#ask ficlet

[corkinavoid]

Hey, @confused-they, this is for you and for everyone else who wanted more of this AU. Merry Christmas.

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 4]

[<- part 3]

[Written to 'Tantrum' by Ashnikko]

TW: mentioned mild gore (some inside parts become outside ones, nothing graphic)

Tim can't breathe.

Joker's mad laughter is ringing through the darkness of the warehouse, echoing in his head, the screeching sound straight out of nightmares. Hood should be nearby - as in, somewhere in this darkness along with him - but Tim can't think about that, his own maniacal giggles bubbling in the back of his throat, a grin tugging at his lips.

He has to get up. He has to stand, he has to fight, and it really shouldn't be this hard.

But he can't breathe.

Tim clutches his fingers on the fabric of his suit on the chest, distantly wondering if this is how Danny feels when he is more human than ghost. Probably not, he mentioned that breathing is only optional.

He really wants his boyfriend right now. His fiance. Whatever, he wants Danny, he wants his cold hands on his cheeks and the faint, humming purr of his core that Tim finds nice to fall asleep to, and-

Maybe later. He can't exactly summon him now, not in the middle of a fight, especially not in the middle of a fight with Joker of all people.

There's an angry growl somewhere to Tim's left, staticky through the voice-modulator. Then several sounds of gunshots and a gleeful, taunting yell of the madman.

Hold on.

Tim snaps his eyes open - not that anything changes, everything is still pitch-black around him - and blinks.

Why not?..

It's not like Danny is a civilian. Tim tends to pay little attention to the fact since the King of Infinite Realms doesn't hang out with the whole superhero convention on principle. But Tim is pretty sure he won't mind it this once.

Besides, Tim is so done with Joker that it's not even funny.

A few breathy chuckles escape his throat as he lets his body fully slump back on the floor and brings his left hand to his face, placing a quick kiss on the Ring through his glove. He doesn't need to do that, not really, but it's kind of a ritual at this point, and the gesture somehow makes him feel better.

"Danny," he whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, there's a soft, popping sound, and his beautiful boyfriend is floating right over him, faintly glowing and a little sleepy. Tim is momentarily distracted by his bare feet and pj pants with tiny rockets on them.

Danny yawns and tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as it starts to float. "Whas'sup," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clearly not fully awake, and Tim's heart melts instantly. He loves Danny. He just... He loves him, okay? He loves that Danny didn't question his summons for a moment, he loves that he came even though he was obviously sleeping, and he loves that Danny is wearing a tee he stole from Tim.

Unfortunately, before he is able to get his shit back together, another sound of gunshot ripples through the air, and Danny startles, blinking himself awake and looking in the direction of it. Then, his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth makes a soft 'O' shape before he turns back to Tim and tilts his head in question.

"You want me to deal with him? The clown, I mean, not your brother," he asks, and it's so casual and off-handed that Tim actually huffs a laugh.

"Sorry, I was just- I'm really tired of his ass," Tim should probably sit up, this is not a talk they should have while he is lying on the ground. On the other hand, Jason is somewhere out there, and he has guns and doesn't have a clear visual around him, so maybe Tim shouldn't sit up.

Danny hums, "Is that a yes?"

Tim just nods. He is pretty sure Danny can see him despite the darkness. "I promise it's a one-time thing, I don't plan on calling you every time one of local lunatics acts up. I just... I fucking can't with him," he admits with a defeated sigh. But, before he can spiral any further into the abyss of unworthiness, Danny's cold hands are cupping his cheeks, and his icy eyes are looking right into Tim's sky blue.

"Love, I don't mind getting rid of each and every one of your Rogues. Granted, it would probably fuck up the timeline, and Clocky would be mad, but I'd do it if you want me to, no questions asked." His voice is quiet, and Tim has never been more grateful for his domino mask, because he can feel his cheeks heating up and he doesn't want Danny to see the exact effect his words are causing.

"I- Okay," he quietly agrees, and then blinks, backtracking, "Wait, no, don't fuck up the timeline. Just deal with the laughing bitch this once, and that's it. We can handle the rest."

Danny is smiling at him in that adoring way Tim recognizes as 'I really want to kiss you, but it's not the time or place'. Then, he nods and lets go of Tim's cheeks, straightening up in the air, and his clothes shift all at once, like a magic trick.

Gone are the stretched out t-shirt and the pants with rocket ships. In their place, Danny's body is head to toe covered in stars and galaxies that hold the vague shape of armor, and there's a slightly shimmering, blueish-green translucent cape over one of his shoulders.

The Crown over his head, the sentient artifact much like the Ring on Tim's finger, appears from nowhere, and, after a brief pause - Tim swears it was debating on whether or not the situation is worth the effort - promptly sets itself on fire. Blue flames cast long shadows on Danny's, no, King's face, making him look older and his cheekbones sharper.

Before, the boy was only faintly glowing, and, evidently, the others present in the warehouse were too distracted to notice him.

But now, with the flaming Crown casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warehouse, it's really hard not to see the otherworldly being making an appearance.

"Holy fuck," Tim hears Hood's quiet, astonished voice, and almost cracks a grin.

Yeah, he wants to say, that's my boyfriend. Although he suspects he and Jason are having vastly different reactions to Danny's presence. Because Tim kind of wants to take all his words about dealing with Joker back and take Danny home, straight to bed.

...He is going to have to strangle Jason in his sleep if his reaction is similar. No, that's a wrong thought, this is so not the time for it.

"Who are you, flying glowstick?" Joker sounds rightfully pissed off by the interruption, "Does Batsy employ alien kids now?"

Danny chuckles, the starry freckles on his cheeks glowing brighter, "Okay, just because you compared me to an alien, I'm not going to completely erase you from this plane of existence."

Tim snaps his head up.

"Wait, no killing," he reminds, not because he actually cares but because B would throw a fit. Danny brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, he'll stay alive," he smiles at Tim, and to everyone else, it probably looks like stuff of nightmares, sharp, pointy teeth and lips stretched out far beyond human capabilities. But Tim sees it for what it is: a face of mischief.

"Do I get a vote in this?" Jason's deadpan voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse at the same moment as Joker screeches in rage, "Who the fuck do you think-"

"Nope," Danny pops the 'p', and Tim is not sure if he is answering to Hood or refusing to listen to the clown's monolog by it. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.

The next moment, Danny is gone, disappeared from the place he was floating at, and Tim hears a wet, very unpleasant sound followed by Joker's scream of pain.

"You see this?" He hears Danny's nonchalant, unfazed voice above the clown's pained cries, "This is your rib, bitch- Hey, quit whining and listen to me, it's important."

