#this is his coffin body or some shit. whatever

[bloodysparklez]

so i started reading a new novel,

[steddiealltheway]

It’s a cold Wednesday night in January that has Eddie turning the thermostat up and allowing the government supplied heat to fill the trailer. He glances up at the vents and gives them a quick middle finger, wondering if they bugged the place to observe him or make sure he isn’t spreading their secrets.

He doesn’t really care at this point if they’re watching though. They already held him at the hospital for long enough, poking and prodding as if he wasn’t even human. But he didn’t turn into a vampire or some shit because of those damn bats. No. The jagged, ugly scars littering his body served as a lovely reminder that he was ultimately human.

Eddie glances at a nearby mirror and cringes at his face, taking a look at the long scar running down his cheek, jaw, and neck. The Corroded Coffin guys all said it made him look metal, and he would throw in a, “Hell yeah,” before smoothly changing the subject to something that didn’t involve him for once.

He takes a finger and slowly trails it over the pale pink skin, wondering if there will ever be a day he won’t notice it.

“Eddie,” Steve calls out gently from the room down the hall.

Eddie jumps back and glances toward him, hand falling to his side and flexing uncomfortably as if he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“You okay?”

Eddie smiles and gestures toward the thermostat. “Damn thing wasn’t working for a minute there. You’d think with the amount of hush hush money they were able to pay all of us, they’d be able to give me and Wayne a better trailer.”

But Steve only crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, eyebrows raising gently. It’s not entirely accusatory, but it’s clear that he doesn’t believe a thing Eddie’s saying.

Although they’ve grown close while going through the same treatment and tests in Owen’s new secret facility, it still surprises Eddie how easily Steve can read people. More specifically, how easily he can read him of all people. “Just got lost in thought,” Eddie confesses while making his way back to his room as he sees Steve squint at the lights in the living area.

Steve steps out of the way as Eddie brushes by him and closes the door. He hope it’s enough honesty to end the conversation.

“What were you thinking about?” Steve asks, ignoring the signals Eddie is giving him.

Eddie sighs and runs a hand over his face and climbs back into his bed, quick to pull up the blanket around himself in an attempt to get some much needed warmth while simultaneously covering his scars from Steve. “Stuff.”

Steve rests his hands on his hips for a second and stares, mouth opening and closing for a moment before deciding against whatever he was going to say. Instead, he climbs into the bed with Eddie and joins him under the blanket, keeping enough distance so they’re not touching, but they can still feel each other’s body heat.

Eddie glances over at him, noticing the way the one lamp turned on in the room gives him a nice golden halo. He looks gorgeous and untouchable - exactly how Eddie used to think of him through high school and sometimes even now. The perfect golden boy. But despite the name Eddie gave to him years ago, he can’t ignore the flaws that Steve possesses, yet they somehow make him even more perfect to him. Or maybe just human.

Eddie shakes his head and glances away. He wishes Steve came over to smoke so Eddie could blame the drugs on the way his thoughts race when he’s next to him. Instead, he has to face up to his enormous crush on the perfect golden boy.

“Have any plans for Valentine’s Day?” Steve asks out of the blue.

Eddie snorts and glances at him, only to laugh harder when he sees the adorable look of confusion on his face.

Steve’s brows furrow but the edges of his lips quirk up. “What?”

Eddie pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to try to hide his wife smile. “Kind of random, don’t you think?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I never said I was great at starting conversations. But I was just thinking about what holiday is next.”

“The worst one,” Eddie complains.

Steve turns toward him. “And why’s that?”

Eddie sighs and let’s himself go on a tangent. “It’s the one day of the year where people feel like they have to do all this shit for their partner, and the rest of the year, they think they can just get by doing the bare minimum. And people are left realizing what it would be like if their ‘other half’ actually put in an effort day to day. And then for all the single people, it’s a day where love is shoved in their face, and they have to feel bad and sometimes disgusted by all the public displays of affection going on around them and… I just hate it all. The stupid chocolates in the red heart boxes and the teddy bears and big heart shaped balloons and roses…”

“I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions about Valentine’s Day,” Steve says with a laugh.

“Well, now you do.”

They both sit in the silence for a few moments, Eddie thinking about all the other things he didn’t even touch on about Valentine’s Day that he hates, while Steve is probably taking in everything he just said.

Steve bumps his shoulder and asks, “So, I’m assuming that means you have no plans.”

Eddie laughs. “That’s what you got out of that?”

Steve shrugs and looks away with a smile.

Eddie glances at his clock and notices it’s technically Thursday now, and in these early hours, Steve will usually either silently fall asleep or he’ll lay awake in the silence until one of his thoughts has to make itself known.

Either way, Eddie knows he’ll be up for a few more hours, but he’s never regret the sleep he’s lost since they’ve made this silent arrangement.

The bed shifts, and Eddie follows Steve’s lead, laying down fully and staring at the ceiling, trying his best not to reach out for the hand laying beside his. He wonders if he should add something to the ceiling like some type of mural with stars and whatnot.

He tilts his head to the side, envisioning how it would look in the lamplight since he and Steve refuse to sleep in the dark. Or maybe it’s just Steve and Eddie’s picked up on the habit of leaving the lamp on.

“Do you think you’ll make plans?” Steve asks quietly.

Eddie turns to look at him, at a lost for a moment before realizing he’s still on the Valentine’s Day subject. He smiles sadly, “No.” Steve glances over at him and holds his gaze, expecting more. Eddie sighs and gestures at himself. “I mean, I’m not exactly what people want to bring home to their parents at the moment plus with the,” he gestures to his face and drops his hand quickly, averting his gaze back to the ceiling.

He hopes Steve will let it go and not connect the dots back to earlier.

A silence settles between them, but Steve’s gaze burns into the side of Eddie’s face. Then, he finally asks, “Is that what distracted you earlier?” When Eddie doesn’t answer he continues, “I saw you looking in the mirror, and I know you usually go out of your way to avoid them.”

Eddie wants to question how Steve noticed, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up about something that was just passively rather than intentionally observed. “Yeah,” Eddie states simply.

The bed shifts as Steve turns on his side to fully face him. “And you really think you can’t get a date because of them?”

Eddie sighs and rubs both of his hands over his face. “Steve, who is ever going to love me like this?” He turns and continues, “Privately, yes, someone could maybe get past the scars. But in public? You really think someone is going to be proud to say, ‘Here’s my boyfriend,’ and show off me?”

“Yes,” Steve says instantly as if he has no doubt in the world.

Eddie turns away, trying not to get choked up about it. Because how can he explain to him that while it’s nice that Steve has that confidence in him, Eddie wants Steve to be the one to be proud of him. To want him like that.

“Do you think my scars make me unlovable?” Steve asks.

“No! Jesus, Steve,” Eddie rushes to say and turns to him. He reached out and lays a hand over his side, feeling the way the skin puckers under the thin t-shirt. “These are metal as hell. Hot even. They make you more lovable if anything.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and slowly pulls it off his side to hold it up, the scar on it being presented out to Eddie. “And this doesn’t make you more lovable?”

“Steve…” Eddie protests quietly as Steve pulls his hand close to stare at it.

“The scars you got protecting us. You think those make you less lovable?” Steve asks, pulling his hand close enough that his lips ghost over the skin.

Eddie lets out a breath that sounds like Steve as Steve presses a soft kiss into the tough skin. He stares at Eddie with a worried look in his eyes as he whispers, “Too much?”

Eddie shakes his head, too stunned to get the words out.

Steve intertwines their hands and pulls Eddie’s arm toward him. “These scars,” he says kissing the next one on his forearm, “Are beautiful on you.” He moves on to the scar on his elbow stretching to his bicep, lips trailing against the sensitive unmarked skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. “How could anyone hate these?” He asks leaving three soft, lingering kisses before shifting on the bed to hover above Eddie, still holding his hand but now against his stomach so he can press a kiss against his shoulder. “These scars show everyone what you were willing to sacrifice for us.”

As Steve moves to the scar on his neck, Eddie’s head drops back, giving him more access as he groans out, “Steve.”

“These scars,” Steve says, kissing up his neck over and past the scars, “Are exactly,” he murmurs as he kisses past his jaw and peppers kisses up his cheek, “Why I love you,” Steve finishes by pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth near where the scar that Eddie traced earlier ends.

Eddie glances up at Steve as he hovers over him, trying to make sense of everything he’s saying until it finally clicks. “You love me?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods and squeezes his hand before letting it go so he can lightly caress his cheek. “I have since you decided to be a hero and sacrifice yourself. Which was exactly what I told you not to do by the way.”

“I’ve never been great at following rules,” Eddie breathes out and reaches a hand up to run through Steve hair. “Steve?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you, too,” Eddie confesses.

Steve smiles and asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He pauses before adding, “You know, one time when I was little, I captured a squirrel and it may have attacked me and left a scar on my lip.”

Steve laughs. “Is that so?”

Eddie smiles and nods.

Steve’s eyes dart down to Eddie’s lips and he moves his thumb to swipe over his top lip. “You know, I think I see it.”

Eddie debates telling him that it was actually his bottom lip, but instead he just breathes out, “Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks with a teasing smile.

“Steve.”

Steve keeps smiling as he hums, “Hmm?” When Eddie huffs, Steve fakes surprise with a gasp, “Oh. You want me to find the picture for you!”

Eddie groans, “Steve!”

“Uh huh?”

Eddie huffs and cups his face. “You are infuriating.”

“Is that s-”

Eddie interrupts him by taking matters into his own hands and leaning up to kiss him. He feels Steve smile against his lip before finally kissing him back.

