#fun little ficlet

[wishitweresummer]

Fun with Make-Up (Dream x GeorgeNotFound)

Concept inspired by @mushiewrites <333

“Stay still.”. Dream huffed for the fifth time. George furrowing his brows and turning his head at the annoying feeling. Dream was straddled on George’s waist and trying to do his makeup. Emphasis on trying. They had been at this for a while, but the smaller boy still only had a face layer down, far too squirmy for Dream to get through his next step. George agreed to this, but still he wouldn’t stay still. Dream wasn’t entirely sure why. At the moment he was only trying to brush through George’s eyebrows with a clean little mascara wand.

He wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out, though. George groaned and grabbed Dream’s wrists, flipping them before he could resist. Dream dropped the small makeup wand he was holding in surprise.

“George?”, Dream didn’t fight back. George plucked up the small wand and traced the inside of Dream’s ear with it. Instantly he gasped and shoved his hand away. “That tickles!”, Dream whined and rubbed his ear. ‘Oh…’, he thought dumbly.

George only smirked as he scooched down and lifted Dream’s shirt.

“Now stay still, I’m going to do your makeup.”. Dream flushed and tried to tug it back down.

“George no!”, he cried as his hands were batted away. He squealed as George grabbed his bare waist and poked the little mascara wand into his bellybutton. He shoved him away, already thrown into a fit of giggles.

George got that dangerous playful glint in his eyes.

“Stay still!”, he scolded. He grabbed Dream’s arm and slipped his other hand under his shirt, snaking it up fast until Dream suddenly felt the evil little mascara brush in his sensitive bare underarm. He nearly shrieked. His buck was enough to toss George to the side, but he quickly scrambled back on top.

“Stop I’m trying to do your makeup!!!”

“No!! You’re being…an idiot!!”, Dream tried to snap, but he was already lost in a world of small wheezes and frantic giggles. Dream fought George’s hands lightly, both of them giggling in the playfulness. George got a hold of both of Dream’s wrists and felt a rush of power.

“Do you think your feet need some makeup?”.

George crossed the line with that threat. In an instant he found himself on his back with both wrists pressed together above his head, quick enough only a single squeak left his lips before he knew what was happening.

Dream was much stronger than him. You think he would learn his lesson than to tease him too much. He never seemed to learn though…

Soon the Dream Team house was shaking with George’s insane cackling. He should have just accepted the light and manageable tickles the make-up application was giving him earlier, because this he might not survive.

[alternianwarhound]

It had started as a joke between her and Nostus and Skraab. That the once feared Praetor would stoop so low as to dress as a lowly maid.

Of course, anyone who knew Radris knew that the concept of shame had no anchor in her heart, and so, she had paraded around in the black dress, white apron and delicate gloves that Nostus had picked out. The Jadeblood had joked, when she watched Radris don the outfit, that she had preserved Radris' dignity by not picking the inappropriate ones.

It had rather surprised Nostus and Skraab up at the sight of how adeptly Radris could clean and manage the hive, even in an outfit that was far more cumbersome and restrictive. At the way, with modest make up and styling, Radris had gone from debonair hedonist, to a prim and proper maid in appearance.

It was a shame the fun was spoiled later that day, when Radris, alone in the hive, had been tending to the silverware. She had heard the click of one of the doors, and she paused. One hand on a bottle of polish and cloth, the other on a very fine knife.

She heard the exterior door open, and then the second door into the kitchen open, and turned, beaming as if expecting to see Nostus, or Skraab, or perhaps Guilliman, in the door way. Her smile vanished at the sight of four Alternians, of varying castes, looming in the door.

"Shit, none of them are here?" the one at the rear called, as the lead raised his hand.

"None. But they have a maid. You know the orders. No witnesses."

Radris was not a classically educated soul. But the stances, the manner of dress, the weapons clearly hidden in their clothing. Ah, these were assassins.

Radris regarded each of them in turn, and smiled.

"Ah, hired killers! Been some time since I had to handle that," she said, and curtseyed cutely, as she saw the first draw a pistol - standard Alternian Magpistol. She was amongst them in a heartbeat a moment later. None would ever quite guess from where amongst the flowing black silk she had drawn the sabre, but it flashed up as bright as lightning.

"It's just more for me to clean up, sadly."

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[runraerun]

Heard a random 90s rock song & it legit got me thinking about Steve & Billy meeting again in their twenties... Like what if s3 never happened? After the fight at the Byers, Billy kept his head down & avoided Steve? I see him as being consumed by a sense of guilt/shame & yet still not being able to apologise until, that is, the day of their graduation when he's suddenly overcome with a need to just get it off his chest. He's been crushing on this guy since he got to Hawkins & he blew whatever chance he had of even just a friendship with him, but it doesn't matter now cos he's getting out of this shithole as quickly as possible, but he can't have this guilt gnawing at him any longer...So maybe he deliberately makes sure he bumps into steve at some point and mutters out a: "Harrington. We need to talk." And sucking on a cigarette like his life depends on it, hands shaking, barely making eye contact, Billy gives the world's shittiest apology. And it feels like his heart's gonna beat out of his chest & Steve's just standing there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before saying something like: "yeah, man. I'm sorry for that night too." (In my mind either Max let drop something about Billy's homelife or Steve has deduced something's not right). Anyway. Billy finally feels like he's able to breathe again for the first time in months UNTIL steve unknowingly utters the world's most devastating sentence: "I think we could've been friends if, y'know, shit hadn't gone down the way it did...oh well." And steve gives a sort of little grin and a laugh as if what he said wasn't a major deal. "Heard you're headed back to California?" Steve asks, and Billy's barely able to nod, still struck dumb by Steve's previous offhand comment. And maybe someone calls Steve's name and suddenly that's it. The moment is broken & Steve's leaving with a "Guess I'll see you around, Hargrove... or not" and a goofy little salute. And Billy thought he'd feel better. But in fact he feels worse. Because holy shit. Steve just said they could have been friends. And that's gonna haunt him for years....

Cue a few years later and they run into each other in Chicago (listen, the idea of Billy returning to California only to realise it no longer feels like home and maybe it never did consumes me), but yeah. They bump into each other accidentally and holy shit. Steve Harrington. He looks almost exactly the same. Other than the fact he's grown out the mullet and holy shit, are those highlights in his hair??? And billy's stunned by what looks like a genuine grin of delight that crosses Steve's face once he recognises who he's walked into. And maybe they chat for a little while; Billy doesn't even know what he's saying he's so in shock at meeting his highschool crush again. But just like the last time someone calls steve's name and of course steve has a girlfriend, of course he does (joke's on billy, cos it's just robin) and suddenly the moment's broken again and steve's walking away with a casual "it was good to see you again, billy" and billy is gripped with the thought that he can't let steve slip through his fingers again. how many people get a second chance like this? he can feel his old highschool crush flickering back to life where it's buried deep in his chest and maybe steve will never like billy like that but holy shit. billy still remembers the day steve said that maybe they could have been friends if things had been different and things are different now so why not take a chance??? and billy has never felt so brave or so fucking scared in his life as he does when he steps forward and calls after steve: "Hey Harrington! Wanna meet up and catch up properly some time?" and Steve's attention is back on him and goddamn. Billy didn't even realise how much he missed those eyes until now. ANyway!! This got away from me!! But 90s Harringrove pls and thank. Also the song i heard was lightning crashes by live. like the lyrics aren't even that appropriate but there's such a nostalgic feel to it.

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

Anon, this whole message has got me in a chokehold. Like, it’s such a direct hit. 🎯🎯🎯Billy choking on an apology because he’s so painfully unfamiliar with the very concept, the absolute devastation of hearing the potential of being friends with Steve was there, but he blew it, the PINING… urgh. How Steve can unknowingly fatally wound Billy just like that.

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

I hope that things get away from you many many more times, because this was incredible.

Okay okay. Now, if I may, I will now attempt to match your freak.

ahem

—

By some serendipitous fuckin’ miracle, Steve agrees to exchange digits with him. They couldn’t find a napkin or any other god forsaken scrap of paper to write on, so they just scribbled their numbers down onto each other's arm. Billy was so fucking on edge that when he was peering down at the pale expanse of Steve’s mole-speckled forearm he damn near forgot his own phone number. Jesus, he’s a wreck…

At least whenever it comes to Harrington, anyway. Dude has like, Billy’s own personal strain of kryptonite woven in through his DNA or some shit. It would explain why his hands always get clammy and his knees feel like they’re made of fucking jello every time Steve flashed those pearly whites his way.

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

Billy had spent the rest of the week running a finger along the wobbly looking numbers, fading more and more every day. Before they fade completely through, he finally finds his balls and dials Steve’s number.

A girl picks up, which… well, Billy knows Steve has a girlfriend. He didn’t know they’re living together though… but whatever, it don’t change shit.

“Steve around?” He asks, clenching the receiver in his fist so tightly that he can hear the plastic creak.

“Who’s asking?” The girl says, sounding pleasant despite her words. Sandy-haired, freckles. Cute, Billy remembers. Harrington always did go for the cute ones.

“Billy,” he answers, “Billy Hargrove. He’ll know who I am.”

“Oh, Billy,” The girl’s voice draws out his name like it’s an answer to a question that she’d been stuck on. “It’s about time you called.”

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

While Billy’s puzzling it out, she hears the girl holler for Steve, telling him Billy is on the line. His name is said with a weird amount of familiarity.

Billy switches ears and shakes out the stiffness in his hand. Focuses on breathing evenly instead of the steady flow of questions suddenly piling up in his head.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice, clear as a bell, asks from the other line.

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Steve says, doing that thing where he so casually drops bombs onto Billy’s world, leveling his cities with a passing word.

“Beat you to it.” Billy grins, and hears the little huff of a laugh on the other line.

“Always so competitive,” Steve teases, and Billy can just hear the smile. It makes his chest ache. It’s the sweet kind of ache, though. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s not winning that matters, it’s taking part?”

Billy shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him and sneers, “sounds like some shit losers say to each other.”