There's a slap, a rustle, and a sound of ripping fabric, and Joker's voice becomes muffled, like someone put a gag in his mouth.

"You're like Adam now, you know, lacking one rib," Danny continues, "Only I'm not making you a girl out of this one, I'm pretty sure you don't deserve to reproduce. Anyway, going further down that metaphor, I'm the God almighty in this situation, so if you want to keep the rest of your ribs - and the rest of other things that are supposed to stay inside of you - to yourself, you gotta do a thing for me, okay?"

There's some muffled groans that Joker makes in response, then an enraged growl, a sound of a struggle, another slap, and then that same wet, disgusting squelch.

"Two ribs, wow, okay, you're really being difficult about this!" Danny sounds so innocently dumbstruck about it that Tim suppresses a laugh. "Are you listening now?" There's a quiet, choking wheeze that answers him, and Danny sounds quite pleased when he says, "Great."

Tim debates if he should look. He doesn't exactly want to since the sounds provide enough context, but it might be somewhat cathartic for him.

And then the air around him inexplicably shifts, becoming cold and oppressive, weighting Tim down like a heavy blanket and pushing him into the floor. The dancing shadows and the blue light of flames on the walls twist and churn, like taking aim, and Tim doesn't know what Danny looks like right now but he knows he is as far from human as possible, his voice coming with a staticky, echoing whisper, a threatening hiss slithering inside Tim's ears.

"Play your little games all you want, Fallen Jester, but know that you can not win. The punchline to your joke is long overdue, and your soul has belonged to me for quite some time now," his words are cold and uncaring, and in all the time Tim has known his boyfriend, he has never heard him speak like this: with a sense of lazy power, like he is only humoring the people around him.

Like they mean nothing to him.

"I will not kill you, or at least not here and now. My Guiding Star doesn't want to see my hands dirty with your filthy remains. Besides, death is only a moment, and you don't deserve only a moment of suffering," he huffs a short, humorless chuckle, "But, luckily, I am the Eyes of the Universe, the Titan's Bane, the King of the Dead, and everyone will meet me once their eyes fall shut for the last time," there's a smile in his voice now, full of cold and merciless anticipation. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine.

"So just you wait, Jester, and I will meet you on the other side. Then we'll see how whatever is left of your soul is going to spend an eternity."

Tim's ears are ringing with the pure, somehow gleeful hatred that laces those last words. He didn't know he could literally taste the disgust and the promise of pain, and yet, here he is, with a hint of something sour on his tongue.

And then, the heavy, weighted air that has been charged with power is lifted, the shadows and bright blue lights are all gone, and Danny, wearing his pj's and smiling, is standing over him. His feet are planted on the ground for once, and the Crown is gone without a trace, but his t-shirt is still trying to float up. The boy tugs it down again, offering a hand to Tim.

"Wanna go out for a burger since I'm already here in Gotham?"

Tim had never breathed easier in his life. He laughs a little and reaches up, taking his beautifully unhinged boyfriend's hand and standing up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[stevebabey]

you're the only one for me, baby

1.7k, steddie, one of them getting so drunk that they don't recognise the other and telling them back off i've already got a boyfriend, it's all sweetness <3 likely a modern!au and actually just goobers in love

Eddie doesn't really drink. He's not against partying but he's much more attuned to smoking a little weed to take the edge off, sometimes a spliff if he wants to mix a little business and pleasure.

Eddie doesn't really drink—so when he does, it goes about as well as expected.

From zero to a hundred.

Steve had lost track of him after directing his stumbling feet towards the bathroom to take a leak. But apparently, as he's now found out, this bathroom has two doors.

What the fuck kind of bathroom has two doors, like some weird thoroughfare?

Regardless, it took all of five minutes with no noises coming from the inside before Steve had loudly announced he was coming in, no matter what, getting quite worried for his boyfriend.

He trusted Eddie to not be too sloshed to handle a piss, even if he was on the wilder side tonight, but still leaned up against the door to chase off anyone else looking to knock—because Eddie hilariously gets pee-shy.

The door had opened easily, apparently unlocked, and Steve had stepped into the empty bathroom. The other door across the room, the one he hadn't noticed until now, was wide open to the party.

So, now he's on the hunt for Eddie.

Which is a task that feels a little bit like herding cats because drunk Eddie isn't something Steve has a lot of experience with. But what he does know, is this: it's the opposite of high Eddie.

Stoned, Eddie likes to find the comfiest place he can (usually Steve's lap, or so he proclaims) and sink into it, like melting wax. Then, given he has access to adequate snacks, he doesn't move for quite some time.

Drunken Eddie cannot even fathom the concept of sitting still.

Either way, looking where there's food is a good as a place to start as any.

Steve ambles out the strange two-doored bathroom and flips his head back and forth, trying to remember the direction of the kitchen. He hasn't been here before—one of Eddie's band connections—and Steve's still had a couple beers himself.

He shakes his head and takes a left, relieved when it leads to the stairs. Okay, he sort of knows where he's going now. They had only come upstairs to find the quieter bathroom for Eddie.

As Steve reaches the bottom of the stairs, a faint stir of irritation flashes through him. Eddie just left him behind? That wasn't that nice, even if he was incredibly drunk.

He can hear the din of people chattering just above the music and he follows it, leading him into the half-full kitchen, people dotted around. There's a few pizza boxes scattered around and Steve eyes each of them specifically, looking for the tell-tale wipe of Eddie's greasy fingers. No dice.

Steve wrinkles his nose, spinning around and double checking before he moves on.

If not by the food, then... where?

Steve takes a few steps forward into the living room, his heart beginning to sink and shrivel all at once. There was a miserable feeling attached to looking for his partners at a party, a wallowing and awful memory tied to the feeling.

Steve pushes a hand across his chest roughly, as if trying to shove the feeling away.

Eddie wasn't... her. Eddie wouldn't do that.

But the moment he's thought it, it's stuck in his head. Steve's feet begin to speed up, checking a little more carelessly as he starts to stick his head in different rooms, his hazel eyes jumping around. Not Eddie, not Eddie, not Eddie—so many people and none of them are Eddie.

Until—there. Steve spots a very familiar looking behind as it leans over the back of the couch, the owner of said-behind talking to someone sitting on the couch.

He blinks, just to be sure, but the details come into better focus. There's chains on his belt loops and when he shakes his head, Steve can see the curls he loves to bury his hands into.

Eddie.

Steve's relief pulls him forward, his feet almost stumbling, his mouth pulling into a relieved smile. He puts a hand out, fingers spread, across the leather-clad back.

"Eds," Steve says, relief colouring his voice.

Eddie swings up abruptly, pushing himself off the couch. When he turns, a bit of liquid sloshes out of the beer bottle he's holding.

