#baby ficlet

[gavilarkholin-deactivated116710]

Adolin was not quite awake, but on some level he was aware of the shifting in bed and the panting breath of someone beside him. What did wake Adolin was the night air on his abdomen and the firm touch of a hand on his gut. Not a loving caress, not rough either, but probing, assessing.

Adolin opened his eyes, and he could see Kaladin leaning over him in the darkness. His hand kept probing along a line on Adolin's torso until he reached a spot just above Adolin's opposite hip. Kaladin's shoulders dropped then, breathing out tension in a relieved sigh.

Adolin put it together. "Thaylen oathgate again?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kaladin confirmed in a hoarse whisper. "Sorry I woke you, I just had to check."

Adolin wrapped both arms around Kaladin's back and pulled him close. He could feel Kaladin's heartbeat start to slow down after the nightmare he'd just had. "I'm okay," he reassured him. "I'm all right."

"I know," Kaladin murmured into Adolin's shoulder.

"Think you'll be able to fall back asleep?"

"Probably. Maybe. Not like this though. You're not as soft as Shallan."

Adolin smirked as he glanced toward where Shallan slept on his other side. Kaladin wouldn't be able to sleep on her in this position either. He'd be too worried about crushing her. It was adorable, really.

"You're full of crem," Adolin said fondly, letting a hand glide up to stroke Kaladin's hair.

Kaladin chuckled as he settled his full weight against Adolin, despite his words, and Adolin couldn't help but chuckle back.

Apparently this was too much for Shallan, who groaned and flung a lazy hand toward both their heads. One of her knuckles caught Adolin on the cheek. "Goslee'boys," she grumbled.

"Kaladin had a nightmare," Adolin informed her. "Don't you care?"

"Yeah. So sleep."

"Love you too," Kaladin murmured.

Shallan groaned and rolled over, snuggling up to both of them. She ran her hand along Kaladin's back.

"Mm-hmmmm," she said, settling into Adolin's other shoulder. "Now shaddup."

[shares-a-vest]

'Steve Harrington – Actual Babysitter?' (Drabble Prompt: Fluff)

Eddie walks into Family Video expecting to find Steve lolling on his swivel chair behind the counter and flipping through a magazine instead of doing... Well, whatever actually is written on that clipboard Robin is typically flapping about for fear of the wrath of Keith.

But Robin isn't in today and the store is quiet. Aka, it's the perfect opportunity for Eddie to come in with Steve's lunch, where they sit together and chat. No, he doesn't bring it every Wednesday like clockwork. And no, he isn't bringing along his own lunch so he can pretend it's a date or anything.

No – definitely nothing like that.

Even if there is some banter that some people (Robin) might describe as flirting.

It's just that he has to take what he can get lately when it comes to his kinda-sorta big, fat, dumb crush on Steve. Especially now that the guy is disappointingly incommunicado on their no-longer Sunday Night pizzas.

Steve insists he isn't dating anyone – and he sure is complaining about that fact enough. But, well...

Eddie does worry.

And he damn near panics at the sight of an empty Family Video. The store is eerily silent too as he steps inside and looks around.

"St – "

"– Oovie!"

Eddie jolts with a yelp as the babbling yell of what could only be the shrill tones of a whole-ass human child reverberates around him.

"Yes, buddy," comes Steve's voice from behind the counter, "Oh – well, maybe not Rambo."

Eddie tip-toes forward and places his hands on the counter before he peers over the edge, where he finds Steve surrounded by the parts of a dismantled VCR. In his lap is indeed a human child, a boy with chestnut brown hair who couldn't be more than two.

He doesn't know all that much about kids, really, but Eddie is pretty certain the little squirt shouldn't be waving around a videotape with such force Steve might get clomped in the head at any moment.

The boy yell-babbles again and Steve swerves away from a side swipe to his beautiful noggin.

"Okay, maybe we shouldn't play with this one," Steve says, gently placing his hand on the tape and giving it a light tug.

The boy squirms, and in doing so makes direct eye contact with Eddie. They both startle, and Eddie thinks if anyone was watching, they might say his eyes look as wide as the kid's staring up at him.

The boy points at Eddie and coos with a big, toothy grin.

"Stee!"

"Can you stop –" Steve grumbles, cutting himself off as the boy begins to tilt them sideways. He looks up and gasps, "Oh!"

Steve scrambles upright with the boy, who makes an (admittedly, adorable) wooshing sound as he is swooped up and bundled into a pair of burly arms that today appear to be bursting out of the confines of a navy blue polo shirt.

Eddie blushes, looking back at the boy in an attempt to regulate his heart rate.

"What's with the baby, Steve?" he says, trying to sound biting rather than flustered as Steve props the kid on his hip like it's second nature.

Steve takes the boy's hand and bounces him a little as he tries to encourage a wave, "You know Angie, my mom's best friend? This is her kid, George."

George finally waves and Steve grins, all proud in a way that makes Eddie's cheeks blush. Shit, he really wasn't prepared for something like this to happen today.

Or maybe like ever, really.

"George," he nods, offering a two-finger salute.

"Angie stopped by and realised she forgot something over at Melvad's," Steve explains, swaying now as George looks around the store, "So I'm taking care of little Georgie for a minute."

Georgie?

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face.

"I s-see," he splutters as he comes up for air.

"And we are fixing VCRs today, aren't we, Georgie?" Georgie tee-hees at that and oh goddamn it, now the little gremlin is trying to get his tiny, pudgy arms around Steve for a hug, "Then we're gonna pick a movie for Sunday Funday."

"Oovie!" Georgie cheers.

Wait.

"You're babysitting on Sundays?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugs before looking down at George with a fond smile, "I kinda like it, y'know?"

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[starmocha]

ok so I know we're all taken in by colonel caleb and his complexity and i'm enjoying all the smut (🙏🏻💕) but i'm looking at him and thinking about how he'd react if mc got pregnant 'cause in ny head he'd react like I think sylus would as in he'd shower her in kisses while crying but imagine him being scared of holding the baby because of his arm, terrified of hurting that tiny being but the second he holds them the fear goes away and he's planting kisses on the top of the baby's head 🥹😭

CRYING. SOBBING. YEARNING. Anon, if you've been around my blog long enough, I have mentioned numerous times how my 3-part Caleb breeding kink (and pregnancy) series will happen. With the recent revelation about his arm, I was reflecting on how to tackle this series with regards to Caleb's character. I hope his future memories will also deal with this more, so we can get a better understanding of the changes and his own mental state regarding it.

omg ok we all probably know by now I am weak to the Caleb thoughts, so...so...just a little snippet. Just a tiny short snippet...

Sweet Little You

She was safe. They were safe.

Caleb watched with relief as you slept peacefully, exhausted after the grueling 34 hours of labor. He had dedicated his whole life to keeping you safe, protect you from dangers and prevent you from ever feeling pain, but in those long, slow hours, he had felt so utterly helpless as he watched you braved through the tribulations of motherhood.

He knew you were strong, knew that you were more than capable, but it did not deter his innate desire to shelter you.

It had only been a few hours since the baby was born, he realized, as his large hand rested on your head, gently smoothing your hair. He could still see your tears, heard you crying as you poured all of your strength into delivering his baby. You had gripped his hand so tightly, and though that right hand of his could no longer feel anything, his heart still did, torn apart at every scream, every sob that passed your lips. He did his best to encourage you, reassured you that everything was going well, that soon you both would meet your little one.

He wasn’t sure if what he had said helped or not, but you had still held his hand, holding tight to him just like long ago when you two were little. Maybe you still needed him, still wanting to lean on him like you used to.

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on your temple. “Thank you, my darling.”

Caleb’s ears perked up, hearing the sudden quiet fussing of his newborn. He looked to the hospital bassinet placed close to your bed. The baby was starting to stir, waking up from a peaceful slumber.

He quickly moved closer, his paternal instinct kicking in. He bent down lower, his voice softer than normal. “Hey, hey there, little one,” he said, about to reach down for the baby, but he paused, worried.

The baby’s face scrunched up, its cries still soft, but steadily growing just a bit louder. Panic briefly passed Caleb’s features, suddenly unsure of his own ability as a father. He could hear you stirring behind him, but he didn’t want you to wake yet, knowing you still needed more rest. He pushed down his own feeling of anxiety, and he bent down again, gently scooping the baby up.

The baby was so small, he couldn’t help but think, being able to hold the baby within his two hands. He readjusted his hold, cradling the baby within his arms, and his heart felt like it was slowing in time, his breathing almost stilling entirely as it finally seemed to clicked in his mind that he was holding his baby. This little baby, conceived from the love between you and him, was now here, in his arms, and he could barely stifle the sob that almost wanted to escape, his heart suddenly overwhelmed with so many different emotions ranging from disbelief to amazement and finally profound, unconditional love.

The baby’s cries ceased, replaced by soft cooing, and Caleb let out a breathless laughter, his earlier anxiety slowly receding. He still wondered about his capability, but more than that, he wondered how it was possible to love someone you had just met. When his eyes drifted up, settling over your sleeping form, he almost laughed again, realizing he had never found the answer to that question, having always been a willing victim of “love at first sight.”

He shifted his gaze back down to the tiny baby in his arms, his lips resting over the infant’s forehead, the sweet scent of the newborn filling his nostrils, and a warmth unlike anything he had ever felt before filled his chest.

