#this is gonna be a long fic

[of-tatooine]

where it truly lies. | chapter ii - rain

little anakin's vivid imagination made him wonder.

It kept getting in your eyes.

No matter how much you covered up, every inch of potentially exposed skin besides your eyes that were necessary for the job at hand, the little grains found their merry way in, further annoying you in the process.

Ah, how much you hated sand.

You swore you could hear him agreeing with your thoughts in the depths of your mind.

It was ironic, really, considering you both worked to live and lived to work on a completely sand-covered, desert planet - when both of you despised it with a passion. It also did not help that it had to be one of the worse days of the year to tinker with the metal structure in front of you, as your body protested internally. The scorching suns radiated their never-ending heat over the partially covered corner of the vast scrapyard, your holdup point for today’s session stationed right next to a fairly tall sand dune.

But it had to be done. There was a goal, a joint objective, that failure could not withhold the hopeful hearts of two little troublemakers willing to risk it all.

Yours just had to be the fastest one. Anything below first place, was unacceptable.

You could never forget the light in his eyes and just how fast he stood up with excitement when you had first came to him with the over-the-top idea, which was slowly proving to be one of the most arduous tasks in hindsight.

There was a rather strong feeling within you that all of it would be worth it. One day, somewhere, sometime.

It had to be, after all this effort.

But nevertheless, up until that moment when you could relinquish in victory, both of you needed to hurry with the screws and bolts until Shmi Skywalker called for dinner later that night.

“Do you ever wonder how rain feels like?”

The boy’s bob of scuffed blond hair tilted parted in the wind ever so slightly, a big pair of tired blue-grays found yours for a brief moment as he slid up his protective sand goggles - an accessory you should have also been sporting. His hands were holding on tightly to the rear wing, previously working diligently to connect the two motors through the recently acquired energy binder. Anakin had lost count of the hours spent on customizing the engines whenever he was out of his master’s watchful command, hand in hand with his best friend in the whole wide galaxy.

He would later realize that anything you told him took his attention away in a split second. This had been no exception, though the boy took his time to slightly ponder the question in his head, surprised you voiced yet another thought that he often found himself dwelling on before his slumber took him away most nights, before he would be woken up by nightmares.

Of course, he did.

It was a comforting thought. He had read about the rain that came sparsely once in a century on this desert planet, saw some holograms merchants would trade of far, unknown planets while roaming the dry and chaotic markets of Mos Espa as he trailed behind his master. He recalled seeing something akin to shiny little droplets, like clear jade bits falling down from the skies. His unusually vivid imagination somehow failed to fully comprehend just how it would look like if long-awaited water crowned the endless peaks of sand. Would it be humid? Would the existent heat cause everything to evaporate? Would it feel like that fresh splash of water he woke himself up with, yet coming down from the heavenly skies instead of a stale supply from the bucket?

The clinks of your screwdriver as you tightened yet another bolt to hold the connector wires in their places took him out of his thoughts, only to realize he had not properly answered you. “I have.”

A smallest blush creeped up his cheeks and he thanked the Maker for the high suns to disguise it. You, ever the patient one, shot him a knowing grin as another stabilizer to hold the control cable in place snapped tight, not yet attached to the engines as the cable slapped against the sand in a low thud. “I have trouble imagining so much water in one place,” the words flowed from your lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concentration as you found the strength to climb up the scaffolding stairs a bit further up on the blue and silver metal structure, attempting to reach what was going to eventually become the cockpit - not without a couple of huffs of complaint as a foot faltered slightly, yet it found a stable surface to hoist yourself up and into the makeshift seat.

Anakin sometimes wished you had let him help you more, though he chuckled slightly at your comment. “Anything is better than sand,” he mumbled just loud enough, hands clutching onto the metal levers of the rightmost racing engine to ensure the trailing wing had been properly attached.

“It’s not that bad most of the time, Ani. You had to choose one of the hottest days of the decade.”

“I don't like sand,” he started, as yet another gust of heated wind splashed minuscule yet annoying amounts of sand to both children’s faces, as if the galaxy had heard him.

“See? It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.”

All you could do was laugh, having heard the exact complaints many times before that it had become a cherished daily ritual. As he kicked his feet and attempted to pat away the sand that got on his cheeks and desert robes, you thanked the Maker for the small but mighty plexi-shield you had thought of putting over the edge of the cockpit that temporarily kept you away from the wrath of the sand. Fueled with even more desire to finish the tasks at hand to spend even less time out in the open, little Anakin lowered his goggles to focus on getting his scrapped engines to ignite properly.

“Maybe this thing will take us to a planet far, far away,” you mumbled to yourself as you attempted to attach control levers to internal wires trailing within the unfinished cockpit, stealing a small glance at him between movements.

Behind those goggles, his eyes acquired a spark that lit up his soul with the fire of dreams, not just of the desert heat.

Anakin still remembered his master, no doubt with the effects of a little too much booze and ill-placed bets, put him in a clunky podracer for the first time. “The smugglers offered me too much,” he had said as Anakin strapped his belt and helmet on with a newfound ease, stepping foot in a racer cockpit for the first time - yet it had felt like the millionth.

“They told me no human could race in one of these.”

The moment his hands had found the steering rods, his gaze switching up to revel in the roaring cheers of the crowd in the narrow, orange canyon, he felt the energy, the speed, the sheer momentum coax through his little being.

He just knew how to operate that thing, and his instincts proved him right as he crossed the finish line, a mere boy hailed a wonder in the small arena, an elated Watto running to him to pat his head.

Following his uncanny talent, he wanted to make one of his own, adorned with the blue of his eyes and the glorious silver of your choice, a racer so awfully fast. It did not matter to him that the majority of the material that tied the very vehicle together were scraps and junk rescued from the shop, no.

From that day on, he wanted to race. The gentle tremors of the engine jolting him, the corners quick and turns daunting. Feel the adrenaline run through his very being, when he crossed the finish line first. He wished to find only to find your eyes watching you with pride and with joy.

To maybe, one day, whisk you far, far away into the depths of the galaxy, find a planet on which you would dance in the falling rain with him.

It was what little Anakin would dream of that night, safe in his bed. He would be too far gone in the dreamland of greenery and blue heavens to notice the disturbance in the Force that shook like a tremor.

[macdenlover]

Windows - Part 1/?

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 162

“So,” Danny drawled from where he was sitting, legs kicking slightly. Really, what a fun reincarnation. A world with heroes and villains where he didn’t have to do shit in and could just vibe with Ellie. 

“So,” Tim responded from where he was typing on his computer, mostly in civilian clothes save for his gauntlets and boots. The Red Robin outfit was haphazardly dropped across the couch and his pole leaning against the end. 

“Technically there’s proper procedures for clones…” Danny motioned to both himself and Ellie from where they sat on the counter, snacking on a plateful of scones. From Alfred, he was certain. 

“Technically, yes… but do we want to actually do that?” 

All three of them smiled, something almost feral in the motion. Of course not. They all had the same memories after all, and Bruce had just returned from the past, from exactly where and when Tim had said he was. Despite no one believing him, hence why they were in his boathouse, and not in the apartment or manor. 

“Think we can pull it off?” Ellie took a sip of tea, mischief swirling in her eyes. 

“Of course we can.” Both Danny and Tim spoke at once, one pulling up a new doc and the other pulling the whiteboard out from under a curtain. 

[mrghostrat]

Though he’d promised Aziraphale his attention, his head was turned towards a screen on his right, and the angle of his camera suggested the phone was tucked at the base of his keyboard and monitor. Aziraphale was actually grateful for it; Crowley’s momentary distractedness gave him the time to recover from the sight of him dressed up so professionally. “I, er— yes. I need your help though.” Crowley turned to him suddenly, leaning in close and grinning like a shared secret. Big Name Feelings • 3. Speeding Up

i am so at peace. 5 hrs totally zenned out on these colours. i'm gonna see his face in my dreams 🥰

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 3)

—

Tw: Vivisection mention, torture mention (GiW agent receiving), me not actually knowing how telegram works

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually.

(Pt. 1 here) (Pt. 2 here) - (Pt. 4 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It’s an average, ordinary afternoon in Gotham, and Jason is in hell.

Specifically, Jason is in hell because he’s been researching the GiW for the last week or so, ever since a cryptic message from Scarecrow of all people.

He still hasn’t gotten anything substantial out of it that Scarecrow hadn’t already provided. Most location data had been previously scrubbed from the database, weaponry details were apparently all stored physically, and the experiment logs seemed to be only accessible from within one of the bases, whose locations Jason did not have.

Apparently Babs and Tim were having similar issues with gathering information. He had sent a copy of the files over to them in a moment of weakness, but they were having the exact same results as him.

To make things worse, the GiW was more active than they had been previously, combing through Crime Alley and the rest of Gotham tirelessly. At least they weren’t harassing him anymore, he thought, but now he had even less of a clue what they wanted.

And to top it all off, the Joker had escaped Arkham a few days prior to Jason receiving Scarecrow’s note, and he still hadn’t done anything. That could only mean that he was planning something big, which meant more grief for Jason, because the clown was obsessed with him.

So yes, Jason wasn’t having the best week.

He got up from his computer, stretched, and walked over to the window.

The sky was Gotham’s usual grey, clouded with a toxic miasma made up of traditional pollutants and the aftermath of gas attacks both, which could generously be called ‘smog.’

The streets seemed busier than usual, or maybe that was just because Jason was having a hard time keeping his eyes focused.

With blurry vision and a dull ache in the back of his head, Jason paced through his apartment, going through everything he knew.

The GiW, or Ghost Investigation Ward, were part of a secret government project having to do with ‘ecto-entities,’ which were mostly made up of ghosts.