That gets a genuine laugh from Steve, all breathy and sharp, and Billy feels himself laughing along from the sheer thrill of getting Steve going.

“Jesus, I forgot how much of an asshole you are.” Steve sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. Just shit talk. It’s fine. What guys do.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t change my spots, or whatever.” Billy mumbles as he scuffs his boot along the floor. Fucking antsy. Jonesing for a cigarette. Just get on with it you piece of shit. He takes a breath and then takes the plunge. “So listen, we should hang out this weekend. I know a few good bars where we could catch up. Maybe get into some trouble.”

Steve makes a scoffing sound, “what kind of trouble are we talking here, Hargrove?”

His heart jackrabbits in his chest. He loves this part. Billy brings the receiver just a little closer to his lips. “The fun kind, Harrington.” He murmurs, voice pitched low.

There’s a brief, unbearably tense couple of seconds where Steve doesn’t speak. He just lets Billy dangle like a hooked fish. Static from the line. He doesn’t breathe. Then.

“Friday at 8?” Steve tosses the offer out, real casual-like. And with it, Billy feels the muscles around his neck and shoulders relax, like he got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Steve continues, “You wanna meet at the same coffee shop from before? I live in the apartment building just across the street from it.”

Fancy, Billy thinks. Of fuckin’ course. All the buildings on that block are the high end kind; with door men and balconies and working elevators. Billy only ever finds himself in that leg of the city when a pipe bursts or a sink gets clogged and Billy gets called in to fix it. Of course Steve’s living in the lap of luxury here in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy’s only child. Not that it’s his fault, Billy supposed. Some people are just born luckier than others.

“Sure, rich boy,” Billy grins, “bring your appetite though, I’m buying nachos.”

Steve heartily agrees. Because obviously. Who the hell could say no to that? Rich or poor, nachos are nachos.

It ain’t a date. It ain’t. It’s just two guys hanging out, y’know, catching up. For old times sake. Getting into some trouble, like Billy said. It ain’t date.

So what if he calls and asks Heather to pre-approve his outfit when everything he owns suddenly looks stupid on him? And who cares that he dabs double the amount of cologne onto his chest and triple down his pants—Billy likes to smell good, it ain’t a big deal. He wears a silver chain around his neck, the one that matches his earring, and undoes a few more buttons than usual to show it off. It’s cold this time of year but he figures they’ll be inside for most of the night anyway. Drinking, shooting pool, tossing darts. Shit like that.

Billy chain smokes as he waits outside of the coffee shop, sucking back one cigarette after the other, trying not to think about how he’s about to see Steve fucking Harrington again; the one who got away. Or, one one Billy never even fucking had a chance with in the first place, more like. He keeps wondering if he’s making a mistake. If he should just go home, forget he ever ran into that long legged, poofy haired, Bambi-eyed—

But then Steve’s there, handing Billy some froo-froo drink from inside (somehow they’d missed each other???) before he starts giving Billy a hard time for still not having a proper winter coat. Steve’s got highlights in his hair and eyeliner on his lower lashline and a spot of foam from his drink on the tip of his nose and Jesus fuck.

Billy’s in trouble.

[lu-sn]

In the foyer of the minor family mansion, looming large and ominous against dark paneled wood, is a floor-to-ceiling portrait of Gun.

This is Pete’s first time seeing it. He must have walked by it earlier without realizing; he wouldn’t have noticed it on their way out either if Macau hadn’t come to a screeching halt in front of it.

In the portrait, Gun sits tall in an ornate chair, smoldering cigar hanging from his fingertips, expression brimming with arrogance. The narcissism of it — the centering of this house’s power on its patriarch, with his sons nowhere to be seen — is not unusual for a mafia mogul like Gun. Pete loathes him for it anyway.

Pete glances at Macau, whose gaze is fixed on his father’s face, and then down at where Macau is thumbing restlessly at the lighter in his palm. The gesture is familiar; the lighter is Vegas’s. It was the only item the doctors found tucked away in the tatters of Vegas’s clothing, and Macau has not relinquished it since. Pete has numbed himself to the sight and sound of it flicking open and shut, matching time with the beeping of Vegas’s heart monitor as he and Macau keep vigil on opposite sides of Vegas’s hospital bed.

The click of the lighter echoes in the cavernous foyer, now, sharp and eerie.

“Macau,” Pete blurts out. He hefts the box cradled in his arms. “I’ll go put your things in the car.” And when that earns him no response, he mumbles, “I’ll be back.”

He staggers out of the foyer and down the front steps to the car, leaving Macau to his thoughts.

Pete’s own mind, fractured and worn from weeks of poor sleep, swirls with thoughts of dead fathers. They leave themselves behind in empty houses and littered beer bottles, in stacks of yellowed photos and stacks of debt, in bruises, old and new. Their specters are impossible to shake, even without massive portraits to contend with.

Pete hopes Vegas won’t keep the portrait if he… when he wakes up. The love sons have for their bastard fathers is a curse, but Vegas will not see it that way, not for a long time. Vegas will want to keep the shadow of his father close. He will not be able to help himself after a lifetime of chasing Gun’s approval.

Better the shadow of his father than the real thing, Pete thinks darkly.

He slams the trunk of the car shut, turns back towards the mansion and then, even through his daze, the scent of it is thick enough to choke — smoke.

Fire.

“Macau?” Pete yells, sprinting up the steps and rushing back into the foyer. Alarms blare in his head: Macau is in danger. He has to keep Macau safe for Vegas. “Something’s wrong, we have to get out—”

He skids to a stop.

Macau looks over his shoulder at Pete, face inscrutable, silhouetted as he is by the burning, blazing portrait behind him. The lighter glints as he flips it round and round between his fingers.

The flames crawl up the portrait, eating away at its domineering presence, incinerating Gun into worthless ashes at his son’s feet.

-

#kpanniversary2024 episode 14 + prompt 14: legacy

[poisonhemloc]

In line with my general need to make aliens weirder-

Raven gets seriously hurt on a mission to the point where the ac has to autopilot back, and Walter gets down there because his one of a kind, 'best mercenary ever' that he accidentally pulled out of a human bargain bin is very badly injured and he's gotta try to do something.

He gets the core open and Raven's unconscious. And completely covered in Coral. And it's, if not actually fixing them, at least stabilizing them. Because Ayre's not willing to just let them die either.

And there's a minute of. Hey, that's not supposed to happen, Coral doesn't just. Do that. before his brain kicks back into gear and he drags Raven off to whatever passes as a medical area.

Then. Once Raven's up. They are gonna have a conversation about. 'Hey so that’s 100% Not Normal' v 'yeah I told you, that was the voice in my head, she said she was helping'

And then Walter just. nods. leaves. calls Carla. 'hey so I think I'm losing it but-'

[blorbologist]

I wish you would write a fic where...

More of the consecuted!Ashton being raised by Essek, please 😘

~580 words | Gen | Essek-centric | Mention of this being 100+ years post-canon and most of the Nein have passed, as well as Ashton

Short one! I stopped to think about how, exactly, Essek would somehow adopt Ashton before they even realized they had past memories, and perhaps this isn't fully sound but I had fun with it :D

I wish you would write a fic where... prompt game

--

Deirta Thelyss once claimed, in the gentle and patronizing way of one practiced at such speech, that she knew from the beginning that Essek was a new soul. He dismissed this immediately as justification for the cool detachment with which she raised him while waiting to see if he was anyone worth caring about.

This was a very solid conclusion until roughly three hours ago, where just as quickly as he disregarded his Umavi’s words he recognized this child. This child he had never met before in his life.

It had been a hunch to ask around. A gift of fortune that he was not immediately carted off as a (as Beauregard would have called it) a complete fucking creep.

But he knew where Greymoore had died. And so could extrapolate the - purely hypothetical - radius to investigate very accurately. And it’s not like the Cobalt Soul didn’t research the strangest of topics. Such as - again, hypothetically - any children born in this range of days potentially experiencing strange flashes and memories.

And if it became a long-term, fruitless research project, well. It’s not like he’s had much better to do. Caduceus is lovely, quite lovely, but there’s only so long he can garden before he’s gently being told to stop cross-breeding the plants and experimenting with grafts. 

(Only so long he can endure the reminders of what they’ve both buried in this same earth. He has always been a weak man.)

Essek long wrote this off as a fruitless thing. Ashton Greymoore was not consecuted, and calling their brain a biological Beacon would be generous (and swiftly provoke several rebuttal papers if he could publish the findings under another alias), and it had been too long. Frankly, he should have given up after fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, twenty years passed without a youth seeking him out on his rounds.

This child is not even toddling. It’s been over a century since he last met this soul, but he knows - he knows, deep in the pit of arcana in his stomach - that this is that genasi.

At this point the towns in his circuit consider it a queer sort of rite to show Essek their children. He’s learned to entertain them with simple spellcraft, enough of a delight to buy good faith. 

“Whoever birthed this little one dropped him on our doorstep,” the weary old orc is explaining; there’s a rush of sympathy and frustration swimming through his bloodstream. Deirta’s face flashes before his eyes, for no particular reason.

They keep talking. Essek keeps nodding and hopes his poker face has improved, because he is panicking. 

He had thought this out. Be the benevolent, strange sort of uncle (the memory of Jester’s voice trills, like a fairy godmother!) and be conveniently available when anamnesis occurred and otherwise simply… observe. For science. Because this was quite the unique sort of circumstance, and could disprove or bolster centuries of his work (and Caleb’s, the foundation of so much of it).

Essek can’t simply sit back and observe - can’t watch Ashton Greymoore grow up in an orphanage. Not again. 

The small human looks nothing like the Ashton he knew. And giggles and reaches for the flutters and skeins of magic without any hesitation, without pain. And he has a shock of red hair.

So with the heedless decision-making that’s evaded him since Caleb and Jester and Fjord and Beauregard and Veth and Yasha and Kingsley passed he says, “Ah. Well, I could offer-” they? They don’t know that yet, “- him a home.”