Steve pulls away and breathlessly asks, “So, do you think you’ll have plans for Valentine’s Day now?”

Eddie’s head thumps back on the pillow. “Oh my god.” Steve laughs. “Oh my god!” Eddie says and shoves Steve off of him only to roll over so he hovers above him. “You were trying to ask me out this whole time?”

“No, I just wanted to know your opinion of Valentine’s Day.”

Eddie gives him a light punch to the arm and smiles wide as he stares down at Steve, lying beneath him in the golden lamp light. His perfect golden boy.

“I still hate it by the way. Even if I have plans now,” Eddie comments seriously.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put in the effort year round for you and make sure to keep you away from the public that day,” Steve says running a hand through Eddie’s curls before tracing it down the scar on his cheek in a way he thought no one would be able to do - lovingly.

Eddie leans down and gives Steve a quick peck. “I’ve also got some scars on my hips I might want you to check out.”

Steve laughs loudly and pulls him into a kiss that truly makes Eddie breathless, all while tracing his hand over the scar on his cheek. And for the first time, Eddie learns to love the scars adorning his body.

[xxsabitoxx]

"Satoru, enough." you sound exasperated, tired eyes glaring at your laptop screen as you try to find another peer-reviewed article for your essay topic. However, you had to admit nothing was getting done and it wasn't only because of your boyfriend. "Satoru, enough~" He practically sang back to you, that same shit-eating grin plastered to his face. His hands were finding their way to your thighs again, only stopping when you would reach down and swat him away with one of your signature death glares. So, you repeated the motion again, slapping his hands off of you but not bothering to look at him.

"C'mon, sweetheart you've been glued to your laptop since you got home from work." He somehow managed to sound just as exasperated as you had. "Because I have things due, Satoru." It wasn't a lie, but the essay wasn't due for a few days. You could certainly afford to hold off on it for another day, but for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. "Yeah, well, I'll pay off the professor. I want your attention," he whined again, this time flinching when your hand came down to grab his wrist before he could touch you. "And I am busy, go bother someone else." the bite in your tone didn't bother him at all, if anything it made his cock twitch.

"You wound me." Satoru's hand came up to splay over his heart, head falling back dramatically as he looked at you. "Good." was all you uttered, the tension in your shoulders only adding to your aggression as you fought the urge to throw your laptop. Nothing you had tried to read in the last twenty minutes registered in your brain and one single paragraph was glaring back at you on your Word doc. Now add Satoru teasing the shit out of you every fifteen seconds... you were going to snap or self-destruct, it depended on Satoru at this point.

"Just take a damn break, you're getting bitchy." He smirked at you, watching your entire body tense as your neck nearly snapped with the force you used to turn your head. "Do you have a death wish, Satoru?" your jaw was clenched, if looks could kill, Satoru would be dead four times over by now. "I do, but that's beside the point. You couldn't lay a finger on me and have it cause damage." he sneered, trying to ignore the blood flow to his dick as you got steadily worked up. He wasn't sure if it could be classified as a kink, but Satoru got off on you being pissed. He craved your hand slapping his skin and your nails digging into his scalp. He would do whatever it took to get you mad just to see that adorable pout on your face.

You knew this by now, and it wasn't hard to miss the strain forming in his sweats. "You're sick and twisted, Satoru." You refused to close your laptop, giving your boyfriend one last disinterested look before your eyes settled on a random point on your screen. You wouldn't give in to his games. "You fucking love it." he moved closer, hand resting on your thigh and squeezing harshly when you couldn't move fast enough to slap him away. You gasped, body shivering at the sensation before you recollected yourself and tried to swat him away. "I'm serious, Satoru. Leave me alone." but Satoru was smarter than that. "You haven't typed anything worthwhile on that word doc. Let me take care of you, I can clear your head real fucking fast."

Your answer was rolling your eyes, earning a low rumble of laughter from your boyfriend. That was the nail in the coffin, you could only yell in protest as he snatched your laptop off of your lap and tossed it over to the chair beside your couch. "Satoru!" You squeaked, heart dropping to your ass as he flung the object. "Relax." was all he said in return, catching you while your guard was down and pushing you onto the couch. You let out a string of curses, awkwardly pressed face-first into the cushion as Satoru grabbed both of your wrists and restrained them behind your back. "Just relax."

[insanescriptist]

Cremation is just another fun(erl) service

So blaming random 4am thoughts that have been plaguing me all day for this

----

Jason woke to a bright room, thin sheets and the smell of a hospital embedded in his body.

First as always, assess. Hospital. No affiliation printed on the walls or anywhere. Private room, but small. That door looked like it led to a private bathroom. Generic flower picture, a mounted screen turned off. Really fucking bright sunlight from the windows.

There was no fucking way he was in Gotham then. Everything was too nice. Normal by standards outside of Gotham. There were blinds, not metal shutters. The walls were cleaner than Gotham allowed outside of Downtown and he could see greenery through the window.

Okay. So what had he been doing? Jason remembered and then wished he had his Jerichos to shoot himself with. Mystic Shit™. Okay. Okay. That was not one of his better ideas, but if he's recovering in a hospital, it worked. World saved.

So recovery. How fucked was he?

His skin looked so fucked. Which meant he had been worse. He's had time to recover and lose muscle tone in, going by how twiggy his arms were. His hands looked good. Clearly someone knew he cared about those if they went through the effort of restoring those.

Hmm, that was odd. No matter how much Jason hated the Lazarus Pits and all its by-products, it would have been a faster and more simple way to recover from near-death than the long incarceration in a hospital for a John Doe.

Jason wasn't sure if he'd been abandoned yet again by those who called themselves his family because he could, "take care of himself," or if he had been written off dead. Again.

Hospital beat the coffin by a long shot.

And it was with that cheery thought, a nurse -obvious meta human nurse- came in and burst into excited Japanese, because that was of course, his luck.

It's after the nurse and doctors leave that Jason loses his shit.

It looks like he's sulking in bed, but mentally everything in his head is exploding. Imploding.

Three. Fucking. Years. Coma.

Burn victim so bad they not only expected him to die in the first couple of days, but still expect it because of the infection risk his fucked up skin represents.

Still the conversation with the medical staff -of varying degrees of bizarre- was enlightening.

No, he has no idea who he is. Did he ever get anyone visit? How did he get here?

Of course some amnesia is to be expected. No, some of the nurses visited. No one knows how he got here.

Does he know what his quirk is? Uh?

Trauma blocked amnesia, the doctor mutters.

What's the last date he remembered?

Saturday. Maybe? The last year? No, I'm pretty sure my memory is shit and I'm trying hard not to freak out over not knowing anything. So could I get the year number?

And then there's the fucking year number. Once he got it translated into more normal terms.

Mystic Shit™ said fuck you to the future.

Except Jason knows this is not his future. Again, if it was, this would have been treated as a fucking inconvenience. Effective skin restoration goop -the proper name escaped him- was easily available to those with the right connections. A normal baseline human with 2nd and 3rd degree burns would be fine in less than two weeks with it, with nary a trace to show for it.

Thanks to the three year coma, his muscles were all atrophied as fuck, despite their best attempts at physical therapy. Because of all the burns and later burn scars and infections making it basically impossible to actually do fuck all about maintaining muscle tone until he was basically burnt skin and bones anyway.

He was so fucking weak now. It wouldn't last forever. He'd escape this hospital before he was discharged, before whatever "benefactor" showed up for whatever "purpose," he was suppose to serve now, as they had the medical debt over his head or was threatening his loved ones or whatever. If one didn't show up in the next week, he was losing his genre-savviness, because shitheads always wanted to claim shit, if it looked useful.

And Jason was used to looking useful, until he was no longer useful and they just didn't care. The amnesia made him less shiny, but Jason couldn't pull off the brain dead zombie imitation without actually being a brain dead zombie crawling up out of his grave.

So under the thin hospital sheets, Jason twitched his muscles.

Two weeks of emotional freak outs, watching the news, physical therapy and drugs Jason had had enough.

And he broke out.

----

Yeah, he regretted it almost immediately. Hard not to in the stupid paper gown, barefoot and bare ass.

Thankfully people were people, even with the plethora of meta humans he had seen, so it actually wasn't hard to find clothes. Someone left a hoodie in their car and Jason broke into said car. Put on the hoodie. Hotwired the car and drove off.

Somehow for being in the fucking future by two centuries and change, cars really hadn't changed. More evidence of Mystic Shit™ slamming him sideways.

He drove to the next town over, picked another direction, drove some more. Parked the car near what looked like a chop shop, negotiated the car for some money. He probably got ripped off, but better than nothing.

He walked to a corner store, bought some flip-flops after bullshitting an excuse that his had broken. First aid stuff. You know, for his feet. Hair dye in three different colors, because Rose Wilson could pick out a bad dye job at a hundred meters and so Jason learned how to dye his own hair properly so as to avoid her mockery, only to get mockery (affectionate) anyway.

It was a mix of instinct and lifelong observation that let him find an empty apartment quickly. He stole some sweatpants and passed out on the bed.

----

The thing is, Jason doesn't regret his crimes like Bruce thinks he ought to do, with a massive pity party and flaming self-hatred and punching criminals instead of shooting them. He hates the necessity of doing crimes, even if that crime is a net gain to society, but that's why all his serious crimes are premeditated. He's homicidal, not a psychopath.

Not Pit-mad either, no matter what the rest of them might have thought.

Again, he's homicidal, not a psychopath. And when he doesn't have to be some sort of costume soldier to be discarded by family for the disgrace of disfiguring the memory of a dead boy? He's actually chill and boring.