The GiW was able to kidnap and steal away anyone who was ‘ecto-contaminated’ to be dissected, and it was completely legal.

According to the non-censored patrol reports he was given, Jason himself was considered ecto-contaminated. So were Bruce, Damian, Steph, and Cass.

There were also several rogues that were in the same boat, but their names had been redacted, presumably by Scarecrow. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he guessed it was either for leverage or privacy. Knowing Crane, it could be both.

Anything useful about the GiW seemed to be stored physically within their compounds, or on an operating system that couldn’t be accessed outside of certain areas.

Anything useful about ghosts was conveniently removed by Scarecrow.

And, lastly, he knew from capture logs that they had numerous captive ghosts which were definitely being experimented on. One of these ghosts was named Daniel, last name redacted, and had been turned over by his parents in return for allowing them to run their own experiments on the boy.

From what he could tell, it had been around fifty two days since he had been turned in.

Fifty two days of experimentation and dissection.

Jason had to find him.

But first, he had to find the locations of the GiW bases, and plan his entrance carefully. He couldn’t let them get away because of a simple mistake.

The only location data he had been able to find was on a picture of the boy, Daniel, a picture of a vigilante in a red suit, and a quick note left about Daniel which hadn’t been transferred into the main database.

The note was…

Jason had been around crime for a very, very long time. He understood it intimately, in a way most people would never hope to achieve.

He understood hatred, too.

And yet, the words in that note were almost incomprehensible to him.

They were mockery of a child in pain. A child that was not seen as human. A child that was seen as a threat, a monster.

The man had detailed the security surrounding the child being cut back. Apparently, the kid had some sort of sonic scream. They were removing the muzzle that inhibited it because he had screamed himself hoarse, and he couldn’t make a sound anymore.

He also mentioned that the kid was cut open at least once a day, sometimes multiple times. He was opened up, played with, and sewn back shut.

The man joked that they should just put a zipper on him, so they wouldn’t keep wasting their stitches.

Jason really, really wanted to kill that guy.

The metadata on the note traced back to a newly-bought building in Gotham’s financial district, while the photos both came from Amity Park, Illinois.

Amity Park, Illinois did not exist in any official capacity.

Tim, who had taken the Batplane to check the precise location listed in the metadata, had reported that there was a town there after all, and it was on complete media lockdown from the rest of the world. He hadn’t even been able to use Bat, Justice League, or Young Justice channels to message anyone outside of the city until he left.

Jason had checked the building in the financial district firsthand, and found that the man who had submitted the note had done so while resting on a patrol of the city. He seemed to go there often to avoid his superiors, and Jason found it easy enough to get the drop on him the third time around.

His advanced interrogation techniques hadn’t been enough to get the man to name any locations. Worse, the man definitely recognized Red Hood, and would definitely tell the rest of the GiW about what had happened as soon as he left.

So, Jason did something about that. He couldn’t kill him, unfortunately, so he did the next best thing.

The GiW sent him to a public hospital within a few hours of finding him with shattered hand bones, broken arms, and a throat with near-permanent damage. The man wouldn’t be able to speak for a month at least.

He might never write again.

Jason, having read the note over and over until the words stained the backs of his eyes, thought it was the least he deserved.

Jason sighed, stopping his pacing. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this. If anything, working himself up was only going to lower the chances of him magically coming to a realization about where the kid was or what in the hell was going on.

He walked into the kitchen, popped some leftovers into the microwave, and started them up.

Once they were done, he brought them out to his desk, intending to eat as he continued to work on the GiW case.

When he saw his screen, he froze.

Telegram had been opened to a new chat with someone he had never messaged before.

TooFine: who are you?

TooFine: why are you looking into the giw?

The messages were a couple of minutes old, probably sent while Jason was spiraling pacing. He just stared at the screen, dumbstruck.

Shakily, he responded.

RedDead: How the hell did you get my contact info

Whoever was on the other side of the screen paused for a second. Jason considered sending a quick text to Babs to tell her what was going on, but he decided that he could handle this by himself.

TooFine: got it from the backdoor I put into the giw system.

RedDead: Shit

TooFine: ok your turn

TooFine: why r u looking into the giw? seriously man

RedDead: I don’t have a single reason to tell you. Give me one and I might answer your questions

TooFine paused again. Clearly they both had issues trusting someone over the internet, and rightfully so. What they had both admitted to doing was incredibly illegal, and if someone turned them in, they would be in deep shit.

TooFine: ive been trying to take down the giw since it was created. I can help u if ur honest with me

RedDead: Oh yeah, because no one has ever lied to another person on the internet before

RedDead: But fine

RedDead: I’m looking into them because they’ve been shadowing me for over a month at this point, among other reasons

TooFine: other reasons?

Jason sighed. He shouldn’t have added that. He knew that the other guy would ask, but he said something anyways.

RedDead: They’ve got a kid. I don’t like it when people hurt kids

TooFine: Danny? he’s alive?

RedDead: From what I can tell

So he knew the kid. Or, at least, he was pretending to. It would make sense for him to be cagey about his intentions, and for him to be desperate enough to reach out.

TooFine: oh my god

TooFine: do you know what city? fuck

TooFine: fuck fuck fuck

TooFine: I need to find him man please

RedDead: He’s somewhere in Gotham

RedDead: I’ve been trying to find him for a week now but no dice. They keep everything important on separate servers

TooFine: listen man you’re a good hacker but you’re not as good as me. you need my help if we’re gonna find Danny

RedDead: Okay, what are you trying to get me to agree to?

TooFine: i’m coming to gotham and we’re going to meet up

RedDead: Hell no

RedDead: Stranger danger

TooFine: if I tell u who I am will you say yes

RedDead: ?? How am I supposed to verify if you’re telling the truth

TooFine then sent him what seemed to be a selfie. Jason’s jaw dropped at the kid’s sheer audacity.

RedDead: There’s something seriously wrong with you

TooFine: my name is Tucker Foley. i live in amity park. i’m in 10th grade

RedDead: ???????? WHAT THE HELL

TooFine: i can send u my address too

RedDead: PLEASE DON’T??

RedDead: WHAT’S YOUR FUCKING DAMAGE? DON’T DOXX YOURSELF TO ME

RedDead: WHAT IF I WANTED TO KILL YOU OR SOMETHING? WHAT IF I WAS A FED

TooFine: i have to take that chance.

TooFine: Danny is my best friend. they’ve had him for over a month and no one’s doing anything to help. mr. Lancer was the only one who cared and he gave up after they blackmailed him

TooFine: they’ve had him for OVER A MONTH. I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD.

TooFine: Sam and Jazz and I are coming to gotham and we’re going to find him no matter what it takes

TooFine: you have to help us

Jason considered, for a second, the choices he’d made in his life that had led up to this moment. He also considered, if he was in this kid’s position at his age, if he would be doing the same.

He decided to throw the kid a bone.

RedDead: [4735.jpg]

TooFine: HUH

RedDead: I’m guessing you know me

TooFine: RED HOOD??????

RedDead: No I’m just a very dedicated LARPer

TooFine: am i gonna die for Danny right now

RedDead: If I were literally anyone else, probably

RedDead: But no, you’re not. I’m gonna help you find your friend

TooFine: your username is red dead and you’re. yeah ok

RedDead: Oh come on, it’s funny

TooFine: Danny would love you

RedDead: So Danny clearly has great taste in jokes

TooFine: nope. literally loves puns and wordplay

RedDead: Nevermind

They both paused for a second. Then, Jason had a thought.

RedDead: Wait you’re in the 10th grade and you’re hacking into government databases?

TooFine: please don’t tell my parents.

RedDead: And how are you supposed to explain a sudden vacation to Gotham to your parents?

TooFine: wait so you’ll help me?

RedDead: I really hate to say it but I’m not the best at hacking, and my usual help is busy trying to track down the Joker. So, yep, we’re teaming up

TooFine: LET’S GOOOOOO

RedDead: God. I’m asking a 16 year old to help me take down a government agency and save another 16 year old

RedDead: I feel like the bat

TooFine: oh my god this is awesome. Danny is gonna flip when the actual real-life Red Hood comes to save him.

RedDead: I already regret this

TooFine: too late.

TooFine: btw do u have any place for 2 teenagers and 1 adult teenager to stay in gotham? preferably without dying but yknow.

Jason groaned. He was really, really gonna regret this, and he knew it.

Still, the alternative was some overeager kid dragging two other idiots to Gotham to find their friend and getting themselves killed. At least this way he’d have help, and damn good help at that.

He really was turning into the Bat, wasn’t he?

—

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

{ soooo.... @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe reblogged ONE werewolf post and mentioned steddie in the tags and then... this... happened. It was all spur of the moment with no planning so if you see mistakes and/or plot holes... no you don't. 😬💖 }

Warnings: Billy Hargrove, blood, wound tending, violence, if it needs anymore let me know. ✌🏻

🍒🍒🍒

"I'm completely serious." Eddie says, feet kicked up on.... someone's coffee table. He doesn't remember who's party it is. Jeff nods agreeably next to him, sinking further into the couch.

"No. You've gotta be fucking joking. That would not-" Gareth tries to argue. Eddie cuts him off immediately.

"No seriously. I need a werewolf to take one look at me and go 'I'll have that.' Then claim me as their mate and never let me go." Eddie sighs, the hellfire boys erupting in chaos around him.

Normally, Eddie would join in, cause a ruckus. But he'd frozen after he'd spoken. His eyes glued to one Steve Harrington. Who had been taking a drink and promptly choked on said drink, his eyes wide when they landed on Eddie, beer or some other liquid dribbling down his chin as his cheeks flushed.