“Welcome to the world, my little one,” he whispered, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Cough Syrup

written for @steddiemicrofic August

prompt: plug || wc: 437 || rating: M || cws: sick fic, reference to child neglect, references to sex

~~~

"Baby," Eddie sighs, "just plug your nose. I promise it'll go down easier." Steve keeps his mouth sealed and shakes his head as he leans further back into the pillows propping him up against the headboard. Eddie’s very carefully holding the spoon in front of Steve’s face, syrupy red liquid on the verge of overflowing onto their comforter.

“You say that every time,” Steve complains. He moves his head to the side as Eddie makes his move and misses. “But it smells, and it’s gross, and it felt thick and disgusting in my mouth yesterday, and I’ll be fine without it.” 

Steve watches as another thread of Eddie’s patience unravels. After three days wasting away of fever and bone-wrenching aches, he’s surprised Eddie hasn’t just dropped him off on the hospital curb in a cardboard box, sign affixed to the side reading ‘Oversized baby for adoption. May need extra care. Fully vaccinated’.

“Steven James Harrington.” Full government name– with his correct middle name– means he’s in deep trouble. “You’ve inhaled nasty, probably radioactive, floating Upside-Down ash. You’ve accidentally swallowed demobat blood. You’ve drank shitty beer out of a communal bong, had your tongue down every girl’s throat in Hawkins, and inside my asshole–”

“Oh my god Eds, don’t say it like that.”

“–yet for some reason, you refuse a tiny bit of cough syrup to help you sleep.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. In his attempts at being dramatic, he breaks into another coughing fit that has him reaching for the water glass on the nightstand next to all of his used tissues.

“I’ve been sick before and I’ve never needed drugs.”

“Never needed it,” Eddie leads, grabbing his hand, “or have your parents never offered it before?”

The question hits like a punch to the gut. He’d never thought about it that way. How his parents told him he’d get better soon, that he just needed some soup and crackers. If he focuses on being sick, it’ll just make him worse. How if he ate healthier he wouldn’t get sick in the first place.

“Stevie,” Eddie says gently, running his fingertips across Steve’s sweaty, overheated forehead. The fondness floods over him like a tidal wave, washing away all thoughts of his parents’ lack of love and care, something that's always so obvious from Eddie.

“The medicine will help you sleep. And if you sleep better,” Eddie says, and Steve can already see the trap forming, “then I’ll sleep better.”

Eddie smirks as Steve swallows around the spoon, nose plugged. They know Steve would do anything to help Eddie, even if it means helping himself too.

[achromatophoric]

Alternate take on the scene from Episode 4, where the girls stand before Hawt Kewture.

Wednesday: You’re a gazelle. I’m a wounded fawn. Cut me loose and go run with the pack.

Enid: *squints at Wednesday*

Enid: Are you being for real right now?

Wednesday: What?

Enid: Your metaphors suck big hairy minotaur balls.

Wednesday: *glares* My metaphors do not—

Enid: FIRST of all, gazelle don’t move in packs, they move in herds.

Wednesday: Well—

Enid: Secondly, what the heck is a baby DEER doing in the same place as a freaking gazelle? Hmm? Hmm??

Wednesday: They—

Enid: MAYBE if you’re a Barbary stag—which are like the ONLY deer in Africa—but those live in forests, while gazelle are all about semi-arid savannas and stuff.

Wednesday: But—

Enid: *throws up her hands* FINE! If you wanna be pedantic…

Enid: *takes a deep breath*

Enid: There’s like Cuvier’s gazelle living in some of the same regions as Barbary stag, namely Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia—

Enid: —but they don’t even inhabit the same KIND of forests, which would be pine for Cuvier’s gazelle and oak for the Barbary stag—

Enid: —so there’s like totally no reason for me to have MET your supposedly wounded ass, let alone abandon it for my herd—

Enid: —which means your analogy, as I stated earlier—

Enid: *pokes Wednesday’s shoulder with each word* —sucks big–hairy–minotaur–balls!

Wednesday:

Wednesday: *owlish blink*

Enid: *crosses her arms* Well?

Wednesday: *opens her mouth to speak*

Enid: And don’t you DARE say we’re in a zoo.

Wednesday: *shuts her mouth with a click*

Wednesday:

Wednesday: *grudgingly* I stand corrected.

Enid: *beams* Well, don’t.

Wednesday: *furrows brow* Don’t what?

Enid: Just stand there.

Wednesday: I don’t underst—

Enid: *ensnares Wednesday’s hand* Because we have SHOPPING to do~!

Wednesday: 😦

Enid: 😈

Enid: *drags her wounded prey into the store*

Wednesday: ☹️

[judasofsuburbia]

“what? hello?” steve mumbled sleepily into the phone.

“i’m going insane,” eddie nearly shouts.

steve sits up in his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. “woah woah, eds, what’s goin on?”

a high pitched wail is heard in the background and eddie is immediately cooing and shushing. steve presses the phone tighter to his ear.

“eds. eds, can you hear me?”

“i’m going insane i’m going insane i’m going insane,” eddie breathes. “she won’t stop crying steve she’s been crying for two hours—fuck, three hours. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do steve.”

“who’s crying?” steve asks.

“my cousin. or my niece, maybe? i don’t know how it works. my cousin’s baby is here and she won’t stop crying.”

more crying and wailing is heard. steve has to hold the phone away from his ear when eddie gets closer to her. he can hear eddie pleading with her, trying to comfort her, to no avail.

“i need help,” eddie says. “i need help, please.”

“uh, okay. okay,” steve replies as he rolls out of bed and stumbles around his room in the dark to find some pants and shoes. “i can be there in ten.”

“make it five,” eddie nearly whines, anxiety pouring through the receiver.

“got it.”

steve’s tires screech into eddie’s driveway. his trailer is the only one with the lights still on and he could hear the baby crying from outside. he’s surprised no one has called to complain to the police station. though he’s sure callahan or hopper would simply hang up.

steve barrels up the steps and opens the door to utter chaos. toys and books scatter the ground, there are blankets and bottles strewn over surfaces (some definitely knocked over and spilling onto the floor), and baby clothes and diapers in the leftover spaces. and of course, a screaming infant.

eddie pops out of his room with said infant trashing in his arms. eddie has tears streaming down his fact too and steve’s heart just cracks.

“help me,” eddie mouths.

“uh, okay, okay,” steve is wracking his brain for any tips he learned in home economics about taking care of a baby. ��what have you tried? i presume she’s in a clean diaper and…” god it was hard to think with the noise screeching in his ears. “fed her?” steve asks louder.

“yes fuck, i keep changing her and trying to feed her. i read her stories and rocked her and tried to put her in her crib. she’s so upset i don’t know why,” eddie’s voice cracks on the last word and suddenly, steve’s across the room. ready to comfort him.

“give her here,” steve says.

eddie’s eyes are panicky and wide but eventually, he hands steve the child. she continues to cry and thrash in steve’s arms so it takes a second for him to hold her properly.

“what’s her name?” steve asks.

“cheyenne” eddie responds, arms wrapped around himself like a hug. his whole body is bouncing and steve feels the urge to reach out and bring him in too but the more pressing matter is currently occupying those arms.

“hi cheyenne,” steve says gently. “seems like you’re mighty upset.”

she yanks at steve’s shirt with her little baby fists, definitely grabbing some chest hair underneath and ripping it. steve winces but recovers quickly.

“would your neighbors kill me if i take her outside?”

“probably,” eddie mutters.

“i’m going to anyway.”

steve heads for the front door and eddie goes to follow him but steve holds out a patient hand. “stay here, take a breath,” steve instructs.

eddie’s eyes well up with more tears. “but what if something—“

“then we’ll do something. right now, being around her isn’t good for you. let me take a crack at this, alright?”

eddie nods solemnly and backs away so steve can open the door.

cheyenne’s cries echo out into the night sky as steve starts to pace around the porch. steve starts to feel a little scared being alone with her but he’s more scared of what the stress has done to eddie.

so he decides to do it scared.

the baby starts to have this hiccuping breaths that pull steve out of his thought spiral. steve shushes her and props her up so her head is on his shoulder. he rubs her back with his hand, which takes up her entire back, and tries to stay calm when her cries are right next to his ear.

“you like music? 'course you do, everyone does.i don’t know how many lullabies eddie knows. his taste is a little more intense,” steve says conversationally as he continues to pace. “i don’t even think i know any lullabies. um…”

cheyenne cries with new fervor right into his neck and steve just panic sings the first song that comes to mind, “shake it up is all we know. using bodies up as we go. i’m waking up a fantasy. the shades are all the colors we used to see.”

cheyenne’s cries go down a peg, still loud but less wailing and more whimpering. steve’s heart is racing as he slowly continues the song.

“broken ice still melts in the sun. and ties that are broken can be one again. we’re soul alone and soul really matters to me.”

cheyenne keeps crying but it's getting softer by the second. steve rearranges her so she's cradled in his arms. he's blown away by how small she is. how helpless. everything must be so scary for her.

“i'm out of touch,” steve sings softly. “you're out of time. but i'm out of my head when you're not around. oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh.“

cheyenne's eyes open up and they're this big beautiful brown, just like eddie's. his breath is taken away as he keeps singing weakly. he doesn't even realize that she stops crying entirely and is just blinking at him, dazed.

it takes eddie slowly opening the front door for him to recognize the silence. he sits on the couch and bounces her gently in his arms, still humming and singing the occasional "oh's". eddie very slowly and quietly sits beside him.

steve looks up at eddie who is staring at him in awe. the same beautiful brown eyes are puffy and swollen, just like cheyenne's.

“c'mon eds, sing it with me,” steve jokes quietly.

eddie shakes his head. “i can't believe she's a hall and oates fan.”

“everyone is,” steve says simply and sings, “i'm out of touch.” he gestures to eddie to continue.

“i'm out of time,” eddie sings, looking incredibly pained to do so.

“but i'm out of my head,” steve leans his ear to the side.

“when you're not around,” eddie says flat, voice raspy from his exhaustion. it makes steve's stomach flip so he returns his attention to the near asleep girl in his arms.