[strangersatellites]

AU where eddie and steve are going to have dinner with steve’s ex-girlfriend/longest best friend and her girlfriend/ steve’s bestest best friend and eddie is woefully under prepared.

the ex, nancy, works for some government agency, like the CIA or some shit and her digital footprint is nonexistent. eddie knows. he’s looked. there’s not a photo of her to be had anywhere.

even robin’s socials only have pictures that she’s barely in. a blurry picture of her hand holding a glass. her holding a menu in front of her face from across the table. shit like that. robin called it a soft launch.

well, actually she called it a “not really soft launch because everyone already knows about her so i’m not really launching the fact that i have a girlfriend so much as i am the fact that she’s her and because she’s her she can’t be photographed a lot at least not anywhere that’s going to be shared publicly but the principle is still the same as a soft launch where you would slowly post pictures with details implying that you were dating someone but you guys already know i’m dating her so it’s not quite that but that’s the idea. you know?”

eddie is impressed by her lung capacity.

eddie’s a bit of a hipster in his approach to social media as well, only posting grainy black and white photos of guitars or coffees or occasionally steve.

so he gets it. kind of.

so you can imagine eddie’s surprise as they’re walking up the sidewalk to the restaurant and he sees the female version of himself.

it’s cold out so they’re both wearing long black coats and boots. she’s got curly brown hair and is wearing a lot of jewelry. rings specifically, on the hand that’s holding a cigarette up to her mouth.

eddie does a double take when he sees it’s the same one he’s holding his own cigarette with.

steve calls down the sidewalk, “robbie! nance!”

and even the scowl that she wears for a split second before she realizes who’s yelling looks just like eddie’s own resting angry face, as steve calls it.

the only real difference is that she’s tiny.

where eddie’s pushing six feet she looks barely five and a half.

he’s brought a little comfort that by the fact nancy looks as shocked as he does. spending about ten seconds just staring at each other before he barks out a laugh.

he holds up a hand in front of himself and sees the recognition flit across nancy’s face as she catches on. raises her own and moves it in unison with eddie’s. turns her head to the side when he does and barely conceals her laugh.

“so i guess you’re eddie then?” and even her voice is strong and teasing in a way eddie’s knows steve likes because he’s told eddie he likes his.

he reaches out an arm to wrap her up in a hug.

“in the flesh and blood. the mysterious nancy wheeler, it’s a pleasure.”

he turns and looks at steve and robin where the former is flushed red in the face and has a hand covering his smile while robin is physically bent at the knees covering her laughter.

“stevie you never told me your ex could be my doppelgänger.”

au august day 11: doppelgänger

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Steve hums as he feels the weight of the question settle in his chest, smiles though as his boyfriend wiggles closer. Cold feet brush against his calves, even colder toes wiggling as they start to leech all of his warmth. Steve shrugs though, a syrupy sort of slowness to his movement as he yawns.

“‘M dunno,” Steve finally responds. It earns him a huff of hot air against his shoulder, before he can feel Eddie nip a bite into the skin where his neck and shoulder meet. Eddie kisses the sore spot, but Steve can feel the smile that’s only just barely hidden.

Like it’s a secret just for him and him alone.

“You have to know,” Eddie’s voice is scratchy- just enough that Steve wants to try to search for the bottle of water that’s somewhere amongst all of the bedsheets. Steve blindly kicks his free leg out, the one that hasn’t been stolen by Eddie- and he grins when Eddie whines, before one of Eddie’s legs curls around his and tugs. “Stay still.”

“Sorry, baby.” Steve presses a kiss to the top of Eddie’s curls, and Eddie huffs out a soft and only slightly indignant noise. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A famous rockstar,” Eddie’s fingers are cold as they press into Steve’s arm, and Steve hums all soft again as Eddie rolls. His back is pressed flush to Steve’s front, and Steve smiles as he hears the soft ‘ping’ as Eddie takes his rings off. There’s a little dish that sits on Steve’s nightstand for that very purpose, only so Eddie doesn’t have to sleep in the things. “Touring the world and all that.”

Steve hums again, presses a soft kiss to the very back of Eddie’s neck- and relishes in the tiny little shiver he’s granted. Presses another one, and it earns him a grumble as Eddie shifts backwards a bit. Eddie turns his head to catch Steve’s eyes in the early morning light, and Steve can’t help but smile when his eyes meet Eddie’s.

It’s too early, really, the sun beginning to bleed a bit over the horizon. Yellow-orange light a hair too bright over the skyline, and Eddie’s eyes go a sort of chocolate brown because of it. Steve’s not sure if it’s too early to tell Eddie he loves him. It most likely is, if only because Eddie and Steve haven’t been together for more than a couple of weeks.

He wants too though. Wants to tell Eddie all sorts of things- how he’s loved him for a while. How it was easy to fall in love with him— a sort of thing that was easy and then immediate because he fell all at once. He doesn’t want to scare Eddie away though, that’s the thing.

Doesn’t want to tell Eddie that he’s the first thing that Steve thinks of in the morning. Doesn’t want to admit that he wishes he’d never left Eddie and Dustin alone. Doesn’t want to admit that he holds himself accountable for the scars that now disfigure Eddie’s skin. Doesn’t want to admit that he thinks he’ll regret that for the rest of his days.

It’s easier to admit little things.

That he knows just how Eddie takes his coffee in the morning, with too much sugar and just a little bit of milk. That he knows that Eddie loves DnD and fell into it because of his home life from back when Eddie still lived with his parents. That he knows he is Eddie’s first real boyfriend, and if Steve has anything to say… he’ll also be his last.

But he wants. Oh how he wants. He wants to be able to tell Eddie just how much Steve loves him. Wants to equate Eddie to all the good things that happen to be in Steve’s life. Wants to explain that while Robin is part of his soul, he’s pretty sure that Eddie is his soulmate in every universe. It’s a lot, he knows that, Steve has always been a lot.

But he… Steve wants to be enough for Eddie.

He doesn’t know how to answer the question in all honesty- because… well.

“What do you wanna be when you grow up, sweet thing?” Eddie’s turned back around in his arms, and Steve smiles a little bit wider when Eddie is pressing a soft kiss against his jaw. Eddie presses another one against the corner of Steve’s mouth, and it earns the older teen an even wider smile as Steve sighs all soft and syrupy again. “Mhm?”

“Dunno.” Steve shrugs, and he trails one of his hands up Eddie’s back. Cradles a wide splayed hand against the back of Eddie’s skull, twists his fingers into his curls as gently as he can. Eddie is smiling, a little knowing twist to his lips that Steve wants to kiss away. So he does.

Presses his lips sweet and saccharine to Eddie’s, tries to explain all he can by the touch itself. Eddie is recipient, because of course he is- and Steve’s chest fills with a sort of warmth he can feel all the way down to his toes. Eddie’s wiggling closer, a cold line against his body as he tries to pull all of Steve’s warmth into himself.

Yours, his soul cries. Let me be yours.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Eddie asks again, words whispered right against Steve’s bottom lip. Eddie’s eyes go warmer in the still bright light, the sun turning all gooey and soft as it continues to breach the skyline. “C’mon and tell me, please?”

“Wanna be yours.” Steve admits.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s grinning as he presses another little kiss onto Steve’s bottom lip. Steve hums as Eddie’s teeth catch it, a little heat behind the nice. It burns, twists and writhes in Steve’s chest. “You wanna be mine, sweet thing?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, eyes blinking open and revealing blown pupils. “Wanna be yours.”

Eddie hums, all soft and syrupy, a mimic to how Steve knows he sounded earlier. Eddie leans just a bit forward, scraping teeth against Steve’s jaw. Soothes the burn the bite leaves behind with a small kiss, and Steve hums himself.

“You already are, sweet thing.” Eddie promises, and Steve nods into Eddie’s neck as the older teen pulls him closer. “Mine, hm? That what you wanna be?”

“Yours, just… just yours.” Steve agrees.

Eddie smiles, eyes all dangerous and a little too warm- before he guides Steve’s mouth back to his. Steve lets himself be kissed, easily relents to being tucked into Eddie’s embrace. It shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, but oh how it is.

The sun is bright and blazing when Eddie finally pulls away, lips kissed all pink and just a little bit swollen. Steve smiles as he watches as Eddie’s tongue flicks out to swipe against his bottom lip. Eddie hums, sweet and soft, before he is careful as he cradles Steve’s jaw in his hands. Eddie leans down and presses one, two, three kisses quick right to Steve’s mouth- before he pulls away with a uncharacteristically shy smile on his lips.

“I wanna be yours too, sweet thing.”

Steve’s grin widens as he pulls Eddie down again.

[varpusvaras]

'Cute' was not a word Bail would've used for himself.

No one else really did, either. His mother had started calling him her 'handsome boy' pretty exclusively before he had hit four, and Bail had not thought anything about it, only that it had definitely made him feel bigger and older. Which was a lot, since he had at that point been as tall as Rouge, who had just turned seven.

He had not though about it at all until he was a couple of weeks shy of nineteen and holding Breha's hand on their evening walk. He raised his brow when Breha suddenly glanced down at their hands and laughed softly under her breath.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"Nothing", Breha answered. "I just like how you always want to hold hands. It's cute."

Bail also looked down at their hands. Did he? He supposed he did. He still held hands with Tia a lot of the time when they were out, and touches like that just were a thing in their household. That was how they showed affection, and Bail was happy Breha liked it as well.

"That's good", he said, not able to contain a smile spreading on his face. Breha smiled back, and glanced back down at their hands, before looking Bail straight in the eye.

"You're cute", she said, and Bail suddenly felt very hot on his face.

"Oh", he managed to say. "Thank you?"

Breha laughed softly again, and squeezed his hand.

Bail thought about it for the rest of the week.

---

Bail stared himself at the mirror.

"That's a contemplating look if I've ever seen one", Breha said. Bail sighed.

"I am contemplating", he said. "...does this make me look too...wide?"