He was all the way in the kitchen, his friend Robin chattering away next to him, now wiping at his face. There's no way he could have heard Eddie. Not over the music, and the house full of shouting drunken teenagers.

Eddie watches as he finally tears his eyes away. He watches Steve grab Robin's wrist and yank her out of sight. If Eddie's lip reading was as good as it used to be, he'd said something along the lines of: "Robin. We need to go. Now."

But that didn't make any sense. Eddie was just joking. And Steve was all the way in the other room. Eddie sunk down into the couch, ignoring the way his stomach turned when he heard the front door open and close. There was no fucking way he heard him.

No fucking way.

Unless.

~°~

"Steve Harrington. Is not a werewolf. What the fuck are you even saying?" Gareth was nearly yelling now. They'd been having this conversation for almost an hour and it seemed he was at his wits end.

"Yes he is Gare! Yes he is! I would swear on it." Eddie shouts back, pointing at his friend from his position on the floor, his feet up on the couch next to Jeff. His toes wiggling under his arm every now and again to get warm.

"Swear on what!?" Gareth shrieked, his hands flailing into the air next to his head.

"Werewolves aren't real!" His voice is so squeaky now the neighbors dog has started barking.

"Jeff. Eric. You guys really not gonna help me with this?" He begs, holding his hands out to them, pleading.

"I mean..." Eric drawls, scratching at his ear.

"What?" Gareth asks, eyes narrowed.

"Maybe they are.... There was that thing with Chrissy." Eric says, his voice lilting as he looks in Jeff's direction.

"No. No no no no. We are not talking about that again either. Jeff did not see Chrissy Cunningham drinking blood." Gareth huffs, so frustrated now his face is turning red.

"I know what I saw." Jeff says with a shrug, his hand moving to Eddie's calf and rubbing it rapidly, trying to warm his cold leg for him. Eddie smiled at him and then looked back up at Gareth from the floor.

"He knows what he saw Gare. Chrissy is a fucking vampire. And Steve. Steve Harrington is a fucking werewolf. Possibly. The love of my life. Though that may be a tad unlikely. Given that he almost definitely doesn't like boys." Eddie pouts, and then startles when Gareth stomps over to look straight down at him.

"Oh is it? Is it unlikely because he doesn't like boys? Not because there's no such thing as FUCKING WEREWOLVES!?" Gareth full on yells it. His hands fisting in his hair.

"Gareth Eugene!" His mothers voice calls down the stairs.

"Sorry mom!" He yells back, turns on Jeff and Eddie when the laugh.

"It's not fucking funny. This is ridiculous. You're all ridiculous. It's not real. Fuck you guys." He hisses, keeping his voice low. Jeff and Eddie look at each other, then to Eric, all of them smile and shout,

"Gareth Eugene!" In unison. Gareth screams at them, tosses a few empty chip bags at them and throws himself into the emtpy chair next to Eric.

"You all sound, insane. You know that right?" He asks, sounding calm, and genuine again. Eddie shrugs, Eric laughs.

"Maybe you just need to open your mind?" Jeff suggests, brushing chip crumbs from his shirt.

"Open my mind? To vampires and werewolves?" He asks, arms crossed over his chest with a huff.

"Yes. Because if they exist. And mine and Jeff's crushes are one of each. Ugh. Shit." Eddie curses, his shoulder bumping the small table as he rights himself, slides his legs off the couch and kneels by the table instead.

"We could literally live our dreams." Eddie pleads, his fingers laced in front of him.

"Your dream. I don't have a dream about dating a vampire. Just dating Chrissy." He sighs, his eyes going glassy. Eddie waves him off, not even looking at him.

"I could literally live my dream. My dream of having a smoking hot werewolf boyfriend who wants to mark me and breed me and keep me forever." Eddie whines, Eric and Gareth both groaning at Eddie's details. Jeff gives no reaction, lost in  his thoughts about  Chrissy.

"You're crazy man. There are not secret supernatural creatures all over Hawkins. Is the whole basketball team werewolves? Is this fucking Teen Wolf? You think Steve is just gonna wolf out at the next game?" Gareth asks, his voice rising again. Eddie plops down onto his butt, elbows resting on the little table, chin in his hands.

"God that'd be great wouldn't it?" He sighs, eyes focusing over Eric's head like he can see it.

"Hey!" Gareth snaps his fingers in front of Eddie's face.

"Rude." Eddie swats at his hand.

"And who's next? Huh? Tommy and Carol? That dick Hargrove?" Gareth shoves a chip into his mouth chewing angrily. Eddie grimaces.

"Hargrove is not supernatural." Eddie shakes his head.

"He's a supernatural dick. Like... his asshole levels are way off the charts." Jeff chimes in, sinking to the floor next to Eddie and taking a swig of Eddie's mountain dew, Eddie nods in agreement.

"Yeah. He's definitely a peice of shit. But not in a supernatural way. Probably good. Honestly. Can you imagine?" Eddie's nose scrunches before he takes a drink as well. Even Gareth groans in agreement.

It's quiet for a moment. None of them talking. The occasional chip crunching or bag rustling, the pop of a soda can being opened. All of them just sitting, thinking, loudly, but in silence. And then Gareth breaks it, and his steadfast denial of it all.

"Okay. But seriously, if they're were vampires and werewolves in Hawkins we'd know about it! That's not something that could be kept secret." His voice is low now, his eyes moving over the boys around him.

"Is it?" He asks, looking slightly worried.

"I dunno. This town does have a long history of unexplained animal attacks." Eric chimes in, the three other heads in the room turn to look at him, slowly.

"What? I like history." He defends. They all go quiet again, for longer.

Eddie moving a few things here and there on the table. Jeff moving them right back just to frustrate him. Both of them slapping at each other. It devolves into a small wrestling match that Eddie wins by going completely limp on top of Jeff.

"Okay." Gareth breaks the silence again. Eddie and Jeff shuffle around, separating themselves from each other, ending up in the opposite spots as before, they notice, frown at each other, and then shrug, looking to Gareth again.

"Okay?" They ask, at the same time.

"Okay." Gareth nods, but holds his finger up at them. Their brows raised on their foreheads as they wait.

"But Steve Harrington. Is not cool enough. To be a fucking werewolf."

~°~

One week, three days, and ten hours later. The morning after the full moon. Eddie nearly hits Steve Harrington with his van.

Rain is pouring from the sky, his wipers on high, barely helping. He's heading for school, Wayne had sent him off on time after a nice plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

He didn't have any tests or quizzes today. And he'd actually remembered to do his homework. The morning was going well.

That's when the body appeared in the road just past his vision. He slammed on the breaks and had never been so happy that he'd been ripped off and over paid for new breakpads last month. The van skids to a halt, his headlights shining on the person, the naked person, in the road.

"What the fuck?" Eddie breathed. He slammed the van into park, grabbed the keys out, and jumped out into the pouring rain. He stopped, grabbed a blanket out of the back, that normally covered Gareth's drums when they traveled, and ran around the front of the van.

"Holy shit." Eddie felt like he'd been punched.

"Hi Eddie." Steve Harrington, naked, wet, waving up at him with a wiggly fingered wave, and holy shit was that blood.

"Is that blood?" Eddie blurts, his hands already shaking.

"Yeah." Steve says, like it's fine, like it's normal.

"Shit did I hit you?" Eddie falls to his knees, holds the blanet out to Steve. He eyes it, looks back to Eddie.

"You're naked." He says. Steve closes his eyes, sighs.

"Right. Thanks." He grabs the blanket, drags it around his waist as he tries to stand. The second he puts pressure on his leg he starts to fall again. Eddie ducks under his arm and catches him. Doing his best to ignore the way Steve's warm, wet, skin feels under his hands.

"Hospital?" He asks, helping Steve to the passenger door. Steve levels him with a look that tells him he should know better.

"Right. Okay. Sorry. Jeez. You just- You're bleeding kind of a lot dude." Eddie huffs, helps Steve into the van and grabs a towel from the glovebox.

His brows furrowed, he presses it to the very large fucking hole, in Steve's leg. He doesn't even flinch, his eyes locked on Eddie, and his slow, gentle movements. Steve's hand settling over his makes his whole body jerk.

"Thanks. I can do that." Steve says, softly. Eddie doesn't let go.

"You gotta put pressure on it." He says, eyes locked on the red seeping into the towel.

"I will." Steve nods, squeezes Eddie's wrist, trying to get his attention.

"Eddie?" He squeezes again, Eddies eyes move up his arm to his face.

"Yeah?" His eyes are wide.

"We gotta get outta here." Steve's own eyes widen, waiting for Eddie to understand. It doesn't take long. He whips his head around, trying to see into the trees around them, his hair completely soaked now, his bangs drooping into his eyes.

"Shit. Okay." He nods, turns back to Steve, hands over the towel to him and nods again.

"Okay. I got it." He says, not sure if he's talking to himself or Steve. Steve nods, fucking smiles, at him, and lets him shut the door.

Eddie runs around the van, jumps back in, starts her up, gets her turned around carefully, and drives.

"Did someone shoot you man?" Eddie asks after a moment, Steve groans as he presses the towel to his leg, hard, his knuckles going white.

"Yep. Sure did." Steve sounds... nonplussed. Like it's just, a normal fucking Tuesday. Which it isn't. It's very much not a normal Tuesday. Because Steve Harrington got shot. And now he's in Eddie's van bleeding. And besides all that it's fucking Friday.

Eddie's hands tense on the wheel, his own knckles white now as well. He's nodding. Just absently. His head knows Steve answered him, can't seem to from words to make his own answer just yet.

"You okay Eddie?" Steve asks, tugging the blanket around his waist more with his free hand. Eddie just keeps nodding.

