-Brandshock and DEAR LORD this drama queen makes it obvious. She made a lot of her own amplifiers for her shows (many of them used of the current mission) and only hired the strongest psionic users. She herself is a force to be reckoned with (eyyy) and is kinda the overlap between the Special Ops being Clowns and Criminals... and also one of the 3/7 Special Ops still on the team...

[approximateknowledge]

they weren't lying; those drones sure do be murdering!

[thebalancer]

I’ve shared some chapters on here but realize that’s not the smartest idea (I was still learning how Tumblr works.)

So, here’s my fanfic I’ve been working on: Chapters Prologue - 8 provided. It was updated last night.

[stealingyourbones]

Jason startles as a stranger on the streets of Gotham takes one look at him, looks at him in absolute horror, and then runs to the closest dumpster and vomits into it.

Jason is mildly offended. He doesn’t look that bad does he? — Danny glances back to look at the undead staring at him on the sidewalk and nearly vomits again. His soul is shattered. It’s like looking at a human after being hit by a car at 60mph who’s acting like they’re perfectly fine as they walk towards you. — Jason approaches the stranger, one hand hovering over the shoulder of the guy and asks; “Hey man what’s your problem? What's the deal w-”

The once retching passerby moves imperceptibly quick. His hands go through Jason’s chest and before he can even react he feels something snap back into place.

Jason can barely remember screaming as he near instantly blacks out from the pain.

[beebottle]

The forest wept

Their shoulders dropped as they held limply onto the paling frame of their brother. The forest wept alongside them, leaves wilting, flowers curling, and branches drooping. Throughout all they had done, they had done it with the forest, as one. So now, as they mourned, it did too.

It must have been hours they sat there, until the cyprus tree ushered them away from the body towards the dafodils. There, they found soft cushioning to weep with the plants. Because as they were with the forest, the forest was with them.

[radiance1]

"So, heard you're gonna go and live with the big bad bat." Damian's neutral scowl deepened at the sound of his voice. Instinctively, his hand flew to rest on the pommel of his sword. "Woah, woah. No need for violence, big bro."

'There was always a need for violence.' Damian thought.

"Aww, is big bro not happy to see me?" He flew around to Damian's front, hands resting under his chin as he smiled at him like all was right in the world. "Honestly, I'm a little hurt."

"What do you want, Daniel." Damian spat out, itching to unsheathe his blade yet restraining himself from doing so. "I don't believe you're here to just send me off."

"What? I can't just check in on my brother on the biggest moment of his life?" Danny asked, sounding so innocent that he was almost believable.

Almost.

Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Eh, ya got me." Danny leaned back in the air and shrugged. "I really don't care that much about you to do that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well," Danny casually waved a hand. "Just wondering if the big scary shadow man would actually like you."

"What." Damian demanded.

"You know." Danny smirked and tilted his head slightly to the side. "You're a murderer, assassin, pretty evil in the eyes of the law and practically everything the Batman stands against. Plus, not to mention his other children-"

Danny paused when the tip of a sword poked against his throat.

"I am his only true child." Damian spat out.

Danny stared down at him, for a moment, no visible emotion through his eyes and face. One would almost call it unnerving. Yet the moment passed quickly, and the corner of Danny's lips quirked upwards.

"Yea, you made sure of that." Danny began, chuckling as he leaned forwards, metal cutting into skin as toxic green spilled from the wound. "But honestly, we both know you can't kill me anymore."

Damian snorted.

"And we both know you can still feel pain."

[queewp]

click for better quality!! :D

line art under cut cuz ngl i rlly like it as just lineart

[lunaicfantastic]

fav part of gideon the ninth is for the first pre-canaan house chunk of the book, she's all "ugh I'm so normal surrounded by all these weirdo goth freaks when I blow this popsicle stand everyone will see how cool and normal and charming I am" and then she gets to canaan house and realizes that while she might have been a normie jock in the ninth house she is not exempt from being a goth weirdo who hides important doors behind tapestries and sneaks around in the dark so she doesn't have to talk to people. like we talk about her being a jock forced to be goth but nature v nurture babey she's not shedding that bone freak skin anytime soon

[kittykatninja321]

Very deeply annoyed by the fanon idea that Talia treated Jason like a pet or a tool when he was catatonic, because when you actually read lost days you can clearly see that Talia is literally the only person who looked at Jason while he was catatonic and still saw a person and treated him like a person while everyone else around her (Ra’s and the doctor she hired) was ready to dismiss Jason as an empty shell

[sp0o0kylights]

Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4

Part Three: link

First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link

The kid was madder than a wet hen.

Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 

Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 

He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 

The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.

Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  

Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.

They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.

Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.

Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.

Unfortunately, so did Eds. 

Still.

 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best

Gave space.

Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.

Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 

One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 

Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 

‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 

Nope. 

‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 

Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 

‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’

That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 

Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 

Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 

They did not.

He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 

Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  

The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.

Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 

Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 

(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 

They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They���d get through this too, come what may. 

Steve too.)

“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 

Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 

“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  

Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 

“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 

Likely a lot of things. 

It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 

“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”

 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 

“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 

Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 

Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 

And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 

“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 

“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 

Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.

(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 

“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 

Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 

Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 

“He did.”

“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 

“I did.” 

He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 

Wayne took advantage. 

“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”

Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 

“‘Bout trust.” 

Eddie blinked at that. 

“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 

“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 

“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”

Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 

Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 

“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 

Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 

He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 

“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 

Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 

Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 

“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 

After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.

“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 

That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 

“How long is he staying here?”

Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 

Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 

“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 

Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 

Wayne sat with him as he processed. 

Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 

Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 

“What if he finds out?”  

This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 

It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 

The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 

This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 

Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 

Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.

‘Shit.’ 

“He won’t.” Wayne said. 

Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 

Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 

“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 

Hoped that in the future, it would be.

Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.

(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.

Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)

xXx

Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.

He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.

A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.

He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 

Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.

The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.

(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)

Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.

The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 

Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 

Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 

Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.

‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.

Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 

He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 

Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 

Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.

Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 

Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.

Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.

The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  

Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.

It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 

The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 

Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.

Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 

Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.

Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 

At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 

(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 

That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.

Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.

‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 

It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 

Wayne rolled his eyes. 

“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 

Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 

“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 

It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.

[intertexts]

when ur driver falls asleep on the freeway & the golf cart vanishes LOL

[erinwantstowrite]

"It takes a few more seconds to gather his observations into a coherent picture and form a thought. This must be what Flash Thompson feels like all the time."

the wheeze i wheezed PLEASE

somewhere in the other universe, flash thompson sneezed and FELT the bad vibe

[dootznbootz]

Epic the Musical fans, I'm gripping you by the shoulders to tell you that Penelope has a sister who she is very very close with in the Odyssey who was named Iphitimene.

Not only a sister, but in each myth she is in, she has a lot of brothers. At least around 4 or 5.

The Potential for Eldest daughter Pen, Middle child Pen, and/or baby sister Pen is ENDLESS!!!

She is also half-naiad at the very least (in most myths) with her mother being a river nymph named Periboea. She can even be 3/4th naiad if you go with the myth of her father, Icarius, being the son of Bateia, another naiad.