He was not usually the one to be self-conscious about his appearance, but even he had his low points. Preparing for his first appearance as Alderaan's Senator was, apparently, one of them.

Breha gave him a look.

"I don't think you can be "too" much of anything", she hummed. "Especially when it comes to your own body. But, I think you look good. Very dashing and robust."

That got an unintentional laugh out of Bail.

"Robust?" He asked, raising his brow.

"Yes. Strong and hale", Breha said. She walked up next to him. She looked tiny compared to him, in her sleek and light home dress.

Bail saw her look a little bit more intensely at their reflection.

"Of course I'm a bit biased", she said. "I like you being tall and broad, and don't mind at all when something accentuates that."

"Thank you", Bail said. "I was just thinking, since I'm already the tallest person in every room I walk into. I wouldn't want to look too imposing."

"You won't", Breha said without hesitation. "You look too kind for that."

She turned to look at him proper.

"The only tiny downside of your height is that I can't see your cute face all the time straight on", she said.

She smirked when Bail didn't quite manage to fight back the flush.

"You're doing that on purpose", he accused.

Breha tilted her head.

"Yes", she said. "And I can see it's working."

She laughed as Bail picked her up and pressed kisses on her face.

---

"You work too much", Fox said.

"I'm sure", Bail answered. He bit back a laugh when Fox sighed loudly.

"Yes", Fox said, and flopped down next to him. He wouldn't be staying the whole night in the Cantham house, as it was too far away from the base and he had a shift the next morning, but Bail still enjoyed every moment of every opportunity he had of having Fox in his home. "You work way too much. You're too handsome to work that much."

He brushed, a bit clumsily, Bail's hair away from his face. Now Bail did let out a low laugh.

"Thank you", he said. "I appreciate your opinion on that, though I think the wine is making you exaggerate a bit."

It was making Fox slightly uncoordinated and hazy-eyed. Bail had not thought about the fact that his position as the Commander of the Guard didn't leave Fox with a lot of downtime, and definitely not enough downtime for him to get drunk, like many of his brothers did while they were on Coruscant. The wine they had had earlier that evening had hit Fox a bit harder than was intended.

Fox almost pouted.

"It's not", he said, and sat back up, leaning over Bail slightly. "I'm very correct."

"Of course you are, my love", Bail said, though the amused grin on his face was probably not selling his words to Fox at that moment.

"I am!" Fox said, tapping Bail at his forehead. "You are way too cute to be working so much!"

Oh. Bail had mostly gotten over being embarrassed of how much of an effect such a little word could have on him, but now it hit him on full force again.

"I-" he started, only to be instantly interrupted.

"Way too cute!" Fox repeated. "It should be illegal! I need to call Breha and tell her that she needs to make it a law-"

"Oh, no, no, you don't need to do that right now", Bail hurried to sit up as well as Fox leaned away and started reaching for his commlink. "You can talk to Breha tomorrow, alright? She's probably sleeping already."

Fox blinked a couple of times.

"Oh, right", he said, and turned away from the commlink. He took one look at Bail's face and frowned. "Are you okay? You look very dark on your face."

Oh, Bail was sure he did.

"I'm fine", he said. "How about we lay down for a moment, before I take you back to the base?"

Fox didn't say anything for a moment. He kept staring at Bail, with his brow furrowed, until suddenly his eyes seemed to clear up a bit.

"I see", he said. "Is it because I called you cute?"

He squinted his eyes at Bail when Bail failed to answer immediately.

"Maybe?" Bail knew he was done when Fox slowly nodded at that.

"I see", he said, again. "Interesting."

"It's definitely way too interesting for your current state", Bail said. "Now, lay down, please."

Fox nodded again, and did lay down, though he kept staring at Bail very intently the whole time. He reached his hand, and lightly brushed his fingers over Bail's cheekbone.

"Interesting", he said under his breath, and Bail knew that this wouldn't be the last he heard about this.

---

Three weeks later, Fox, this time completely sober and clear intention in his eyes, partially climbed over Bail and leaned close.

"Cute", he said, and pressed a feather light kiss on the corner of Bail's mouth. He smirked so smugly at Bail's rapidly warming face that one would've thought he had just won the war all by himself.

That first kiss was definitely the last light touch for the night. Bail was sure that had been the intention all along.

[jubilantmedusa]

Untitled Zukka Hurt/Comfort Ficlet #1 (because practicing drawing means I need to write little mini fics I guess...)

“You’re sick.” Sokka’s voice was as calm as the surface of water on a still night. Not a hint of accusation or contempt. No softness, no sting. Only observation. Reflection.

Zuko took a breath, deep to sooth his limbs that were threatening to shake. “I’m fine.”

Sokka frowned, and Zuko felt a knot form instantly in his stomach. His shivered, vision swimming as he saw the flash of another frown, superimposed. A different frown. Harsh. Sharp.

Sokka’s movements were calm. Fluid. Gentle as he raised his hand to Zuko’s forehead and pressed with just the right amount of pressure. “You have a fever.” Zuko felt his heartbeat pick up as Sokka’s lip began to curl, but as his expression settled Zuko realized that Sokka wasn’t angry, just concerned.

Zuko breathed deeply, pinning his arms to his sides before the other boy could notice that he was shaking now. Only, he must not have been fast enough because Sokka dropped his hand from Zuko’s forehead to grab Zuko’s trembling fingers. 

“Your hands are freezing.” Sokka hand tightened around Zuko’s as he pulled it upwards, pressing it against his mouth. Zuko couldn’t stop his hands from shaking even harder as Sokka’s breath warmed his skin.

—

“I can do that.” Zuko reached to grab his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” Sokka lifted it over his head like they were kids playing keep away. Zuko huffed, crossing his arms, but let Sokka keep it.

“You’re not fine.” Sokka spread of the blanket. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Ugg.” Sokka paused. He looked up, holding  Zuko’s gaze until Zuko finally drawled, two days? maybe three.”

“Three days?!” Zuko felt his pulse quickening again, his shoulders bracing. “Why didn’t you say anything!” Even though Sokka’s voice voice was high he didn’t sound angry. In fact… Sokka’s eyebrows were scrunched, lips pressed thin. “You were training Aang this morning. Zuko, you shouldn’t be bending like that if you’re sick “ Sokka was worried.

“I’m fine.” How many times had Zuko said that now? “It’s just a fever. It’ll go away.”

“I mean, sure it will, if you rest. Can you, uh…” He gestured towards the sleeping bag, laid out and waiting.

“Oh.” It felt awkward to lower himself down when his legs felt so much like jelly, Zuko was sure it wasn’t graceful. But Sokka didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyebrow raised. Waiting. Zuko realized, then, that he was supposed to lay all the way down. So he did, somehow feeling boneless now that he wasn’t holding himself up. 

He blinked as Sokka settled a blanket over to his shoulders. It took Zuko and absurd number of seconds to realize that it was a blue blanket, one of Sokka’s own. Woven. Thick. Soft.

“Comfortable?” Sokka asked. When Zuko met his eyes he smiled.

It was nice, seeing Sokka smile. Zuko wanted to smile back, but he… there was a quivering in his stomach. Not sickness, just… waiting. “I’m fine,” Zukp said. When Sokka raised an eyebrow, he added, “I… feel fine.”

“I doubt that,” Sokka said.

“I do,” Zuko insisted. Yes, his body felt suddenly heavy. And his skin buzzed strange sensitivity that made event he gentlest touch feel like a scratch. But he was lying on his side, on something soft, and he was warm. “I… thank you.”

Sokka shrugged. “I didn’t do much,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

Zuko thought for a moment. “Water?” He croaked.

“Coming right up, bud.”

Zuko let his eyes close for a moment, just listening to the sound of Sokka’s footsteps as he went back to the packs, the rustling of fabric as he was digging through something. Then there was a feeling, something hard brushing his fingers. Zuko opened his eyes to see a small, green glass. “A Ba Sing Se souvenir cup?”

“It was on sale,” Sokka said, chuckling. “Drink it. It’s medicine.”

“For what?” Zuko asked.

“The fever?” Sokka reminded him. “Do they… umm… not treat fevers in the Fire Nation or something?”

“Of course they do.” Zuko propped himself up just enough to tip the bitter liquid into his mouth before settling down again.

More sounds of shuffling as Sokka lowered himself, and then Zuko felt weight on his back as Sokka pressed into him, a hand settling itself onto his arm. Sokka’s touch was firm, but quiet. Soft. Sweet. “But not yours?” Sokka sounded sad.

Zuko swallowed. He remembered that feeling, tossing and turning as his skin crawled and his stomach churned. Waking up with a sweat drenched face but father still expected Zuko to do his katas. Run through his katas, go to school, sit up straight. There was punishment for slouching, even if he only slouched because he was shivering so hard he couldn’t mind his posture. “We were being trained to rule, Azula and I. Countries don’t stop because you have a cold.”

Sokka didn’t say anything, just started rubbing his arm. 

“You can rest now,” Sokka said after a while. “I can take care of you.”

Take care of him? Zuko tried to remember the last time someone had taken care of him. His Uncle had tried, of course, but Zuko had always pushed him away. He couldn’t let himself be seen that way - weak, sick. So he ignored the quiver in his Uncle’s voice when Iroh spoke to him from the other side of a metal door. And before that… before that his mother would, when father would let her. When Zuko was so sick that she’d block his bed with her body to keep father away, even if it cost her. Then sit with him and fuss his hair back with slender fingers.

“I’ll take good care of you,” Sokka said.

Zuko took a deep breath in. Not a sigh, just a breath, one to fill him up. He could feel his heart starting to race again, but... nicer this time, with Sokka so warm and solid against his back. He let the breath out. Slow. Controlled. Eyes still closed, he whispered, “Okay.”

[scarlett-ink]

Secret Skeleton for @pocketcrimes :

Pumpkin Pixels

Summary: Halloween season has hit the Pizzaplex. Eclipse (Ruin) and Starfall are enjoying some holiday fun when an unexpected guest joins in. word count: 3.2k Starfall belongs to @pocketcrimes go check them out!