"Where are you taking me?" Steve asks, seems to realize he wasn't going to get an answer to the previous question.

"Home." Is all Eddie says. He glances to his right, Steve's eyes are on him.

"Wayne'll know what to do. He'll help." Eddie nods, his eyes back on the road.

"He'll help." He says again, to no one in particular. Steve nods, bites his lip when pain shoots through his leg, doesn't quite manage to stiffle the groan of pain.

"Who fucking shot you Steve?" It's the first time he's used Steve's name, maybe ever, to his face at least. Steve snorts, it sounds like a laugh.

"Fucking Hargrove." He grunts, presses harder on his leg. Eddie's head whips to look at him, his wet hair slapping against his face.

"What? Shit. Really?" He asks, rapid fire. Steve closes his eyes and nods.

"Eyes on the road Ed's." Steve's lips turn up in a smile right before Eddie looks away, his eyes are still closed.

"Covered his scent somehow. I didn't smell him. Or hear him. Fucking asshole." Steve slams his fist against the dash, Eddie jumps, his whole body twitching, he refused to acknowledge the yelp that came out of his mouth.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Steve breathes deeply through his nose, like he's trying to stay calm.

"It's okay. I'd be pissed too if Billy Hargrove fucking shot me." Eddie says, quickly, the words falling out of his mouth faster than he can think them. Steve snorts again, and Eddie's sure he is laughing, as well as he can, through the pain.

"Wait, he drives that blue camero right?" Eddie asks, eyes locked on his rear view mirror.

"Yeah. Why?" Steve follows his gaze, then looks into the side mirror.

"Shit." He says, trying to sit up further, or turn around, or something.

"Put the seat back and lay down." Eddie says, his hand pointing across Steve's lap to the little lever on the side.

Steve does as he's told, the seat going nearly flat. Eddie reaches behind his seat and grabs his backpack, sets it genlty in Steve's lap. Anyone passing would just be able to see the top of it.

He pushes his tape back into the tapedeck and cranks the volume. His fingers drumming and his head bobbing to the music as Billy's car rumbles up behind them, fast. Eddie's lucky he even saw it at all in the rain.

He keeps his eyes forward, fingers drumming. Pretends not to notice Hargove's car pull along side him for a moment. He twitches his head to the side, does a double take and then scowls at him, motioning to the open road ahead of them. Clearly telling Hargrove to fucking pass him already.

He does. Flipping Eddie the bird as he goes. He does a u-turn in the middle of the road and speeds back past them, the water from his tires splashing across Eddie's windshield.

He flips the wipers back up and keeps his eyes on Billy's car until it disappears back into the rain. He grabs his bag off Steve's lap and sets it by his feet instead as Steve sits up with a groan. Pulling the lever again so the seat comes with him.

"That was pretty good." Steve sighs, leaning against the window. Eddie turns his music down.

"Don't sound so suprised. I sell drugs man. I have to act natural a lot. Plus, he almost ran me off the road last month, I was pretty sure he'd try and pass me anyway." Eddie shrugs, keeps both hands on the wheel and one eye on the road behind them.

"Why'd he shoot you?" Eddie asks, glancing at Steve and then back to the road. He'd swear Steve was smiling.

"Why do you think?" He asks, sounds tired. Eddie rolls to a stop at a four way, looks over at Steve, down to the towel on his leg soaked with blood. He pulls away slow, they're so close to home now, no need to draw attention.

"He doesn't know it's me, I don't think. Just that he shot a wolf. He's been trying since he got here. Hunting us." Steve sighs, readjustes himself in his seat again.

Eddie swallows, hard, his heart pounding. His knuckles flashing white again as he squeezes the steering wheel. He turns into Forest Hills, his foot that's not on the peddle is shaking now, his knee jumping and jerking.

He pulls up to the trailer slowly, cuts the lights and the engine, and turns slowly in his seat to face Steve.

"You're a werewolf." He exhales into the space between them.

"I'm a werewolf." Steve nods, gives him a pained, toothy, smile. Eddie nods back, keeps nodding, he's lost in it again. The nodding.

Steve's hand patting his cheek snaps him out of it. He jerks again, not used to being touched there, or anywhere, really. He sees Steve pull his hand back, swears he sees hurt in his eyes.

"Sorry. I know it's a lot. But I need to get this bullet out of my leg like, yesterday." Steve sighs, covers the hurt look with another pained smile.

"Right. Yeah. Of course. Hang tight." He pats Steve's knee genlty, hops out of the van, and yells for Wayne.

~°~

They get Steve inside no questions asked. Wayne carries him to the bathroom and sets him on the edge of the tub. Eddie grabs a pair of boxers from his drawer and brings them to Steve.

"Figured you don't wanna be naked while you do that." He shrugs. Steve shrugs back.

"I've done worse things naked." He says, a little smile on his lips. Eddie goes warm all over and nods, bumps into the door frame as he back out of the small room.

He watches Wayne roll his eyes at him. He shakes his head too, crossing his arms over his chest. Eddie mouths 'shut up'at him and goes to kitchen. Wayne walks up beside him while he tries to get Steve's blood out from under his nails.

"Hey." Wayne sets his hand on Eddie's shoulder, he twitches.

"You did good kid. Bringin him here." Wayne's voice is calm. Always calm with Eddie.

He's never heard the man yell, except maybe at the raccoons that live to dig through their trash and toss it all over the yard. Eddie swears he'd heard Wayne call them varmints once. But other than that, he's soft spoken, so different from Eddie's father. Eddie's grateful. Everyday.

"Yeah. He was just out in the road. I almost hit him." Eddie's lip wobbles and Wayne pulls him to his chest, his hand rubbing up and down Eddie's back.

"But you didn't. You stopped. And you saved him, sounds like, so..." he pulls back, cradles Eddie's face.

"Seems to me that's all that matters." He lifts his eyebrows, giving Eddie that look. Eddie nods, a little frantic, licks his lips, looks in the direction of the bathroom.

"Yeah. That's what matters." He nods again, wipes his hands on his shirt. Opens his mouth to thank his uncle when Steve calls his name.

"Go on. Go see to your boy." Wayne tilts his head in Steve's direction.

"Oh my god. He's not my- he can hear you." Eddie hiss/whispers at Wayne. He pulls his lips into his mouth, shrugs, looking like he could not be less sorry. Eddie hisses at him as he walks away, glaring. Wayne laughs behind him and starts a pot of coffee.

"You called?" Eddie teases when he gets to the bathroom, leans agaisnt the doorframe.

"You came." Steve teases back, his eyes locked on Eddie. Eddie flushes again, from head to fucking foot. He clears his throat, rubs at the back of his neck.

"Did you need something?" Eddie asks, his eyes on the floor now. He swears he hears Steve chuckle, but can't risk looking up to find a smiling, teasing Steve, he wouldn't survive it right now.

"Yeah. Two things actually. And you're not gonna like the second one." Eddie's eyes snap to Steve's face, he looks apologetic.

"What is it?" Eddie asks, shoving his hands into her pockets nervously.

"Well the first thing, I need you to call Jim Hopper. Tell him what happened. And that I'm here. And I'm safe. I am safe with you, right Eddie?" Steve looks up at him with wide eyes. Eddie nods, licks his lips, tries to do better.

"Yeah. Course. That thing, earlier? When you touched me. And I flinched." He jerks his head back, motioning behind him, into the past hour.

"That wasn't because of you and your- it wasn't cuz of that. I'm not afraid of you. I'm just not used to people touching me." Eddie babbles, knows that's probably not what Steve meant, probably not why he was asking if he was safe.

But that hurt look kept bouncing around Eddie's head and he had to say it, to tell him it wasn't because of Steve, any part of him. And it pays off, his babbling, for once, because Steve smiles, and his cheeks tint pink, and Eddie could look at that all day.

"Thanks." Steve mumbles, Eddie nods.

"Call Hopper. Got it. And the second thing?" He rocks up onto the balls of his feet and then back down, Steve looks up at him and grimaces.

"I need you to help hold this while I dig the bullet out." Steve taps the little homemade tourniquet he and Wayne had put together, resting right above the bullet wound. Eddie swallows, his throat suddenly very dry.

"O-okay." He stammers.

"Do you want Wayne to do it?" Steve asks, eyeing Eddie like he thinks he's gonna pass out. Eddie shakes his head, once to answer the question, and then again to clear it.

"Lemme go have Wayne call Hopper. And I'll be back. Should I bring more towels?" He asks, hand firmly planted on the doorframe as he leans into the bathroom, his eyes on the bloody towel in the sink.

"Maybe one more. And two glasses of water." Steve says, nods when Eddie does.

"What's the water for?" He asks, brow furrowed.

"To drink. Thought maybe you could use a glass too. I can hear your throat clicking from here." Steve teases, smiling again when Eddie nods frantically and ducks out of the bathroom.

"You can probably hear my throat clicking from across town." He mutters to himself, grabbing two glasses out of the cabinet.

"Not quite that far. Maybe a few blocks, if I really focus." Steve calls from the bathroom.

"Jesus Christ." Eddie mutters, hears Steve laugh. He shakes his head, fills the glasses, gives Wayne his instructions for Hopper, shoves a towel under his arm, and waddles carefully back to the bathroom, hands full.

"There ya go." Eddie hands him a glass, tries not to stare at his throat when Steve chugs it, startles when Steve looks at him and chugs half his own glass.

"Where should I..." he trails off, looking around the bathroom.

"On your knees." Steve points to the space next to him, Eddie obeys immediately, his knees hitting the floor hard. His bites his lip, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, using all his willpower to not look at Steve right now, in this moment.