That is to say, he crashed at that apartment for three days, felt progressively more like himself, especially after the dye job -white hair all over, now a solid and boring black- but it still didn't change all the other issues the Mystic Shit™ inflicted on him.

This body isn't actually his. Too young, scars not right where the burns didn't fuck him over. Thankfully his existing coping mechanisms for dysphoria work and it's shoved to the side.

It's also a shit body. Not even a month out of a three year coma with inadequate -by his standards- of medical care. It's weak and building muscle to do everyday civilian shit, is going to take months to do. Pushing as hard as he did during the escape wrecked him the next three days. Jason may not know what's going to happen, but with his luck, it's going to suck and training is preparing to make it suck less. The only certainty he's got is that his skin or lack thereof is going to kill him from infection if he doesn't fix it.

He's got no legal identity here. Which basically puts him back onto familiar ground of legally dead.

Beyond the lack of paperwork, he's got a lack of funds. He also has no easy target to steal funds and equipment from, even just for fun.

For more disadvantages, he's in a different country, with different laws and a whole different culture. He would be climbing on board a fucking plane to Gotham, if it existed in this world, for some familiar ground.

He really is the unluckiest Robin. It also means he is also the most prepared Robin.

---

The first six months after waking up in this mockery world of heroics were the absolute worst.

He started at one foot in the grave and crawled out of it before the casket could really eat him alive. Jason had experience in casket busting. He didn't wanna repeat it.

He still didn't know who he was -in who was he inhabiting- but it wasn't like Jason had a lot to go on. 'His' quirk was thermo-manipulation, most obviously in the blue fire he could call to his hands but he could do some ice too; it was thanks to Duke's light and shadow manipulation that he had even tried for the duality. He had white hair. Presumably Japanese heritage but quirks had really erased or blurred a lot of racial lines. Also presumed dead and young.

Access to the Quirk Registry took some doing, but again, not everyone followed basic computer security, much less what it took to keep someone bat-trained out of their systems. Again, for nearly two centuries in the future, a lot of the technological development had stagnated. Searching through the Quirk Registry hadn't yielded any result but none of his other methods had struck anything either. And he had looked at the recently dead and/or presumed dead. Sure, he had some leads that looked viable, but he wasn't going to follow those up yet.

He had fixed a few of his most pressing issues the past six months. His ignorance of the local area, the local and national politics and so on. This world supported and had an entire industry catering to making child soldiers and sell their image and reputation to make money and more child soldiers that called themselves Heroes.

His weak ass body no long cried doing daily tasks and only hated him after working out. Yes, Jason was pushing it but he was well aware of how months of preparation could mean shit in the face of seconds.

His infection risk was severely reduced after quick research bender let him make the most generic knock-off brand of the skin restoration goop in a shitty homemade lab. Did it fix his skin being patchwork fucked in places? Some. He wasn't going to get feeling back properly, but at least he looked more normal. Maybe with enough moisturizing he might look a little less Frankenstien's monster.

He also had a cash inflow. It wasn't great, but it supported his apartment. And the second set of papers. And the 2nd apartment.

Which meant in grand old tradition for Jason, time for him to bounce to the next apartment and come up with a new name.

[hippiepowrs]

you really got me

rockstar!eddie munson x rockstar!reader

warnings: gn!reader, fluffy fluff, gareth and jeff being little shits, grumpy eddie

a/n: heres a silly little blurb. i like rockstar!reader and i hope some other people are into it too... bc if so i will post more :3

wc: 655

A comforting warmth envelops you from behind, Eddie’s space heater of a body holding onto you tight. The two of you have been on tour together for the past few months, double headlining heavy metal shows all across the country. As fun as sex, drugs, and rock and roll for a living is, it does get tiring at times.

Eddie’s changing room backstage is quiet and still, the only people inside being you and him. It’s a rare sight, as he’s usually the one to be inviting everyone inside to smoke a joint or have a beer with him. The two of you lay on the couch, simply enjoying the calm before the storm.

Your peace and serenity quickly gets interrupted with a loud knock on the door, followed by Gareth and Jeff simply barging into the room, hefty camcorder in hand.

“…Let’s see what Eddie’s up to…Oh! Here are these two lovebirds. They make me sick.” Gareth narrates, pointing the camera directly at you.

Your eyes slowly open, drowsily looking over to the source of the noise. The boys continue to walk closer, fully putting the camera up in your face, causing you to block it with your hand.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Gare,” your hoarse ‘morning’ voice squeaks out, “What the hell is this for?”

“We’re making a tour video. Tom said the fans would like it.” The mention of Corroded Coffin’s manager clicks everything into place. Of course he’d want them to record behind the scenes footage of the tour.

Eddie, the rock of a sleeper that he is, is still fully conked out behind you, his arms trapping you onto the couch.

“I look like shit right now,” you mumble, “can you get that thing out of my fucking face?” Any perceived aggression is recognized as playful between you and the other band’s members, but you do seriously want him to get that damn camera out of your face. Looking down, you remember you’re only wearing one of Eddie’s muscle tees, specifically the Judas Priest one he cut a little shorter than he intended a few years ago.

The show isn’t supposed to start for another few hours, as the bus somehow had no mishaps and got you guys to the venue earlier than normal. Gareth has decided to record whatever the hell he feels like in this time, so now he’s walking around Eddie’s dressing room and pointing out all the gross shit on the floor.

Finally, Eddie starts to stir, nuzzling his nose into the back of your neck. A few soft groans sound from behind you, and this quickly alerts Gareth.

“There he is! Thought you were dead there for a second.”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Eddie murmurs, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes.

“Makin’ a video.” Gareth turns the camera around to his own face and gives it a big thumbs up.

“Do that shit later, man. Jesus Christ.”

“Someone’s got their panties in a twist.” Gareth giggles, panning the camera over to Jeff, who starts to laugh along with him.

“Get out of my damn room.” Eddie even sits up halfway to send the message, taking an arm off of your waist to point them to the door. Gareth recognizes that Eddie doesn’t want to fuck around right now, so he quickly scurries out with Jeff in tow to find another person to bother.

Turning over to face him, you giggle softly at his moodiness. “He wasn’t wrong. You are pretty grumpy.”

“Can a man not be allowed to cuddle with his partner in peace?” He groans, flopping back down onto the couch and brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“You look like a mess, you know.”

“Shut up. Cuddle me.”

You oblige, wrapping your arms around him. His messy mop of curls falls over your head, his serious case of bedhead being the last thing he’s thinking about.

[penny00dreadful]

STWG Prompt: Waking Up

If Eddie was being honest with himself, he didn’t really expect to wake up. 

The bats had closed in and as he said his goodbyes to Dustin, he could physically feel the life leaving him, all the warmth of his blood slowly gushing out, and he was cold.

Though, being honest with himself again, if he had expected to wake up, he would have expected to be handcuffed to a hospital bed, or hidden away in a back shed at one of the kids houses or maybe waking up in Steve’s room, if he was lucky, like he had so many times before.

He definitely wouldn’t have expected to wake up here.

Dirt falling into his eyes and his mouth through the wooden slats above him, no sound at all apart from his own panic, the cold, the fucking damp cold seeping into his skin, the smell of earth around him, his elbows and knees knocking off the wood as he started to freak the fuck out.

They’d buried him, they’d fucking buried him!

Did no one check to see that he was still fucking alive?

How the fuck was he still alive?!

You know what? Sort your fucking priorities out, Eddie, he said to himself. You can continue to ask questions as soon as you GET THE FUCK OUT!

He kicked, he scrabbled, he dug his fingers in between the flimsy, obviously homemade slats of his makeshift coffin and pulled, having to turn his face away from the dirt falling into his eyes again, holding his breath so he didn’t inhale it, feeling it trickle into his ear but deciding that it was the least of his fucking problems.

The fear and frustration and blind motherfucking panic coursed through him and he drove his fist upwards, punching clean through the wood and earth and laughing aloud with joy when he felt air on his hand, down to the wrist.

They’d only buried him as deep as his arm, what a fucking mercy, holy shit.

Okay, okay, okay, chill. Chill.

He was able to punch up pretty easily so he reared back as much as he could in the cramped space and punched again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He was able to get one arm out as far as his elbow and he swung it down, digging his fingers into the soft earth as hard as he could, using that as leverage to drag his head up. He spat out the dirt in his mouth, his body shaking with coughs as he wedged his shoulder up and pulled his other arm out.

With two hands free he was able to scrabble at the soft earth, slowly, so slowly pulling and dragging and wiggling until he was still buried up to the hips but he could fucking rest for a moment collapsing onto the ground, half in half out, Jesus H. Christ.

He only allowed himself a moment before he pushed against his arms again, lifting himself up and pushing, kicking until his legs were free and he could crawl a couple of feet away.

His whole body shook forward as he heaved, dry and aching with that gut deep pain because there was nothing to throw up.

Eddie allowed himself to tip to the side, rolling onto his back, closing his eyes and just existing for a moment, trying to grapple with the fact that he just dug himself out of his own fucking grave.

That’s so fucking metal.

It didn’t feel very metal right now but it probably would at some point in the future.

Maybe.

Now he just had to figure out if he was stuck inside of a psychological thriller or a supernatural horror.

He was kinda hoping for the second one if he was being honest with himself.

He should probably stop being honest with himself.

Look at what happened when he was. 

He woke up after taking a fucking dirt nap.

Fuck.

He opened his eyes, looking up at the sky and all he saw was red.

Well…

Fuck.

Again.

Still in this hellhole, then.