Halloween was fast approaching the Pizzaplex. A chill was in the air, brisking in through the doors the customers entered through, with many a staff bot sweeping up stray leaves that had been tricked in. The bright neon glow of the place was now accompanied by spooky banners, posters advertising events, and cardboard cutouts of Halloween themed characters. Attendance was up and so were the prices.

The guests were not the only ones joining in on the festivities. Each animatronic had new events scheduled for guest from making spider paper pals, a trick or treat event in rock star row where children went to each Galmrock’s room for candy, a Halloween themed dance party with DJ Music Man, and so on.

The spirit of the season for the animatronics was not limited to working hours. All the animatronics were taking time in their off hours to have some fun, particularly in the Superstar Daycare.

While Sun and Moon worked with the kids, currently making pipe cleaner spiders to match the paper pals, the other animatronics in the daycare were enjoying some downtime by getting into the spirit of the season.

 Eclipse and Starfall were in the balcony room above the ball pit, the walls littered with children’s drawings with many of the newest ones having a Halloween theme. The two sat across from one another, a couple of pumpkins on the floor between them.

The plan was to paint them since carving them and all the extra work that required would be an even bigger mess than the daycare usually handled. Sun and Moon had enough sticky messes to deal with between the glitter glue and the sticky fingers of children running around all day, they did not need globs of pumpkin innards and pumpkin seeds in their room. Painting was a safer option, both in the mess sense and the actual safety sense.

Starfall and Eclipse were sitting on top of an old tablecloth that had been laid out to help avoid making a mess on the floor. It was already proving to have been a wise idea, drops of paint littering the thing. Though there was still plenty of paint on the floor anyway, something they were sure Sun would complain about later.

But for now, the two were enjoying each other’s company and painting pumpkins. Each were currently working on fresh, orange canvases. Starfall had already painted two pumpkins and Eclipse had done three.

The first of Starfall’s pumpkins had been a simple, traditional silly face. A big painted on smile with upturned eyes in a triangular shape. The second one was of Eclipse’s face, which Eclipse found endearing. There was also some tape and colored paper used to liven up the pumpkins, Starfall having attached paper triangles on the sides of the one pumpkin to mimic Eclipse’s rays, he would work on a paper nightcap for the pumpkin when he was done painting the rest since that took a bit more work than just cutting out triangle shapes with safety scissors.

Eclipse’s pumpkins were in a similar vein to Starfall’s second pumpkin, with one having Sun’s face, the second Moon’s, and the third being Starfall’s. Eclipse’s pumpkins also had the paper cutouts taped to them, at least the ones that needed them. The hats for Moon and Starfall’s pumpkin designs still needed to be made once Eclipse was done with his other pumpkins.

“What’s your next pumpkin design going to be?” Starfall asked, tilting his head. His cap dragging on the floor as he did.

“Hmm, not sure,” Eclipse paused in thought for a moment. “Maybe I could-.”

Bzzt

Eclipse was cut off by a sound coming from somewhere else in the room. It had sounded electrical, a crackle of some sort.

“What was that?” Starfall leaned to the side to look behind Eclipse.

“Not sure,” Eclipse began. Before he could continue, Starfall stood from his spot, pumpkin still in hand.

The noise sounded like it had come from the secret little room connected to this one via a little blue tube crawl space.

Bzzt.

There it was again. Starfall bent down, crawling through the tube to the other room. His upper pair of arms held the pumpkin while the bottom pair were used to crawl along. The plastic creaked and shifted under his weight, and when he arrived on the other side he discovered the source of the noise to be an old arcade cabinet.

He had seen it once before when first exploring back here, but it had never turned on before so it was little more than something to look at. The arcade cabinet was predominantly a sky blue, with red trim around the edges of the machine. A pattern of fluffy clouds and colorful balloons covered the side of the cabinet, accompanied by Sun’s face in the sky and Balloon Boy floating thanks to some balloons in his hand.

Bzzt bzzt.

It made the sound again, louder this time. The blank screen booted to life, a soft staticky sound starting to hum from it.

Eclipse had stood from his spot at this point. “Find the noise?” he called.

“Yeah it’s-,” Starfall approached the arcade cabinet, carefully reaching out a hand to touch the controls, but was cut off when he did so.

Bzzt bzzt bzzt.

Starfall drew his hand back at a tiny little shock. The noise increased in intensity and then the screen went to a garble of pixeled static. The screen began to let off a soft yellow and orange glow, and Starfall watched as the pixels on the screen seemed to bleed through into reality. Pixels danced in the air around the screen and then a clawed hand appeared out of the screen.

The colors were a dark, rusty red and black with glowing yellow joints for the knuckles, and the modeling of the hand and arm resembled that of the other daycare attendants. The arm even had a ribbon and bells wrapped around their wrist. The hand gripped one side of the arcade cabinet before another hand emerged from out of the screen and did the same to the other side of the cabinet.

The hands pulled and pushed forward a rayed head through the screen. It resembled Sun’s face only with an extra, smaller set of yellow rays surrounding the main set of orange rays. Its eyes were glowing yellow, and so was its fanged grin.

“Hello!” his voice came out staticky and at awkward, shifting pitches. Pixels were radiating off of him as a second pair of arms emerged out of the screen, coming to rest on the control panel of the machine.

“Is someone else in there?” Eclipse asked from just outside the plastic tube.

“There most certainly is~” his grin widened as he spoke.

“Oh!” Starfall leaned forward, no concept of the personal space he could’ve been breaching. “Who are you, new friend?” he asked eagerly.

“Quite eager, aren’t you?” he laughed before continuing. “You can call me Eclipse.”

“Eclipse? You can’t be Eclipse, that’s Eclipse,” Starfall turned back toward the entryway, pointing to where Eclipse was on the other side of the tube. The Eclipse in the arcade cabinet let out a little scoff.

“That’s obviously a different Eclipse,” he said.

“Oh, well…maybe we could make it easier to not mix you two up. We could call you…Arcade Eclipse or-,” Starfall glanced up at the title on the arcade cabinet. “Balloon World Eclipse?”

“Hmm I suppose Arcade Eclipse should suffice. And it’s faster than saying ‘Balloon World’ every time,” Arcade Eclipse seemed to accept the decision.

“What’re you doing in a game? Why are you out now? Can you come out and join us?! Oh, that would be sooooo fun!” Starfall rambled.

“Well, I’d require some assistance to fully leave the machine, I could only escape this far because you touched the controls.” Arcade Eclipse made no attempt to explain or give answers to Starfall’s first two questions, but Starfall was too eager over the possibility of a new friend to mind. He cared little about where this new friend came from anyway, more concerned with where this new possible friendship was going instead. “Hmm. What do you have there?” Arcade Eclipse gestured to the pumpkin still in Starfall’s upper pair of hands.

“Oh, this? We’re painting pumpkins for Halloween! You should join us!” Starfall lifted his lower pair of arms. “You said you need help, right? I’ll pull you out! It won’t shock me again, will it?”

“One way to find out!” Arcade Eclipse grabbed onto Starfall’s hands with his upper pair of arms while using the lower pair to push against the arcade cabinet.

Starfall pulled, with all the strength he could muster, and Arcade Eclipse slowly made his way fully out of the arcade cabinet.

Bzzt bzzt bzzt BZZT.

With one final tug, Arcade Eclipse was free of the confines of the arcade cabinet. The electrical hum of sounds from the machine faded away, Arcade Eclipse dusting himself off. A few more pixels radiated off of him as he did.

“There we go! Now you can paint with us, come on!” Starfall pulled Arcade Eclipse along behind him back towards the little plastic tube they had crawled through. Arcade Eclipse was cut off guard by the tug, nearly stumbling as he was forced to follow along. “Eclipse! Meet our new friend who’s decorating pumpkins with us!” Starfall beamed as he came out the other side of the tube, Eclipse waiting for him there.

Once Starfall moved aside, Arcade Eclipse climbed out after him. “This is Arcade Eclipse! He’ll be joining us in the fun!”

“Hello, nice to meet you,” Eclipse greeted, taking in the four armed sight before him.

“Likewise,” Arcade Eclipse looked Eclipse up and down before turning his attention to the pumpkins laid out on the tablecloth across the floor. Before he could speak again Starfall grabbed him by the hands again and started walking towards where the pumpkins were, pulling him along.

“Come on, come on! Oh, here, you can paint this one!” Starfall stopped pulling once they both arrived to the tablecloth, turning to Arcade Eclipse and passing the unpainted pumpkin in his hands to him. “Sit, sit!” Starfall encouraged, taking his own seat where he had been before his little investigation of the sound.

Eclipse joined him, returning to his own spot as well. Arcade Eclipse remained standing there for a moment, glancing between the two and shooting a glance to the balcony before returning his gaze to the pumpkins.

He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to entertain this idea.

Arcade Eclipse took a seat between and to the side of Eclipse and Starfall. He stared at the pumpkin in his hands, turning it this way and that to examine it.

“Do you know how you’re going to decorate it?” Starfall asked curiously, holding out a paintbrush to him.

“Hmm, not sure painting in particular is really my thing. Though I do have an idea~,” Arcade Eclipse held the pumpkin in his lower pair of hands, while using one of the top ones to drag a clawed digit down the skin of the pumpkin.

There was a slight sound of singeing and as Arcade Eclipse dragged his finger along the pumpkin a burned, etched in line followed.

“Oh my,” Eclipse said, leaning over to watch.

“WOW! That’s amazing!” Starfall leaned over as well, getting much closer to Arcade Eclipse than Eclipse had. “Just be careful the only thing you burn is the pumpkin,” he reminded. Safety was important after all.

After a moment to ensure Arcade Eclipse was being careful, Starfall went back to working on his last pumpkin. Soon Eclipse did the same.

Eclipse was planning on making this last pumpkin be a little painting of him, Sun, Moon, and Starfall, but now he was adding Arcade Eclipse to the mix in an effort to be friendly.