"That was-"

"Don't. Just- please don't. I'm mortified, can we just..." Eddie waves his hand towards Steve's wounded thigh.

"Mhm. We can." He says, and Eddie swears he sounds like he's trying not to laugh. Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Nothing wrong with obeying orders well." Steve says, his voice hushed as Eddie scoots closer. He freezes, his eyes finally looking up, Steve is staring at him. Eddie gulps, Steve's eyes drop to his throat and jump back up.

"Put your hands here." Steve guides him, shows him where to hold the tourniquet, how to pull but not too tight. His fingers move over the back of Eddie's hands, leaving the faintest tracks of blood on his skin as Steve whispers,

"Good boy." Against Eddie's ear.

"Jesus H Christ." Eddie shutters, his shoulders tensing.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist." And Steve fucking winks at him. Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs, Steve laughs, shakes his head, and then rolls his shoulders.

"You don't have to watch." Steve says, serious now. Eddie nods, but finds he can't look away.

Steve's hand rests on his thigh, as Eddie watches his nails grow dark, and long, and sharp. Thick claws now where his nails used to be. Eddie watches as Steve moves, presses his finger into the hole in his leg and digs. He shoves his thumb in along side it, blood blooms bewteen his fingers and Eddie tightens his hold.

The whimper Steve lets out is what draws Eddie's eyes away. Away from the claws and the blood. They land on Steve's face, his features pinched in pain. He grits his teeth and Eddie sees fangs, too sharp teeth filling Steve's mouth as he groans.

"Steve?" Eddie's voice is airy, his throat tight.

"I'm alright. Almost got it." Steve grunts through his teeth, his jaw clentched.

"Okay. Be careful." Eddie whispers. Steve snorts again, pulls his thumb and finger back out of the wound with a whine, something shiny held between them.

He sags, his body drooping with relief. He holds the bullet out, Eddie moves, slowly lets go of the tourniquet, and holds out his hand.

"Don't lose that." Steve cautions, pausing before he drops it into Eddie's palm. Eddie nods, drops it into the cup near his toothbrush and moves back to Steve's side.

"What now?" He asks, hands hovering, not sure where to land. Steve looks at him, hooks his fingers under the tourniquet and winks at Eddie again.

"Now. I heal." He slips the rags off his leg. Eddie watches as one small pulse of blood bubbles up out of the wound, and then he watches as the edges close, the skin knitting itself back together. Steve wipes a towel over his leg, clearing the blood, and the wound is gone.

"Holy shit." Eddie says, breathless. His eyes jump to Steve face and he smiles.

"You're amazing." He breathes, and then smiles wider when his cheeks tint pink again.

"Ya think so? Most people wouldn't agree." Steve says, but he's smiling too.

"Well most people are idiots. And objectively you're probably weird as shit. But I love weird shit." Eddie shrugs, rubs at his neck when Steve just stares at him, feels himself going red again and stands. Offers his hand to Steve, helps him to his feet. He stumbles forward, Eddie catches him with his hands on his waist, feels his cheeks go impossibly hotter.

"You're hearts always beating so fast. Is that cuz of me?" Steve whispers, his hand settling on Eddie's chest, right over his fluttering heart. Eddie swallows, manages a nod before his resolve leaves him and he steps away from Steve hastily.

"You can shower if you want. I'm gonna- I'll go find you some clean clothes." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, bounces off the doorframe and bolts down the small hallway to his room.

He falls onto the edge of his bed, his legs wobbly, his chest aching, and his lungs somehow not pulling in enough air. He smiles when he hears the shower start, tries not to picture Steve in there showering. And shit, he forgot.

"The warm waters a little tricky. You gotta turn it all the way up and then lower it back down." He says, not too loud, wanting to know if Steve will hear him. He hears the tell squeak of the warm water handle and then Steve calls,

"Thanks!" Through the thin walls. Eddie bites his lip and falls back onto his bed, his head buzzing. He can't wait to tell Jeff. Oh, he sits up, thinking, he should ask about Chrissy. See if Jeff was right. All signs seem to be pointing that way.

He opens his mouth to ask when there's a knock at the door.An aggressive knock. More like someone pounding and trying to get in.

Eddie's up in a flash, but when he gets to the living room Wayne is near the door, his hand held out to Eddie, stopping him.

"It's not Hopper." Wayne mouths, and that's when Eddie sees the gun in his hand. Wayne's old shotgun. He'd only seen it once. When he turned 17, Wayne showed him where it was, and how to load and use it, in case of emergencies only.

Eddie's body tenses, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He can hear the shower running behind him. Hopes Steve is listening too.

"Open the door Munson! I know you've got him in there!" Hargove's taunting voice calls. A shiver runs down Eddie's spine, he shakes his head instinctively. He sees Wayne do the same. His uncle waves him down again, his palm held out towards Eddie, he lowers it slowly: stay calm. Eddie nods.

Wayne opens the door, keeps his shotgun hidden off to the side.

"Ain't nobody here but us. I think you should leave. We don't want any trouble." Wayne tells him calmly, his voice steady as he clicks the saftey off the gun in his hand. Eddie's breathing is shallow. He hears a snort from outside.

"Yeah right. You're Munson's. All you know is trouble. And you stepped in it big this time." Hargrove snarls.

"Now hand over that fuckin monster you got in there. And maybe I won't teach that little freak of yours a lesson for takin what's mine."

Eddie watches Wayne's knuckles go white where they're holding the door, watches the door shake as he grips it tight.

"Police are already on their way boy. You best be on yours before you get hurt." Wayne's voice is still calm. Too calm. Eddie's never heard him sound that way before. He can feel the anger just beneath the surface, his anger boils there too.

Wayne starts to say something else when Hargrove jumps forward, slams his body against the door, almost through it. Wayne stumbles backward, caught off guard just enough for Hargrove to get the drop on him. He grabs Wayne's arm, tugs him forward and headbutts him.

Eddie's stomach twists at the sound, as he watches Wayne fall to the floor. He knows he can't get to the gun. But Hargrove could. Doesn't seem to care about it though. His eyes land on Eddie, cold and empty, his jaw clenched. Eddie turns, makes for his bedroom. He feels Hargrove's hand slam down on his shoulder and screams.

"Steve help m-" Billy's knuckles slam into his cheek, he feels his lip split when his face hits the ground. Feels Hargrove move over him, and then away. His shadow there and then gone, quick as a flash. Eddie looks up, hears a low growl, and sees Hargrove against the wall, his feet almost a foot above the ground, Steve's clawed hand around his throat, holding him there.

His mouth is full of fangs again, his skin covered in fur now, not completely, just a thin layer, and his eyes seem to glow in the low light of the trailer. Eddie scrambles to his knees, hears another growl.

"Touch him again and I willl rip you apart." The words rumble deep in Steve's chest. Hargrove chokes and gags as Steve squeezes him tighter.

"Sounds like a great plan kid. But how bout you let me handle the rest huh?" A new voice. Eddie startles, tries too fast to turn and ends up on his back. Footsteps approach him and he's look up at Sheriff Hopper.

"You alright kid?" He asks, Eddie nods, his chest clenches.

"My uncle-"

"Already back on his feet kid. C'mon." Hopper extends his hand. Eddie takes it, lets the big man yank him to feet easily. Eddie suspects he may be a wolf himself. Or something else.

"Steve. Let him go." Hopper says, slow, like he's talking Steve down. He still has Hargrove against the wall, he's only wearing the boxers Eddie gave him. His skin is all skin again, but his claws are still out, his fangs pushing at his lips, his chest is heaving.

Eddie watches Hopper move toward him, Steve growls, low in his throat, Hargrove struggles as his fingers tighten, Hopper stops.

"Hey. Kid. I know. Alright. I get. He hurt your friend."

Another low growl, deeper, more feral, Steve's brow furrows.

"Oh. Shit. Okay." Hopper sighs, glances at Eddie.

"You're okay right?" He asks, leaning into Eddie's space a bit, Eddie thinks he sniffs him.

"Yeah. I'm okay. I'm good." Eddie nods, his eyes going back to Steve when Hopper's do.

"Your boys okay. Just a split lip. Nothin serious. He's okay." Hopper reassures, takes a few small steps forward. Steve twitches with each one. His grip on Hargrove's throat still tight.

"Steve I'm okay. You can let go now." Eddie tries. He watches the muscles in Steve's arm relax, but only a little. Eddie shakes his head, makes a decision. He steps forward, dodges Hopper when he reaches for him.

"Kid don't-"

"It's fine." Eddie dismisses. He walks up to Steve, gets close, Eddie moves his hand over his arm slowly, letting Steve feeling him.

"I'm right here. I'm okay." He soothes, fingers pressing into Steve's hot skin. But it works, his body relaxes, he loosens his hold on Hargrove, lets him slide down the wall til his feet touch the floor, but doesn't let go.

"Fuckin'... freak." Hargrove gasps, glaring at Eddie, eyes full of hate.

"Shut up." Eddie and Steve speak in unison, but Steve yanks him forward, then slams him back. His head hits the wall and Steve lets him go. He falls to floor, unconscious.

Steve turns to Eddie then, teeth too big for his mouth. His lips pushed out in a pout around his fangs, and he whines, his hand lifting to touch Eddie's lip, his claws receding back into his nails before his fingers touch Eddie.

He licks the blood from Eddie's lip off his fingers and then grabs for him, pulling him against his chest with a whine, clinging to him as he nuzzles into Eddie's neck. Eddie gulps, wraps his arms around Steve slowly, awkwardly, does his best to hold on. To soothe him.

Once Steve's calmed a bit he pulls back. Eddie looks down, Billy's body is gone. He turns to look behind him, Wayne and Hopper are sitting on the couch, watching some old movie. Eddie's brow furrows. How fucking long had Steve been holding onto him?