Okay.

Probably time to figure shit out, or whatever.

Eddie groaned as he sat up, giving a cursory glance around, hoping that maybe it was just a really red sky type of day in the Rightside Up but no such luck.

He was met by the sight of black vines and a general sense of decay, so yep. Still in hell, great.

There was a thick plank of wood sticking straight up out of the earth and as he shuffled closer to inspect it, he realised it was a headstone. They’d fashioned him a makeshift headstone.

It was simple, he wouldn’t have expected any more given the lack of materials here in the alternate dimension.

Just his name, Eddie, engraved into the wood, no dates, no epitaph, just Eddie.

He didn’t hate it. 

He’d have loved some paragraph about his fuckin sick guitar skills or whatever but he could like simple too.

He rarely did, but he could.

Plus, they took the time in a weird fucky dimension to give him a headstone, how could he hate that?

As he looked closer, he noticed a small little heart near the base, S+E snuggled inside, shallow and hastily carved.

Shit.

He needed to get topside, now.

What a stark reminder that the entire Party thought he was fucking dead.

Steve thought he was fucking dead.

God, he hoped he hadn’t told Wayne yet.

That’s just what he needed, to kill his old man with a fucking heart attack.

Eddie pushed himself to his feet and started walking, not sparing a glance back at his grave, hopeful his next one would be, like, seventy years in the future.

There were grooves cut deep into the earth, practically guiding him back to his trailer, or whatever was left of it in this dimension and Eddie couldn’t stop the sickening feeling building up in his stomach that all of this had been for nothing.

They’d fucking lost.

They can’t have lost, right?

His trailer was just ahead, bisected and falling apart, but he could see the portal glowing so he’d get topside, take a look out the window and see that everything was fine…

Sure, yeah.

Totally.

Eddie looked up, the portal floating above him amongst the debris.

It wasn’t that high, surely if he-

He jumped, his eyebrows flying up into his hairline when he easily reached the lip, hanging by his fingertips off the edge and pulling himself up as smooth as if he was floating in water.

He didn’t exactly understand all those physics Dustin had lectured them all on but this… didn’t seem to be that.

He dropped down to his feet, the amount of colour greeting him almost hurting his eyes but he couldn’t focus on that.

He didn’t have time to.

Because as soon as he straightened up, there was the barrel of a shotgun pressed to his forehead.

Eddie threw his hands up, having to blink a few times before he realised who was behind it.

“Sweetheart?”

Steve was glaring at him, the shotgun held steady and firm in his hand. He looked haggard and dirty and somehow even more injured than Eddie had last seen him.

There was a healing burn along the side of his head, making it look like he’d shaved his hair, there was a deep cut through his eyebrow and his arms were littered with small cuts and bruises, extending up into the sleeves of his dirty polo.

And he was wearing Eddie’s vest. 

He was wearing his vest like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it was part of his wardrobe and had been for a while. 

Despite the fucking gun pressed to his head, Eddie’s heart flip flopped around in his chest, more to do with affection than fear.

“Sweetheart, I-”

Steve pressed the gun against him harder with a furious grimace.

“I am not your sweetheart. What are you?”

“I-” Eddie swallowed. That seemed like a very specific question.

Not who are you, not what are you doing here, not how are you upright and not in the dirt, rotting?

No.

What are you.

“Stevie it’s- it’s me. It’s Eddie.”

Steve pressed in harder again, walking him backwards until he was up against the wall.

“You are not my Eddie.” He hissed. “I buried my Eddie a month ago.” Steve’s finger moved down to rest against the trigger. “Now I’ll ask you again. What are you?”

“I…” Eddie opened and closed his mouth. “I don’t know.”

I won't deny it, @momotonescreaming's Hole Microfic put the worms in my brain for this one. Different vibes but the worms did worm.

[vaguely-concerned]

...the 'almond room' thing in the unwanted guest IS a reference to/play on words on amygdala, right? (amygdala comes from the greek word for almond!) I didn't read that wrong? it is stupid sexy Ianthe coyly inviting Palamedes into a different chamber of her brain, as it were?

(also the pieces of meat -- the feeding or kissing, it's hard to say which of it all -- being present right from the beginning... ianthe DOES know exactly what has happened to her, doesn't she. palamedes is just cutting his way through her layers of denial and repression all merciless and scalpel-like to get her to admit it. or, she knows subconsciously at least -- each person comes in and feeds her something that she's helpless to stop from becoming a part of her even in her coffin, with bloody kisses. oh baby love is feeding me bad meat and I have no choice but to swallow it down. like yeah I suspect that is how human contact can feel when your sense of self and boundaries developed to be a specific kind of Fucked Up lol. that shit could make a person dream of being a diamond in a glass of wine; perfect, inviolable, untouchable, eternally separate and safe. In the words of Andrea Gibson in Prism:

They say the womb is where we learn love is knowing the cord that feeds you could at any moment wrap around your neck

that is quite literally ianthe's first introduction to love -- her sister, a cord around her neck. Corona is Ianthe's other self, a second soul running around outside of her body, and she seems to consider herself as responsible for (and entitled to) the preservation of Corona's soul as her own. the way this mirrors that growing up, Ianthe had to be two necromancers in one body to let them stay together. (twins and ghosts all the way down I guess.) she's still just trying to do the same thing, I think, she's simply put on some bigger boots about it. the central problem of lyctorhood, self vs. connection/love, rears its head once again -- Ianthe existentially wants total self-contained self-sufficiency, perfect control, sovereign sway and masterdom over her soul... but she wants that at the same time as being in uninterrupted (uninterruptible!), eternal and indelible intimacy with her sister, whose soul also cannot be allowed to change. which, you know. freedom and love don't coexist the way you want them to, Ianthe, no matter how clever you are there won't be a way to get what you want. (especially not with a sister whose idea of what love is seems to go more towards being consumed, made one, by whatever violence necessary -- 'she could have taken me'.) man. Ianthe is a spectacular and ongoing piece of work, but sometimes it's hard to see how she could ever have turned out otherwise considering the conditions she was born and raised under haha.

the two-way street of the horror of digestion, whether you're the devourer or the devouree. part of you in me, part of me in you, whether either of us likes it or not we're both changed by this. bad news: you can't get out of interconnectedness by finding the cleverest loophole around it, ianthe. nice try, though)

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part one

part two: if she's got blue eyes, i will surmise that you'll probably date her

Eddie had felt completely numb after leaving Steve's apartment. He wasn't really interested in doing anything with his band even though they definitely owed the studio a new album but Eddie wasn't feeling inspired after the abrupt departure of his most recent muse.

He didn't want to be that guy who wrote songs about his exes or aired dirty laundry in public through cryptic lyrics. It worked for other people but his band's vibe was a lot more fantasy and concept albumy and he couldn't quite find the energy to allegorize his current heartbreak. This is where the reality of the music industry really sucked because at some point their label didn't give a shit about Eddie's need to wallow and his manager could only negotiate so many extensions.

Thankfully, all previous qualms he had with writing about his ex and their breakup ended when he saw another fucking TMZ headline about Steve leaving a club with another model. This had to be the thirtieth person Steve had been tied to since their breakup. Eddie's best guess was that his pact with Robin to be each other's whatever to get the media off their back had ended.

Lyrics started flowing out of Eddie as he swiped out of twitter and into his notes app.

Your new girl is my clone And did you think I didn't see you? There were flashing lights At least I had the decency To keep my nights out of sight Only rumors 'bout my hips and thighs And my whispered sighs

Eddie knew it was probably a low blow to flaunt his escapades after he'd worked pretty hard to keep them under wraps. He didn't need the world to know he had pity sex with some random guy he picked up because he really got Eddie's last album. Eddie fucking hated how pretentious some fans were about his lyrics. Like sometimes a sword is just a sword, bestie. Anyways, an NDA and really shitty coffee later, Eddie pretended that mistake hadn't happened but was petty enough to make it clear to Steve that he wasn't the only one finding solace in someone else's bed.

He put together a rough melody on his acoustic and sent it over to his band to see what they thought. He wasn't sure if they'd be into it but it was fucking therapeutic to get the feelings out of his body that were festering there. Gareth was over the moon because he had been anti-Steve from the beginning and was super on board with some pretty boy actor directed snark. Ronnie, Jeff, and Freak were a little harder to bring around as they felt like they should at least sort of protect their darker brand but once Freak laid down a pretty sick base and Ronnie added some haunting piano it was undeniably a Corroded Coffin song. They packaged up a rough draft and sent it over to their producer to work his magic. Before Eddie knew it the song was approved for a sound on TikTok and Eddie and the band were thinking of video ideas to promote the single which would apparently be ready for streaming in the next month. Eddie wasn't quite ready to concede an entire angsty breakup album but it did at least feel good to get a start on producing what the studio was looking for.

Eddie sat back and scrolled through the sound on TikTok and thought about Steve's reaction to the sound or the single a perfectly healthy amount, thank you very much.

@lololol-1234 (it's not quite fixed yet but i hope you don't mind the tag)

part three

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 3

Holy hell, guys. Seriously, I love you all. And just seeing the sheer amount of LOVE this story is getting makes me so happy.

Tag list of 50 has now been filled. Any other requests for tagging will be denied. I’m sorry.

Edit: Also if you saw the title as something else? No, no you didn’t. And any reblogs you see with anyone instead of anybody are a figment of your imagination. (*thuds head on laptop* I have the title right on here...in my file *wails*)

Part 1 Part 2

*

Eddie was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he was wrong and that was uncomfortable. On the other it meant that whatever was going on with Steve he didn’t care about his reputation anymore and that was always a good thing.

