#robin gifts
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beeourfriends Ā· 5 months ago
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'Let's Bee Friends' 100% Cotton Tote Bag
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morganbritton132 Ā· 3 months ago
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I think itā€™s really funny if Tim just assumed that everybody is on the same wavelength as him so he never explains anything because he thinks everybody already knows.
Tiny Tim shows up at Dickā€™s apartment and Dick is just flabbergasted because, ā€œYou know that Bruce is Batman?ā€
Tim nods like, ā€œEverybody knows that.ā€
Red Hood comes to town and Timā€™s like, yeah. Thatā€™s obviously Jason Todd back from the dead. The League of Assassins probably had something to do with it. Like, ā€œThere were signs.ā€
Jason, breaking into Titans Tower in full Robin costume, ā€œWhat do you mean there were signs????ā€
ā€œOh, you know.ā€
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newttxt Ā· 5 months ago
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lulaw bodyswap (or, the exquisite humiliation of trafalgar law) for @strawhattery's birthday!
bonus: the original toilet humor gag that ended up on the chopping block
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ochibrochi Ā· 8 days ago
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how embarrassing šŸ¤Øā€¦
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shushmal Ā· 7 months ago
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"I think it's sweet," Steve says.
Robin wrinkles her nose. "Nothing about Eddie Munson is sweet. He's a sewer rat, at best. Or like twenty opossums in a trench coat."
"Opossums are cute."
"He probably has rabies."
"You say that about me all the time, so I guess that's good. We'll have rabies together."
"He gave you a rock."
"You give me rocks all the time," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He runs his thumb along the textured edge of the rock Eddie'd handed to him.
"Yeah, good rocks." Robin scoffs. "That one sucks."
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crowiin Ā· 23 days ago
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Skele-kon gift for @chaoswithcausation !! young justice hangout scrumping for apples :)
closeups under the cut!
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madmachaca Ā· 6 months ago
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I've always liked this Sanji moment. He is so cute here (yes, he is simping, as he does, but still, super cute).
I love that he arrived to Skypea, saw flowers and he thought of getting one for Robin and one for Nami, and my ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE THING is that he is not trying to act suave and cool, he is just like "I brought you a flower" puts it on Robin's hair and continues his mission.
(Her surprised face at the sudden act of affection gets me too. She looks so confused. She is so not used to it. *)
I watched this moment again after hundreds and hundreds of episodes. And you know what Sanji reminds me of?
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Himself
His love language had always been acts of service, isn't it?
And giving a flower he thinks they may like counts too, right?
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the-overanalyzer Ā· 2 years ago
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Youā€™ve heard of ā€œBruce Wayne is dating Batmanā€, now get ready for the spinoff: ā€œTim Drake is cheating on his boyfriend with Robinā€.
What do we call this? Timbin? Robathy?
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fruity-m0nster Ā· 5 months ago
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B-day gift Robin for a friend (who loves her and chickens)
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confused-wanderer Ā· 3 months ago
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Do you think Dick Grayson canā€™t go to parks? Do you think that each time he hears the creaking of metal bars, he gets whiplash to the split-second he met his parents eyes when they all realised they wouldnā€™t make it?
Do you think Jason Todd canā€™t ever keep a timer on? Do you think he hears the bomb ticking down everytime he closes his eyes?
Do you think Tim Drake canā€™t decide whether to start talking or stop? Do you think heā€™s afraid theyā€™ll forget him if he doesnā€™t, afraid theyā€™ll think heā€™s gone mad if he does?
Do you think Duke can never go to concerts? Do you think that the moment the first smoke starts slithering into the crowd, their cheers sound like screams reminding him of his mother?
Do you think Damian never allows himself to try new things? Do you think that the moment he isnā€™t perfect, he hears everyoneā€™s voice in his head telling him he will never be enough?
Do you think Stephanie refuses to do any treasure hunts? Do you think the moment she sees scrawled handwritten riddles she sees her fatherā€™s first descent into madness?
Do you think Barbara had to suppress a shiver when everyone hosts a surprise birthday party? Do you think waiting in the dark and listening to the victimā€™s footsteps reminds her of the moments before Joker shot her?
Do you think Alfred canā€™t let a single room collect dust? Do you think that the last time he put off cleaning a room he never saw their occupants again?