"Sorry. I didn't mean to, like, trap you." Steve clears his throat. Eddie turns back to him, he looks embarrassed. Eddie smiles, cups his cheek.

"It isn't a trap if it's somewhere I wanna be. Is it?" Steve looks uncertain for a moment, his eyes darting around Eddie's face, looking for something, Eddie's sure. He either finds, or doesn't, because he smiles so brightly it nearly blinds Eddie.

"Really?" He asks, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Yeah. Kinda had a crush on you since like, fuckin forever. Seventh grade or something stupid." Eddie shrugs.

"Fifth grade." Wayne calls from the couch, Eddie rounds on him, he hadn't even looked away from the tv.

"Oh my god what does it matter! Bud out would you? I'm having a moment!" Eddie hisses, watches Wayne smile into his cup of coffee. He opens his mouth to snark some more but Steve's hand turning his face back to him stops him.

"Fifth grade?" Steve asks. Eddie rolls his eyes, sighs, nods.

"Yeah."

"Wha- Why?"

"You gave me a rock." Eddie huffs, bites into his lip.

"I gave you..." Steve gasps, his hands moving to Eddie's waist and tugging.

"I gave you a rock!" He says, excited. Eddie nods.

"I know. I was there." He rolls his eyes, teasing. Steve looks at him, for a long moment.

"Did you keep it?" He sounds so hopeful. Behind them, Wayne snorts and then clears his throat. Eddie groans, loud, and long. Wayne and Hopper both chuckle.

"Of course I kept it. I'm a big gay loser and a pretty boy gave me a rock. It's on my nightstand." Eddie admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat.

But then Steve is nuzzling against his cheek and he decides he doesn't care if he's a loser. That pretty boy was a werewolf, and apparently this werewolf thinks of Eddie as his. And he could definitely get used to that.

"You kept it." Steve hums, presses his nose into Eddie's throat and nearly fucking purrs with delight, his chest rumbling against Eddie's, making his heart flutter.

"Alright kid. We gotta get this sorted. Get that bullet. We'll get this delt with. And you can come back here and... well you can come back here. The rest is none of my business." Hopper declares, clapping his hands once, as he stands and moves to the door.

Steve pulls back, nods, and ducks back into the bathroom. Eddie brings him some clothes and then he's gone. Riding away in Hoppers cruiser, an unconscious Billy Hargrove in the backseat, bound and gagged, for good measure.

Wayne moves to stand beside him as he watches them drive away. His arm wraps around Eddie's shoulders and tugs him close.

"Rough day kid." Wayne says, giving him a squeeze.

"Yeah. Not all bad though." Eddie considers, drops his head on Wayne's shoulder.

"Definitely not. C'mon," Wayne gives his shoulder a pat.

"Let's get this house cleaned up before your boy gets back."

Eddie nods, follows him back inside, and starts cleaning. There's woodchips all over the hallway, Steve had shattered the door coming out to help Eddie and Wayne. Eddie suppresses a shiver at the thought.

But has trouble not thinking about the way Steve had been so mad because Billy had hurt him, hurt Eddie. Not his friend. He'd been mad about that word too. Not his friend. Just his.

Eddie swept the floor and tidied his room and let the feeling of being Steve's surround him. Let it fill his head and his chest. Let it lift him up off the floor, his body floating when he finally fell into bed to wait for Steve. His Steve.

~°~

Eddie wakes to gentle hands on his shoulder. He lets go of his pillow and rolls to find Steve, on his knees on the matress behind him. He scrambles to sitting, hands reaching for Steve, met with Steve's own out stretched hands.

"You came back." Eddie mumbles, still drowsy. Steve smiles, soft.

"Course I did. Nowhere else I'd rather be." He whispers, presses forward, his face so so close.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, Eddie feels his breath rush over his skin.

"You want too?" Eddie asks, because his brain still hasn't quite caught up, isn't sure this isn't just a dream.

"Eddie." Steve says name the way no one ever has, all longing and need, curled at the edges from exasperation.

"Yeah Steve?" Eddie's trembling now, his hands shaking in his lap. Steve takes them in his, like he can read Eddie's mind.

"I've wanted to kiss you for awhile now. Even before I heard what you said at that party." Steve whispers the last bit, his mouth curving into a smirk, his eyes twinkling. Eddie's own eyes widen and then squeeze shut as he groans, takes his hands from Steve's and hides his face.

"You did hear me. I knew it oh my goooodddd." He rolls onto his back, rolling side to side on the bed, bumping Steve with his thighs everytime he rolls toward him. The laugh Eddie's dramtics pull out of Steve is beautiful, it makes Eddie feel like flying.

He drops his hands to his stomach and looks up at Steve. Steve looks right back, his eyes soft, his mouth curved just so in a small smile.

"I wanna kiss you so bad Steve." Eddie admits, his fingers drumming on his stomach. Steve's nose scrunches.

"Yeah? You sure?" Eddie tilts his head, trying to read the sudden change in Steve. His confidence seeming to fail him.

"Did you think I would genuinely say no to you?" Eddie asks, pushing himself up to sitting, so he can see Steve better. Steve picks at a loose thread on Eddie sheet, lifts one shoulder, drops it again.

"Who the fuck could say no to you?" Eddie wonders aloud, just a breathed out question.

"Not everyone can love a monster." The words fall past Steve's lips with sadness, his voice thick with it. Eddie's heart aches for him.

"Hey. You're not a monster." Eddie shakes his head, Steve levels him with such a bitchy look, it nearly takes Eddie's breath away. He snorts and holds up his hands in surrender.

"Okay. Okay tech-... technically you- you are a monster." Eddie rests his hands on Steve's knees.

"Like in the, literal, old movie wolfman monster, definition. Then yes. Sure. You're a monster." Eddie shrugs, shakes Steve's knees until he's wobbling back and forth with Eddie.

"But that doesn't mean you're a monster." Eddie shakes his head.

"And hey, even if you are. You've come to the right place. Eddie Munson, monster fucker extraordinaire!" He does a little jazz hands display before pointing at himself. He can see Steve fighting a smile.

"I mean not that I've... fucked a monster... before..." he trails off, eyes on the ceiling, thinking. He snaps his fingers, points at Steve.

"But I am willing! And hopefully," he wiggles his fingers in Steve's direction,

"Able." He smiles awkwardly, his eyes dropping to Steve's crotch and then back up, his cheeks flushing when Steve raises his eyebrows at him.

"Willing and able. That's me." Eddie points both his thumbs at himself, Steve's lip twitches. Eddie clasps his hands in front of him.

"Please say something so I can stop talking." Eddie begs through a helpless breathy laugh. Steve drags his teeth over his lower lip and shakes his head slowly, moves closer, presses into Eddie's space.

"No... you're not gonna say anything? Or no... umm... wh- what did I say after that?" Eddie stammers as Steve keeps moving, one hand on Eddie's chest, pressing him back into the matress, the other ending up near Eddie's head, supporting Steve as he hovers over Eddie.

"I like when you talk." Steve says, tossing his leg over Eddie, sitting on his thighs. Eddie nods, feeling a little frantic.

"Oh well thats good. Cuz I'm notorious for not knowing when to shut the fuck up. Now being one of those times I fear. Pretty sure. My mouth literally will not stop moving." The nervous laugh that comes out of him just makes Steve smile more, but it's different, sharp at the edges. Eddie realizes what the look is and gulps, Steve leans over him, chest to chest now, nose to nose. He looks hungry.

"I'm almost certain I can find something that will shut you up." Steve fucking purrs, his finger dragging down over Eddie's lips, his hand moving to cup Eddie's cheek. Eddie's eyes flick down between them and then back up.

"I mean we gotta try right? There's gotta be somethin- mmphf! Mmmm." Steve kisses him, presses his lips to Eddie's like he's trying to swallow his words. Eddie hums into it, hands moving to Steve's neck, his shoulders, his back. His hands move everywhere, feather light touches, not sure where to land. Steve pulls back, rests his forehead against Eddie's.

"I really like you." He sighs, his eyes squeezed tight, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. Eddie watches him, eyes closed, trying to stay calm.

"I really like you too. That's why I kept the rock. And the bird you drew me in seventh grade." Steve's eyes open, he looks down at Eddie, brow furrowing.

"And the poem you wrote  freshman year, about wanting to be a wolf." Eddie leans up, presses his lips to Steve's forhead.

"Kinda cheated on that one didn't ya?" Eddie whispers, wraps his arms around Steve as he settles in his lap. Steve gasps when Eddie kisses down his neck.

"I kept the sweatshirt you gave me at the football game too.Sophomore year. It's tucked away in my closet." He kisses back up, eyes closing on a hum as Steve pushes his hands up under Eddie's shirt, needing to touch him.

"I used to take it out and just hold it. And smell it. But it stopped smelling like you. Years ago." Eddie breathes against his lips, Steve whimpers into his mouth.

"I like you so much." Eddie whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve's lips.

"You being a werewolf isn't gonna change that." He kisses Steve's cheeks, his left one twice, once for each freckle.

"If anything, it will make my feelings, monumentally stronger. Like it'll be disconcerting. It's gonna make people uncomfortable." He kisses Steve's eyelids as he laughs, squirms in Steve's arms when his hands work their way into the back of his pajama pants.

"I'm gonna be obsessed with you." Eddie whispers, kissing down Steve's nose and across his lips again. Steve whines again, chases his lips, Eddie puts two fingers across them, to shush him, groans when Steve pulls them into his mouth and sucks, his cheeks hollowing as he blinks at Eddie, eyes hooded and needy.