"Heyyy," The words come out a bit slurred and when he finally stands straight, he doesn't look right at Steve. "Handsssss off the merchandise, buddy."

Steve chuckles, reaching out and plucking the bottle from his boyfriend's grasp. Eddie gawps, an adorable little hiccup interrupting his shocked expression.

"Hey," He says loudly, reaching forward for it fruitlessly as Steve pulls it out reach. "That's mine." Eddie whines.

"You've had more than enough, I think." Steve says. He steals just one gulp of it before he turns at puts it on a nearby table. When he turns back, Eddie is frowning at him, brows pulled together tightly and bottom lip jutting out.

"Listen—" Eddie leans forward, jabbing a finger into Steve's chest. "I dunnowhoyouthinkyouare," The words come out in a one big jumble and Steve frowns.

What? Something sour claws into Steve's chest at the frosty greeting.

"Eddie," Steve says, his hazel eyes wide and worried as his gaze darts between Eddie's squinted face and swaying form.

Steve reaches out to put a hand on his waist, aiming to steady him, but Eddie sees it coming and widens his eyes comically. He swerves back to avoid it, his boots tilting dangerously on the wooden floors. If he was still holding his beer, Steve bets half of it would be on the floor by now.

"Wo-oah," Eddie exaggerates, waving a hand out and batting Steve's outstretched arm away. The rottenness in Steve's chest blooms, rancid and freezing. He sucks in a sharp breath.

"Ed—"

"I—" Eddie says, holding up his hand and waggling one finger at Steve, like he's a naughty schoolboy. His words still have that drunken slur to them.

"—already have a boyfriend, thank you very much. He's much too pretty to be throwing it away for the likes of you, you weasel of a man..." His ludicrous and nonsensical insult trails off under his breath as Eddie's attention is drawn away by a shout across the room.

As he watches Eddie drape himself back over the couch, the sourness between Steve's ribs shifts, transforming into something infinitely sweeter. He lets out a dazed laugh, a wild smile spreading on his face before he can smother it beneath his hand.

I'm dating a lunatic, Steve thinks happily.

He reaches out and steals Eddie's beer once more, taking another large swig before giving it another go.

This time, he sidles up beside Eddie who's engaged back in conversation with one of the guys on the couch, and just waits. It only takes a minute before the dude on the couch seems to realise who Steve's waiting for and he nudges Eddie, gesturing behind him.

Eddie, still bent over the back of the couch, twists only his head to look. This time, the recognition is immediate.

He springs up, pushing the couch forward an inch in his excitement and leaps forward, his hands clawing into Steve's shoulder with a fierce delight.

"Steeeeve," Eddie croons, crowding in close. His hands start moving, fingers searching like curious spiders, fingertips dancing along the sensitive skin of Steve's neck til he's squirming back, laughter betraying him.

"Stop it." He laughs. Steve arrests Eddie's wrists in his hand and Eddie cackles, using the pause to surge forward, kissing him square on the mouth.

Eddie tastes like the beer he's been drinking and Steve barely gets a moment to enjoy it before Eddie's pulling back, leaning forward so they're forehead to forehead.

"I was looking for you." Eddie says, his doe eyes wide. His pupils grow larger the longer he stares at Steve.

Steve grins. "Uh huh. Looking for me between the couch cushions, were you?"

Eddie rears back, his head flipping as he stares back at the couch and then back at Steve. "Nuh uh. I came out the bathroom and you were goooone."

That explains it. Eddie must have left out the other door — and then thought Steve had left him behind and gone hunting for him. Something else settles in Steve's chest, relieved.

"And—" Eddie hiccups. "—and some guy tried to- to freakin' flirt with me. Can you believeee?"

Steve's grin widens by a mile. "Is that so? What you'd tell him?"

"No, of course!" Eddie says, head pulled back as if he's appalled Steve would think otherwise. He shakes his hands out of Steve's grip and drops them, fumbling for a moment to get his fingers into Steve's belt loops.

When he does, he yanks Steve forward a tad too forcefully, their bodies colliding in a way that's more sore than sexy. Eddie continues on as if he doesn't notice. "Even if he was particularly tasty," He murmurs, his lips tracing the column of Steve's throat.

"I let him know, baby." Eddie all but purrs.

And perhaps if the competition Eddie was beating off was literally anyone other than himself, Steve would be right there with him.

Instead, he can't contain his snort of laughter. Eddie was perfect; he was a possessive and drunken dog, barking up the wrong damn tree. Steve loves him.

"You're laughing," Eddie states plainly, even as his doe eyes manage to grow even more round. Steve can't help it, it just makes him laugh more.

"Treason." Eddie declares. Then using the belt loops to keep Steve captive, he leans in and blows a raspberry on his neck.

Steve lets out an unattractive squawk, his laughter melting into Eddie's as he pushes his boyfriend's face away — to which Eddie simply lets himself go limp, his face cradled and held up solely by Steve's hands.

"Christ," Steve says between his laughs, shifting his hand to hold him more tenderly. Eddie smiles dopely, then puckers his lips and closes his eyes.

Steve rolls his eyes, entirely too endeared. "Alright, c'mere," He gives in, leaning and kissing Eddie, short and sweet. When he pulls back, Eddie's eyes are open, starry and gazing up at him. He gives a dreamy sounding sigh. Steve's heart fizzles, like it's full of pop-rocks.

"Ready to go?"

"As long as it's with you, baby." Eddie says, sounding every bit like he means it.

[unopposablethumbsao3]

Julian getting a little too enthusiastic in the gym after everybody finds out he's an augment.

He's never been able to actually push himself while working out in public before, he's always had to hold back to avoid attracting too much attention. So, horrific and traumatic as it was to have his secret revealed like that, to hold on to his career and his life and everything he cares about by the skin of his teeth, there are things he's looking forward to now, things he just couldn't do before.

All of which adds up to Julian in the gym at 0500, figuring out his absolute max deadlift, dropping it down to his 90% and doing set after set until he simply can't lift it anymore. It takes fucking ages, he's even stronger than he expected, and he's having such a good time...

Until about two hours later, right at the start of his shift, when he feels himself start to stiffen up. He tries to push through it, tries to just keep moving and get rid of all the lactic acid that's building up in his glutes, but there's only so much you can do when you've put your body through that and by lunch time, he's locked in a chair in his office and he doesn't think he can stand up anymore, actually.

Which, of course, is when Garak shows up to ask if he still wants to have lunch. And Julian would really like to say yes, but if he can't even stand up then walking to the Replimat is right out, so he just tells Garak that he's got to catch up on some research, actually, and can they take a rain cheque? And he adds his most charming smile for good measure, but now Garak is just *looking* at him, one of those inscrutable looks, with his eyes squinted and his head tilted to the side.