Do you think Bruce knows all of this? Do you think Bruce can only sleep at night knowing his kids didnā€™t turn out like him? Do you think he still blames himself for every wrong done to those he loves?
Do you think he can stop?
Do you think any of them can stop?
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strangersteddierthings Ā· 1 year ago
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Beg You to Love Me
"I'm surprised you even remembered, Harrington," Eddie shrugs, hoping he comes off as aloof as he wants to, instead of shaky and unsure like he feels. He was sitting atop the picnic table, arms behind him trying to look as unaffected by Steve's presence as he can, but he's been thrown for a loop ever since Steve emerged from the woods instead of Robin Buckley, like he was expecting.
"Of course, I remember. I- I've never forgotten," Steve whispers, head down and fists clenched at his sides. He looks more like a child being wrongfully scolded than a man defending himself.
The words pull a scoff from Eddie, though. Never forgotten? What the fuck ever. "Right. Something to hold over me, then, if I'd stepped too far out of line? Mutually assured destruction?"
Steve's head snaps up and he looks horrified, which Eddie will admit to almost believing. Steve doesn't seem like the type to join the drama club but his acting's pretty fucking good. "What? No! I would have never- I would never have said anything about us to anyone."
"Right. Sure. Of course. Your own reputation to think about there."
Something like hurt flashes across Steve's face before it frosts over. This is the face he's used to see on Steve. Cold and distant. "I- whatever, man. I don't even know why I thought..." but Steve doesn't finish his sentence. He just shakes his head and turns his back on Eddie, heading back the way he came.
He doesn't know why that sparks a rage from deep within him. "Yeah, that's right. Tuck tail and runaway again!"
"I ran away?" Steve shouts back, turning sharply on his heel to glare at Eddie. "You think that I ran away?"
Eddie just spreads his hands to the empty clearing as if to say 'look at all this room around me you've never occupied'. "You weren't here, were you?"
"Because you told me to not be!" Steve stomps back to Eddie but stops a couple yards away.
"Like fuck I did," Eddie argues back, because he didn't tell Steve to go away. He'd told him-
"'If this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door.' That's what you told me," Steve quotes, "I thought it was pretty fucking clear what you wanted."
"Yeah, I fucking thought it was clear what I wanted," Eddie snarls, lunging from the picnic table, closing those last few feet to get into Steve's face. "Yet here we are!"
"Don't act like this is my fucking fault. Like you weren't the one who forced it to be my fault. My decision-"
"Yeah, it had to be your damn decision! You were dragging it out-"
"-because you were too much of a coward to do it your-fucking-self-"
"-acting like you were. Acting too good to actually slum it with the trailer trash-"
"-so of course I made the choice that was best for me. Because I deserved more-"
"-like what I had to offer you would never be good enough for the goddman King-"
"-than just being your hookup when I wanted to be-"
"-like I wasn't good enough to be your friend, much less-"
"-your fucking boyfriend!"
"-your fucking boyfriend!"
The contrast of this sudden silence that falls following their screaming match that ends with identical sentiments is jarring. Eddie feels wrong-footed and lost. Confusion and hurt mixing in him that he can see reflected on Steve's face.
"What?" Steve is the first to break the silence, drawing into himself. Arms crossing to hold himself at the elbows as he takes several steps back, as if to be able to see all of Eddie will clear the confusion he's feeling.
Eddie just stares back, slack jawed for a moment. That's. What. No, wait. Really, what? "What what?"
"You- you said 'if this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door'. How was I- I thought you- you were breaking up with me!" Steve cries, "you. You said that to make me pick, because you knew I wanted more and you didn't. That's- you were breaking up with me!"
Eddie's in just as much disbelief. "No, you broke up with me! I said if this isn't good enough but, like, I meant if I wasn't good enough. And you left! You walked out because I wasn't good enough to be with you!"
Steve looks stricken and he claws harder at himself, sort of folds into himself like he's going to be sick. "No. No no no, that's- then that means I- it's all been my fault. No no no no."
Eddie stares wide-eyed and frozen as Steve talks to himself. Eddie kind of feels nauseous. There's no way that this is possible. That these last two and a half years of heartbreak have been because of miscommunication. That they both thought the other was breaking up with them and neither actually wanted to.