"Jesus okay. There's is- there is a 'but' coming." Eddie gasps, Steve smirks around his fingers but lets them go.

"What's the but?" Steve asks, pouting as he moves his hands up Eddie’s back again. Eddie snorts and kisses his cheek again.

"I just-" he stops, takes a deep breath. His stomach twisting. He feels Steve's hand on his chest and opens his eyes, Steve tilts his head like a puppy.

"Your hearts beating fast again." He says, quiet, like he's talking to himself.

"I'm nervous." Eddie says, straight to the point. Steve tilts his head the other way.

"Nervous to be with me?" Steve's thumb soothes over Eddie's chest, through his shirt.

"Nervous cuz- I've never done this." Eddie bites his lip.

"I kinda figured you were a virgin ya know." Steve shrugs, noses at Eddie's neck. Eddie puts his hands on Steve's chest and pushes him back genlty.

"Umm... excuse me?" Eddie scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips.

"What? Virgins smell different." Steve says, like it's a normal thing to say.

"Ew. What? Why?" Eddie asks, his fingers tangling in Steve shirt as he laughs, his arms winding around him and pulling him closer.

"Dunno. Never asked. It's just true. You smell so good anyway but that part," Steve shivers, looks down at him.

"It's just sweet. You smell sweet." Steve smiles down at him, kisses his cheek, runs his fingers over the spot after.

"Okay well, that's all... a lot of information. But what I meeeeant," Eddie drawls, poking Steve in the chest.

"Is that I've never been in a relationship before. Like, not a real one. Not like this. And I'm just scared I guess. Cuz you're like, a fucking dream." Eddie sighs, Steve smiles.

"And I have a very long history of categorically fucking up everything good that happens to me. And I don't wanna do that here. With you. I want-" Eddie frowns, Steve moves, pulls them to the bed and rolls them, so they're facing each other.

"What do you want?" Steve asks, his fingers moving over Eddie's forhead, soothing the frown and then moving into his hair.

"I want you. I want to keep you." Eddie worries at his lip, Steve moves his thumb over it, drags it from between Eddie's teeth and soothes over the hurt.

"I wanna keep you too. We don't have to do anything right now. I just needed to be with you. After today." Steve says, shrugs his shoulder and curls closer.

"We can just- do this? Just be together?" Eddie asks, hesitant, his eyes falling closed as Steve hums,

"Mhm. We can just hold each other." Steve moves his fingers deeper into Eddie's hair, pulls him to his chest. Eddie clings to him, arms wrapped tight, hears that fucking rumble in Steve's chest again.

"Are you actually purring or does it just sound like it?" Eddie mumbles sleepily into Steve's chest. He feels him laugh, feels him pull Eddie impossibly closer.

"Hopper refuses to call it that. But I like it. I've only done it once before today though." Steve sighs, Eddie perks up, rests his chin on his arms and looks at Steve.

"When was the other time?" Eddie asks, eyes blinking slowly. Steve reaches up, tucks Eddie's hair behind his ear.

"With my friend Robin. You know her. From band." Eddie nods. Steve nods back.

"Yeah well. I came out to her last year and she was so excited, and happy, and accepting. She made me a cake. I mean it was terrible. But she made it just for me." Steve laughs, Eddie smiles down at him, waiting for more.

"And after, she told me she was proud of me. And that she loved me. And that's when it happened. I think it happens when you find your people. Like, my wolf just knows, when it's right." Steve's eyes won't stay on him, and he looks nervous again.

"She's like your platonic soulmate huh?" Eddie asks, pushing his finger around Steve's chest, drawing little nothings here and there. But he feels the tension leave Steve, feels him relax underneath him.

"Yeah. She is." He nods, eyes locked on Eddie now, his are shining with tears. Eddie nods, scoots a little closer, further up Steve's chest.

"I have one too. Jeff. He's in Hellfire with me. We're like two trippy peas in a far out pod." Steve scrunches his nose, lifts his head and kisses Eddie, sweet and soft.

"Thanks for understanding." Steve breathes.

"Sure. Give me enough time and I can understand anything. That ones easy though. I'm glad you have someone like that too." Eddie drops back down onto Steve's chest, gets comfy.

An hour later Steve manhandles him onto his side and presses up against his back, arms wrapped around Eddie like vines, keeping him close. Eddie shivers at being tossed around, even more at being held like he's something precious. He feels Steve smirk into his neck, feels that rumble again.

He smiles into Steve's arm, presses his lips to his skin and lets himself fall asleep, feeling loved, and wanted, and like he belongs to someone.

~°~

Eddie finds out later that Jeff was right. Chrissy absolutely is a vampire. And a good friend of Steve's. Eddie, Steve, and Robin may or may not parent trap them into several ridiculous situations before Chrissy finally tells them her and Jeff have been dating for almost three weeks now.

Eddie swears he knew. Steve can hear him lying. But let's him have it anyway. Robin refuses to let it go and constantly claims that the first time she meddled was three weeks ago which means she got them together which means she wins the bet.

Eddie remains unaware that there was even an actual bet going on. He just thought they were trying to make their friends happy. Steve can hear him telling the truth, and loves him for it.

Steve holds Eddie close almost every night, so so glad he heard Eddie talking at that party. And so so glad he'd told Robin, two weeks before that party, that he was gonna ask Eddie out. That he wanted to keep him forever.

She'd made fun of him of course. Eddie Munson? Really? But Steve had pressed on. Something about that sweet smell drawing him in.

And even after Steve claims him. Even after Eddie is his and no one elses. To Steve, he still smells so sweet, like the first rain of spring. Likes Steve's favorite fruit. Like Steve's. Like home.

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[mizartz]

a deep sea danny for mermay~

i got inspired by @meowmeowmeowmeow4x's lovely fic, Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun! I don't think my depiction of danny is completely accurate to the story, but i looooved the description of his transparent skin with visible bones and organs and wanted to give it a shot!

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i'm suddenly thinking about rockstar!eddie shooting a music video on some naval ship and meeting actual sailor!steve who's all dressed up in his whites 'cause eddie's a big name star and the captain said everyone had to look their best and eddie immediately folding for the pretty guy in uniform

just: eddie wanting a couple of the guys to act in the video 'cause hopefully then they'd actually know what they're doing, and asking the capt to point out his most competent sailor. the capt immediately points out one of his low-ranking ensigns (like, brand new baby officer 'cause that's the kinda shit an officer would pull) and eddie, having been raised by wayne (who i'm hc-ing as a navy vet) knows better and is immediately like "No sir, I said your most competent, not your least. someone point me to THE second class. Where's he? I need an enlisted guy." and a higher-ranking chief that's been following the band around the ship all day bellows out a laugh and says "You're gonna want Harrington, Mr. Munson."

idk idk, it's niche but for some reason my mind went into the cold clammy depths of my time in the navy this morning and i was like 'NOPE! don't wanna dwell here, make it fun! make it about the blorbos so you dont get sad!!' lmao

[ramssby]

I love snarry fics set in 8 year were Snape survived but he feels wretched and lost by the fact of having to continue living and then some shit with Potter happens and he is like:

[lokissweater]

OH !! HAHA … so what if i said the new gojo fic coming is literally 22k words 😐

[kettlefire]

Time forgets most (DPxDC)

I've been getting too many brain worms that I need to clear out the cramp space that is my idea vault. In doing so, I'm just posting off-handed, random things I've typed up at work. (Partly so my drafts don't just end up like my vault). Without further ado, a much too too long post

°•°•°•°

The movement of time is a much too complex thing for many to understand. The knowledge that time was not perfectly linear. The past did not simply stay in the past. The future is not simply something to look forward to. The present is not simply a fleeting moment.

Time is a complex web. Every point in time, connected to another point in time. A never-ending mess of webs and connections. Things that are to be. Things that can be. Things that are being. Things that will never see the light of day in this universe.

Despite what some may want to believe, Time has no master. Time does not yield to any singular being. That did not mean that Time didn't need a helping hand. A guiding hand to help keep the chaos of time to something just a little more... fluid.

The being came to exist well before the universe had. The being was festered, taught, and nurtured in a small pocket dimension. A small space just like an incubator.

Until the world blossomed around it. Life started to grow. Time kept moving. Living organisms found untimely deaths. Evolved, learned, and grew into the new space around it.

When the first little creature crawled out of the water, Time's keeper was let free. A bumbling little thing, breaming with life and curiosity.

Just like everything else in the world, this keeper wasn't safe from time. It still moved. Brought forth problems and adventures.

As time continued to tick. Moving in every direction, the keeper continued to age. Unlike the rest of the universe, the keeper didn't age the same as others.

Some days, he was nothing but a small boy, frolicking in a field of flowers and bees. Other days, he was a strong middle-aged man. Pulling the strings in just the right way, pushing for a timeline that felt right.

On days that have been happening much more often. He was but a crippled old man, hunched over his staff, and dropping much needed wisdom on the young lives around him.

Being the keeper of time wasn't an easy feat. Being completely out of time, experiencing things in broken order. There was only a clear start, and a jumble of things that followed.

The keeper was content with his life. Watching over the world as it grew and blossomed. He was content with his special kind of solitude.

That was until he saw the boy. In the webs of moments, the keeper's gaze had found him. A boy much too young, suddenly with powers much too great thrusted upon him.

The keeper watched the scenes play out. The tears, laughter, humiliation, triumph, and pain. He watched as the boy's family was ripped from him. Watched the twisted attempt at fixing his life, only for it to go horribly wrong.

He watched the bloodshed and chaos that erupted. The lives ripped apart and destroyed. Not a single sign of life left behind.

Then he watched as the boy, no, not a boy anymore. The keeper watched as the monster tore through the fabric of time. Ripped its way through the thin veils that divided the universes.