"My dear doctor, are you quite alright?"

And Julian could just tell him! He could just say 'no, actually, I worked out far too hard and now I can't actually stand up to go and get the muscle regenerator I would need to fix it, let alone to join you for lunch!' But that would require *admitting* that he'd overdone it, which of course is exactly what Garak warned him about that morning as he was leaving their quarters at 0430. 'Don't push yourself too hard, my dear, genetically engineered or not, human spines are simply structurally inadequate in some respects..."

And of course he was right, and of course Julian can't let him *know* he was right, and so they're at a stalemate. And Garak just keeps *looking* at him, and then he walks into the room and around the desk and he just stands there, looking down at Julian until Julian is just like "...yes?" And Garak's like, "oh, I just thought I would give you a kiss, since you can't join me. Because of your research." And Julian's like "...okay?" And Garak's just like "so why don't you stand up so I can kiss you properly?" And Julian knows he's fucked but of course he can't admit it so he just stares at Garak until Garak starts smiling and says "you can't, can you?"

And that's how Garak ends up carrying Julian out of the infirmary in the middle of the day to drop him in an Epsom salt bath while he lectures him on the importance of *moderation*, my dear, you really must learn *moderation*

[cherry-pop-elf]

Snuggle Company

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic ((because platonic love is valid!))

Summary: Umbridge has been giving everyone nightmares. You especially, given she is well aware how close you are to the twins. Has you paranoid she will hurt you in your sleep. So, who better to keep you safe than the twins themselves?

Warnings: Anxiety, Umbridge, stress, sleepy snuggles, and it’s very short 😣 Going through ALOT right now. Pls forgive me

Here you were again. Standing just outside the dorm doors that belonged to the seventh year boys. A pair of boys would be in there that you needed. Needed badly, because you had yet another nightmare. A nightmare about her.

You worried they would be getting annoyed by this. By you waking them up again, just to climb into bed with them. Would it be better that you just straight up moved in there with them? Would the other students in their dorm be annoyed by your presence? This wasn’t your assigned bedroom after all.

You tried to power through those worrying thoughts, as you pushed the door open. You were too scared of Umbridge to give a care about what others thought. She hated you. Hated you because those twins liked you. You were the enemy by association.

You would tip toe across the room, and would hug yourself tighter. Just worried about being a burden, and a bother. Something she would often say you were. Just attacking your insecurities. She was good at that. She was good at making people hurt. Oh she was damn good at hurting people, and getting away with it.

Finally, you reached the familiar bed. Fred’s bed. Well, Fred and George’s bed. They never really out grew sharing a bed. George’s ended up being a make shift work shop table for their inventions. You found it utterly adorable how they would hold each other. They had a special bond. Magic tended to play a heavy role in that, but you still found it sweet. How that no matter how old they get they would still make sure to be there for each other. No matter what. Was comforting to see that guys don’t always worry about masculinity.

“Psst….Guys-“ You gently shook George’s shoulder, as you tried to wake them up. Didn’t want to wake the other students up, but you also didn’t want to just climb into bed either. Could startle them. Or worse. They didn’t want you to, and you invaded their personal bubble. Consent is important after all.

“Hm-?” George would rub at his eyes, while Fred yawned. They were annoyed as hell, until they saw it was you who bothered them. George gave a comforting smile, before scooting away from his twin. Fred, in turn, lifted the blanket up. You gave a sigh in relief, before climbing between them. Snuggled safely between them both.

“Thanks.” You whispered, as they would wrap their arms around you. A tangled of limbs, just like that. Was so warm. So warm, and safe. No one could get to you now. Safe between a pair of tricksters. Just like that. The smell of fire crackers, and cinnamon. That was such a comforting scent to you. Baked goods, and fire.

“No pink toads will get you-“ “Not on our watch.” The twins would tease you, as they gave you a tight squeeze. A reminder that they weren’t going anywhere. Not without you, at the very least. That had you smile, and feel a weight lift off your body. Safe. Safe again.

“We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry.” George would reassure you, as he would nuzzle into the back of your neck. Enjoying the warmth you gave him, as his arm reached over to keep physical touch with Fred. The two most important people he has, right in his arms.

“And it’s going to be utterly spectacular. Just you wait and see.” Fred would echo, as he rested his head on yours. Forcing your nose into his neck, as his arm did the same thing. Keeping George close, as you were all safely hidden under the blanket.

“Promise.” They would share, as you were already drifting to sleep. Safe in their strong arms, and knowing you’ll be safe by morning all the same. No scary toads to haunt your dreams. Just a pair of pranksters to defend you. No matter what.

Safe snuggles. What a dream come true.

[shushmal]

from @skepsiss: Steddie (obviously), prompt = one of them is trying to convince the other to go to the hospital for a minor thing (needs stitches from a fall, stomach bug).

"Stevie, please."

"Oh my god," Steve sighs, wrapping the gauze tight around his hand. It blooms red with blood. "It's fine, Ed."

"It really isn't." Eddie is a little pale when Steve looks up to glare at him. "Steve, please baby, I saw the bones in your hand."

"You're being dramatic."

"See," Eddie whines, high pitched and panicked. "I do understand why you're saying that. I know this is a case of boy who cried wolf. But I am begging you here. Please, let me drive you to the hospital."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't that deep, I promise you."

"Steve."

"Ed—"

And then Eddie does this thing—where he pulls himself up to his full height, crowding up into Steve's space, until they're nose to nose, his eyes wide and intense—and it shuts Steve up every time. It's stupid, and horribly embarrassing, but it works and Eddie uses it to his advantage, pressing Steve into the edge of the counter and boxing him in, his hands tights against Steve's hips.

"Steve," he says, low and serious. "You can bitch at me all you want in the car, but I'm taking you to the hospital. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve says, against his will, face burning as Eddie pulls away. As soon as he has breathing room to think, he scowls at him. "But if I don't need stitches, you're on the hook to do dishes for the next month."

Eddie doesn't even grimace—he hates doing dishes—and gently starts herding Steve out the door. "You got it, honey," he says, distractedly. His face turns green when a line of blood drips down Steve's wrist from beneath the bandage. "Whatever you say."

Steve ends up getting 15 stitches. Eddie's stuck doing the dishes until it heals anyways.

[blindmagdalena]

I’m so sorry Amy this is NASTY but from the moment I saw the chest fuzz on HL my first thought was how sensitive it would make the nips when fucking cause of the texture

18+ homelander x reader. boob stuff, body hair appreciation, overstimulation, flying sex, cream pie. never apologize to me i will always make it nastier. 🖤

At first the brush of it is divine. It wrings a gasp from low in the back of your throat, has you kneading the taut muscles of his back while he pounds into you. Homelander's body hair isn't overly coarse, but it hardly matters when his chest is pressed flush to yours, his lips on your throat.