"Why didn't you- Why didn't you say something?" Eddie asks.
Steve laughs at that, sounding a bit hysteric. "Me!? Why didn't you! I wasn't- I wasn't going to beg you to love me like I had with my parents. You were the one who told me I shouldn't have to do that!"
Yeah. He had. When Steve had broken down and cried on his bed, in his arms, wondering what it was he had done to lose his parents' love. Eddie told him it wasn't his fault, never would be, and that he would never need to beg for love from someone who does love him. It was the same advice Wayne had given him when he'd taken Eddie in.
"I already thought you were wanting to break up. You were being so distant, I thought..."
Steve sucks in a deep breath and nods, "Yeah. Yeah I was. I was scared of scaring you away. Of being too much. Because I- what I felt for you was a lot. I was afraid I'd chase you away if I continued to be so clingy. I pulled back, to reign it in but. Fuck. Fuck!"
Eddie drops to a squat. His legs feel like jelly and he can't keep standing. He squats and looks down so his hair becomes a curtain separating him from the reality of the situation, if only for a moment. Fuck is right.
He's spent his junior and first senior year being pissed at Steve. Hurt by him and what he thought happened. And it's- if Steve's being honest, it's all been for nothing. If they both wanted a deeper relationship, they could have had it. They might still be boyfriends if Eddie hadn't been so wrapped up in his Munson Doctrine. He'd been convincing himself Steve was embarrassed of him, and was working on breaking off their- whatever they were. But he hadn't been.
He's thought such terrible things about Steve over the years. God, what has Steve thought of him over the years? No. He doesn't want to know, actually. That's not what he cares about right now.
He lifts his head to see that Steve's plopped himself onto the ground, sitting cross legged, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
"Steve. Steve!" He calls Steve's name out until he looks up, looks at him, "why'd you come out here?"
He laughs again, slightly less hysterically, and he's shaking his head like he can't believe what he's about to say. "I. Fuck, I was coming out here to beg you to love me."
"No you fucking weren't!" his tone is filled with disbelief.
"I was," Steve repeats, sounding amused and heartbroken at the same time. "I really, really was. Graduation's coming and I know you want to get out of Hawkins the second that happens and I'm. I was running out of time trying to get you to notice me again, so I was going to beg."
Notice him again? As if Steve doesn't haunt his every waking thought. As if he doesn't dream of Steve every night while his eyes seek him across the halls and in their few shared classes like he's the goddamn night sky and Eddie is a sailor lost at sea needing the north star to guide him home. Eddie's never not noticed him, and he thinks he has to come out here and beg? "When someone loves you, you don't have to beg."
"Yeah, I know," Steve sighs, defeated, which lets Eddie know that Steve does not, in fact, know. He looks away from Eddie, down to his lap.
Fuck, it's like every fantasy Eddie's had of them making up and then making out has been handed to him on a silver platter and he's blowing it. His words are too vague, too easily misinterpreted. Again. He falls forward on to his knees, hands catching him so he's on all fours like an animal. "Steve. I mean it. You don't have to beg."
"I get it, Eddie," Steve huffs, not looking at him. Not actually understanding.
Eddie starts to crawl the distance between them. Steve looks up then, probably to see what the fuck Eddie was doing with the shuffling sounds and the chain on his belt clacking. Eddie watches Steve's eyes go wide, mouth dropping open to a small 'o'. "See, the thing is, Steve," Eddie says, pulling himself up to be just on his knees to shuffle the last few inches closer. Steve leans back to keep his eyes on Eddie's face, which opens his lap up. "You said you know, but I don't think you do." Eddie brings his hands to rest on Steve's shoulders and Steve lets him. "You don't have to beg." He uses his hold on Steve's shoulders to balance himself as he swings a leg wide, to straddle Steve, then shifts his weight to repeat the process with his other leg before settling himself into Steve's lap. Steve's hands land on his hips and Eddie isn't sure if it's intentional or a reaction to Eddie plopping himself in his laps but he's going to believe it's the first one. "You've never had to beg with me."
Steve sucks in a sharp breath and then he collapses into Eddie. Steve's hands on his hips slide up and pull him into a hug, as close to Steve's body as he can get, while Steve shoves his head under Eddie's chin, into the junction of his neck and shoulder and breaths him in like it's the last breath Steve will ever take. "We're so stupid."