He had walked out of the school doors to the parking lot after school to see a Steve Harrington leaning against his van, just like yesterday.

“Harrington,” Eddie said, “this is a surprise.”

Steve ducked his head. “If you don’t want me to be here, I can leave.”

Eddie held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa there. I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised you took me up on the offer is all. Last time I checked your lot doesn’t throw in with mine.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged. “It does now. Now that I don’t have anyone else.”

Eddie’s eyes widened and he cocked his head. “I thought you and Nancy Wheeler were hot and heavy.”

The very idea of the two of them made him gag. Hetros. Freaking insane, man.

“We broke up on Halloween,” Steve murmured.

Eddie blinked. He had been at that party. To sell, of course, he hadn’t been invited. Had even seen Wheeler storm off, but he really hadn’t thought much about it.

“What bridges haven’t you burned?” he asked in all seriousness.

“My kids,” Steve said. “I’d do anything for them.”

“Okay, that’s going to have to take some explanation,” Eddie said, shoving his hands in his back pockets.

Steve looked around the van and gulped. “Can we take this somewhere else?”

Eddie looked over and saw Nancy and some other guy being all cutesy. “Yeah. Come on, hop in. I’ll bring back later to pick up your car when the lot’s no longer crawling with people who want to do you in.”

Steve sighed in relief, his body fulling relaxing for the first time since Eddie started this journey. He moved around to the other side of the van and got in once Eddie unlocked the door.

“Where to, my liege?” Eddie asked with a grin.

“Is the quarry okay?” Steve asked shyly.

Eddie’s grin softened to a smile. “Sure thing, pretty boy.” He started the van and pulled out on to the open road, leaving behind the messy turmoil that was high school.

They made it out to quarry and Eddie climbed up on the top of his van. Steve looked up at him in amazement.

“Uh, how am I supposed to get up there?” Steve asked.

Eddie leaned over the side and held out his hand. “Grab hold.”

Steve looked at it a moment and then back up at Eddie. He looked into those doe brown eyes and sighed. He planted one foot against the side of the van and then took Eddie’s hand.

And was promptly vaulted to the top of the van.

“Holy shit!” Steve said once he was settled next to Eddie. “You’re strong.”

Eddie laughed. “It comes from all the lugging equipment around for my band. And helping out with stage crew.”

“Wow, you have a band?” Steve asked.

Eddie nodded. “Corroded Coffin. It’s a metal band, we play at the Hideout every week.”

Steve bit his lip. “I don’t know much about metal. I tend to go for alt rock bands like Oingo Boingo, Depeche Mode, REM, Tears for Fears...I bet that was a load of gibberish for you.”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m familiar with a couple of them,” he admitted. “Not my thing. But I would have pegged you for a pop vibe.”

Steve scoffed. “I have some taste, man.”

Eddie laughed. “I’d beg to differ, but sure. You do you, dude.”

Steve bumped Eddie’s shoulder. “Go on, then. Impress me with your metal bands, since mine are such shit.”

“My favorite is Metalica,” Eddie said, bumping Steve back. “But I like Mercyful Fate, Dio, Poison.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “And I thought my bands had weird names.”

“What the hell is a Depeche Mode anyway?” Eddie fired back.

“What is a Metalica?” Steve replied.

Eddie opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “All right, you got me there.”

“I was talking to Mrs Hall today about my schedule,” Steve said, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. “I have to drop basketball and baseball. It’s too late to drop swimming, but I talked to Coach Burton and he said I should be cleared for competition I just have to see the swimming board’s doctor for final confirmation.”

“So suddenly you have two classes opened up?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, my last two,” Steve mumbled into his knees. He lifted his head with a sigh. “She won’t let me just drop them and not pick up new classes even though the semester half way through.”

“So you thought about what to fill those slots with?”

“She gave me a list of options,” Steve grumbled and dug the paper out of his pocket. He handed it to Eddie.

Eddie looked over the options. “Debate, would double as extra English credit...” he mumbled reading what Mrs Hall had wrote. “Can’t see you doing that one, if I’m honest.”

Steve shook his head. “Me either. I know it’s not just arguing. But I know they can get heated. I don’t need complete strangers yelling at me when I get that enough at home.”

Eddie nodded. “Choir. Can you sing?”

Steve blushed. “Yeah, actually. But I’ve never wanted to join the choir.”

Eddie frowned. “Why not?”

Steve cleared his throat and looked away. “My vocal coach said that I don’t blend well and am very loud.”

Eddie bumped into Steve’s shoulder. “Soloist only, then?”

Steve nodded.

“Sounds like you’d be great at metal singing,” he continued. “Very loud and very in your face.”

Steve laughed. “Whatever you say, man. But no, choir is out.”

Eddie looked back at the list. “Machine work?”

Steve shook his head. “My dad would kill me.”

“Too blue collar for your dad?” he asked. Steve nodded. “I gotcha.”

“Stage crew,” Eddie continued.

Steve sighed. “I thought about that one, but like with the machine work it’s too ‘blue collar’ for my dad. Plus with my concussion, I’m pretty sure either option would be out.”

Eddie cocked his head and clicked his tongue. “Fair enough.” He looked over the list. “Pottery?”

Steve laughed. “Sure, why not? That’s one.”

Eddie nodded. He mentally crossed out all the classes that were seventh period, focusing only on the class that were eighth.

“Hmm...” he murmured pursing his lips. “Looks like what you’ve got left is geology and drama.”

Steve reared his head back. “What the hell is geology?”

Eddie shook his head. “I have no idea, but it’s obviously a science-y thing.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh. “I guess it’s pottery and drama.” He buried his face in his knees again. “I know my reputation is already in tatters but fuck those kids in those classes are going to tear me to pieces.”

Eddie blinked. The mystery that was Steve Harrington was like following a rabbit down a hole, and coming up to Wonderland. “You’re more concerned that they’re going to make fun of you then you are of your old friends making fun of you?”

Steve lifted his head. “Well sure. I know Tommy and them are going to make fun of me even if I stayed on both teams. That’s a given. They’ve got King Billy to follow now and they’re gonna get vicious with it. But no, the real problem comes from the art geeks coming for me because I have invaded their space.”

Eddie almost brought up the drawing class Steve was already in, but wisely kept his mouth shut. He shrugged. “So tell them truth. Tell them you had course correct because of a concussion. Be honest and defer to them in all things.”

“I’m also going to be the only senior in those classes, man,” Steve groused.

Eddie cocked his head. “Yeah, probably. But what else have you got?”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing.”

They lapsed into silence. Just sitting there for awhile looking out over the quarry.

After some time, Eddie bumped Steve’s shoulder again. “So you want to tell me about ‘your kids’?”

Steve frowned.

“Burned bridges, people who haven’t given up on Steve Harrington?” Eddie prompted.

Steve lit up. “Oh yeah. Sorry, man, it’s just the...” he pointed to his face. Eddie nodded. “I still don’t know how I got roped into dealing with these assholes, but yeah. There are six of them now. Started with Dustin Henderson. Smart kid, smarter than most adults I know. Then it expanded to his friends, which includes the little brothers of my ex and her new boyfriend, Jonathan Byers, and of course Lucas Sinclair. And then I picked up El or Jane. I’m not sure which one she prefers, most people call her El though. And then there’s Max.”

“Five boys and a girl?” Eddie asked, his face twisting awkwardly. “Congrats?”

Steve laughed. “Max is short for Maxine. But don’t you dare call her that.”

Eddie blinked. “Max Mayfield? As in Billy Hargrove’s step-sister?”

Steve tilted his head back. “Yeah...but I don’t think I could separate her from the group now if I tried. And besides, she’d kick my ass.”

“You are an enigma wrapped in a mystery, man,” Eddie said.

Steve looked over at him. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

Tag List: @evix-syne666 @renaissan-vvitch @deadlydodos @scarletzgo @messrs-weasley @kodaik97 @thedragonsaunt @butterflysandpeppermint @gregre369 @nelotegreitic @sundead @artiststarme @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @thing-a-ling @anaibis @garden-of-gay @matchingbatbites @spectrum-spectre @winterbuckwild @steve-the-hairrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @babyblender @cursedfoxteeth @novelnovella @throwbackthrowaway @strangersteddierthings @shrimply-a-menace @emly03

[radiance1]

Back on my bullshit with the Eastern Dragon Danny and Phoenix Vlad au:

So basically, Vlad decided to go to sleep for a while, inside a modified coffin built to withstand him and all that. So, he tells Danny a specific time to wake him so that he could resume his duties as Duke.

Why did Vlad decide to take a really long nap? Because he was extremely tired of ghost zone politics and decided to just go fuck it, I need a nap.

The deadline he needed Danny to wake him up at is relatively short in ghost terms really, just about a period of 40 years, he's currently 20, so at the end of this he should just be an even 60. Which would give him plenty of time to finish forty years of work before his rebirth cycle kicked in again.

He gave Danny the key to said coffin, with its specific magical signature and everything. So he expected and trusted that Danny would awaken him within a span of forty years, perhaps a bit earlier if push came to shove.

Then he just went to sleep.

Danny doesn't like his decision to just, up and go sleep for forty years, only because he would have to be the one doing the paperwork but its like, whatever he guessed. Do Danny was now actually handling the paperwork and navigating ghostly politics once more!

Joy...

He was buried in work for a fair amount of time, sometimes literally, and had to kick it back for a bit before going back to work. He felt like he was forgetting something, though...