You feel his every huff and whimper more than you hear them. They pair perfectly with the desperate grip he has on your hips, holding you in place with his whole body as he fucks you against the ceiling.

Now the grind of his chest against yours is beginning to take a toll. You shiver with his every move, growing more and more tender with the friction. Your cunt quivers tight around his cock and he stifles a hot moan into the crook of your neck.

His cock, more thick than long and nicely curved, strokes that sweet spot inside you that strikes stars behind your eyelids with every snap of his hips. You fist your hand in his hair and pull until his lips meet yours.

"Fuck," he gasps against your lips, threads of saliva snapping between your hungry mouths. "You drive me fucking crazy."

"Don't blame me for that," you respond breathlessly, licking right back into his mouth. "You were there when I got here."

He grins, giving a ravenous little growl and a sharp thrust. "Fine. Crazier."

The two of you climax like that, entwined and floating high off the ground, your ascension halted only by the height of the ceiling. Only once the aftershocks fade out does Homelander begin to sink back down to the bed. You feel as if you're in the clouds, floating on euphoria and his warm, soft body.

Still trembling, you lift yourself up. This is how you had started; astride him, riding him until the wild bucks of his hips had lifted you both up, up, up.

You smooth your hands down your own chest, goosebumps erupting everywhere. You give his pec a slap, the thwap of it dulled by the padding of hair. "You rug burned my whole chest," you chastise, though your tone is colored by your smile.

He sucks in a breath, contemplating the condition of your skin as he blows out a raspberry. He cups your breasts in gentle hands and pushes them together and up, meeting the pearl-soft flesh of them with his lips. He kisses apologies all over each one, flicking his tongue over your nipples for the way you gasp and tug his hair when he does.

His spent cock, still buried deep inside you, throbs valiantly as he sucks one breast into his mouth, tonguing your nipple in slow circles. You shudder and grind down in retaliation, the both of you hyper-sensitive, moving leisurely against one another as your satiation passes and the need for more grows.

You ride him slow and deep until he comes again. You rub your clit to the feel of his mouth on your chest and his come dripping out of you until you, too, orgasm, the tight spasm of your cunt reducing the most powerful man in the world to a simpering mess between your thighs.

The two of you untangle your limbs only to jigsaw right back together, his back to your sensitive chest, your arms around him, fingers scratching through the very hair you complained about.

"I could start waxing again," he says, words lazily slurring together.

"Don't you dare," you murmur, nuzzling the spot just behind his ear, kissing the shell of it. He interlaces his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand to his chest. "You're perfect as is."

You don't need to see him to know he's smiling. You feel it in the slant of his lips when he presses the back of your hand to them.

[slashersdaddy]

Hey! I hope You are doing Well! Can I Request a Fluff? Slasher x S/O Calling Them "Sweetface" (I was watching the seed of Chucky the other day and it got me wondering). Can i have Jason, Michael, Thomas Hewitt and Brahms? Gender is up to you!

(Sorry if my Writing is a bit Messy, English is not my First Language)

Have A Great Day! :D

Slashers respond to S/O calling them sweetface!

Fluff!

Jason Voorhees

When you first called him sweetface, it was in his cabin, while you both were resting by the fire, he had been sharpening his machete, and froze up.

His shoulders tightened and he looked down at you, tensed like a snake ready to strike.

Though he would never do such a thing.

Finally after a long silence which stretched out around you both, the only noise your soft breathing and the crackling of the fire, he tilted his head.

It was as just about clear a response as you could get out of the mute killer, 'What?'

So when you giggled and spoke again "I said, come here sweetface!" He slowly scooted closer, before quick as can be, he scooped you up into his arms, pulling you into his lap, and burying his face in your shoulder.

He didn't understand why his heart raced so much, or really why you would call a monster like him such a loving nickname, but he couldn't say he minded. The feeling of warmth blooming in his long dead chest made every moment worth it.

Micheal Myers

You had been sitting with Micheal in the living room of the old Myers house, watching some shitty horror film on the old TV set when you glanced up at him, a smile forming on your face before you leaned on him

"I love you, Sweetface"

Were the words that escaped your lips, a soft smile playing on your face as you gazed up at him. You had been with Micheal for a couple of years now, and every moment felt like a dream to you.

Micheal froze, tensing slightly as he gazed down at you through the mask he always wore, his ice blue eyes peircing into your own eyes.

But slowly, almost hesitantly, he relaxed, draping an arm around you, his fingers massaging your scalp in a shockingly gentle manner for one known for his brutality.

You should call him sweetface more often

Thomas Hewitt

You had been sitting with Thomas in the barn, one hot Texas summers day. Thomas was working nearby, focused on the work that needed finished before sundown. When you broke his focus, just a simple phrase

"Tommy, Sweetface, why don't you take a break? You've been working all day!"

He paused his movements, slowly turning and striding over to where he towered over you, looking down at you, head slightly cocked to the side as he waited for you to repeat yourself.

So you did, smiling up at him and repreating the wordsthat had shaken him out of his work filled stupor

"tommy Sweetface, you should take a break, you've been working since sun up"

You said, gently, for fear of his reaction.

But much to your surprise, he simply nodded, reaching one arm out and wrapping it around your waist, tossing you over his shoulder and making his way to the porch.

That's where he sat, settling you onto his leg while his hands began to slowly rub your back, seemingly an apology for having you out in the hot sun all day.

You could get used to this

Brahms Heelshire

You had just finished preparing dinner and setting the table, noticing the distinct lack of Brahms, who usually had already come down drawn by the scent of food you called up

"Sweetface! Dinners ready!"

Then came the familiar sounds of Brahms making his way downstairs, albeit faster than usual.

But instead of sitting at the table he walked up to you, his hands finding your cheeks and lifting your face to look at him, head tilted to the side as he speaks, low and measured

"what?"

It's clear what he is asking about, you had called him sweetface, so with a smile you reach up, ruffling his hair

"I said, Sweetface, dinners ready"

He paused, either shocked by you repeating it, or by the confirmation that you did infact call him sweetface before he leaned down, wrapping you in a tight hug, burying his face in your neck and muttering

"good"

[aychama]

I was wondering, does king Narinder have ever had any funny episode with catnip in his life?

-Im getting the warnings of becoming sick so no art but you guys can have a little idea I have!-

"What is going on? Why is everyone running out of the building?" Lambert looks to the panicked palace staff.

"The king has accidentally sniffed catnip!" One maid yells as she rushes out the door.