they keep humming until she's fully asleep. steve leans back into the couch with a long exhale, his shoulders rubbing up against eddie's.

“you're magical,” eddie whispers.

“please,” steve scoffs.

“i'm serious,” eddie replies. steve turns his head to face him and nearly chokes from how close their faces are.

”i don't know how you do it,“ eddie mumbles.

”do what?“

”make everyone around you so calm. i feel like all i can do is make everyone stressed out,” eddie laughs weakly.

steve shakes his head. ”not true. just ask buckley, i stress her out on a daily basis.“

eddie chuckles and sniffles. steve sees his lips stretch over his teeth in a smile.

”thank you for coming over. i didn't know who else to call.“

”how did you end up with your baby cousin anyway?“ steve asks.

eddie sighs, tilting his head back into the cushion. if he leaned his head closer, he'd be on steve's shoulder. steve wishes he would.

”her mom is taking a much needed vacation and i promised wayne that he didn't need to take time off work to take care of her. that was a huge mistake.“

”you did your best,“ steve argues quietly.

”maybe but it wasn't enough.“

”hey, c'mon. don't beat yourself up. you did what you could and found help when you couldn't. it's not your fault this is her only form of communication.“

eddie smiles again and yawns. ”you wouldn't happen to have this album on cassette would you?“

steve beams at him. ”in my car, actually.“

”i'm getting it.“

they put cheyenne to bed with the big bam boom album playing softly on eddie's stereo. they stare at her peaceful form snoozing away and seem to forget how she looked not even a half hour ago.

”you should get some sleep,” steve whispers, nudging eddie with his shoulder.

“you're right, you're right,” eddie sighs. he gestures that he's gonna walk steve to the door. steve grabs his keys and turns before opening the door.

“thank you again,” eddie whispers.

“anytime. hall and oates always heals,” steve smiles.

eddie rolls his eyes fondly and shoves steve's shoulder. only, his hand doesn't move away. it splays out over steve's beating heart which is rapidly picking up speed. eddie's eyes slowly drift up to catch steve's.

“i was listening to that song yesterday,” steve whispers. “over and over and over again.”

“you must really like it,“ eddie says, a little confused.

”no. i mean, i do but…“ steve whispers. ”i was listening to it because... i start to go a little insane when i'm not around you.“

eddie's brows furrow. ”w-what do you mean?“

”can't keep you out of here,“ steve explains, tapping his temple. ”i don't know what to do. this is where i need help, eds.”

eddie's lips part in a silent gasp. he takes a step closer and rubs his thumb over steve's shirt. steve's hand comes up and covers his.

“i can help,” eddie whispers, tilting his head up so their noses brush.

that's how steve and eddie share their first kiss in eddie's living room, sleep deprived and unhurried. just four lips gently sliding over one another.

when they pull away with tired smiles, eddie murmurs, “in case she wakes up, you should probably sleep over.”

(inspired by @gothbat99 's wonderful steve harrington playlist)

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie and Steve were the last ones still in the RV when they got back to Eddie's trailer to face Vecna. Eddie decided to be a little shit. He puckered his lips at Steve.

"Need a little kiss for good luck, Harrington?" Eddie asked, closing his eyes.

Steve shrugged. He cupped the back of Eddie's neck and kissed him. Eddie's eyes snapped open before they fluttered close, and he wrapped his arms around his neck, pressing his lips against Steve’s. Steve slipped his tongue in, gripping Eddie's hips, and drew him closer. Eddie curled his fingers into his hair and moaned against his mouth. Steve broke the kiss, breathing heavily.

"I'm not a girl," Eddie blurted.

"Yeah, I hope so or otherwise, I'm going to have to ask what's growing in your pants," Steve said, feeling Eddie's hard on pressed against him.

"Weed," Eddie blurted out again, and Steve laughed, giving him a quick kiss. "I didn't know that you liked guys."

"I like both," he replied.

"Yeah, both. Both is good," Eddie whispered and kissed Steve.

And that's how Eddie Munson figured out he also liked guys.

[unclewaynemunson]

"What. The. Fuck."

Over years of living in a trailer park, Eddie has seen his fair share of weird shit. But this right here? This surpasses everything.

Wayne is sitting on the couch in the living room, with an actual baby in his lap and a completely deadpan expression on his face like this is something that happens every day.

"Hey, Ed. Meet Sasha Munson."

"Sasha Munson?" Eddie repeats, hoping that saying the name out loud will make this whole thing less surreal. It doesn't, so he automatically switches right into disbelieving panic mode instead. "Sasha Munson?! What the fuck? She isn't mine, I promise, it's literally impossible, someone must've - Wait, hold on - Is she yours? Aren't you like fifty years too old to knock someone up? What the fuck did you do? Who's the mother? What were you thinking, man, we can't take care of a -"

"Eddie, sit down."

"No, I'm not sitting down, this is ridiculous, what the fucking fuck, we can't -"

"She ain't mine and she ain't yours."

"What the-" It takes a few seconds before Wayne's words sink in. Then, Eddie freezes mid-sentence, giving his brain a second or two to catch up to what Wayne just said.

"Wait, what?" he asks.

He gives the sleeping baby a distrustful look. It's small - too small to be a human, if you asks Eddie. It scares him a little bit.

"Then whose is she?"

"I told ya to sit down, Ed."

And Wayne's voice is so strict and serious that Eddie can only obey.

"Your dad was here earlier."

Those few words are enough to tell Eddie exactly what happened. He immediately feels sick to his stomach. He wants to cover his ears, or walk out of the trailer and never come back. But instead, he keeps sitting, frozen in his chair, and listens to what Wayne tells him.

"Sasha is his daughter. He had this girlfriend, Melody, 'bout a year ago. She's much younger than him, is all I know 'bout her. I think they were kinda serious at the time. But Clyde went and messed it up, of course. Cheated on her. She dumped him. Then showed up again a few weeks later all sobered up and told him she was pregnant. Far as I know, things went okay for a while after that. But she caved right after she gave birth. It took a toll on her, Clyde said. So she needed the drugs again. He left her; he didn't see a way to help her and he was worried 'bout Sasha's safety. So he took Sasha with him and brought her to me. Said he couldn't take care of a baby and that was that."

It is a story eerily similar to what Wayne told Eddie about his own early years, whenever he'd ask him questions about his parents.

Eddie looks at the tiny human in Wayne's arms. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is just slightly agape. She's wrapped in a blanket that has a soft shade of pink, with tiny elephants printed across it.

"He never learns, does he?" Eddie remarks with a sigh.

"He doesn't," Wayne affirms in a soft voice, shaking his head. "But you know what, if these are the consequences of his actions..." He first looks up at Eddie, then down at the baby in his lap again. "I can't even be too mad at him for it."

"Jesus Christ, what a mess."

"Don't think too badly of him, Ed," Wayne says. "He wanted to help them. Both of 'em. But he didn't know how. He did what he thought was gonna be best for Sasha. Just like he did with you. He ain't evil. Just a coward who makes bad decisions."

Eddie swallows thickly.

"We'll make it work," Wayne says with certainty in his voice. "It'll be tight, but we'll survive. We did it before, we can do it again."

Eddie nods.

"You wanna hold her?"

He shifts uneasily. She seems so fragile. He doesn't know a single thing about babies; he is his father's son, after all, not Wayne's, no matter how much he wishes he were.

"C'mon, Ed, she's your sister."

It's only now that Eddie notices how well it fits, Wayne with a baby in his arms. Like he was made to be a father. Like Sasha belongs there. There aren't any pictures of Eddie as a baby, as far as he knows, but he imagines it must've looked somewhat like this scene: the exact same couch, a different blanket, and a younger version of Wayne. One with less wrinkles and more hair; less worn-out by the sorrows Eddie has given him over the years. It's simple for Wayne, in a way it isn't for Eddie's father, and in a way that Eddie fears it won't be for him. To hold her gently and let her sleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat. To sit with her quietly and do nothing else. To give love and patience without expecting anything in return.

Eddie rises from his chair and sits down next to Wayne on the couch. He utters a shaky breath, trying not to show his nerves, and wipes his sweaty hands over his jeans before holding out his arms.

“Just like that,” says Wayne softly while he places Sasha in Eddie's arms.

She's warm and has that specific newborn baby scent clinging around her. She's heavier than Eddie expected. She stirs a little bit and makes a tiny sound, but then she continues her peaceful sleep. He studies her: her closed eyes, her tiny nose, the way her head rolls around helplessly if he doesn't support her steadily enough; the hand that's hanging out of the blanket, with minuscule but fully developed fingers that grab around nothing. He listens to the steady sound of her breathing and imagines the tiny lungs inside her body working on pure instinct to keep her alive. His sister.

He looks up and finds Wayne staring at the two of them with tears in his eyes. He only catches Eddie's gaze for a fraction of a second, then he looks away, to the window on his right side.

“You're wrong, you know,” Eddie says.

Wayne turns his head back to him.

“Bout what?”

“She isn't his. Neither am I.” He looks up from the girl in his hands to meet Wayne's eyes. “We're both yours. He didn't do jackshit for us, just dropped us here with you and ran away. You're the one who raised me, Uncle Wayne, and that makes me yours way more than his. And Sasha? We're both gonna be here for her, every step of the way. We're gonna change her diapers and feed her milk - I don't really know anything else about babies, but we're gonna do all of that, together. We're gonna see her grow up and become a person. She's ours.”

Wayne produces a noise that sounds somewhat like a choked-off sob. He puts an arm around Eddie and drags him closer towards him. He doesn't say anything, but Eddie didn't expect him to. He understands.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love part 4

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his palm into his eyes.

Im such a piece of shit. God, how could I just do that.

He’s pissed at Steve for not saying something sooner, for waiting until Eddie had something good in his grasp. But he’s angry with himself too.

How stupid is he, really? Did he really not notice until it all came face to face?

He has Adiel’s number memorized, but he knows which of Steve’s beauty marks form constellations.