"Yeah," Eddie agrees, as he lifts one hand to hold the back of Steve's head while the other drops to rub soothingly at his back. "Yeah, we are."
They sit in the dirt, the closest they've been since that summer between '81 and '82. They should probably talk about. They're going to have to, if they want this to work. Full sentences with no hidden meanings, even though the thought of that kind of vulnerability makes Eddie skittish. It's going to be difficult, but it'll be worth it. Steve has always been worth it.
Eddie wants to say 'I love you', just to get it out, in the open, and not just implied, but there's a different first step to take. One that's actually a little easier. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Me too," Steve whispers, "I'm sorry. I should have-"
"Shut up," Eddie cuts him off, voice quiet and soft as he can be. "This is, and I cannot stress it enough, a we situation."
The huff of laughter on his skin from Steve feels like the start of something. A new beginning, a start over. A re-do.
A goddamn miracle.
Later, they'll drag themselves apart and up. Make it to the back of Eddie's van in the school parking lot to talk. Going to either's house feel too much, too soon. Their big fight happened at Eddie's home, and Steve's house isn't warm enough for the kind of comfort they want to share.
They'll have a talk. Filled with long pauses, stumbling over words and fears and insecurities because this is the hard part of a relationship. Getting it all out in the open so they can learn if they'll even work. The fear that they aren't going to be compatible anymore looms but doesn't deter. They both want a second chance, to give it a real shot, by the end of that first talk. But taking it slow.
They'll discuss what went wrong the first time (diving in without talking about anything certainly played a big part) and how to avoid that.
But that's later. Right now, Eddie just holds Steve, and Steve holds him back, and it certainly feels like the beginning of something good.
-
@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems
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hitlikehammers Ā· 5 months ago
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Steddie Wrong Blind Date AU šŸ’œ
what if you meet the wrong love of your life?
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He doesnā€™t know how the fuck he got here. At a very nice bar in a very nice restaurant.
Sitting alone.
Or well: heĀ knows. Itā€™s more that he canā€™t believe he let it happen.
Again.
Because Steve had finally (finally!) made sufficient enoughĀ threatsĀ logical arguments to curb Robinā€™s attemptsā€”well-meaning, dingus, well meaning attempts!ā€”to set him up with so-and-soā€™s cousin or whoever-the-fuckā€™s roommate. The blind dates had actually been his first successful method to ultimately shoot down, on the basis that they werenā€™t just fucking humiliating: they were goddamnĀ degrading.
For reasons such as his current situation.
And of all the things Robin desired for him, they both knew sheā€™d neverĀ knowinglyĀ cause him pain. So that left him working with awkward introductions at parties, sometimes at completely random places even, like too-weird-to-be-coincidence run-ins at the grocery store and shit, where Robin just so happened to be shopping whenĀ bothĀ her targets were there. It was borderline frightening, but. It was veryĀ Robin. And Steve adored her more than anything and struggled too much to stay mad at herā€”heā€™s definitely tried his damnedest, more than onceā€”so. He knows her intentions come from the heart, regardless of how disastrously they pan out in reality.
Which is why Steve is allowing this onceā€”andĀ only onceā€”because heā€™s not stupid, but. He appreciates the ingenuity.
And getting yourĀ girlfriendĀ to make the blind date pitch wasā€¦technicallyĀ honoring his rules.
So. Heā€™s allowing this to slide once. Once. One time.
One.Ā More.Ā Time.
And heā€™s already got his justification, fucking iron clad too, to call it on sight. Failed attempt, the guyā€™s already twenty minutes late and thatā€™sā€¦thatā€™s past fashionable, really, especially for a set up like this. He glances at his phone, just to see if heā€™s got anything from Chrissy as an updateā€”Steve loves her, and RobinĀ adoresĀ her, and thatā€™s the only reason heā€™sĀ notĀ spending the minutes he waits, sipping stupidly-slow at the same tequila sunrise, plotting revenge against her for being so gullible, so willing to not merely enact Robinā€™s last-gasp efforts but toĀ participate, actively, because apparently tonightā€™s ā€™perfect match, heā€™sĀ soĀ your type!ā€™ wasĀ Chrissyā€™sĀ suggestionā€”but thereā€™s nothing. Just the last message from an hour ago reassuring him against backing out in the first place:
heā€™s tall, dark, handsome, 100% your type. maybe a little *theatrical*: youā€™ll LOVE him šŸ’•
Steve didnā€™t, and still doesnā€™t, understand what she means byĀ theatrical, and honestly heā€™s kinda wary for itā€”he doesnā€™t like playing games when it comes to romance: heā€™s too all-in, and too quickly, for any of that.