A key appeared under a stack of papers that he just worked through, a veeeeeeery familiar key that he was sure had some kind of importance based on that itchy feeling in the back of his skull.

Eh, it's probably not important.

Welp, back to work!

Danny worked in silence for a bit, before getting up and slamming his hands on his desk.

OH FUCK, VLAD!

It's been waaaay more than 40 years last he checked, enough time that Vlad must've rebirthed inside his coffin already by like, a lot of times by now.

Considering that 5 millenniums have passed.

Well, shit.

So he hid the key in his hair, shifted, and flew off to Vlad's domain to wake him up. But when he got there, weeeeell, let's just say that Vlad's coffin was. Well.

It was gone.

Now, you see Observants. He had a totally reasonable explanation for this, you know. It was uh, well, you know, he just, ya'know?

He just, kinda, forgot...

He'll get him back! He swears! He just, need to, ya'know, find the guy!

Couldn't be that hard!

Another five millenniums later, he felt like punching his past self for fucking jinxing future him! The Observants were literally breathing down his neck to find the guy, and he didn't want to go back to doing paperwork either!

His salvation came in the form of a summoning, one he answered and finally, finally found the location of Vlad's coffin. He honestly got extremely, he didn't want to face paperwork again, so he asked these group of heroes to help him find this specific coffin in exchange for whatever they wanted him to do.

And he's Ancient damn thankful he did cause oh boy, cause like 2 days later he was presented the coffin that was just sitting collecting dust in some magician guy's house that was apparently passed down throughout generations that the Justice League managed to get their hands on.

So he opened it, and literally had to catch Vlad, who fell out of his coffin and looked like a literal 10-year-old. Did Vlad's temporary retirement plan include his deadline of 40 years being stretched by 9,960 years? No, no it did not, and unlike the previous ghost king, he was not unaffected by the length of his sleep.

So forgive him if he had to relearn how to do basic body functions, his memory foggy, and his powers were a bit outta wack.

[cantsayidont]

October 1966. You can't keep a dead butler down. About two years after killing off Alfred the butler in 1964, editor Julius Schwartz was faced with a problem: William Dozier, the producer of the forthcoming Batman TV show, wanted to include Alfred in the show, and wanted him reintroduced into the comics as well! Schwartz and writer Gardner Fox struggled with this challenge and finally came up with the utterly preposterous story presented in the issue above.

Even for a Silver Age Gardner Fox comic book, this story is exceptionally convoluted, so it's best considered chronologically. We begin with a flashback sequence involving iconoclastic "all-around scientific genius" Brandon "Plot Device" Crawford:

This is already straining credulity a little because the story in DETECTIVE COMICS #328 in which Alfred died (helpfully recapped elsewhere in this issue) showed that he had been crushed to death by a giant boulder. That did not seem survivable at all, and even if it were, this would imply that neither Batman and Robin nor whatever doctor who filled out Alfred's death certificate nor the mortician noticed that he wasn't actually dead! Anyway …

So, Alfred wasn't actually dead, he wasn't embalmed, and he was buried in a refrigerated coffin (that's what the purple cylinders in the last panel previous page were for). A stretch, but we'll allow it. However, upon discovering this, Crawford, instead of calling an ambulance like a normal person, seizes on the opportunity to do some Frankenstein shit with Alfred's maimed, broken, mostly dead body, as one does (if one is a reclusive "radical individualist" who dropped out of college to pursue unorthodox, dubiously ethical scientific experiments, I guess).

One of the initial objects of Schwartz's tenure had been to rid the Batman books of the fantastical aliens, monsters, and bizarre transformations of the 1957–1963 period in favor of something a little more grounded. All that goes out the window here, despite the rather defensive editorial footnote, which says:

EDITOR'S NOTE: Physics professor Robert Ettinger, author of "The Prospect of Immortality," has said that death can only be defined in relative terms. He points to the hundreds of persons revived after drowning, asphyxiation, electrocution, and heart attack. "Biological death depends not only on the state of the body," Ettinger says, "but also on the state of medical art!"

Okay, then. On to the Frankenstein shit:

So, Crawford's experimental cell regeneration machine has restored Alfred's broken body, but in the process transformed him into an unrecognizable, rather hideous-looking being who is also evil. Check! The regeneration effect we see Crawford panicking about then transforms him so that he looks like Alfred, while leaving him in "a catatonic trance." The Outsider, rather ungratefully, puts Crawford's unconscious body back in Alfred's coffin to cover his tracks, and uses Crawford's various machines and his own "increased mental power" in his new quest to destroy Batman and Robin.

This was not the first appearance of the Outsider, who had actually been hounding the Dynamic Duo on and off since DETECTIVE COMICS #334 two years earlier, although he had never appeared on-panel, and his identity had been a mystery. Where Schwartz originally intended to take that plotline is not clear (Schwartz's own account doesn't say, and Gardner Fox said later that he didn't think Schwartz had a solution in mind at the outset), but it doesn't seem likely that revealing the Outsider as Alfred was the plan, particularly since subsequent Outsider stories had shown that the villain had superhuman powers, including the ability to bring inanimate objects to life! In this story, the Outsider really does transform Robin into a wooden coffin, as the cover indicates — it's not a hypnotic illusion or some other such dodge. Fortunately, the effect is reversed after the villain is defeated:

Batman's determination to keep these events secret from Alfred is bizarre, since Alfred's death is a matter of public record: As seen in DETECTIVE COMICS #328, Bruce Wayne started a charitable foundation in Alfred's name, with its own building in Gotham City! Batman suggests that they can rename the charity the Wayne Foundation (as of course they subsequently did), but how he expects to resolve the various problems created by Alfred having been legally dead for months without his finding out is unclear. They do take the time to retrieve Crawford (who has miraculously not suffocated or starved to death in Alfred's coffin) and use his machine to return him to normal, after which Batman suggests that Bruce Wayne will give Crawford a job at the renamed foundation.

If you're wondering, "Wait, does this mean Alfred now had super-powers?" the answer is yes! Since he didn't retain any conscious memory of his death and resurrection, he was normally unaware of this, but Alfred's evil Outsider personality resurfaced several times, and he sometimes spontaneously reverted to the Outsider's form, in which he once again had supernatural abilities:

Notice the background, with the buildings burning like candles? The Outsider did that with his mental powers, along with a bunch of less grandiose but equally impossible feats. Fortunately, they reverted to normal after he split into separate good (Alfred) and evil (Outsider) selves and defeated himself. The Outsider resurfaced once more in 1985, battling the Outsiders and nearly killing Superman by transforming the Batcave's giant penny into Green Kryptonite.

I guess this whole saga did resolve the problem of resurrecting Alfred for the TV show, but in what I think can fairly be called the most ludicrous way possible. (And you thought the PENNYWORTH show spun out of GOTHAM was silly …)

[multifandomthoughts]

GN Reader

Tw: Canon typical shenanigans, grave robbing, mentions of death and corpses

“Medic, we can’t be doing this! It’s not ethical or legal!” Your voice trembles as you follow the doctor down a secluded dirt path. “And when has that ever stopped me? Those qualms aside, I am in the pursuit of scientific advancement, you know that. You can’t believe you’re actually going along with one of his schemes.

There was a tendency you had to stay up late, but you had been methodical in your efforts to stay away from medic during these periods. His mind was the most unstable, most creative. And often was in need of companionship in order to carry out whatever experiments or other activities he had going on in the dark of the night.

He had caught you red handed. Sneaking a drink out of the shared fridge, the door creaking open alerted him to your presence. “Oh, there you are…” He growls.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he has some sort of shit-eating grin on his face, and that only means one thing. He was going to persuade force you to help him with whatever dastardly plot he has going on.

Before you can even respond to his comment, you drop your drink and try to sprint past him. He grips your shirt and with that same devilish smile, he shakes his head. “Now now…you’re going to help me with my experiment whether you like it or not.”

An hour later, all you’d managed to do was grow increasingly hoarse as you kept futilely protesting the whole way to your dark, unknown destination. You stumble, tripping multiple times over what seem to be tree roots and rocks. But, not knowing where you are, and the fact that fog has begun to set, distorts your vision heavily.

“Yes, yes! We are almost there, Schatz.” Medic says, his grin spreading ear to ear and his voice sounding like a giddy school boy. “Medic, where exactly are we going?” You question timidly. “Why, we’re going to the cemetery of course! I needed new specimens for my studies, and Miss Pauling refused to give me the bodies of the people we killed, so I had to resort to….drastic measures.”

Your stomach is now in your throat and your skin goes pale. You knew you were doing something unethical, but you didn’t know how unethical. Your footsteps slow, but don’t stop as you have nowhere to go, Medic was the one who drove you here.

As if he had eyes on the back of his head, he mumbled: “We’re not using fresh corpses you know…” Upon hearing that you spat “How does that make it any better?” “Well, I’m trying to run some tissue decomposition analysis so I can see how long it takes, and how I can potentially speed up the process.”

The gears turn in your head as you realize what he’s getting at. Your jaw drops as you look over at him. “Medic! That makes things worse!” Looking back at you, Medic gives you a sheepish grin. Or what could be described as a sheepish grin if he wasn’t absolutely unashamed of what he’s doing.

You continue to follow him as you have no way to get out of there, he did drive you there. Sighing, you know that no matter what you do, you can’t dissuade him from what he’s doing. He practically has no morals, so any way to change this would be moot. “Ah, here we are.” He comments, arriving at a relatively old grave.