Mostly, hes confused. His feelings are a jumbled mess and he’s never been good at sorting them out. Naturally, he turns to music. Dio has serenaded him these past few days. Wayne has steered clear of his shit show.

How do you feel right now?

What do you see?

Where would you be right now?

Hey angel what about me?

Jesus fucking fuck. He attempts to run his hand through his hair only it doesn’t get too far, rings snagged in his tangled hair. He can feel the oil built up on the strands and knows it’s time to get his ass out of bed. He doesn’t.

“Angel, Angel, angel. You were my angel. Just not anymore.” He mutters to himself long after the track has finished and another song plays. He’s learning to let go still, even after he’s ended it.

You know what really makes him feel like a dickhead? That Adiel got hurt because of him. He didn’t deserve to get caught in Eddie’s bullshit.

Guilt eats him alive.

His conscious hurts and his heart trembles, tumbled in his chest, but he doesn’t feel the heartbreak the way he should. That world-on-fire and breath burning feeling. He can’t find it.

Like a masochist he wants for it, desires it, deserves it like sinner.

Those last few weeks were enough for his feelings to settle, for his heart to make a decision with or without his input. He tried—god fuck I tried—to feel that skipped-beat flutter when Adiel smiled his way. Could almost convince himself he could. That Adiel’s interlocked hand in his still felt an extension of himself instead of something foreign.

It used to feel like I belonged at his side. Why did it have to stop?

He’s wronged a friend who trusted him to keep his heart safe. A friend who had already been through so much. And Eddie added to that lifetime of hurt because he couldn’t figure it out himself.

Because he was too stupid to see and too stupid to know.

He thinks of Steve’s lips, like he has now for days. Weeks. His heart twists, rung out. That skipped-beat flutter that betrays him.

Fuck. Fuck, man.

He has to stop yanking at his hair like he can train himself out of feeling it.

Do your demons, do they ever let you go?

When you've tried, do they hide, deep inside

Is it someone that you know?

You're just a picture, you're an image caught in time

We're a lie, you and I.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he tells no one because he needs to say it until he can forgive himself a little. Until he can make himself believe that Adiel will forgive him, in time.

“I’m so sorry,” this time says it to himself, covers his face with his hands and finally cries.

Against his fucking will he cries, can’t hold onto it anymore. Ugly retching sobs that can only come from mourning an almost.

Finally, after days of like solitude, Wayne creeps in un-intrusive as a shadow. His hand on his shoulder may be the only thing that keeps Eddie from disappearing.

“I could’ve loved him, Wayne. I could’ve—I did. I think I fucking loved him and I didn’t know until—until I didn’t anymore. And then—and then I just couldn’t again.”

I wish he got to know that. That even for a short time, I had loved him.

Wayne, ever a man of few words, sits with him and lets him have his silence.

———

It’s a little over a month after that that Steve pays him a visit.

He’s smart enough to show up when Wayne isn’t home, looking sheepish as he shuffles on his front step. At least he has the gall to look him in the eyes.

All this is because of you, he thinks. His dark under eyes, his pallid skin. The rage in his blood. The almost that he had.

“Why are you here?” He looks taken aback, almost shrinks in on himself.

“I… the boys said that you, well.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, his hair longer than when Eddie last saw it. It slips through Steve’s fingers. “You never came by again and I wanted to see you. To talk? Can we talk? Can’t… can’t I come in?”

Having Steve in his home, in his space, is dangerous.

Those eyes are deep, soften by tired shadows.

“No,” his swallow is audible and steels himself, “Why should I want you in my home, Steve?”

Steve stands there lips parted and hands clenches at the bottom of his sweatshirt, eyes shined over. Eddie takes the chance to step forward. Everything inside him is too much.

“Don’t you understand what you did? I was happy. And you, fuck, you ruined it! Steve! You!” He out of the door way now and Steve steps back, back, back.

Steve’s face is red in shame. Eddie’s in anger. His pointed finger jabbed at his chest, accusing.

“You couldn’t just let me be happy? Why? Why did you kiss me, Steve? Why then? Was it because you couldn’t stand that I finally had someone? Say something!”

Steves eyes overflow, “Yes! I could stand it because I love you, asshole! I thought, I don’t know—I thought you loved me, too. Okay? Me. We both felt it—tell me you felt it too, Eddie? It wasn’t just me, right?

“You were everywhere and everything. You’d smile at me and it was the sun. So close, always right there and it was like we were—we were teetering on the edge of something amazing. And I was so happy, Eddie. So happy that day ‘cuz I thought, it was just us, right? Me and you. Just us. Together.

“But then you saw him and your weren’t even listening to me. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? You only had eyes for him. You left me there and I didn’t know what to do with myself ‘cuz suddenly all you’d talk about was him. Every day and every minute we were together. After thinking, after thinking you loved me too.

That I had you.

So yes! Okay? I kissed you because I was selfish and I needed to know. I needed to know if any of it was real. If there really was nothing there.”

Steve’s breathing hard by the end of, words a wavering wet string of rawn vulnerable pulled out of his chest. He’s looking at the floor, hair covering his eyes, and shoulders trembling as he hiccups.

Then, everything feels still. Calm inside. For the first time in ages, Eddie feels like he can take a deep breath and not fall apart. He closes his eyes for a second and just breathes. The fight escapes him with the last breath.

“You ruined me, Steve. You ruined me in a way that even I didn’t understand. I didn’t know, not until that night, about how you felt. And I’m sorry if it was my fault, if I did and said things to make you feel that way, okay? But I didn’t… I didn’t feel that way about you. Not then. Not when you kissed me.”

“And now? Eddie? Do you… could you feel that way for me, now?”

“If it weren’t for you,” he begins, “Adiel and I… we could’ve had something great. But then you—and I— I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wondered so much on why you kissed me that night, replaying every moment together, to see what you saw. And ended up feeling… feeling what you felt.”

He takes the chance to move forward the last bit of space to reach to him, have him look him in the eyes. Both of them mirror images of despair.

“You ruined me, Stevie. Everything was different. It wasn’t perfect anymore, I couldn’t make it perfect again. And I couldn’t be who I had been with Adiel knowing that I couldn’t find in me what we had before. That maybe, this has the chance of being something amazing, too.

I stopped seeing you everyday, so I saw you in everything. I stopped speaking to you, and you became the voice inside my head. It was maddening.”

Eddie laughs and wipes away the tears from Steve’s eyes, they fall faster when he smiles a weak and small but real thing.

“Adiel and I, we fit together; we were good together. But despite that, I didn’t want him anymore. I didn’t know why, I think I still don’t, but… I don’t need to know. I just need feel it, Stevie. And I feel it. I want this. Me and you. You have throughly ruined me, for anybody else.”

This time the kiss is different. It’s shared elation, wet and salty on the tongue, and clumsy as they try to fit into each other. Disappear in one another.

“Are you still mad?”

Those brown eyes don’t resemble gems of green, but they’re filled with incredible warmth and Eddie sees home in them,

Sees a life with them,

It’s own kind of precious.

And he laughs.

“So much, Stevie. I’m mad and heartbroken and falling jn love and happy and so so sure of us. I think, I think I still need some time, I’m really fucked—no, no, shouldn’t cry anymore,” he says as Steve’s face scrunches and it’s so unbelievably cute if he wasn’t blaming himself for it all.

“I just want to make sure I do this right this time. And if I, if I invite you in… I won’t be able to.”

Steve rests his forehead against his, there is heat between them, “But I have you, right?”

“Yeah, took me a while to figure it out but… yeah. Yes. You have me, Steve. God, and I have you. And tomorrow, tomorrow you’re going to come over and pick me up at 6 in the evening so we can eat shitty pancakes at the diner.

And then we’ll figure this out together.”

Part 3 <💛 End, thank you for reading and for all the feedback!

[necrotic-nephilim]

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

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

jason: 😏

help i love this i'm cackling-

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

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

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

[oneforthemunny]

baby, you're a haunted house |rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby!reader|

prompt: eddie is horrified to find out you don't decorate for halloween, and is determined to fix that. based off this ask request sent in by @harmonib for the spooky stories series :) thank you!!

contains: mentions of shitty parents/ shitty childhood. nothing extremely graphic but touched upon. really the rest is sweet sweet fluff. alludes to smut bc it's them, but nothing graphic. for timeline purposes, set after the engagement.

"That's it?"

Eddie's brow lifted so high that the silver hoop piercing disappeared under his curly bangs.

"Yep." You gave a short nod, hands resting on your hips, looking down at the large plastic bowl, covered in an array of Peanuts characters all in various costumes.

"That's- Baby, are you serious?" Eddie's eyes widened, lips pulling in a look of shock, maybe horror.

You frowned, looking down at the bowl resting on top of the counter. You thought it was cute, you thought Eddie would find it adorable too.

"Yeah, I mean, I know it looks small but I don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters, honestly-"

"-Probably because they think no one's here." Eddie scoffed before he could help it, grimacing at the frown you gave him. "Sorry, but... Sweetheart, this is it? This is all you have? All your Halloween decorations?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself, scowl only deepening on your features making Eddie cringe. "So what? It's a candy bowl. That's all kids care about anyways." You muttered, eyes darting from his gaze back to the bowl.

"But what about you?" Eddie twirled the bowl around, examining the wrap around design on the lip. "You don't like to decorate for yourself?"