Which also means that, as much as he thinks itā€™s a fucking laughable sham to have agreed to this, and as much as heā€™d walked inĀ knowingĀ that, knowing he was entertaining the farce against his own will: it stillā€¦doesnā€™t sting, exactly. But it definitely squeezes uncomfortably in his chest for no good reason that heā€™s been fucking stood up and yeah, yeah, that means itā€™s time toā€”
He reaches for his drink and notices itā€™s empty. Just another sign, really, so he move to gesture the bartender over to pay butā€”
Someoneā€™s got a better angle, actually gets the guyā€™s attention before Steve can even tryā€”a someone sitting two empty chairs down who lifts his glass for another, then gestures the exact same way with an empty toward Steveā€™s sad glass of ice.
ā€œOn mine,ā€ he tips his chin Steveā€™s direction before the bartender grabs Steveā€™s glass along with the strangerā€™s and makes for refills, then itā€™s just the stranger turning the whole of his body around on the stool to faceā€¦Steve.
ā€œFor the handsome nobleman,ā€ and he says it with a stilted lilt thatā€™s somehow not disingenuous, and itā€™s odd, to put it mildly, paired with a little bow of his head that definitely matches the affected voice but alsoĀ definitelyĀ gives the stranger a perfect window to run his gaze up and down Steveā€™s seated frameā€”itā€™s a good move, Steve canā€™t even deny it, no matter howā€¦weird.
Butā€¦also, thereā€™s a warmth in it? Maybe in the gaze, something thatā€™s not justĀ heat, or maybe in the tone thatā€™s notĀ justĀ putting on a show.
Something.
ā€œIn fact I do say theĀ veryĀ handsome nobleman doth sit alone beyond comprehension,ā€ the stranger seems to correct himself, and the way his lips curl, wider and then pull back a little, like he hesitates, like heā€™s maybe bolder than this in other situations but is reserving himself just a touch for here and nowā€”and goddamnĀ but this is pretty fucking bold already, whatever it actuallyĀ is:
ā€œAnd he deserves plentiful libations,ā€ and Steve didnā€™t even notice the new drink on the counter until the stranger reaches, tips precariously on his stool, and slides the glass closer before nodding toward it, almost like another little bow: ā€œin his tarrying.ā€
Steve stares wordless for a second because, outside of that weird fucking Renaissance Fair thing the kidsĀ draggedĀ him to, heā€™s never heard anyone talk like that. So the settingā€™s all fucked up because this is Manhattan, at a not-particularly-inexpensive bistro type venue, definitely devoid of turkey legs.
Plus the guy in question doesnā€™t quite look the partā€”gorgeous curls to the shoulders, facial structure to kill a man, legs for days draped down the stool and dressed in shades of black top to bottom, from the button up in charcoal fucking silk, to the weirdly-suited boots that might have a steel toe hiding or might just be playing, the only color on him the pout of his lips and the slight flush visible in the low bar light brushed over his cheeks before he leans a little closer, eyes maybe the darkest thing about him and kinda goddamnĀ mesmerizingĀ for it, especially for how they somehow tiptoe along a fine line between almost disorienting focus on Steve and Steve alone, and something close to hesitant, or maybe more bashful when he clears his throat and asks:
ā€œPerhaps this very handsome nobleman would also enjoy some company,ā€ and his toneā€™s not even playing coy about being hopeful, before he full-on lays a palm to his chest inĀ old-fashioned apologyĀ as his lashes flutter a little and he goes all self-deprecating, and genuine in it, as he adds in that same bashfulness:
ā€œEven if only that of a humble bard, such as myself?ā€
And Steveā€™s not above being wholesale dumbstruck for a good second, like his hearing goes tunneled and his pulse echoes for the narrowing: this man is unreal.
Veryā€¦theatrical.Ā One-hundredĀ percent his type.Ā Two-hundred percent, even. Jesus.