Universes that had never known the boy's existence were torn to shreds to. A flight driven with pain and anger.

Despite the keeper having seen the boy turn into such a monster. He could see it in the beast's eyes. The deep-seated need for a family, a life. To be loved.

Something about the boy's life, his story, spoke to the keeper. He found himself reaching out into the web of lives and moments. Finding the moment when things went the most wrong for the boy.

Just like that, the keeper had inserted himself into a life. He pulled the boy out of the cruel stream of time. Filled the boy with the knowledge he needed. Let the boy see just what could happen if he let it.

The keeper of time was soon a simple mentor. A simple deity looking out for the world. Taking on the mantel of Clockwork and finding a new purpose for his life.

A young boy's life has been flipped upside down two times now. And there were certainly more to come. This time, the boy wasn't alone. He had a guiding hand, and a communtiy behind him.

The keeper, no, Clockwork watched with a strange pride and happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. The boy was quickly surrounded by a family that helped him navigate his new powers.

Clockwork, alongside many of the other ghostly beings, watched on with pride as the young boy grew into a strong young man. Mastering powers, taking a stand, and making their home safe.

Despite the best efforts, time always beings problems.

It was one thing for Clockwork. He was the keeper of time. His life has reason to exist as long as time exists. Which will always be. His purpose was infinite.

But this boy... Danny wasn't like Clockwork. He was still partially human and terrified of losing his humanity. Danny's story had to come to an end, it's how time works.

Except, Danny wasn't in the timeline anymore. Clockwork had ensured that, pulled Danny into a separate timeline. An unaccounted for timeline.

He couldn't live here forever, not the way that Clockwork could. Danny needs a life, a family, a place, a purpose. He was still human.

It took more effort than Clockwork would have liked. He had to cash in favors from other deities that he hadn't spoken to in centuries.

It took a combined effort of everyone who cared for the little halfa. The strange boy that teeter on the line between life and death. The boy who had freed the Zone from a tyrant. Who wanted nothing more than for everyone to live a happy and filled life/afterlife.

Getting the magic and spells right was the hard part. But finding the location was easy. A beautiful planet just on the edge of the Milky Way. Unlikely to be disturbed or hurt.

The planet was undiscovered, primative even. Far enough from humans that Clockwork was certain Danny wouldn't be bothered. Only one species lived on that planet. Along the jungle like fauna, and in the water.

Cute little guys, barely bigger than two feet long and one foot tall. There was no name, no knowledge about them. Aside from Clockwork analyzing their way of life.

A simple cycle. They were born, they aged, they played, fed, mated, and then died. A simple but content life.

The aliens weren't unsettling. At least not to anyone who has seen more creatures than what Earth has to offer. It is a strange combination between frog, fish, and squid.

Scurrying around on two legs and four tentacles. A small frog-like face with eyes that seemed to take up half that space. Colors vary from blues to greens to the same sandy brown found at the bottom of the lakes.

Before long, the planet had its own protector. A young boy who once was lost and alone seemed to meld perfectly with these aliens.

Clockwork was always sure of himself. He never let anyone see otherwise. Except, Clockwork hadn't been sure. Not when he had performed the ritual.

As he molded and changed Danny's DNA until the man was a new being entirely. To anyone who didn't know the full story, the boy could easily look related to the aliens.

Gills now painted the sides of his neck, not necessary, but Clockwork felt like it had been. Webbed hands and feet to make transversing the underwater caves even easier. An ethereal, almost siren-like touch to Danny.

It worked out perfectly. Danny settled in easily. Building a routine and bound with the aliens. It hadn't been hard for the little creature to take a liking to him.

Before long, it was routine. Danny would spend most of his time on the planet, watching over his new wards. On some days, he'd portal back to the zone. Spend time with the ghosts and deities that saved his life. To check in on the new govermental system that had been put in place.

It was perfect. Simple and nice. Everyone got complacent. The longer time went on without a hiccup or a problem. The longer Danny was able to rest in his odd solitude. The more people got comfortable.

The more they forgot that time was as cruel as it was forgiving.

It had been just another day cycle. Danny was playing with the most recent litter birth. The first time he had seen the birth, he was more disgusted than anything else.

After the third time, Danny had started getting excited. He looked forward to it. Loved seeing the aliens flourish and grow. Watching them thrive and find more fun in the things Danny creates. Every new fun game or obstacle was always made with the things natural to the planet. Or debris that was caught in its gravitational pull.

Danny was playing with Plop. The little guy got his name, and he always plopped out of the water. Unlike the other aliens, this one didn't crawl out. No, he'd pull himself out of the water with his tentacles, only to plop down on the ground.

Of course, Plop had also been the first alien to approach Danny when he arrived. It's how they formed such a strong bond.

Everything had seemed perfectly fine. The day was rolling along just like it always did. That was until a small group of the more elder aliens suddenly came scurrying into their main cave.

They hadn't waited a second before diving into the water. Danny watched, confused and concerned, as each one of them grabbed one of the young. Before shooting straight into the underwater cave system.

The once bustling and living cave was suddenly eerily quiet and void of any aliens. Leaving behind only the confused Danny in the pool.

At least that's what a certain Green Lantern saw when he followed the trail of retreating aliens.

This planet had been categorized to have no signs of intelligent life. It seemed to have the option to nurture life, but there had been no signs.

When Hal Jordan got word of a seeming spike of activity from the supposedly empty planet, he had added it to his rooster.

A quick peek, just a look into what kind of life might be starting to grow there. The little aliens he had seen were adorable, sure. But they didn't seem all that evolved. Still in their evolutionary journey.

That was until Hal saw him.

Now, Hal was no stranger to running into ethereal beauty. It's what happens when someone interacts with aliens on a basic daily. That was something he was used to.

Except, all his breath seemed to be knocked out of him completely. The cave alone was stunning, a stark contrast from the almost barren surface he had first seen.

A deep, shimmering blue pool that vanished into the rocky space around it. Trees, bushes, and flowers decorate the area. It looked almost too good to be true. Like an oasis in the middle of a desert.

Then there was the being that caught all of Hal's attention. Bright blue eyes that looked like gems, pale blue-tinged skin. Long black and white hair seemed to look almost like the night sky. A deep abyss littered with stars.

The closest thing that Hal's brain supplied was a siren. A beautiful, ethereal creature that lured men to their deaths. As beautiful as it seemed, Hal knew there could easily be danger.

Except, the creature didn't attack or threaten him.

Instead, he seemed almost shy. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, sharp deadly teeth flashing in the light with each motion.

Hal had just opened his mouth, taken a hesitant step forward. He wanted to know, and he needed to know how this happened. There wasn't supposed to be an intelligent, sophisticated life on this planet.

The moment Hal's lips parted, the creature let out a trill. A sound that seemed more scared than aggressive. Before suddenly, the beautiful creature vanished into the pool.

Hal moved before he could think, rushing to the edge of the pool. He peered into the crystal clear water, just in time to take the webbed feet of the creature vanish into a tunnel.

Now that left Hal with two options. He could either report this and wait for backup...

Or...

Or...

He could jump inside. The ring would protect him, and his lungs would be fine. Perks of being a Green Lantern.

That option seemed much more tempting to Hal. Nothing about this scream an outright threat. He felt more like a strange imposing on someone's home. A home that was meant for safety and protection of the young.

Yet, the shimmering water seemed to be calling to Hal. Something in him was trying to push him to get inside. To find the beautiful creature and learn more. Learn how this happened.

Without realizing it, Hal Jordan sealed his fate the moment he dipped a finger into the cool pool. Rippling the steady surface just slightly.

Just enough to get him wrapped up in the strange web created by time and its keeper.

[rustingcat]

'A Rich Girl With Issues... Lots of Issues' title animation!

This animation is my tribute for @inkedroplets brilliant fic to celebrate its completion!

If you haven't already, please do yourself a favour and go read this amazing fic!

You can click here to start it

This fic has such a special place in my heart, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.❤️

[necrotic-nephilim]

bruce and alfred: *thinking they managed to tag team jason into staying the night at the manor* 🤡

tim: *just existing as tantalizing eye candy for jason* 😒

jason: 😏

help i love this i'm cackling-

i think it's funnier if Tim also doesn't know and half the fun for Jason is getting to stare down Tim and make Tim wonder what on earth is going through Jason's head. he'd probably assume it's an intimidation tactic, or Jason thinking about all the ways he wants to kill Tim. it's delightful miscommunication of Tim being wary around Jason, always expecting a fight. and Jason damn well knows it, but he does nothing to correct Tim's assumption. He likes seeing Tim tense and ready to throw hands at a moment's notice. Jason just likes seeing what Tim is capable of, knowing how dangerous the little rich kid is. he wants to see how long he can stare before Tim breaks and asks him what his problem is.

and of course, Bruce, Alfred, and Dick are obvious. Cass is curious but not interfering because she just wants to see where this goes. Bruce is so caught up in the happiness of Jason finally playing nice for once pulling his punches and being willing to listen to Bruce that he's overlooking the obvious tension. Jason hasn't actually hurt Tim yet, so Bruce can't get mad for a little staring. he reminds Tim to just not sink to Jason's level.

when Tim does break and he does call Jason out for it, Jason just makes a lewd comment. just to throw Tim off and see how Tim reacts. it sends Tim sputtering and doubting Jason. he calls Jason's bluff and well. we all know how that ends.

[crowiin]

Here’s a VERY unfinished comic from the amazing fic Monkey King's Guide to Physical Contact by @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off . I lost steam on it a little while back so it never got finished, but thanks so much to the incredible @lavaflowe for all the constructive criticism and lettin me dump ideas on ya! This Monkey Has Problems