Starfall was making his last pumpkin be Arcade Eclipse’s face, similar to the pumpkin he had made of Eclipse. Starfall also tried to take a peek at Arcade Eclipse’s pumpkin every now and then, but he didn’t really get a good look at whatever design was being made.

“What do you think, new friend?” Starfall suddenly asked, holding up his painted pumpkin to Arcade Eclipse. “I still have to add your rays, but do you like it so far?” Starfall asked expectantly.

Arcade Eclipse stared at the thing for a moment, and then another. “I like it.” It was simple, to the point, but Starfall appreciated the compliment none the less.

“Oooooo yes! I’m so glad!” Starfall set the pumpkin down and then grabbed some orange and yellow construction paper, tracing out triangles, and cutting out the shapes. “Once I’m done this, do you think you could help me with the nightcaps, Eclipse?”

“Of course, it’s no problem,” Eclipse assured.

By the time Starfall had finished making the paper cut out rays and moved on to working on the nightcap for Moon’s design, Arcade Eclipse was still working diligently on his own pumpkin.

Arcade Eclipse wasn’t so sure why he had gotten so invested in the simple task of drawing on a pumpkin. He supposed it was simply a time killer until it was safe enough to explore his new surroundings without having to worry about human staff freaking out over him being out and about. He could get the lay of the land later, with the way Starfall eager to talk he wouldn’t be surprised if Starfall offered up a tour himself.

“What’re you going to do when you’re done your pumpkin?” Eclipse suddenly asked, turning to Arcade Eclipse.

“Good question! What’re you gonna do? You’re not gonna leave and go back into the arcade cabinet, are you?” Starfall pouted at the thought of his new friend being sent away so soon.

“Hmmm. Not sure, never been out before. Don’t know how long it’ll last before I need to go back to the cabinet to recharge, or if that’s something I need to worry about at all. But it doesn’t matter, if I must return I can simply employ to pull me back out again,” Arcade Eclipse shrugged, not too bothered by the idea since he had a certainty he wouldn’t be trapped permanently in that old dusty box again.

“You’ve never been out before?” Eclipse asked, tilting his head and his rays ticking inward slightly as he asked.

“That’s awful! Or maybe it was nice, I don’t know how cramped it is in there- Oh! Maybe once all the Halloween festivities calm down we could give you a proper introduction to the plex!” Starfall rambled.

“It is a bit hectic at the moment with all the special events, so I think waiting before parading you around the plex for a tour is probably for the best,” Eclipse concurred.

“Fair enough,” Arcade Eclipse shrugged again, not arguing to explore sooner. The process of lightly burning his pumpkin was unexpectedly soothing, even if it did produce a slightly burnt smell in the room.

The three continued to work on their pumpkins and just as Starfall and Eclipse finished making the paper nightcaps to place on their pumpkins, Arcade Eclipse had finished his work too.

“Can I see, can I see? Please, please, please?” Starfall leaned forward quickly, trying to see around the pumpkin before Arcade Eclipse had a chance to turn the thing.

“Yes, yes, hold on,” he huffed before slowly turning to reveal the burnt image. The pumpkin held an intricately scene of an arcade cabinet with ghostly hands reaching out of the borders of the screen while through the center of the screen Arcade Eclipse himself was emerging. His fanged smile appeared to have wisps of either smoke or trails of ghosts seeping out of it, and the arcade cabinet itself had depictions of ghosts swirling around it.

“Oh, wow! That’s so detailed! It looks amazing! And spooky, hehe,” Starfall giggled, setting his face right next to the pumpkin to examine each tiny part of the scene. From up close Starfall could see the lines making up the design were almost pixelized along the edges.

“It is very nice. Seems like we’re out of pumpkins now,” Eclipse pointed out.

“Maybe we could get some more! Or we could find something else to do, Eclipse do you think you could see if there are any more?” Starfall asked.

“I could see if there were any I missed but-,” Eclipse was cut off by a sound.

Bzzt.

The noise returned from the other room, but this time it also seemed to have an effect on Arcade Eclipse. He jerked around a bit where he sat, a larger amount of pixels radiating off him.

“Are you alright?” Eclipse asked.

“Oh no! What’s wrong?!” Starfall asked worriedly.

“I think-,” Arcade Eclipse’s voice cut out in a static mess for a second before he could regain his bearings. “I believe I have been out of the arcade for too long. My body isn’t used to being out of it.”

“Perhaps its something you need to slowly accumulate to? Staying out of the arcade a little longer each time until your used to it enough that you can stay out without issue,” Eclipse theorized.

“I hope that’s the case! I don’t want our new friend to be stuck in that box again,” Starfall sighed.

“Hopefully. But I should return before things get any-,” Arcade Eclipse was interrupted by another bout of jerky movements.

Bzzt bzzt.

“Worse,” Arcade Eclipse grimaced before being greeted by Starfall’s hand in his face, held out to help him up.

Arcade Eclipse took Starfall’s hand, another slight shock happening when he did. He was led by Starfall back to the arcade machine, Eclipse following behind him.

Bzzt bzzt bzzt.

“We’ll be sure to have you visit again soon, friend! We don’t want you stuck in there too long,” Starfall promised. “And we’ll be sure to display your pumpkin with all of outs! Unless you’d like to take it with you?”

“Keep it. I’m not so sure it would survive the trip into the cabinet,” Arcade Eclipse explained. “I’ll see you again, you can be sure of it.” His grin was sharp as ever as he reached out to touch the game’s display screen.

Bzzt bzzt bzzt BZZT.

There was a flash of yellow and orange light from the screen, pixels emanating off the machine and lingering in the air for a moment. The air had an electrical smell and once the light faded, Arcade Eclipse was gone, returned to the confines of the arcade cabinet.

“Well, that was nice,” Eclipse said, heading back out into the main room. Starfall lingered by the arcade cabinet, staring at the now blank and empty screen, before ultimately following Eclipse.

“I hope we get to see him again,” Starfall said. “What should we do now?”

“Come on, lets see what other craft supplies we have lying around. We could make paper plate Halloween masks,” Eclipse suggested.

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Starfall said, following Eclipse.

They left their pumpkins huddled together on the paint splattered tablecloth, with an extra, lightly burned pumpkin among them as a new, official friend of the group.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[bloodychazorite]

Q!SLIME HEADCANONS N’ SHORT STORIES!!

(These are all the headcanons I use in my current fic and will probably use for my future fics, in case you’re curious!! :))

So, first, I don’t think Charlie is any bit human at all. I think he’s full, pure-bred slime with a Core that gives him sentience. The Core is a heart shaped, made of enchanted ruby and plated in gold around the edges. 

During the time he was a God in the SCU (Slimecicle Cinematic Universe) he had three (That’s an incredibly long story that I may actually write one day so this is all you get for now). Now, he’s been reincarnated with one, sentient ever since. However, he’s full slime, nothing human about him. Without the Core, he’d just be straight slime. He’s probably one of the—if not just the only—sentient Slimes there is.

His skin scars because when he’s hurt enough, he needs to get more slime to repair himself. The slime isn’t his, however, so it doesn’t match his body completely for a while while it blends together.

Another type of scarring that can happen to him would be dehydration cracks. If he loses enough water, his slime will crack in a lightning-strike type pattern. It takes a while for those to go away as well, just because they need time to fill in.

Yes, he has bones, but he doesn’t need them. He has them because they make it so that he can keep his shape. When he was Gegg, he’d keep some but give the rest to Quackity for safe keeping.

 

“Where’s my left arm?” Charlie asked, digging through the bag Quackity kept on him.

The other only shuffled his foot back and forth, mumbling gently. He bit his lip as he spoke. “I needed food, man.”

“So?”

“So all I had was seeds and currently unused bones.”

A beat of silence, before a slow, creaking head turn. 

“You used my bones for bone meal.” His voice was flat and his lips were pinched. “Are you deadass?”

“Just kill another skeleton man! I needed food!”

Charlie threw up the melty stub where his left arm should’ve been, waving it back and forth and dripping goo all over the ground.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to find intact skeletons that will fit perfectly with the one that I currently have?! And that have five fingers?!”

Quackity rolled his eyes, shrinking in on himself. “Uh...No..?”

Charlie smushed slime into his face and laughed at his dramatic screaming. “It is incredibly fucking hard!”

Charlie keeps bones on him most of the time, in case he breaks the ones he’s got. Sometimes they take a minute to get used to, some of them too big or too long or too small, but it happens nonetheless. It’s also the reason he takes any fall damage ever. Without the bones, he wouldn’t take any fall damage. Those bones also determine his general height. If he wanted to be taller, he could find/construct a taller skeleton and get more slime.

Slimes are naturally acidic at a certain level at all times. However, with prompting, his level of acidity will rise. Prompting can look like danger, or threats. It can also be emotional, with extreme rage or sadness, the works.

“Oh no, not today fucker!” Mariana screamed as Slime tried to step outside during another argument. His skin dripped from the agitation but Mariana couldn’t care less.

Slime attempted to brush past him, breath heavy. “I’ll be right back,” He mumbled, "I need to go.”  

He stepped to the left, Mariana doing the same. 

Then, to the right, where she followed once again.

“Move your ass, I need to go now.”

“Hell no, you will stay and we will talk this out.”

Slime shoved past her, briskly rushing for the door. Mariana, wings twitching in agitation, whipped around and grabbed his wrist.

He smelled the burning before he felt it.

Before the white, lava hot seer hit his senses.

She nearly cried out in pain, staggering backward and scraping her skin against the hardwood as she fell. Scrambling into the wall, she groaned in agony and grasped the wrist of the suffering palm.

“Fuck- oh, fuck!” 

Slime was right in front of him, suddenly, knelt with fear in his eyes. “Fuck, I am so sorry, I can’t control it I swear, I would never do that shit on purpose—” He rambled as Mariana writhed, swearing in shock and pain.

Her vision swam as she sobbed. 

“I swear, I-I can’t… control it.”

He’s burnt a few holes in the floors before.

All in his slime, there are acid glands everywhere. 