So Steveā€™s quiet for a second, but heā€™s not known for his charm because he canā€™t bounce back quicker than average, certainly quicker than risking that gorgeous face falling for the dashing for the hope painted open all over it, not a stroke of artifice in sight.
Steveā€™s not even trying when he fucking feels his own automatic walls start to slip as he leans, meets the man move for move so they can hear each other close as the bar starts to fill a little more:
ā€œOnly if I can get the next round,ā€ and if Steve purrs it, itā€™s a reflex; if it darkens those already depthless eyes, well. Heā€™s close enough to appreciate the swell of the pupil, the deepening of the flush on those cheeks.
If Steveā€™s heart jumps a little, thereā€™s not a soul who can call him out for it; tree in the woods with no one to hear it fall.
But it does. ItĀ soĀ does.
The man does an adorable little shimmy across the seats between them, taking the one closest to Steve and then doing a little scootching of even that to settle all the closer, and it shouldnā€™t be endearing, but Steve feels like he can bet on his ribs being sore by the end of whatever this is, or ends up being, just for the swelling beneath them already underway.
ā€œIf my request is being so highly honored, so as to join you,ā€ the man takes a little bundle of his curls and drags them across the corner of his lips before tucking it back andā€¦Steve has the immediate urge to have done it for him instead, what the hell, too fucking soon, manā€”
ā€œDoes his majesty have a name?ā€
It takes Steve a couple long seconds to register that the man meansĀ him, though it doesnā€™t escape Steve that the reference, while it took a while to land? Never for an instant felt like it did in high school, or even shortly after. It feltā€¦warm.
ā€œSteve,ā€ he says with a smile, more twisting his palm than extending his hand to shake given their proximity; ā€œand you, my,ā€ Steve licks his lips then presses them tight around a grin before choosing his words: ā€œvery odd butĀ veryĀ endearing bard, was it?ā€
ā€œIt was, indeed,ā€ the man lights up near fluorescent; ā€œIā€™m Eddie.ā€
Maybe itā€™s the way he says it, or the way he takes Steveā€™s hand. Butā€¦Jesus.
Itā€™sā€¦a really good name.
ā€œThen tell me, Eddie,ā€ Steve doesnā€™t let go of the hand in his, their touches just slowly slide apart and it feelsā€¦like a loss but not a crushing one, Eddieā€™s still close enough to feel the heat of him.
ā€œUnless Iā€™m totally off, I think I know from exposure,Ā notĀ playing, that a bardā€™s a musician, yeah?ā€ Or is it a storyteller, or maybe both, thereā€™s a good fucking reason he never have in to playing the nerd gameā€”
ā€œTell me what makes you introduce yourself like that right off the bat, then.ā€
And EddieĀ glowsĀ for the opening, the invitation, and the thing is? He doesnā€™tĀ stop; heā€™s like a star unto himself, shining and bathing Steve in the glimmer as he talks about music, about growing up in a house of it, about it being tough sometimes but his mother took him to live with his uncle, the three of them and then it was easier and there was alsoĀ moreĀ music, new music, and he tells Steve about bands heā€™s played in, joined and left, guitars heā€™s loved and lost, the whole shipping boxes he has piled with full notebooks of lyrics and ideas from years upon years; and then he pivots, or maybe thatā€™s not even it, because what he really does is test the waters around where Steve thought the bard reference came from in the first placeā€”the nerd game. Steve confesses he was a mostly an unwilling bystander but it was probably more because he didnā€™t get it, and honestly his reluctance was more for show than anything, he loved what his kids loved at the end of the day, what made them happyā€”which left Steve explaining the kids, explaining Robin, explainingĀ hisĀ family in a way Steve hasnā€™t done in relationships that lastedĀ months, let alone first conversations on very first dates.
He should be terrified. He isnā€™t.
He should be terrified of theĀ isnā€™t. Andā€¦andĀ yet.
ā€œMy turn for a question,ā€ Eddie fills the first soft lull in conversation, one that stretches taffy-sweet and almost kinda giddy; Steve doesnā€™t even know what heā€™s feeling because he doesnā€™t know if heā€™s ever felt it before, like, everā€”all he knows is that itā€™s kind of fucking fantastic, like something he already never wants to let go of. So of course he nods, welcomes Eddieā€™s turns for a question even if it doesnā€™t seem entirely necessary; the back-and-forths sliding so natural, so balanced.