It wasn’t by much, but it made you feel a little bit better that you weren’t disturbing a freshly dug grave. You can’t help but feel a bit on edge as you begin to dig, not wanting to destroy the remains. For what seems like forever, you uncover dirt and remove it from the grave. Finally, you come upon something as the shovel makes a “thunk.” noise, causing you to jump a bit. Beginning to panic, you remove the rest of the dirt, trying to see what you hit. The noise you had caused turned out to be a coffin, which relieves you greatly.

“Oh, what do we have here, hmm?” Medic mutters as he stops his digging, wandering over to you. He eyes the coffin devilishly, eager to open it up and see what’s inside. With a subtle nod, you both kneel down and open up the body’s final resting place. To your relief, it was only bones. Even though it was a relatively old grave, you weren’t quite sure what you were going to see.

With a rather giddy sound, Medic begins to appraise the skeleton, seeing if the specimen is up to his specifications. Gleefully, he decides that he can use the bones, and begins to pocket them. Within the next few hours, the cycle rinses and repeats. Sometimes you didn’t find anything, sometimes the body wasn’t up to his standards and sometimes it was perfect.

“Now that we have all the specimens we need…” Medic states calmly “You won’t ever have to do this again. I’m quite aware that this frightens and disturbs others, but I figured that since you were around when I needed you, you would comply like a good little assistant.”

Fidgeting with your hands, you begin to speak up. “No, I.…I actually loved it. At first it terrified me, as it would anyone, but as I got into the swing of things, it felt nice to actually spend time with you, get to know you better, even crack jokes with you. But next time, I’d prefer a heads up of what you’re going to be doing instead of forcefully dragging me along.”

And in that moment, you saw something incredibly rare from Medic: a genuine heartfelt smile. “My friend, that pleases me to no end to hear you say that…some people don’t exactly enjoy my company due to the reasons you stated before…but to hear you say you enjoyed it, makes my heart soar. And I promise that next time I will ask for your consent for these little excursions, alright?” Medic states, holding out his hand for a shake.

Taking his hand, you give it a firm shake before letting it linger a little longer that normal. And with that, you follow Medic into the night, ready for the next new adventure.

[nothazellevesque]

Okay, rereading pjo as an adult made me realize that Luke and the titans really used the geneva conventions as more of a geneva checklist. like bro technically did all but FOUR of the war crimes outlined in the geneva conventions. and he technically attempted summary execution, but he failed. let’s recap and go over what Luke did and where it fits as a war crime:

Willful killing, or causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health- literally all of the shit he does. Luke breaks this one with the pit scorpion in book ONE, and then keeps on breaking it every book.

Torture or inhumane treatment- okay so technically Luke is a victim of torture and inhumane treatment by kronos, and kronos tortures folks with Ominous And Scary Dreams.

Unlawful wanton destruction or appropriation of property- Luke/kronos goes absolutely HAM with the scythe and wrecks olympus. and a lot of Manhattan.

Forcing a prisoner of war to serve in the forces of a hostile power- okay so technically, luke HAS no prisoners of war, but he blackmails silena to serve him as a spy. she is not physically held captive in the traditional sense, but she is forced to serve out of fear for her and her loved ones’ safety. technically not a traditional prisoner of war, but DEFINITELY not a willing member of the titan force (i have no idea how to classify silena, really) also forces annabeth to hold up the sky so atlas can be free, literally forcing her to serve his goals.

Depriving a prisoner of war of a fair trial- technically has no prisoners of war in the traditional sense, but considering percy and his friends are briefly held prisoner by Luke and he tries to kill percy by letting antaeus, ethan, and a dracaena attack him without him being formally accused of a crime, i think this counts in the loosest sense of the law.

Unlawful deportation, confinement or transfer- annabeth in the titan’s curse. while technically not shown in the books, she did NOT make it from that cliff at westover all the way to mount othrys on her own or willingly. sorry girl

Taking hostages- annabeth. all those mortals on the princess andromeda. man took a LOT of hostages

Directing attacks against civilians- he puts all of New York City to sleep. not ONE of those people is a combatant, Luke. those are civilians, Luke. You did a war crime, Luke.

Misusing a flag of truce, a flag or uniform of the enemy- kronos literally wearing Luke as a skin suit. While Luke may have been an enemy combatant to percy and camp half blood, it is VERY apparent that he is fighting for some aspect of control and does not want to be kronos’s skin suit (as exemplified by his conversation with annabeth). or, a more obvious example, Luke masquerading as a normal camper while doing kronos’s bidding in the early days. man DEFINITELY wore the camp shirt while doing his evil deeds.

Settlement of occupied territory- taking over the princess andromeda. does a cruise ship count as territory? Idk. but i don’t think the titans built a whole ass cruise ship JUST for luke and kronos’s coffin and then decided to let a bunch of random mortals on. those folks were most likely already on there.

Deportation of inhabitants of occupied territory- the mortals on the princess andromeda are NOT present after sea of monsters. so where did they go?

Using poison weapons- idk what to classify the lydian drakon as. is that thing a combatant? a weapon? whatever it is, it has poison, and it kills people, which is Not Allowed. also Ethan’s little poison knife stab on annabeth. little war crime bestie

Using civilians as shields- wtf else would you call just leaving all those sleeping mortals on the street in Manhattan if not human shields?

Using child soldiers- okay to be fair EVERYONE in the pjo universe does this war crime. so ill give Luke a slight pass

Firing upon a Combat Medic with clear insignia- the Apollo cabin. those kids are the closest we got to combat medics in these books, and the monsters definitely try and munchity crunchity the fuck out of those kids

Murder, cruel or degrading treatment and torture- um… literally EVERYTHING luke/kronos unleashes upon the campers? idk what you would call a POISON ACID SPITTING DRAGON HITTING YOU IN THE FACE if not torture. also. he murders ethan. that’s definitely a thing he does. if the shard of weapon in Ethan’s body doesn’t kill him before kronos drop kicks him through a pit hundreds of stories above the ground, that drop definitely will. sorry ethan.

Pillaging- technically he does not do MUCH pillaging, but the stealing of the helm of darkness and the lightning bolt, and other minor things counts i think

idk if luke and kronos know about the geneva conventions, but they definitely exist in universe, so… have fun at The Hague with your war crimes mcgrimes headasses

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 6.2

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3

6.2 more than words

It was always tricky to focus on anything other than naked Steve in the luxurious walk-in wet room. Nevertheless, Steve seemed quieter than usual. Eddie found himself distracted in different ways from usual.

Okay, his first distraction was still Steve’s shiny body. He dripped with suds from the soap Eddie lathered across his chest, before teasingly wandering it lower. They were, in fact, similar in height and built, with Eddie maybe a fraction of an inch taller. Steve was maybe more trimly muscular. Yet sometimes, Steve seemed strangely… brittle?  

Nah. Not the right word. Eddie couldn’t quite nail it, and it was probably all in his ‘freakin’-the-shit-out-today’ head.

More palpably, the bright strip-lights revealed the deep shadows around Steve’s eyes, shouty as bruises. When Steve slid his wet palm to grasp Eddie’s semi, Steve yawned.

Eddie brushed Steve’s hand away, noting that, despite Eddie’s games with the soap, Steve was totally not turned on right now. “You all right, Babe? You look beat.” 

“I know what’ll pep me up.” Steve smiled tightly, turned away. He braced his hands to the tiles and spread his legs.

Eddie stroked Steve’s shoulder, eased him back around. He peeled wet hair from Steve’s puzzled face, and kissed him, deep and slow, amid the water and steam. The rumble of Eddie’s personal apocalypse grew deafening, and it wasn’t even about the money issues anymore. Dustin would sort that.

Levelling with Steve, whatever that meant, felt more important. And Eddie grew more tongue-tied than ever.

When they’d gotten out of the shower, Steve tied a towel around his waist and said, “What do you wanna do?”

This was the part where they usually ordered room service and got smashed. “Table-top pool?” suggested Eddie.

 “You hate that!” Steve threw his hands in the air, and his towel slipped beneath his hips. “I always wipe the floor with you.”

“Today could be different, Stevie.”

“Fat chance.”

The ruse worked. Steve drank beer, munched pretzels and potted endless silly balls. Meanwhile, Eddie reclined on his beanbag, chain-smoked Marlboro Lights, and necked Diet Coke. He kept his head clear, while he shared with Steve everything that happened before he’d buried himself in the penthouse.

It’d begun when he’d hired a studio, some session musos, and recorded several songs that he’d performed with Corroded Coffin. He tried to get Gareth and the guys on board. However, their lives had moved on after Eddie, in Gareth’s words, “Blew them off for yer egghead friends and to live the fucking high life.”

“I taped an EP, persuaded a few indie stores and Tower Records to stock it. It was a honking great floperooza, and then, while I was merrily licking my wounds, one of the music rags reviewed it.” Eddie sighed out a cloud of smoke. “They slammed it as the worst kind of rich-kid vanity record. You know, when I penned those songs, I hadn’t a dime to my name. So yeah, I bled, dude, and now I can’t seem to stop picking that scab.”

“It sucks. Anybody would bleed.” Steve lined up his last red. Instead of potting, he began to cough, dumping the cue down and doubling over. Eddie rushed forward, placing a hand on his  back.

“Stevie? You okay?”

Steve elbowed Eddie off, took a slurp of the Coke Eddie offered him. 

“Fucking pretzel got stuck,” wheezed Steve. “Rain check?” He dashed for the washroom, grabbing his uniform pants on the way. Eddie stubbed out his cigarette—probably a good call, before they both choked their lungs out, pretzels or otherwise.

Steve shortly returned, still shirtless and wearing his hotpants. He ruthlessly potted his final red: “Bam! Champ wins again. Your turn to break, Loser.”