"No, not really." Your chin ducked down, toying with the edge of the cream fur trimmed sweater you'd bought yesterday. You had been so excited to go shopping for fall, at the first dip in temperatures. Eddie had promised you he'd take you somewhere with real seasons, back home to Indiana where the leaves actually changed.

"What?" Eddie gawked, lips curling in a soft smile, hoping it would ease you out of your own defenses. He'd grown used to coaxing you out of yourself when you got like this, guarded and snippy when you felt challenged in any way.

"That's shocking. I thought you'd be like, the biggest decorating fan. give Martha Stewart a run for her money." Your lips twitched in a smile you tried to hide, eyes finally meeting his.

"I mean, I would like to. I just... I don't know. I've never really decorated before." You admitted, twirling the puffs of fur at the end of the zipper. "My parents didn't ever really decorate so I guess I never got in the habit."

Eddie's eyes widened, blinking in shock. "Ever? They never decorated ever? Not even for Christmas or-or Valentine's Day or something?"

Your face twisted, tight the way it always did when you were talking about something painfully uncomfortable- when you talked about your childhood. "No. Well, we did a few times when I was younger for Christmas and my Dad's parents were still alive. They'd come over and spend Christmas, but my Mom would just hire one of those staging companies to come a few days before Christmas and bring decorations and make it look nice."

"You didn't even have a tree?" Eddie gaped. "Even I had a Christmas tree."

You rolled your eyes, lips pursing in annoyance. "Yeah, congrats, Ed. I had shittier parents than you, I guess." Your tone clipped, dripping in surly sarcasm.

Eddie sucked in a breath, biting his tongue to keep any sharp retorts back. It was still an adjustment, even now that you were engaged, to keep his retorts soft when they needed to be- to be soft with you.

"I didn't-" Eddie's breath huffed, a strangling sigh that kept in the rest of his words. "Go put your shoes on."

"Why?" Nose scrunched in confusion, still lingering with hints of an attitude Eddie was hoping wasn't going to be a problem.

"Because," He grinned, dimples creasing softly into his cheeks. "We're gonna go shopping."

Your eyes lit up, perking at your favorite activity- or so Eddie said since you were always shopping for something. "Shopping?" It was your turn to grin. "For what?"

"Decorations." Eddie nodded firmly, patting his pockets for his wallet, chains jingling on his jeans. "We need some for our house."

"Don't you have some we could use?" Your voice was softer than before, shoulders a little deflated.

"Yeah, but those aren't ours, those are mine." Eddie shook his head. "We need some for both of us. That we both like. So when we're old as shit and putting 'em out, we still like them." He grinned, pinching your cheek gently, heart skipping at the giggle you gave him.

"C'mon, it'll be fun, babe, I promise. You'll like it. Just like when we decorated this house, but better because this isn't boring stuff. It's actually fun." Eddie grinned, motioning towards the painting behind him- a real Van Gogh given to you as a wedding gift, bought off your registry, of the infamous 'Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette'.

"We'll go to that one store you like. The Pierce-"

"-Pier One-"

"-Right. That one. We'll start there, and we can just look everywhere. As long as you want." Eddie's hand slid down the soft cashmere of your sweater, giving your forearms a gentle squeeze that had your skin tingling with excitement.

"As long as I want, hm?" You hummed, brow quipping playfully. "That's a risk, Munson. You're sure you're committing to that?"

"Always committing to you, Munson." Eddie's lips curled. "You know that. As long as you want, wherever you want. We'll hop on a flight to New York if you want to. They might have better stuff, actually. More fall than the places here."

"Hm, that's pretty tempting." Your lips twisted in thought. "I do love New York."

"I know you do." Eddie grinned, his eyes shining with that familiar sparkle of wild that had your knees shaking. "Fuck it, let's go to New York. Go pack."

"Eddie," You gawked lightly, a breathy giggle slipping out with his name. "I- We can't go to New York."

"Why?" Eddie frowned. "I don't have anything to do. Do you?"

"No, but-but I haven't told Jacques. The jet won't be ready-"

"-LAX is still a thing, baby." Eddie teased lightly. "We'll just take the plane down there. Call Jacques and get the jet set up for us to take back. That's when we'll need it, anyways, for all the Halloween stuff we're gonna buy." Eddie's grin only widened, eyes getting more and more wild with the excitement of the trip.

"Go pack. I'll call Nelson, tell him to get us a hotel room at The Plaza- You want The Plaza, right?" Eddie pointed at you, walking towards the phone on the wall in the newly renovated kitchen.

You hesitated, tummy flipping with excitement and rushes of adoration, nodding gently. "I can get Jacques to call instead. He knows the manager there."

"Yeah, you know what, that's probably a good idea." Eddie placed the phone back on the hook. "Last time we stayed there, we kinda fucked the place up. Don't know if they'll let us back. Good call, baby. You call Jacques, and I'll start packing."

Eddie walked past you, ringed hand skittering across your waist, stopping to pull you into him, lips smashed to your in a sweetly steamy kiss.

He pulled back with a wet smack of his lips, grinning wide and bright back at you. "This is gonna be so fun. I can't fuckin' wait."

You giggled in response, brain fuzzy and gooey with a warmth you'd never felt before, not with anyone other than Eddie. Love blinded, completely and utterly by him. Willing to follow him anywhere, and do anything with him, which is why you dialed the phone, feeling like you could float on air as you leaned against the counter, chatting with your family's personal assistant about the spontaneous plans. Jacques' snarly tone of disapproval when you mentioned Eddie couldn't even soil your mood, too stricken with excited affection to be anything other than giddy.

"Oh, what about this one?" Eddie lifted the metal Jack-O-Lantern, spinning it by the painted stem towards you. "This looks like you."

Nearly two hours after landing, you and Eddie hadn't wasted any time. Throwing your bags in the presidential suite before stepping into the chauffeured car, hauling to 5th Avenue.

"I do like that." Your lips curled, running a hand over the smooth surface. "That's really cute. Do they have two?"

"Yeah, they've got a bunch. Look this one has a different face." Eddie beamed with pride, grabbing the other pumpkin, a little taller than the others, making a more shocked face rather than smiling like the other. "Do you want the exact same one?"

"No, I like the different ones. I think that would be pretty by the mantle. On the ledge?" You looked at him, and though you didn't say it, he knew you were looking for approval. Still a little apprehensive at the newness of decorating, unsure that you were doing it right, and just needing that extra push of confidence that Eddie always gave you.

"That would look amazing, yeah." Eddie grinned, curls bobbing as he nodded. He handed the two back to the eager sales person behind him, nodding with a muttered thanks as she took it to the front.

"What about some ghosts?" Eddie reached into the shelf, turning a stuffed ghost holding a stack of pumpkins around to show you. "That looks pretty cool."

"Can you... Do you think it'll match the other?" You bit your lip, fingers twirling the small pumpkin coasters against your palm nervously.

"Yeah, sweetheart, it's all Halloween." Eddie grinned softly, a hand on your hip, giving you a sweet, reassuring squeeze. "That's the great part about it, it's all on theme because it's all Halloween. Can't mess it up."

You relaxed under his touch, giving a quick nod. "I do like that." Your head tilted lightly, reaching out to feel the felt ghost. "It's cute."

Eddie nodded with a wide smile, picking it up and curling it against the leather of his jacket. "What about witches hats? Feel like you'd really like the witchy stuff."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You frowned playfully up at him, swallowing back a smile.

His hand moved to the small of your back, rubbing the skin that peeked out gently. "I dunno, you seem like a witchy woman, I guess." Eddie grinned playfully, giving a small shrug at your exaggerated gasp. "Seems like you'd really like that kinda stuff."

"Are you calling me a witch?" You pressed your lips together, slipping down the aisles towards the brooms and pointed hats.

"Nah, you're definitely more of a vampire vibe. Like Camille from Undying Love." Eddie snorted lightly.

"Why? Because I suck the life out of you?" You rolled your eyes, manicured nails raking over a pointed hat covered in stitched beads that made a sparkling spiderweb.

"Well, I mean, you're pretty good at sucking. Give amazing head, baby." Eddie snickered, his own cackles growing watching you squirm, eyes darting around to make sure no one heard.

"You're gross." You rolled your eyes, lips curling in a smug grin you couldn't fight back.

"Yeah, I think you like it." Eddie's hand dipped lower, squeezing your left ass cheek hard enough to have you squealing lightly, ducking down and nipping at the tip of your ear.

"Put it on." He nodded towards the hat your hand was still lingering on. "Wanna see you in it."

You scoffed lightly, picking up the witches hat. "Thought I was more of a vampire type."

"Yeah, I think you are, but I can't know for certain." Eddie shrugged, stepping back. "Lemme see you in it, then I'll make up my mind."

You snorted lightly, situating the witches hat on your head, spinning it so the long sheer fabric was in the back. You threw your hands out gently, pivoting from side to side sillily so Eddie could see, exaggeratedly modeling for him.

The loud wolf whistle he let out took you by surprise, had you jumping and snatching the hat off with a glare. "Ed-"

"-No, baby, that's definitely a keeper." Eddie laughed, uncaring about the others who turned towards the two of you. "I was wrong, you're definitely more of a witch. That looks so good on you."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "You're relentless."

"And you're hot." Eddie grinned, tossing you a wink that had you bristling with excitement, turning and hoping he didn't see how flustered it made you.

"We'll be taking this, and definitely this too." Eddie turned to the sales associate, passing off the finds.

"Why are you getting the hat?" You lifted a brow, hand running down the bark of a 'witch broom' that hung on the rack. "Are you going to wear it?"

"Shit, I will if you want me to." Eddie flirted, smoothly sliding his hand back over your waist. "Was thinking you could wear it later tonight. Stop at Vivienne Westwood and pick you out something black and sexy. Really put you into costume."

"Is that right?" Your tongue ran over the inside of your cheek, trying to still yourself, hide your fluster.

"Yeah, c'mon, you know how I love when you dress up for me." Eddie's breath was hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shuddering.