ā€œWhy the choice of drink?ā€
Eddie nods at the glass almost empty in his hand while Steve squints and laughs a little.
ā€œWhat?ā€ Steve asks because he doesnā€™t understand, sure, but also because the unpredictability, alongside the sheer earnestness of this man isā€¦itā€™s disarming in the best fucking way. Like maybe Steveā€™s falling but he never wants to stop andā€”
Too soon, too fucking soon even if thatā€™s not what he meant, exactly; he thought it, and itā€™sĀ too fucking soonā€”
ā€œEveryone has aĀ reasonĀ for ordering a drink,ā€ Eddie explains with a grin that pops those delicious dimples; ā€œhabit, by which thereā€™s a story of the first time you tried it,ā€ he ticks off on his nimble looking fingers, the rings on them catching the lights; ā€œspontaneity, by which thereā€™s a tale of what inspired it,ā€ and fuck, theyā€™re so long, those fingers, Steve kinda wonders how many knuckles he could fit in his mouth; ā€œmemories, by which thereā€™s something poking at them.ā€
Eddie pauses, takes Steve in, no doubt sees Steve hanging onto, damn near salivating over his every word even as he swallows and takes a breath to collect himself as discreetly as heā€™s capable; it just makes those dimples divot deeper.
ā€œI could go on,ā€ Eddie offers, a little sly in his smile, the knowing kind, but his tone is soft, like maybe Steveā€™s not the only one feelingā€¦things. And maybe Eddie wants him to know it. Maybe so that heā€™s not alone. Maybe because they both fucking like it. Maybeā€”
ā€œHabit,ā€ Steve answers, unable to keep from smiling around the rim of his glass when he takes a sip. ā€œI got sick on shots and swore off straight tequila, but I was always up for the, yā€™know, frou-frou drinks,ā€ he swirls the maybe-two-swallows left for show: ā€œso long as it tasted good I didnā€™t give a shit, yā€™know, and then a,ā€ Steve pauses a second, wonders how best to describe that particular figure from his past before settling on:
ā€œAn old friend, told me once,ā€ and then Steve pauses again, this time because he can feel the rush of heat to his cheeks because oh, shit, now heā€™s backed himself into having toĀ sayĀ itā€”
ā€œOh, now youĀ haveĀ to share,ā€ Eddie coaxes, a singsong in his voice and a wide-eyed wonder to him, something like genuine investment in what comes next, whatā€™s next in something solely aboutĀ Steve, that almost soothes the embarrassment;
ā€œUnless youā€™re displaying the answer with this,ā€ and Eddie only just brushes the flat of his fingernail to Steveā€™s cheekbone, too quick to appreciate the shiver it sends down Steveā€™s spine, through his fuckingĀ veins, thatā€™s not helped one bit by Eddie murmuring, a little sensual, but somehow also a little dazed, a little starry-eyed when he breathes out:
ā€œBlush like the sunrise.ā€
And if he wasnā€™t already, fuck knows Steve isĀ now.
He misses Eddieā€™s touch against it, too. Even so fleeting. Wishes he were bold enough, or foolish enough, to grab Eddieā€™s hand and let him feel what heā€™s doing, the heat in him. The way his blood rushes.
Heā€™s not, because thatā€™s fucking insane andĀ way too much too soon, but.
Wanting doesnā€™t play by those rules.
ā€œAlmost,ā€ Steve picks up the glass and swirls it again; ā€œhe said I was like sunshine,ā€ Steve recalls with a little grinā€”itā€™s a softer memory now than it used to be. He laughs a little and downs the last of whatā€™s left of his drink. ā€œThink it was more because of a yellow sweater I wore way too much at the time, but,ā€ and he places the empty down and so he doesnā€™t see it coming until it happens: Eddieā€™s hand. On his hand, on the glass.
ā€œNo.ā€
Steve looks up, barely breathes. Eddie has soft hands.
ā€œNo, I think it was more than that, Sunshine,ā€ Eddie tells him, honest and certain and a little breathless and Steveā€™s of two equal minds: heā€™s never been so aroused. But heā€™s also never felt soĀ seen.