"Huh? Why is that a problem? Is he alergic or something?" Lambert grabs the arm of a fleeing butler, not understanding the urgency. Their grip is firm on the poor butler.

"The problem is, whoever sees him in that state gets punished the day after!" The butler answers as another maid stops by the two to warn them.

"Years ago one had seen him lick his own hand and the next day the poor butler was forced to clean horse shit with bare hands!" She says it like its the grosest thing in the world.

"And another maid had heard him purr and my god.... she was almost fired!" The butler pries Lambert's grip off of his arm as he speaks.

"That just sounds like he is embarrased of the state he is in?" Lambert understands the situation of everyone fleeing as no one would want to be fired from the palace for such reasons, working at the palace pays well, but the situation was still too ridiculous for everyone to run away.

"Yea it- eeeee!" The butler and the maid hightail it as Narinder approaches them.

He picks Lambert up, they dont even protest (were they really this light for him to easily hoist them up?) as he brings them to the garden. The sun is still up but no one is around, everyone has fleed from the palace.He purrs and wraps his hands around Lambert, who wasnt wearing their armor. He cuddles them, burying his nose into their nape and licks wherever he gets his snuggly face on while lying down as the birds chirp and Lambert looks at the blue sky all stiff, not sure what to do in this unexpected turn of events.

"Oh im so dead tomorrow..." Lambert says outloud to no one, feeling dread in their gut while they are forcefully cuddled in grass. Their heart beats fast in their chest and they think it has to be because of fear.

His nose tickles...

The next day, however, when Narinder and Lambert run into eachother in the corridor, the morning sun hits Narinder's face in just the right angle for his face to be seen behind his veil and he is... blushing? He turns away before Lambert can properly see.

How weird, he would usually give them an order to follow him or something else.

Maybe he forgot. Cute.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Tim's unternet suit really is the most glaringly obvious hero worship/crush for Dick thing he ever has. in the unternet, where Tim's subconscious creates what he is. that's the suit his brain comes up with? something so clearly derivative of Nightwing? down to the *finger stripes*?

red robin #19

this is gay as hell. the reason Tim can't wear this soul irl is bc the first thing he would do is jerk off in it. and he couldn't handle the embarrassment of Dick seeing how similar it is. if DC ever made this Tim's official suit the first thing they would have to do is make Tim and Dick fuck in it. i'm so close to writing that fic i won't lie.

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

I wish you woud write a fic where either Buck or Tommy get amnesia

This made me laugh a bit, Anon, because my friends have said I should write an amnesia fic too, but I haven't had an idea for it yet. Hopefully you like what your request inspired!

Here be the silliest amnesia ficlet ever:

"Evan. Evan!" Tommy crouched down in front of his boyfriend, carefully feeling around his head for any bumps. "Look at me, baby."

His favorite pair of baby blues fluttered open, hazily looking around until they landed on Tommy. "Wh-what happened?"

"You got a little enthusiastic during your cooking and karaoke time," Tommy said, tilting Evan's chin so he could check his pupils. "You slipped—" He still wasn't sure how he'd managed that. "And went down hard. I think you hit your head on the cupboard. Does anything hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," Evan said, frowning as he moved to sit up. "And mostly my butt and my elbow, but I think I'm okay." He stared up at Tommy with wide eyes. "W-who are you though?"

Tommy's heart stuttered in his chest. "I'm Tommy."

"Tommy," Evan breathed out. "We—we know each other?"

"Yeah, we do," Tommy said, swallowing hard. "I'm your boyfriend. Do you—do you not remember me?" How hard had he hit his head? They had to get him to the hospital—this was bad. This was really bad.

"Boyfriend?" Evan's lips quirked up in a way that had Tommy's eyes narrowing. "I think that's ringing a bell, but—I might need a little kiss to help me remember..." He chewed on his bottom lip, barely holding back a grin as he looked at Tommy through his lowered lashes.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Tommy laughed as he sat back on his heels—relieved and exasperated in equal measure.

"What about my kiss?" Evan pouted. "How am I supposed to remember my strong, handsome boyfriend—hmpf—"

Tommy pressed forward, putting his all into the kiss, into the reminder of exactly who they were to each other. "Better?" he asked, once they'd finally pulled apart.

"Much better," Evan agreed breathlessly. His face fell into a grimace as he shifted on the floor. "My butt still hurts though."

"Come on," Tommy said, as he helped Evan to his feet. "I'll kiss that better too."

"Best boyfriend in the world," Evan laughed, leaning into him.

"And don't you forget it."

(For this ask game.)

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

BABE!!! Arthur seeing how sweet you are with little Jack and kids you meet in town and unconsciously starts drawing how your (yours and his) child would look like in his journal

would they have your eyes or his? he tries both options. a boy who would grow old with his large shoulders or a girl who'd become as sweet as you

HE'S DRAWING EVERYTHING, GIVING THEM NAMES

OMG SAMY!!! I caaaaan't!! He would just dream of it all the time, drawing every possibility, imagining them with his hat on their little head!!

"Honey? What are you drawing?" You asked your lover, eyes full of curiosity and wonder as always when you spotted him scribbling in his journal.

"Oh, uh... Nothin' jus'..."

Arthur's cheeks started turning red, his words mixing together in his low mumble you had grown fond of. He had always been shy about showing his drawings to you, convinced they were bad, that you would make fun of him. However, he grew more comfortable after months of being with you and hearing your praises about it. It had been such a long time since you've seen him this flustered about his sketches...

"It's a... A dream. I guess..."

He slowly opened his journal a bit more, allowing you to see what it was all about. You have to concentrate a bit to understand what you're seeing. It looked like a dozen of portraits of a younger version of you, or a younger version of Arthur. They were from all ages, children and teenagers sharing the space of the pages.

Sometimes, they even looked like they had both of your features merged. Arthur's square jaw and your little nose. Your lips along with his cheeks. The cutest little girl you've ever seen has your haircut, hidden under Arthur's hat, looking way too large for her little head. A teenage boy with the same strong build as Arthur's carries one of your necklaces, this silver locket of yours where you can hide a picture in it.

Next to each portrait, Arthur had written a name.

"Pearl, Annie, Rose, Grace."

"David, Jacob, Charlie, Hosea."

"Are they... Arthur, are they our children?" You asked him in disbelief, the biggest smile on your face, sparkles glimmering in your gaze as you were more and more mesmerized and moved by what he had drawn.

"I mean... I saw how you played with those kids on the street this mornin' and... How you're taking care of Jack at camp. I couldn't stop thinkin' you'd be such a good momma..." He tried to explain himself, rubbing his neck with a sheepish grin, putting charcoal stains all over his neck because he hadn't put down his pencil.