"Thought we were here for Halloween decorations?" Your voice was tight, far squeakier than what you were hoping.

"We're here for that too, but that doesn't mean we can't have some fun." He teased, fingers tickling up your waist. "Dressing up in a costume is apart of Halloween, anyways."

You hummed, grabbing at the ceramic bottles of potions, each etched with a different deadly name. "I like those, get those." Eddie nodded, grabbing one of each.

"I like the broom too." You tilted your head over to the one hanging. "And the cauldron. It says it turns on and makes sound."

"See?" Eddie smiled, chin hooking over your shoulder. "Knew you'd like the witchy stuff."

You giggled, turning so your noses were nearly touching. It was nice to be open and affectionate, not have to worry about sneaking around any more or saving the love for behind closed doors.

"It's more fun than the other stuff. Don't you think?" Your eyes batted sweetly at him. Eddie didn't know how to tell you that he'd agree with anything you said in that moment. Instead, he leaned forward, lips pressing against yours, a short but sweet kiss that had you both reeling.

"I love you." Eddie muttered, eyes rounded with affection, nearly drunk off his affection.

"I love you." You giggled, pressing your cheek to his. "This is a lot of fun. I can... I can see why you like it so much."

"Yeah, told you. This isn't even the best part. The best part is when you get to put it all up, ya know? Putting stuff where you want and makin' it all spooky and weird and Halloweeny." Eddie gushed with excitement.

"Yeah." Your tone dropped, looking down at the cauldron in your hand. "Guess I really missed out, huh?"

Eddie frowned, pulling back to look at you, his hand sliding over your jaw, cupping your cheek softly, pulling your gaze up to his. "Hey, c'mon, it's alright." He muttered, voice low in case others could hear.

He leaned forward, tip of his nose to yours, heart aching at the way your lip jutted lightly in a sad pout. "You're never gonna miss out again, alright? I promise you. I'll make sure you never miss out, and when we have our own kids, they won't miss out. Promise."

You moved into his hold, lips beginning to curl in a soft smile. "Thank you." Your voice barely a whisper, taking a slow, steadying breath in.

"I mean it." Eddie nodded fiercely. "You're locked in for life with me, baby, and I swear we'll decorate every single fuckin' holiday until we're a hundred years old."

You held his gaze, locking eyes in such a passionately fierce yet soft way, like you two were the only ones in the store- on the planet, maybe. It felt like that, it always did when you were with Eddie.

"Um," The timid voice of the sales associate brought you both back to reality. "I-I'm sorry, are you still finding everything ok?" She hesitated.

You pulled away, chin ducking with light embarrassment, but Eddie didn't seem bothered. "Yeah, we're gonna take these too." He nodded, passing her the ceramic figures and broom. "Oh, and this." He took the cauldron from you, passing it to her with a muttering of thanks.

"Let's keep looking. I think they said the outside stuff was over here." Eddie's hand found your back, pointing towards the next aisle.

"Outside? I thought you said you had your own outside stuff." You looked at him.

"I do, but I don't think it's really... you." Eddie looked at you with a small smile. "It's kinda scary shit. Not sure that's what you want."

"Do kids like it?"

"I don't know, actually. Never really had trick-or-treaters. I always have a party on Halloween, you remember." Eddie nodded lightly. You did remember, the infamous Halloween rager he had just a year ago. How you'd shown up in a skimpy little costume, resting on the arm of his sworn rival just to piss Eddie off. It had worked, of course, much to your discomfort. Your tummy flipped with heat, hairs raising on your spine at the memory.

"That's right. Are you doing that again this year?" You asked, passing by the plastic graveyard signs.

"I can, if you want." Eddie shrugged. "Up to you."

"Maybe have it start after trick-or-treating is done." Your eyes lingered over the costumes in the corner, a tiny bat onesie that had your heart swelling. "I want to pass out candy this year."

"Done." Eddie nodded. "Usually doesn't start until ten or eleven anyways. Gives us time to change. Shit, that reminds me, we gotta figure out a costume."

"I thought I already had a costume." You nodded towards the front where the witches hat was waiting behind the counter with the rest of your things. "Isn't that why we're going to Vivienne Westwood after this?"

"Nah, that's just for me, baby." Eddie grinned, pulling you close to him, pressing a kiss to your head. "That's your costume for me. We need something for the party. Somethin' cool and weird. Gotta be a good one, ya know? Our first Halloween together, together."

You giggled, shaking your head lightly. "I'm sure you'll come up with something good. You always do."

"Needs to be perfect." Eddie nodded, picking up a plastic headstone with Frankenstein's Bride etched on the front. "For my bride." He droned dramatically, leaving you laughing.

"Oh shit, wait, that's actually a good idea." Eddie's eyes lit up. "Bride of Frankenstein and Frankenstein- oh shit!" Eddie exclaimed, a little too loudly, other patrons glaring at him with cutting eyes.

"I gotta call Ricardo, see if his costume guy can make somethin' happen. Oh man, this is gonna be so good, babe. Gonna be the best fuckin' Halloween ever." Eddie babbled, excited and bubbly with ideas.

Your heart swelled, squeezing his hand in yours as you pulled him down the aisles, letting him ramble about his ideas, decorations, Halloween traditions- everything. You listened, just as excited as he was. You finally would get to have traditions of your own, with a man you loved, in your own home that you decorated with items you both picked out. No longer would the holidays feel meaningless and boring. You finally had what you always wanted, finally found with Eddie.

[fourmula1]

If you're still looking for prompts: "marking" for the baby alpha Max verse. What feral and insane things is Max going to do to mark Daniel as his now that he's finally allowed to? Maybe also low-key exhibitionism cause he wants everyone to know that he bagged the omega of his dreams

winter warmers day 7: omegaverse + this anon

max/daniel. 451 words. eager baby alpha max universe.

-

“Oh my god, Max!” Daniel yelled from the bathroom, where he was getting a look at himself after the first night he’d spent in Max’s apartment.

Purple-red bruises had bloomed up his neck, splotches in the shape of Max’s mouth, where he had nibbled and sucked and kissed his way up and down last night, doing his best to not actually bite.

Daniel leaned in across the counter and tilted his head to inspect the damage. The hickey bruises were huge, and plentiful, and Daniel really should have been more with it to put a stop to it last night but the heat of the moment was hard for both of them. Even if he was much older and more experienced and responsible.

He knew better than to let Max bite him, knew to step on the brakes when he felt the little nips of Max’s teeth practically testing the water.

But.

It wasn’t so easy for him, either. When there was a pretty, eager, baby alpha on top of him and scenting him and touching him and kissing on him. It wasn’t so easy to stop it all together when it felt so good to be touched and scented and grinded against by a hot alpha who was desperately into him.

At least he didn’t let Max fuck him, yet, either.

Even if he wanted to.

Max was too young and feral and needed to relax a little into actually being in the presence of his omega before Daniel could let that happen, no matter how wet and wanting he got.

Which was a lot.

A lot wet and wanting.

“Jesus,” he curses, running his fingers over the bruises on his neck. There is no hoodie big enough to even come close to trying to mask this and everyone is going to know Daniel’s hiding something. Someone.

Except that probably won’t be much of a secret either because even if he showers he knows Max won’t be able to stop himself from rubbing up on him and marking Daniel with his scent again. God. Baby alphas.

But Max is his baby alpha. Eager and pliant and willing.

It’s a powerful feeling.

Max’s head pops around the doorway to peek into the bathroom, no amount of shame whatsoever to the big grin on his face. He’s proud of himself.

“But it looks nice, this,” Max says, reaching out to touch the hickies as well. “You all marked up because of me.”

“You’re insufferable,” Daniel says, fond as he rolls his eyes and lets Max squeeze past him into the bathroom.

If Daniel lets Max add a few more in the shower… well, the damage is already done, and he’s undeniably Max’s.

[natalievoncatte]

“Wake up,” Lex snarled.

Kara’s eyelids were brutally heavy. She couldn’t force them open no matter how she tried, and everything sounded distant, as if she were listening from underwater. The loudest sound was the blood rushing in her own ears and the steady march of her pulse, like the distant rush of some animal moving across leaves.

“Whu?” she managed to choke out.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

Kara finally managed to split them open, blinking away gummy eyelashes to take a blurred look around the room. She wasn’t sure where she was, only that they were underground. Her limbs felt leaden and her body ached. It was soon clear why.

The chunk of kryptonite in front of her glowed a paler green than normal. It was different somehow, hard to look at.

“What? What did you do?”

“I broadened my mind,” said Lex.

Kara managed to raise her head and look at him. He was stripped to the waist, a flabby early middle aged business executive, much softer than he would allow anyone to realize. He looked a little absurd, especially after all the effort he put into a public image of a physically fit, debonair, imposing man.”

“What is this?”

“That is a very special type of kryptonite. You wouldn’t believe what I had to give up to get it. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

“Where are we?”

“Oh this place,” Lex said, glancing around the stone walls, lit by flicker torches and glowing Edison lamps. “A castle, in Scotland. It was incredibly expensive, I assure you. The grounds are quite lovely, though you’ll never have a chance to see them.”

“Of course I won’t,” Kara rasped. “Can you finish your monologue without the dramatic pauses? I’m on the clock.”

Lex smirked at her.

“This castle was built on a conduit of energy- a ley line. Actually several, and they converge beneath our feet. That and the peculiar construction -sandwiched within these walls are layers of copper, cold-hammered silver, and pure selenium- make it perfect for my purposes.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Oh no no no,” Lex laughed, “not everything is about you, Supergirl. This is about Lena.”

Kara heard a muffled cry and looked around frantically.

“She’ll join us shortly,” said “Lex. I wasn’t finished.”

“You talk too much.”