Because he’s got acid literally built into his system, the bones he’s got tend to break down after a while. Depending on how emotional or just how much he purposely activates his acid secretion, they could last from anywhere around two weeks to a month, usually. That’s what the skeleton in his basement is for, an extra set of bones. 

Slime’s are the closest things to aquatic creatures without actually being aquatic. Being naturally drawn and attracted to moist environments, he can’t breathe underwater, but he doesn’t actually need to breathe so I guess it doesn’t matter. When swimming, he creates fins to help. The only reason he drowns is because he takes in too much water and becomes so liquidy that he just… dies, I dunno LMAOO

Being generally docile creatures, living either underground or in swamps, most Slimes have shit eyesight. They mostly rely on vibrations in the ground and auditory sensory input. Great hearing, terrible sight. Slimes are also ambush predators! They’re slow, but they’ll eat anything. If looking for meat, they’ll hide under the soil and wait for the vibrations of something with four legs. 

“And where’s Charlie? I wanted to talk to him.” Phil asked as he stepped outside. “He said he’d be here.”

Roier, Cellbit, and himself had all been in Mariana’s house for a while now—Phil being there under the assumption that Charlie would be there. 

Mariana shrugged and glanced around. “Ehh, somewhere.”

Then Juanaflippa sprinted forward and stopped on the open ground, jumping up and down. Her tiny feet pattered the ground as she skipped in circles around the open area. Bobby tilted his head in response before Richas yanked him towards the 

Phil looked to Mariana for a look of mild amusement to say it was normal, or a look of confusion to make him feel like he wasn’t going insane because—even for Flippa—this wasn’t exactly typical from his perspective.

To Phil’s surprise, however, he stepped a bit forward and began to rhythmically tap his heel against the soil. 

“Fuck-!” His heart found itself in his feet as something squeezed tight around his ankle, holding firm as he jumped away. He grabbed for a weapon as a light green hand pulled further from the ground.

A wrist, an arm, a… a goo monster.

A goo monster holding a suspiciously familiar pair of glasses.

“...Charlie?!”

His body tied itself back together, becoming more and more recognizable. They stared at each other for a minute.

“I swear I was aiming for Roier.”

Charlie, because of the core, has much better morphing and shape shifting abilities than normal Slimes. With enough observation he could literally be anyone. He’d looked at Juanaflippa so much that his Gegg looked a bit like her. The people he spends a lot of time looking at are the people he can most easily imitate.

“So you can just look… however you want?” Fit asked 

“Uh-huh.” Slime replied offhandedly, focusing on the little craft they were working on for Richas’s half birthday.

Neither of them had ever heard of a half birthday before then.

“Without effort? You don’t even have to like… try?” 

Sue him, Fit was incredibly curious. Sentient Slimes just didn’t exist, Slime was the only one he knew and would probably ever know.

He became even more curious (and slightly defensive) as Slime began to stare at him, an expression of scrutiny behind his gaze.

Then, a familiar lopsided grin and covered his face for a minute. A sloppy squishing sound resounded from behind his hands that made Fit wince.

The taller gasped as Slime’s face became uncovered.

Fit’s own face stared back at him, with only a few uncanny details astray.

“Christ, Slime! You just keep that ability all to yourself? Do you know how much trouble you could cause with that?!” He all but yelled.

Slime laughed, shifting his face back to its normal appearance. He winked before turning his head back to the project.

“Who’s to say I haven’t caused any trouble?”

Fit—from that day on—lived in fear of the people the Slime could be.

Charlie is all types of temperature sensitive. It's crazy.

Too hot, he’ll get all melty and struggle to hold his form. Leave his bones behind him and become a puddle.

 Too dry, he’ll dehydrate and crack up. It’s incredibly painful, which is why slimes tend to stick around damp, humid areas.

 Too cold, he’ll freeze, becoming a literal Slimecicle. Just like hypothermia, his fingertips, toes, and nose will turn a shade of blue first, eventually infecting the rest of his body. Also hella painful.

A good tactic if you really wanted to torture a Slime, stick them in the cold. They wouldn’t be able to stretch or morph after a while, it'll hurt like hell, and you get to decide how bad it is. GOOD STUFF

A 60 to humid 70 degrees Fahrenheit is generally ideal. The island tends to run a bit higher than that, but it’s not too extreme of a shift so he’s generally okay with some extra water.

Haha, he picked Eggxile in a place that was out of his comfort zone, just cause he knew he didn’t deserve comfort. He sent himself to a place that was too hot and too dry for a Slime. That's fun.

Uhh, that’s really all I can think of for right now, but I’ll repost this anytime I add to it :DD If you’ve got any headcanons you wanna talk about or you wanna talk about mine, please do!! I’ll literally talk for hours, you have no idea

LOVE YOU BYEE <33

[steddieas-shegoes]

a steddie request eddie invites a few people to an open mic night and makes sure steve sings something, and they are both really into each other singing ty

Sorry that I have become obsessed with the idea of Steve singing Cherry Bomb at the top of his lungs like his life depends on it (maybe in my head this is his Vecna song what of it). I think it would absolutely send Eddie into a whole spiral because that is NOT what Steve usually listens to and that is NOT the vibe he expected for the evening here. This was a fun little break between two very serious requests and I hope you all enjoy something fun and cute! - Mickala ❤️

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Steve hated karaoke. He hated watching it, he hated performing, he hated that he was usually in a loud bar when it happened.

But Robin insisted he come, insisted that Eddie wanted him there, and it would be “fun.”

And maybe if he’d been drinking, it would have at least been entertaining. It wasn’t.

Drunk girl after drunk girl took the stage, all of them butchering Joan Jett and Cyndi Lauper and ABBA.

Steve was extra mad about the ABBA.

But he was trying to let it go, trying to relax. Robin was having a blast, Eddie was having a blast, even Nancy had put her name on the list to sing.

Eddie wanted everyone to sing something, but Steve had avoided putting his name on the list so far.

Or he thought he did.

“Steve Harrington!”

The announcer said in the mic.

Nope. No. Not happening. Whoever did this was going to die.

He shook his head and glared at Robin.

“I’m not getting up there.”

“Come on! Eddie wants you to!”

“Why should he want me to? Why isn’t he going?”

“I am going. Right after you,” Eddie said from behind him, an annoying and attractive smirk in place.

“You should take my turn.”

“No, you should have a little fun.”

“This isn’t fun for me.”

Eddie shrugged.

“Okay.”

But the way he walked over to his seat, not quite pouting, but close to it, had Steve already reconsidering.

His stupid cute face and his stupid excitement and stupid sad puppy eyes when his hopes and dreams got dashed.

Ugh.

Steve stood up.

“Fine!” He threw his arms up and started walking towards the stage area.

He heard everyone talking behind him, and when he looked back, Eddie’s smile was huge.

That alone was worth it, he supposed.

He approached the announcer, hands in his pockets.

“What song did he sign me up for?”

“Cherry Bomb.”

“Of course.”

Steve couldn’t even be that mad.

It was a good choice, underrated for karaoke, and one of Steve’s favorites.

Eddie knew that, but no one else did.

“You know the words or do you need the sheet?”

“I know the words, thanks.”

Steve could probably sing this song backwards.

He stepped on the stage, walked to the mic, and waved to the group he came with. He would get this over with, finish his drink, and head home. Simple as that.

Eddie was beaming back at him, and when the music started, Steve felt nerves hit him.

Everyone in the bar cheered when the music started, including Robin.

Something in Steve shifted when he started singing. He felt like he needed to commit completely, put on the best performance he possibly could. Make Eddie proud.

So he started getting into it, growling into the mic and throwing his head back, letting his hips move in ways he usually reserved for the bedroom.

It was very ridiculous, but it was worth it to see Eddie’s reaction.

His jaw was wide open, eyes barely blinking. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Steve, even when his friend Gareth tried to nudge him.

Steve didn’t think about it, didn’t want to let himself hope that somehow Eddie might actually have feelings for him.

As soon as he finished the song, his adrenaline levels crashed.

His hands shook as he left the stage, and his vision blurred around the edges. He walked straight to the bathroom, barely registering the announcer calling for Nancy.

He needed a moment.

But he didn’t get one.

The bathroom door crashed open just as he was leaning over the sink to splash some cold water on his face.

Robin was standing there, hands on her hips, scowl on her face.

“You broke Eddie!”

“What?”

“He can’t even get up. He’s broken.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You were like…sexy or something.”

Steve snorted.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I don’t know! He hasn’t moved and hasn’t spoken. He’s broken.”

Steve splashed his face carefully, didn’t want to spend the rest of the night soaked. The cold water helped him calm down and regain some feeling in his extremities.

“He’s the one who signed me. He’s the one who picked the song.”

“I don’t think he would’ve if he knew you’d go full Freddie Mercury up there.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I did not.”

“You did! For someone who didn’t even wanna come, you sure gave 120%.”

“I just sang the song. I got it over with. I might head out actually.”

“Before Eddie sings?”

“You just said he was broken.”

Robin huffed, crossing her arms against her chest.

“Can you just come out there and watch?”

Steve knew he had to. He couldn’t just leave, not after that, not after Eddie reacted that way.

“Okay.”

His shoulders fell, and he settled himself in for a long night.

They both made their way back out to the table where everyone was watching Nancy completely butcher Blondie. It was fine when she did it, she was having fun and she deserved to have fun. They all did.

Robin sat in the end seat, forcing him to sit next to a suspiciously still Eddie.

They didn’t look at each other, but their thighs were so close, Steve could feel the heat coming from his body.

He was going to die.

He hadn’t even told Robin he liked Eddie yet, had barely come to terms with it himself. Not only did he have an entire crisis about liking a man, but that man was Eddie.

That crisis was actually worse.

Steve watched Eddie’s fingers drum on the table in front of them, not going to the beat of the song wrapping up.

“Alright everyone! Got a real treat for you next! Eddie Munson’s gonna play and sing for us tonight!”