They reset the table, and Eddie’s breakoff shot was typically disastrous. A ball shot up and landed in an enormous potted palm, which let Steve into the game. Eddie picked his nails ragged and continued his story.

“After that journo shot me down, I holed myself away in this dump, which was insane. I detest everything about this kind of forced-conformity shithole. I should give the dough to a homeless shelter. Instead, I can’t bring myself to leave the fortress of corporate evil! Which is beyond insane, and you know what I hate the most? I’m whining about it to you, like the woooorst kiiiind of entitled brat.”

Steve missed what looked like a screamingly easy shot, at least for him. “You don’t have to be poor to be down on yourself.”

Steve passed Eddie the cue and Eddie put it aside. He didn’t know what he was gonna say, only that he had to say something. Steve merely looked confused again, so Eddie grasped his hips, tugging him close.

“Listen to me, Stevie. Hiding myself away in a tarnished-ivory tower wasn’t the answer. Till you came along to rescue me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Steve flashed an apparently delighted grin, flung his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Your hair’s not that long, Rapunzel.”

Eddie went in for the kill: “I like you, Steve. I literally never said that to anybody before, and—”

“Yeah, I can tell that.” Steve’s bitchy tone didn’t reach his wide eyes.

“Ah shit, this place has turned me soft. Look, I mean it from the top of my greasy rocker head to the tips of my dainty metal toesies—I really like you. Look, I can’t hang here forever…”

…BUT I DON’T WANT THIS THING BETWEEN US TO END.

Eddie wanted to holler it so loud the chandelier would crash from the ceiling and wake the dead in Dallas. Instead, he found himself saying:

“...and I know it sounds dumb, but I wanna help you, like you’ve helped me, and—” 

“Zip it, Eds.” Steve pressed his fingertips to Eddie’s lips and rattled out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I know what it looks like, me peddling my ass and all, but the truth is, I don’t have to do this anymore. You were an exception.” He quirked a half-smile: “Tonight’s about you breaking free, not me. C’mon, man—let's party.”

....

Chapter 7 on tumblr

Chapter 7 on AO3

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕 writing this sort of fic can be lonely, and I appreciate it very much!

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 7or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[phantasmiac]

in which dabi is captured, and you are his beacon of hope

cw/tw: gender neutral reader, head banging as self harm, suicidal ideation, funeral mention

wc: 1.05k

dabi being incarcerated for his crimes after the villains lose the war. whatever sanity he had left is completely gone at this point. he’s completely mad with rage. enji is alive and well, that’s one thing to go batshit over. but these heroes won’t even grant him the freedom of death. he has to continue living with the weight of his most recent failure, as if it hadn’t been heavy enough to suffocate his entire being before. the men guarding his cell become familiar with the sounds of his sobs and screams; occasionally, they have to bust in and stop him from bashing his head into the walls in an attempt to free himself from his misery. so much for quirk nullifying cuffs.

the first time enji tried to talk to him through shatter proof glass, dabi let him have it. released all his sorrows, told him how much he wanted him to suffer in the depths of hell. the old fart fell to his knees, his face contorting into the ugliest expression while his eyes leaked gross tears. that should have brought dabi some sort of satisfaction, he supposed, but why would it? his words were just ricocheting off the barrier preventing him from killing that bastard, and at the end of their meeting he’d go home to his cushy mansion and golden boy son….. oh, right, and those other two kids. and wife. ex wife? who fucking cares. dabi doesn’t.

those background characters paid him a visit too. didn’t have as much to say to them, but didn’t let them walk away unscathed either. called his mother spineless, his sister a two faced bitch; they cried, just as expected. his brother — just a different color palette from Satan himself — wasn’t all too happy about that, pounding his fists on the glass yelling about “where’s touya” this and “what have you done with my big brother” that. it got the guards to pull him away and remove him from the room. and thank fuck for that because dabi was, quite frankly, having a hard time trying to conjure up some venom to spit at natsu.

but after the first visits, dabi had sworn himself to an oath of silence. if he couldn’t literally be six feet underground, he was going to act as if he was by being unresponsive. call him childish for it, but he’d been holding onto a grudge that existed since before his voice dropped a shit ton of octaves, for YEARS, so this was just the half of it. he was going to make the todoroki’s feel like they were passing by his open coffin at his dream funeral every time they walked through those maximum security doors, until the day his body decided to finally give out.

that was the plan, until you walked through the doors, looking so scared and small next to the giant walls of the metal dungeon they were holding him in. you don’t belong here. you don’t belong anywhere near this world. that’s why he left you that day without notice. so how the fuck did you end up here? you were always too stupid and curious for your own good, but surely you weren’t crazy or powerful enough to break into tartarus just to get involved in his business. no, that was his level of psycho. you’re twiddling your thumbs as you approach him and your footsteps are so loud in a silent facility like this, yet muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. he can tell you’re gathering the courage to lift that dumb little head of yours. you take a deep breath before meeting his eyes.

and god you’re still such a baby for him, even after you’ve probably seen all the destruction he’s caused on the news. your bittersweet smile goes all wobbly and a sob you were trying to hold in escapes your lips.

“hi,” you whisper meekly.

and that’s the way the cookie always crumbles. he scoffs, knowing he’s long walked right into enji’s trap. because if you’re a big baby for him, he’s a complete sucker for you.

“there’s a seat right there, idiot,” he mutters, snapping his head to nowhere in particular. he doesn’t need you seeing the softness in his eyes or whatever. and who knows how good those surveillance cameras are? for all he knows, enji is in some camera room right now zooming in and examining every detail of his expression, searching for a hint of his son inside that monster’s body (there’s no need to zoom, really. cat’s out of the bag now).

you’re quick to scramble for that seat like someone’s gonna come out of your blind spot and tackle you for it. you’re trying so hard to repress all the physical signs of joy currently overtaking every part of your body. “quit acting all cheesy,” or something like that, is what you expect him to say. and touya can see the battle you’re having with your mannerisms, trying so hard to stay cool for him, and it just makes him chuckle. maybe he’ll give the guards a hard time later, when he’s thinking back to how many displays of “weakness” he’s exhibiting at the moment. maybe he’ll successfully turn his brain to mush this time. but right now, your effect on him is kicking in, and he can’t find it in him to be be bothered by all that bullshit.

“you look hot today. this a date or something?”

you gawk at him, clearly not expecting one of his flirtatious comments you used to be familiar with. then you giggle, and it’s like rays of sun peaking through rain clouds during a thunderstorm. his stay in this prison has been nothing short of grim; he figures that’s why you haven’t come to mind once since his arrival, despite the nauseating amount of love he carries for you in his heart. you don’t belong here.

“you’re healing so fast,” you note. “seems like you’ll be in good shape in no time.”

touya knows you’re referring to his scars. but the sight of you here, right now, fills him with a whirlwind of unfamiliar emotions. you’re not human, he thinks. not from this earth. maybe you have some quirk you haven’t told him about that would explain the surreal effect you have on him? yeah, that has to be it. that has to be why he has this feeling of…. hope growing inside of him.

“yeah. yeah, i think i will be.”

[wxiao0]

Guys!! I just finished watching Captain Laserhawk and the plot never stops flowing into my head! Eeekk

Summary: Desmond yeeted or yote? Whatever into the Captain Laserhawk universe after he died to save the world (thank Ubi). In the corgi hybrid from because why not? Even in the show they have assassin bullfrog (he is the precious thing don’t you dare) why can’t we? And yeah Desmond he can change back to human from because the Isu bullshit brought with him, But there is a limited time.

The first thing when he touch The Eyes it was pain It was like it was burning from both outside and inside.

And after that it was darkness, he didn’t know how much time had passed. He can thought but he can’t feel. It’s cold or hot, it’s hard or soft ,he in the narrow coffin or floating in endless space.

Ha can’t feel anything.

But recently he feel like he was pulled into the blackhole. It was extremely fucking painful, as if his body had turned into spaghetti.

And the loud ‘THUD’ makes his body remember the pain again. He jumped up, the back that hit the ground still felt a slight pain. He tried to reach out to scratch his back but failed.

What?

He try to reach out and failed.

AGAIN

What?!?!

When Desmond looking down at his own hands, he saw.

A paw!?, no not paw but paws!

What the shit!!!!

Desmond tried to collect himself. Ok, breathe in breath out, in and out, in and out. Alright, he look around him look like he’s in an alley somewhere, It's all wet. And there was a smell of garbage everywhere. Well, he's sitting on a garbage bag that’s why.

He climbed out, nearly slipping because of a nearby puddle of sewage. He looked down examining his shirt, It was the same as the shirt he wore that day. His right arm, uh, or front leg? Covered with completely black fur. Meanwhile, his entire body was covered in orange and white fur.

Desmond felt his left ear twitch as he heard a man yelling from outside the alley he was in. He peeked out from the corner and saw two men, one with white hair, leaning against the wall before rushing to pick up the other man who didn't look too good. His right eye was replaced by a machine. The left arm was replaced with a mechanical arm.

That guy looked like something out of a sci-fi movie where the main character was a cyborg. Yeah…definitely. His ears perked up when white hair guy carry cyborg man is going to pass him by. He hurriedly hid himself with his instinct behind a large garbage bag.

He activated his eagle vision and saw the two people passing by. Surprisingly, he saw that the two men were faintly golden, almost invisible. It was as if they were important to Desmond in some way.

He blinked, his eyes turning brown again. Desmond rubbed a paw over his face before groaning lowly.

Ugh

Welp, life never gonna be easy to Desmond Miles.