“Oh indeed. You know, I’ve wondered what she sees in an alien freak like you. Why you’re so alluring to her. I’ve often wondered why you never made a move- I know you think about it. Fantasize about it.”

“Shut up,” said Kara.

“I’ve been watching, you know. Did you think I’d let you out of my sight?”

Lex walked to a table and began toying with a long dagger with a thin, blue-black blade, drawing the edge over his thumb with a wince. He let a thin bloppy stream of his blood trickle into a silver chalice on the table before staunching the bleeding with a towel.

He turned to Kara sharply, holding the dagger.

“Know what?”

“Your little secret? Or should I say, your big secret?”

“I haven’t told her.”

He stopped and regarded her with a smile.

“I don’t mean your real name, Kara,” Lex chuckled. “I mean the other secret, you moron. The one that made you switch from the skirt to pants.”

“What? No, of course not…”

“I know what you want to do with her,” Lex said, kneeling to look Kara in the eye as the heavy chains weighed her down.

“Fuck you,” Kara spat.

“Oh dear me no, I don’t play catcher. Anyway, as I was saying, I think I know what she sees in you. Turns out that rutting with inhuman monsters is in my half sister’s blood. On her mother’s side, obviously. Someone in the deep end of my dear sister’s gene pool interbred with one of the fair folk. The kindly ones. The fey.”

“The what?”

Lex lashed out with the knife and a hot red sting slashed Kara’s cheek. To her shock she felt blood running down her jawline and chin. Lex let it drop into the chalice, mingling with his own, then stood up.”

“Bring her!” he shouted. “Otis you oaf, bring her in.”

Kara’s attention snapped to the far end of the room. Otis Graves shoved Lena into the room. Kara knew it was her even with a black bag over her head. Lena was barefoot and bruised, her blazer and skirt torn from putting up a fight.

There was a thin chain of dark metal looped lazily around her neck.

“Once I learned about this, I did what I always do,” said Lex. “I decided to master my circumstances. I studied, I learned, I applied what I’d researched.”

He turned back to Kara, and as her vision cleared, she saw that Lex was drawn and haggard, thinner than she remembered.

“It took me almost two years to prepare this ritual. I have walked trails blazed by gods. I had to beg, borrow, and steal to piece together the forbidden lore I need. I even had to strike treaties with the pit.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Kara.

“Lex,” Lena panted through her mask. “Don’t do this. Let her go. Please.”

Lex barked out a sharp laugh. “Let her go? Come on, sis. That’s Kara’s line.”

Lena let out a sharp gasp, visibly tensing.

“Kara?”

“It’s me, Lee.”

“Lee?” said Lex. “You hate that nickname.”

“Not from her,” Lena said softly.

“Lena, I don’t know what crazy nonsense he’s talking but I will get us out of this. He has some kind of-“

Kara was cut off as Lex kicked her hard in the belly, driving the toe of his shoe up under her ribs. The world exploded in pain and Kara doubled over, almost retching in agony.

“As much as I’d like to spend the rest of the day making you feel pain, we’re on the clock. I have power to acquire, a world to master, and a deal with a devil to weasel out of.”

“Lex,” said Lena. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Promised my immortal soul upon death, but alas, I’m never going to die. Otis, get her in place.

Kara strained at her chains as the big oaf wrenched Lena around and bound her hands behind her back with ancient looking iron manacles.

“The iron keeps her from trying any tricks,” Lex explained.

Kara was tired of his bullshit. The only thing that mattered was Lena’s shocked cry of agony when Otis forced her to her knees on the stone floor, followed by the whimper as he yanked the bag from her head. Her right eye was swollen almost shut and she had a split lip.

Incandescent rage boiled in Kara’s chest with the fury of a newborn star. If not for the strange kryptonite sapping her powers, Otis Graves would burn, screaming in agony in the terrible wrath of a Kryptonian’s gaze.

He hurt her. He hurt her Lena.

“You know how this is going to end, Lex.”

He was leafing through the pages of a heavy book on his work table.

“Out, Otis.”

Graves withdrew, smirking at Lena. She turned to Kara, eyes soft with emotion.

“Not often we get kidnapped together.”

“I’d rather have had a movie night.”

“Ugh, can you two please save the tearful love confession? I’m gagging.”

“Why didn’t you ever ask me out?” said Lena.

“I’m stupid,” Kara sighed. “I thought about it. I was scared. I thought… I don’t know.”

Lex rolled his eyes. “Danvers, are you really going to pretend you didn’t know that my sister is a rug muncher? It’s the worst kept secret in the Luthor family history. Throwing her into a girl’s boarding school was like throwing a pig in shit, but then Mother has always been a dolt.”

Kara ground her teeth. “Don’t talk about Lena like that.”

“Or?” said Lex. “Alright, look. I’d love to spend a bit longer taunting you, but I’m busy. The forms have been observed. I monologue, we taunt each other, I kill you.”

“No,” said Kara. “You try and fail and I drag you to jail.”

“Not this time,” said Lex.

“No, not this time,” said Kara. “This time I break my biggest rule.”

Lena stared at her across the room, eyes wide.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.”

“How noble,” Lex deadpanned. “Hold still, sis.”

He grabbed her by the chin, dabbing a thin paintbrush in the chalice, and began to paint lines and sworls on Lena’s face in their mingled blood. When Lena tried to turn, her let go and backhanded her across the face. Lena almost fell to the floor and let out a pained yelp.

Kara pulled hard at the chains but the held fast. She felt like she was weighed down by an invisible force, unseen hands digging spectral fingers into her arms and legs.

“It’s interesting,” said Lex. “Everyone assumes you have one weakness- Kryptonite. But you’re just as vulnerable to magic as anyone else.”

“What?” said Kara. “You’re insane.”

“I don’t think he is,” Lena said, wincing at her split lip. “When I was a girl, there were rumors that my mother was a witch, and she did some… some things I didn’t understand.”

Lex smirked.

He propped the book open on his forearm, making a final study of the markings he’d drawn on Lena’s face.

“You know the most annoying part?” said Lex. “It’s that you can’t just do magic. The power source, as it were, has to come from somewhere. The most common place to get it is from ancestor fucking a dragon or a god damned fairy or some other absurd thing. I don’t have the spark. But she does.”

He looked at Lena, a feral, hungry glint in his eye, and began to chant, reading from the book.

Kara flinched. The words sounded wrong, twisting and turning unnaturally as they fell from Lex’s mouth. The air grew heavy, as if a coat of soot and oil fell over everything, and a hideous stink of rotten eggs filled the room.

Lena cried out, eyes flying open in shock. She tried to say something but choked.

Kara lunged, desperate to free herself, to break the chains, to reach Lena and spirit her to safety the way she always did, but she was helpless. A terrible certainty of her own death fell over her like an ebon cloak, and she felt a distinct certainty of things, other presences in the room just out of sight.

“Lex,” Lena pleaded, “Stop. Please. You’re hurting me.”

Kara let out a sharp snarl, a ripping sound of threat from deep in her chest.

Lex briefly broke his chant. “Yes, the ritual will most likely kill you. No great loss. The world has enough degenerates and alien-fuckers as it is.”

He resumed his chanting, and Kara felt a sudden wave of agony through her body. She tried to scream but no sound came. It was as if a giant’s hands had shoved into her chest and begun crushing her lungs from the inside. She fell boneless to the floor, writhing in pain.

Lena lay on her side, tears streaming from her eyes, tears that tinged pink with blood as she jerked and convulsed, teeth clenched.

And Lex… Lex changed.

There was a soft crack and the rhythm of his chanting changed. He grew taller before Kara’s eyes. His arms swelled, corded with new muscle as his paunchy belly flattened and tightened into a washboard.

“That’s right,” he snarled. “Soon it all be mine. All your beautiful power mine. I will be powered by the sun! Lex Luthor will fly faster than a speeding bullet, bend steel in his bare hands! I will be a god, and when I am I will finally lead humanity into its glory! My glory! Lex Luthor, the Man of Tomorrow! Invincible! Immortal!”

Kara could feel herself fading, the world irising shut as death stalked her from below, a hungry predator always waiting just beyond the edges of her gaze. Her hands were pale, the flesh drawn so tight to the bone that they seemed barely more than skeletal. Her hands actually slipped free of her manacles, but she might as well be buried beneath a mountain for all the good it did. She had no strength to move.

Yet she could speak.

“Lena,” Kara rasped out, “Lena!”

Lena forced her eyes open.

“You have to fight him.”

“I can’t,” said Lena, her face shattering into a mask of agony. “It hurts so much, and I’m too weak.”

“You are not weak!” Kara spat, with all her remaining strength. “You’re beautiful and powerful and… magical. You’re my Lena.”

“Kara,” Lena gasped.

“I love you.”

“Kara!”

“I love you, Lena. Please, I need you to know.”

“I know,” Lena choked out, pinching her eyes shut, tears of blood streaking her face as she clenched her jaw in tooth shattering pain. “Oh God I know, Kara. I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. I just wish we had more time. I…”

She went silent, and still. Kara stared at her for an awful endless moment of white hot pain as something ate her alive from the heart out, yet that pain paled next to the agony of watching Lena suffer. She was almost glad that death would take her first, but prayed to the god of a distant broken world that Lena wouldn’t have to see it. She felt a dim hope that somewhere past this, in fields beneath a crimson star there would be a place for them, that Rao would find a way to bring Lena home to Him, that He would not let her wander in the dark, forever lost.

Kara had fucking earned a little grace.

Then, Lena’s eyes shot open, ablaze with stunning, brilliant light. She wrenched from the floor with a sudden strength and arched her back, screaming.

Lex looked down at her as the iron manacles fell ruined from her wrists and she yanked the chain from her throat, her hands wreathed in otherworldly light as the links snapped.

Slowly she rose to her feet, eyes still blazing.

Lena screamed, a banshee wail that shook the walls around them, and her cry seemed to swallow Lex’s frantic chanting, opening vast shark-toothed jaws of music that gouged into his feeble warbling and bit down, devouring it.

He stumbled back, frantically turning pages in his book.

“Fuck you,” Lena snarled, and the words carried an intensity, a physical force just as Lex’s had, but where his sharp wrenching syllables turned the air somehow profane and tainted it with invisible filth, Lena’s burned, not as fire but as daylight burns, clear and bright to chase dark crawling things back into their hateful shadows.