"And you'd be such a good daddy, sweetheart." You answered him, voice laced with affection, your fingers fondly wiping off the stains of his skin, then planting a kiss right there on the crook of his neck. "I'd love to start a family with you."

His face lit up as brightly as a thousand Suns. He looked back at you with pure adoration and wrapped an arm around you to pull you on his lap, placing his journal on your thighs.

"Come on darlin', let's draw 'em together then would ya?" Arthur gently cooed in your ear as his large hand placed the pencil on your smallest one, and gently guided it as both of you brought alive on the paper what your beautiful future could be.

[thee-horny-thicky]

YES YANDERE YUTA PLEASE

Yuta didn't mean to start stalking you. Really, it was a complete accident. His crush on you–a kind upperclassmen–had turned into an obsession he couldn't shake. Friendly glances turned into longing stares. A bypassing thought turned into incessant fantasies. Regular concern for your safety turned into worrying when you weren't in his sights. Wondering if you were single turned into murderous jealousy at the thought of someone else having you.

So much so, that discovering your crush on Gojo-Sensei had him annoyed with the strongest sorcerer for weeks.

Yuta couldn't help but want you. Really, it was your fault he'd become so obsessed. You'd been a sweetheart to him when he'd first arrived at Jujutsu Tech, encouraging him every step of the way, offering to train him when you had time. He shouldn't have taken it personally, because you were eager to help all of your underclassmen. You wanted them to reach their fullest potential, and more importantly, stay safe. Your mentorship and fretting sparked pesky feelings in Yuta, feelings he thought would only be reserved for Rika.

Plus, your pretty smiles, soft body, lively eyes…all of it made you into the total package.

You'd proven his notion wrong, making him feel like an elementary student dealing with his first crush. He desperately wanted you, and Yuta would employ any means necessary to have you in his clutches. After all, he was the strongest now, second to none.

And maybe, his new body would make you more partial to his love.

[cod-dump]

Just the idea of Captain MacMillan casually turning up on Price’s base wanting to check up on Price, because that man will forever be a child in his eyes, and instead running into every other possible person.

And every single one of them snitches on Price about something reckless or dangerous he has done since Mac came around the last time. All of them have something different to report on too.

Safe to say, Price received an hour long lecture on his behaviour.

The air was off the moment he arrived on base.

The hair on his arms pricked up and several times there was a shiver that made him shake. He had eyes on him as he walked to his office and by the time he got there he was on edge. Something was screaming at him when he stood in front of his door.

"Oh fuck this," he growled to himself before he opened the door.

"There's the bastard. Welcome back!"

Price froze, eyes widening as he saw fucking Mac sitting in his chair. He stood there at the door long enough for the man to scoff.

"Waiting for permission to enter your office?"

Price cleared his throat and stepped inside, "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my old stomping grounds. Glad that you have yet to burn it down."

Price fake laughs, dropping his work bag on his desk, "Thought something was off, felt a shift in the air."

It was Mac's turn to laugh, but it was genuine. Retirement had a way of mellowing a bastard like MacMillan. He was already married by the time he made the decision to retire, had two sons. But, as he had joked plenty of times before, he always had to have an eye on the eldest.

"Been here three days."

Price felt his blood run cold, "You've what?"

"Kate has really grown into that boldness quite well. Though she knows now how to hold her tongue."

Of course she's involved. Price could see it in Mac's eyes that he had plenty to say to him. Three days on base while Price was still on leave? He was scared to know what all the boys had said to their "grand-captain".

"First off: An American? Really?"

Price immediately turned on his heel to run out the door. He managed to open the door and step out the office before he ran into a familiar chest. Nik had his mouth open, ready to say something, then he saw Mac. Needless to say he was equally horrified to see the man.

"I still haven't gotten to liking this one!"

Price didn't need to say anything for Nik to agree to retreat with him.

---

"I was expecting a more... immediate response."

"Old man probably locked him in the office and is giving him a ear full."

Soap laughed as Ghost kept his binoculars trained on the building where Price was no doubtedly reliving his younger, more mischievous years. The shades were down but Ghost still watched in hopes of getting a glimpse of something.

Gaz had returned with snacks and Ghost was considering giving it a rest to enjoy some crisps when the front door of the building flung open. Price and Nik running full speed out was everything.

"Get the camera- GET THE FUCKING CAMERA-"

Laswell had a delightful video to watch later, after she had the most hysterical phonecall that she's had with Price in years.

[achromatophoric]

Were-Raven Wednesday bringing all her friends shiny rocks as gifts… except she doesn’t ever tell them that she gifted them, instead just left them on their pillows, windowsills, one even in Divina’s duffel bag where she keeps her swimming gear.

The others believe it’s a threat of some sort, that perhaps someone’s found out about the Nightshade Society and start becoming suspicious.

In the Nightshade Society’s hidden library, three members go over a new discovery.

Bianca: *frowning* That’s a goddamn blue sapphire. Where did you find it?

Divina: *worriedly* It was in my swim bag.

Yoko: *studies the sapphire* It matches your eyes, babe.

Bianca: Just like the rest. Shit. That’s almost all of us, then. This can’t be a coincidence.

Bianca: Aquamarine in my fencing duffel, turquoise in Kent’s Switch case, smoky quartz in Ajax’s bong…

Bianca: That’s all the Nightshades except for—

Divina: *worriedly* Except for Yoko.

Yoko: *looks up*

Bianca: So, Yoko, have you found any gems in your stuff? Something that matches your eyes, like a ruby?

Divina: Or a garnet? Maybe a carnelian?

Yoko: *hesitantly* Not exactly.

Bianca: *eyes narrow in suspicion* Is that so?

Yoko: Bitch, don’t look at me like that! I haven’t gotten anything that matches my eyes, but—

Yoko: *rummages through her pockets* —I did find this stupid pebble… hah! Here!

With her exclamation, Yoko presents a small, oddly-shaped brown pebble. The two sirens crowd in for a closer look.

Divina: That doesn’t look like a gem. Heck, it looks more like dried mud.

Bianca: Huh. Where’d you find it?

Yoko: This fucking thing was in my favorite boots! I was walking on it all day. Stupid piece of shit hurt like a bitch!

Bianca: *glares at the rock* This doesn’t make any sense. It breaks the pattern. It doesn’t match your eyes and it’s not a precious stone.

Voice: That depends on your definition of precious.

The three girls jump in shock at the unexpected voice. Yoko’s pebble goes flying through the air, only to be caught by—

Wednesday: *studies the pebble* Hmn. This may not be a gemstone, per se, but it is by no means mundane.

Bianca: *hisses* Addams, you have got to stop doing that!

Wednesday: *ignores Bianca as she holds the stone out to Yoko*

Yoko: *takes it back* So do you know what it is?