There were some cheers, most of which came from their own table, as Eddie stood up and hustled over to the accouncer, who was handing him an acoustic guitar.

Eddie didn’t usually play acoustic, did he?

What was happening?

Everyone at the table was staring at Steve.

What was happening?

“Hi everyone. Thanks for letting me break the rules a bit for karaoke,” Eddie said softly into the mic, nothing like his usual big personality coming through.

He was usually comfortable on stage, not scared to be even more over the top. This wasn’t like him at all.

Steve felt like he might puke and he didn’t even know why.

Eddie strummed a few times, wincing when he realized it was a bit out of tune.

“Sorry, just give me a second to tune it.”

Everyone seemed patient, mostly curious as to what he could possibly be doing.

And then Eddie started playing for real. It took everyone in the bar a minute to really know what he was playing, but when he started singing, Steve melted.

Eddie Munson was playing an acoustic version of Time After Time in a packed bar. And he was looking at Steve while he sang.

Steve couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed over the attention, he was too busy being completely in love.

Eddie was a metalhead through and through, made fun of all of Steve’s music frequently, and never seemed to like anything that didn’t have wild guitar solos.

But if he was performing this song on his own up there, that meant he’d not only been listening to it a lot, but also teaching himself the guitar for it and the words.

Steve knew it was for him. It was obvious it was for him.

Everyone in this bar would probably figure out it was for him if they followed Eddie’s gaze.

That was a risk, but Steve honestly didn’t care right now.

Robin squeezed his knee, smiling over at him like she knew.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” She asked innocently.

“You knew. That’s why you dragged me here. That’s why you made me come back out of the bathroom.”

Robin shrugged.

Did everyone in their group know?

He looked around at them, everyone’s smirking faces pointed right at him.

These motherfuckers knew.

“You guys are…okay? With it?”

He couldn’t help but ask, his eyes focused back on Eddie so he didn’t have to see any type of disgust or disappointment on their faces.

“Dude, Eddie has had the hots for you for so long, I kinda forgot you weren’t into men for a while. It just felt like you two were dancing around each other, ya know?” Gareth replied from the end of the table.

No, he didn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever been obvious, often putting extra space between himself and Eddie when he felt like he would do something stupid like kiss him.

“You are into him though, right? He’s not doing this for no reason?” Jonathan added, suddenly concerned that Eddie was making a fool of himself for nothing.

“No, I’m into him. Unfortunately,” Steve replied, eyes focusing back on the way Eddie managed to hit the high notes.

As he finished, the crowd gave a standing ovation, probably just glad he hadn’t gotten up there to sing Black Sabbath or something like he usually did.

Steve watched as he handed the guitar back to the announcer and slowly turned to look back at the table.

The announcer was saying someone’s name, but Steve didn’t hear it.

The way Eddie was looking at him.

He stood up and started walking towards the bathroom again, hoped Eddie would be smart enough to follow him.

He was.

The moment the bathroom door closed behind Eddie, Steve was on him, his lips meeting Eddie’s like they were magnets.

Eddie groaned into it, his hands grasping at Steve’s hips and pulling him impossibly closer, pushing their hips together until all they could feel was each other.

When they finally came apart, just enough to rest their foreheads together, Eddie huffed out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“If I knew singing Cyndi Lauper would get you, I would have done this a year ago.”

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned in for another kiss.

They started to get carried away again, Steve’s hands running up Eddie’s chest and settling over his heart.

“You always make fun of my music.”

“Because it’s terrible music.”

“But you just sang it in front of about 100 people.”

“I sang it in front of you. Other people were just there.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot. Right?”

He suddenly looked nervous, like he spoke too soon or assumed too much.

“Of course you are. I’m so stupidly in love with you, I can’t let you be anyone else’s idiot,” Steve said, leaning in for another kiss.

“You love me? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Holy shit.”

Steve smacked his chest gently.

“Do you love me back or am I just here to confess my stupid feelings in a bar bathroom alone?”

“I just sang Cyndi Lauper in front of 100 people for you. I think it’s clear I love you.”

Steve smirked.

“Good.”

[player1064]

I was watching the Man utd pre season games and while reading about your need of prompts thought about present Jamie finding out about the short but passionate affair Gary and Ruud had in their time and getting jealous while he and Gary have to interview Ruud for some reason and he's like "first Beckham now this guy"

I dont know how i want Gary to act maybe a little clueless? 🤔

ooohhhhhhh anon I am SUCH a sucker for gary/ruud AND for the idea of jamie being jealous over gary/ruud thank yoooouuuuuuuu

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“You’re lookin’ well, Ruud, are you well? I like the glasses, d’you have to wear them all the time now – I’m meant to wear mine but they’re just so annoying, d’you get that too? The perils of getting older, eh? And ooh, how’re you settlin’ back in to Manchester? Have you brought your family over yet or did you want to get everythin’ set up first? Y’should let me take you all out to dinner, welcome you back to the city. The new restaurant at my hotel is unbelievable, I swear, I’m eatin’ there like twice a week.”

Jamie’s trailing along behind Gary and Ruud as they walk towards the main building at Carrington. Ruud had been waiting for them in the car park when they’d arrived and Gary has yet to let him get a word in edgeways, so there’s definitely no hope for Jamie. Instead, he watches as Gary buzzes around excitedly next to Ruud, at Ruud’s fond little smirk as he lets him natter away.

Gary eventually has to pause for breath, and Ruud cuts him off with a soft “Gaz.”

“Oh my God,” he says, his cheeks flushing a light pink, “I’ve been goin’ a hundred miles an hour, haven’t I? Sorry love, just feels like forever since – what, Carra?”

He’s turned back to shoot an annoyed look at Jamie, who’s now trying to keep himself from choking on the piece of gum he’d been chewing before Gary had gone and said –

“Sorry,” he says, coughing into his hand one more time just to be safe, “d’you just call him love?”

Gary sputters a bit, his blush deepening as he struggles to think of an answer, but Ruud just rolls his eyes with a shrug and says “what’s it matter?” He nudges Gary in the shoulder, which seems to bring him back to himself enough to jerk his head around and blink forcefully a few times. “Gaz, what time were we meant to go get mic’ed up? I don’t wanna be late to my first interview as United’s assistant manager.”

*

Jamie is left with too much time to think between getting his makeup done and when they’re actually due to start shooting, so he lets his curiosity get the better of him and gets his phone out to send a text to Scholes.

> So what’s the deal with Gary and Ruud?

Maybe the fact that he has the phone numbers for most of Gary’s little gang of Mancs is a sign that he’s been hanging around him far too much for far too long, but Scholesy’s reply comes quick enough that he doesn’t have to feel weird about it for too long.

>> Fuck off.

He figures he won’t get much cooperation from any of the rest of them either, so he opens up his whatsapp chat with Wayne and writes:

> Gaz and Ruud?

Again, because apparently managing Plymouth Argyle doesn’t require a lot of Wayne’s attention, Jamie gets another instant reply.

>> is gaz simping

Jamie takes a second to google what the hell ‘simping’ means, then he responds:

> Called him ‘love’ – weird, right?

>> cringe but not as bad as when he used to call him sexy >> oooo hi sexy score a goal for me today etc.

Jamie decides that this is more information than he ever needed to know, and turns his phone off before he has to read any more.

*

They sit in the coaches’ lounge area after the interview drinking tea, Jamie sat in an armchair while Gary and Ruud are squashed up next to each other on the one tiny sofa, Ruud’s arm slung across the back of it. Which is fine.

They’re chatting effortlessly, catching each other up on the lives of their old teammates, their families, their training regimes (because it’s Gary, of course he asks Ruud if he’s been working out, he does that with everyone he meets). Jamie may as well not be there for all he’s contributing to the conversation, has taken to scrolling on his phone and silently fuming while Ruud leans into Gary’s space for the millionth time that afternoon to mutter something in his ear, while Gary does that hiccupping little giggle of his, covering his mouth like a schoolgirl.

Ruud’s not even that good looking, Jamie finds himself thinking. He’s just tall.

Gary likes tall, though, a fact of which Jamie is harshly reminded when they go to say goodbye and he has to watch as Gary gets up on his tip-toes so that he can loop his arms ‘round Ruud’s neck in a hug. He blushes and ducks his head away when Ruud kisses him on the cheek, scratches the back of his head awkwardly as he walks past Jamie back towards the car.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as the driver pulls away from the training ground, Gary looking steadfastly out of the window on his side while Jamie stares ahead, trying to work out what he can say that’s light-hearted enough that Gary can brush it off as a joke if he wants but serious enough that he might give him a real answer.

Once they’ve started down the motorway, he settles on: “You this friendly with all your exes, then?”

Gary whips his head around to look at him, panicked eyes. The look is only there for a second, though, before he smirks and says, “sounding very confident there, Carra, for someone talking out of his arse.”

Jamie shrugs it off. “I was just thinkin’ – you were like that with Beckham, too. All giggly and handsy, like. And I thought it was weird, but you are weird about him so I left it alone. But I never thought that Ruud –”

“— it’s not the same. Becks and Ruud, it’s not the same. Don’t say that like it is.”

“But you and Ruud…”

Gary looks down at his hands. “For a bit, yeah. Nothin’ serious to be fair, ‘cause I was – well. You know.”

Jamie reckons he does know, but he’d still like to hear Gary say it.

Fat chance.

“I liked him, though,” Gary adds, fidgeting. “Ruud, I mean. I did like him. It wasn’t just a – I dunno. I did like him.”

There’s a weird feeling in Jamie’s stomach, a kind of burning sensation that’s flaring up as he listens to Gary speak. He has to slip his hands under his own thighs to keep himself from clenching his fists.

“D’you still?” he asks, all casual-like.

Gary looks up from his hands, just sits there staring at him for a long, drawn out moment. Then he blinks and jerks his head and says “nah,” like the thought’s never even crossed his mind. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a tiny smile. “Got other things on my mind these days, don’t I?”

Jamie spends the rest of the car ride trying to work out what the hell that’s supposed to mean.