With a soft cracking sound, the strange chunk of tainted kryptonite turned a dull gray.

It had become lead.

Kara planted her palms and pushed up to kneel. She could feel, see the vitality coming back to her. Her frame expanded from skeletal and deathly thin to its normal self, slabs of lithe muscle bunching beneath her colors and crest as she stood and watched Lex shrinking.

Lena sagged, suddenly winded, grabbing the table for support.

Lex silent and stunned, wasted no opportunity. He snatched the dagger from where it lay and raised it high to slam down into Lena’s back.

It clattered to the floor instead as Kara effortlessly grabbed his wrist, feeling her thumb drive between the bones of his forearm.

“I,” Kara said, “am tired of you hurting us.”

So she hurt him.

Lex screamed in agony as Kara closed her hand, pulling every bone in his forearm. She reached out and seized his throat, savoring the hate and terror in his eyes as red sun fire blazed in her own, savage loathing kindling a blaze in her chest. This ended now.

A soft hand fell on her shoulder.

“Kara,” said Lena. “Don’t.”

“Lena,” she rasped.

“Not for him. For you. He made his own grave. Let him lie in it.”

Kara turned and looked at her. There was still blood on her face- the mingled painted lines smeared with her own. She looked so small and fragile and soft and the furnace that burned in Kara was doused, and suddenly nothing mattered but making her safe.

Kara let the sniveling coward go and brought Lena into her embrace, sheltering her with all her might.

“We have to go. Now. Trust me.”

“Yes,” Lex gasped, “time to leave, take me to jail now.”

Kara looked down. Lena’s eyes hardened.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Kara raised her foot and brought out down, snapping Lex’s ankle in a single sharp motion. He screamed and collapsed, crawling for the door.

Kara heaved Lena into a bridal carry and walked past him.

“Supergirl!” Lex bellowed, “you can’t leave me here! You don’t know what’s coming.”

“I don’t care,” said Kara.

She shoved the door open with her foot, then turned to close it the same way. Lena clung to her, arms around her neck.

“Lock him in.”

Kara did more than that. A quick flicker of heat vision welded the heavy metal door closed. Lex screamed and pleaded from the other side.

Something was coming. Something ancient.

“Please. Get us out of here,” said Lena.

A crimson light blazed behind the door, bleeding through its edges. The stink of rotten eggs filled the corridor. Kara turned and carried Lena away.

“Wait!” Lex called. “Supergirl! You can’t leave me here!”

Kara ignored him and kept walking.

“No,” Lex was screaming, “no, wait, we can make another deal, a trade, there has to be something I can-“

“You tried to trick me,” something said in a voice like a hot knife dragged across a tombstone.

“What is that?” Kara whispered.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to,” said Lena. “Get us out of here. Take me home, Kara.”

Kara touched a soft kiss to her forehead, a promise of more and deeper to come. Once they were outside, Kara used the comm bead in her ear, and called Alex, told her what happened.

“Let’s go home, baby,” said Kara.

A year later, she flew back to the castle.

It was secluded, somehow forgotten, a tumbledown ruin. Heart thudding in her chest with uncharacteristic fear, she walked down the corridor into the underground and slammed the door open with her first.

No remains. No body. There was only one sign that Lex had been there at all. Scratches across the store floor, one with a fingernail still stuck in it.

As if he had been dragged.

Kara rocketed outside at supersonic speed, desperate to feel the sun and cleanse the oily, tainted feeling in that room. A cold, lingering dread welled inside her, twisting deep in her belly.

She had to be sure.

Part of her regretted what she did to the old ruin. It was history. Only part of her.

The rest of her flew fifth thousand feet up and came straight back down fast enough to destroy the stonework in massive shockwave that dug a crater where the building had stood seconds before. She then turned her heat vision on it, burning and melting. By the time she was done, by the time it no longer felt like she was being watched, as if she might be followed, there was nothing left but a smoldering, glassy crater. It looked like someone had dropped an atomic bomb.

It still felt like something slithered beneath, but whatever it was, it would not follow and that was all that mattered.

Kara flew. She had places to be. She’d already planned a date night with Lena.

Alex was watching their baby.

[gothamite-rambler]

Vixen held the second Robin close to her chest while hugging him tightly. He looked around nervously at first, but then with a slight shrug he let the hug continue.

Vixen: You are so cute! I heard he got a new one after the first one left. I was worried, but look at you! So polite too!

Robin!Jason (all he could say while laughing softly): Aww!

Vixen: And look at that face. You have a nice face, it makes me happy- Hawkgirl, Canary! Look at his face!

Hawkgirl walked over while Black Canary rolled over in her rolly chair.

Hawkgirl: We're around annoying men all day so seeing an adorable wallflower like you is a breath of fresh air.

Jason nodded, coming up with a plan to work this in his favor. He sniffled and did a convincing lip quiver.

Robin!Jason: I haven't felt motherly love like this before. Batman tries, but I needed this hug for so long!

Vixen and Hawkgirl hugged Jason as he fake whimpered.

Vixen (simpering): Aww, you poor thing.

Batman walked past the group, sipping coffee and slightly amused at his new sidekick's acting.

Batman: Thought you said you were too shy to talk to anyone.

Robin!Jason: I can change my mind.

[syndrossi]

I've been reading lots of platonic family and accidental adoption/acquisition stuff lately, so I really have to know, what WOULD Daemon do if Jon and/or Rhaegar brought home a random stray? Be it a stray cat, dog, direwolf, or human? (Or for additional hilarity, an extra baby dragon that is not bonded to either of them but randomly hatched in front of them anyway. Rhaegar obviously couldn't leave it to fend for itself. It's a tiny baby. Even smaller than Qelebrys was when she hatched!)

Daemon lives under the specter of Allard Royce's miserly authoritative figure in the boys' lives, so he's very bad at not giving them their every heart's desire. In the case of a direwolf, however, he would try his best to hold strong (before ultimately failing).

x~x~x

Oh no.

Daemon was no stranger to dread when it came to his sons. Some of it, the unbearable kind, was rooted in the fear of losing them. Other times, it was his children being far too clever by half and knowing that he would pay for it somehow.

This was a new dread entirely, one that seized him by the chest as he stared into their pleading, hopeful faces. You will have to break their hearts.

“That is—” he broke off, studying the furry pup that was so large his sons both had to hold it up—Jon’s arms beneath its chest, and Rhaegar’s beneath its belly, just before the hindquarters. That is no wolf.

“He is a direwolf,” Jon said, his smile turning tearful as the pup licked at his cheek. “And he has lost his pack. He needs a new one.”

How did it even reach Runestone? It was a journey of well over a thousand miles on foot to reach the castle from the North, and from what Daemon had heard, direwolf sightings were already rare, even at the heart of the North, in Winterfell.

Moreover, it was an unusual pup, with pale fur and red eyes that gazed at Daemon with a strange intelligence.

“How will you care for him when we are at King’s Landing?” Daemon asked, only to realize by the sudden brightening of his sons’ faces that he had already lost.

“We can make a sling for Caraxes’s saddlebags and strap him to it,” Rhaegar said with a confidence that told him his son had already thought of it. “He can ride below or alongside, depending on which is more comfortable.”

“The king will never allow a direwolf in the holdfast,” Daemon said weakly, but although that would have been true of his grandfather, Viserys was another story entirely.

Jon dismissed his bluff with a shake of his head. “We shall convince him.”

“What do you intend with a direwolf?” he demanded. “Such beasts are not meant to be mere pets, no more than a dragon is.”

“He would not be a pet,” Jon said, looking almost offended. “He would be—a protector. One who can follow us where a Princesguard wouldn’t. Like our dragons did, when they were little.”

His sons’ hatchlings still believed themselves to be little, of course, and had been heartbroken when they had finally been barred from following their riders into the holdfast. The last time Qelebrys had tried to sit on Daemon’s shoulder, she had ended up sitting on him, heavy as a grown man.

Perhaps his sons merely missed those early days, when they had been able to enjoy that closeness with their dragons. Perhaps he should have considered the possibility and tried to find them a kitten to fill that longing.

This is certainly no kitten.

But as the silence dragged out, Jon’s face grew more despondent. “Please?” his son begged, the vulnerability in his voice nearly rending Daemon asunder.

His sons so rarely asked him for anything, usually content with whatever they were provided—a lingering reminder of their time in the Vale, where they had been taught to treasure what scraps of affection they had been thrown. Daemon could too easily imagine Allard Royce staring coldly in the face of their pleas, denying them again and again.

As he gazed into his son’s eyes, he could see a glimmer of that younger child, hopeful but guarded, daring to believe that Daemon might grant his dearest wish.

It is a direwolf, Daemon thought despairingly. A wild thing. As like to harm them as help.

“What if we were not alone with him?” Rhaegar asked. “He sleeps in a common area at night, and during the day, we are with you—or Ser Willam. Or a Princesguard, when we are back home. Until you trust him.”

He met the wolf’s eyes again, unnerved by its calm. He could not help but feel as though it was an act for his benefit, even though that was absurd.

“I make no promises,” Daemon said, trying hard to maintain his stern demeanor in the face of their shared elation. “Should the beast harm anyone who is not directly threatening you, it will be taken back out into the wilds.”

“He won’t,” Jon breathlessly assured him, and the pup nosed him in the ear, drawing a wide smile. “Thank you.”

“And when you are outside with it, you will have your dragons present.” He caught a ripple of something in Rhaegar’s expression and he narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“It is nothing,” Rhaegar said, holding out for several seconds before admitting, “Qelebrys tried to attack him.”

Daemon resolved to find a nice plump pig for his son’s drake later. “And Shadow?”

Rhaegar smiled wryly. “Shadow will try to play with anything.”