Wednesday: That is a coprolite, also known as a coprolith.

Bianca: What the shit is coprolite?

Wednesday: *seems somehow amused* What indeed.

Divina: Wait, I think I remember something from that museum trip last month. It’s like a fossil, isn’t it?

Wednesday: How astute of you, Divina. You are correct.

Yoko: Okay, so it’s a fossil, but of what?

The seer appears to the ignore the question as she tucks away whatever book she came for. She begins to leave, only to pause at the bottom of the stairs up.

Wednesday: I’ll allow a single CAW CA—

Bianca/Yoko/Divina: 🤨😟🫢

Wednesday: *coughs and clears her throat* CLUE. I’ll allow a single clue, which is…

Wednesday: Tanaka is often full of it.

Bianca/Yoko/Divina: 😑🤨😦

Wednesday: Beyond that, you have your phones. Make use of them.

Bianca: *glares after Wednesday as she ascends the steps* Bitch.

Yoko: *already on her phone* Copralite. Copra—wait, no. Co-pro-lite! Got it!

Divina: What is it, babe?

Yoko: 😐

Yoko: 🤨

Yoko: 😠

Yoko: It’s shit.

Bianca: What?

Divina: *snags Yoko’s phone and reads*

Divina: She’s not kidding. It’s like fossilized dinosaur poop.

Yoko: *scowling* Are you fucking kidding me? You guys all get pretty gems and all I get is fucking Cretaceous crap?!

Yoko: *cries out* FUCK!

Divina: *tries to comfort Yoko* It’s okay, babe. Maybe it’s from something cool, like a T-Rex.

Yoko: *shouts at pebble* You better be a tyrannoturd or else I’m gonna—

Bianca ignores the tirade as she stares thoughtfully at where Wednesday stood only moments ago.

Bianca: *mutters to herself* Was ca-ca another clue? Or did she go caw caw, like a…?

[shushmal]

steddie request! pre steddie during a pool day eddie feels cute aggression and bites the back of steve's shoulder and surprises him

It should be ILLEGAL, Eddie thinks, for Steve Harrington to allowed out into polite company, much less in a community pool where innocent eyes could gaze upon him. Objectively, sure, Eddie knows that those little pink swim shorts aren't any more scandalous that what anyone else is wearing today. Ted Wheeler is knocked out on a lounge chair with only a speedo. But it's Steve. And Eddie's doing his best to rehab his image in Hawkins, so drooling after the local Harrington prince wasn't going to help.

Never mind that it was Steve who drug Eddie out into Satan's crack that is Indiana summer in August. He'd made a good case about it, too—something, something, being seen doing good in front of all the moms at the community pool, something, something, Holly's birthday party, yada yada. Honestly, Eddie didn't hear most of it, lost in Steve's stupid, beautiful brown eyes.

What was Eddie going to say? No?? Be for real.

That was how Eddie found himself sat on a deck chair (thankfully one with an umbrella), in his jeans next to a cooler, handing little girls juice boxes and snacks when demanded of him.

Holly Wheeler must befriends with the entire elementary school, Jesus Christ.

Steve himself, in his aforementioned pink swim trunks, was playing as pool jungle gym and had kids crawling all over him. It helped a lot to keep Eddie from drooling after him, but didn't do a lot for Eddie's heart.

Worse than Steve being hot, was Steve being cute. Eddie couldn't take it. He was going to die.

Steve had one of the smaller kids perched on his hip, held safely up out of the splash zone, while the rest of the hoard took turns climbing up onto his shoulders and using him like a diving board, his free hand guiding them safely into the water as they jumped. It looked like hell to Eddie, but Steve was grinning ear to ear, rating each jump with a booming cheer that had all the kids screaming around him with each splash.

"Um, excuse me," snaps a little girl in front of Eddie. He glances down and feels like he's looking at a mini Erica Sinclair, her hands on her hips and scowling. A chilling sight.

"Whatcha need, shrimp?" Eddie sighs, flipping the cooler lid up to take another order. "We're out of red barrels, and our stock of blue is going fast."

She eyes him skeptically for a moment before her little shoulders slump. "Fine, I guess I'll take the blue."

"Here you go," he says, pulling the foil off for her since little wrinkled baby fingers have yet to manage it all day. "Now be gone with ye."

Treating him with another incredibly bitchy look for a third grader, she bounds off just as a shadow appears over Eddie. A wet arm hooks over Eddie's shoulders, just as Steve crashes into the deck chair beside him, too small for two nearly full grown men, the plastic creaking ominously. Steve is practically in Eddie's lap.

"Harrington, what the fuck," Eddie squawks, cold pool water soaking into his clothes because Steve is dripping wet.

"What the language, Munson," Steve says, still grinning, looking at Eddie with those brown eyes. His face is round and a little pink, and he's so close that Eddie can see the faint trail of summer freckles across his nose. He's so beautiful, and he looks so happy and excited to have Eddie's attention. "There's little ears—OW WHAT THE FUCK!"

Eddie opens his jaw and yanks his head back, almost as shocked with himself as Steve. He can taste pool water in his mouth. There's a line of pink teeth-marks on Steve tanned shoulder.

"Uh," Eddie says.

"Did..." Steve starts. He leans back a little, still half in Eddie's lap, to gape down at him. "Did you just... bite me?"

"Y-Yeah," Eddie breathes. "Whoops."

"Whoops?" Steve repeats, brows high on his forehead. "Why the hell did you bite me?"

"You're very bitable." Eddie's going to drown himself in the pool at this rate. "You're too cute. I had to bite you."

He watches as Steve's eyes narrow, watches as Steve begins to suss him out. Eddie's still too shocked with himself to do anything, can't even panic, because he's that much of an idiot and his brain has gone completely offline. Because Eddie bit Steve Harrington and then called him cute, Jesus Humphrey Christ.

Then Steve leans down, slowly, until his face is right in Eddie's, and an insane thought goes through Eddie's brain. I bit Steve Harrington, told him he was cute, and now he's going to kiss me.

Except Steve bypasses Eddie's face and lands his lips against Eddie's neck, where he then tries to take his own pound of flesh.

Eddie screeches.

Distantly, he recognizes what a weird blessing it is that they're at the community pool, surrounded half the elementary school, all of them screeching and screaming and splashing. Everyone is completely oblivious to whatever homosexual nightmare is happening to Eddie right now.

"You're pretty cute yourself, Ed," Steve says into the small space next to his ear. And then he's up and standing between one breath and the next. "We really gotta teach you some manners though," he says, grinning, before he turns and dives into the pool.

"Y-Yeah," Eddie says weakly in his absence. He can feel Steve's spit on his neck, rapidly drying the summer heat, the bite mark aching with promise.