AndĀ wanted.
ā€œAnother?ā€ Eddie asks, but his eyes donā€™t leave Steveā€™s to look at their drinks, to be anywhere but in this moment, here with him.
ā€œYouā€™re sure?ā€ Steve makes himself ask it, doesnā€™t bother forcing himself to sound anything but pulling for one answer and one answer alone. ā€œDonā€™t have somewhere better to be?ā€
ā€œWouldnā€™t have asked otherwise,ā€ Eddie does look away then, but down at their hands, strokes his thumb a little down where Steveā€™s wrist starts to curve. ā€œAnd Iā€™m struggling just now to think of anywhere better than right here.ā€
And then Eddieā€™s placing his fingers between Steveā€™s, just resting them in the middle spaces: theyā€™d fit. So well.
Theyā€¦will. They will fit fuckingĀ gloriously.
ā€œMy round, then,ā€ though Steveā€™s lost count if theyā€™re even, how many drinks theyā€™ve actually hadā€”not too many, heā€™s pleasantly buzzed at best and maybe more on the company than anything else if heā€™s honest, but he likewise doesnā€™t know how long theyā€™re been there, sipping between baring their fucking souls in the most mundane ways thatā€¦
That Steve thinks have started to kindle something in him. Started to breathe life into a part of him he didnā€™t know was dormant, forgot he could feel until it started unfurling like this, deep in his chest.
ā€œNeed something to cut through the sugar,ā€ he says idly, but he doesnā€™t miss the way Eddieā€™s breath catches when Steve tightens his fingers to catch Eddieā€™s before letting go, sliding the glass forward so the bartender can see and then he orders: ā€œThe Glenlivet 14,ā€ he points; ā€œneat,ā€ then he glances at Eddieā€™s glass of melting iceā€”heā€™s been on Black Russians the whole time;
ā€œKeeping at it, or something new?ā€
ā€œYou make a compelling argument for easing up the sweet,ā€ Eddie cocks his head, taps his chin consideringly; ā€œespecially whenĀ youā€™reĀ agreeing to remain as my company,ā€ he shoots over a heated glance and a smile too big to be as wicked as Steve thinks Eddie might have aimed for but it doesnā€™t matter, it has the same bewitching, pulse-stuttering effect either way.
ā€œBulleit Rye, on the rocks,ā€ Eddie taps his glass with a certain finality.
ā€œA man after my own heart,ā€ Steve comments with a nod; itā€™s a good order. He doesnā€™t think about the words themselves before they come out.
ā€œAnd if I wanted to be?ā€
And then Steve thinks about the words with every goddamn cell in his body, like his blood repeats them and the electricity that works his brain as much as his heart is making little lightning storms around the comment, then the question, and then theĀ implicationĀ because Steveā€¦
Steveā€™s never wanted anything more. Steveā€™s never been offered anything evenĀ closeĀ and hereā€™sĀ this man?Ā And he canā€™t be saying what Steve..thinks he has to be saying because what else can those wordsĀ meanā€”
ā€œToo quick?ā€ Eddie pulls back the slightest bit and Steve misses him immediately; ā€œI usually am, Iā€™m soā€”ā€œ
SteveĀ misses him, and will not have him doubting because Steve knows that feeling intimately, knows this man deserves none of it, and knows itā€™s anything but warranted when Steveā€™s heart, the one Eddie mightĀ want to be after, just took up leaping in his fucking chest like a goddamn gazelle.
So Steve doesnā€™t think, at all, when he grabs the hand Eddie placed on his a few minutes ago and cups it to his chest, the best proof he knows that canā€™t be overthought, or rationalized away.
Eddieā€™s eyes are confused, for a second, until he feels it.
And then: but,Ā fuck.
Steveā€™s never watched a flower blossom all at once before butā€¦thatā€™s all he can think of with the slow crawl of a smile, the bright gleam of something like wonder in eyes that get impossibly wider, a chest that rises and falls heavy abd quick under the silk Steve wants to unbutton a little, see more of that milk-smooth throat save now that heā€™s looking, he can see enough to take note of Eddieā€™s pulse there: riotous.
Itā€™s too good. Itā€™s too much.
But Eddie feels it with his own hand. Steve sees it with his own eyes.
Here theyĀ are.
ā€œThatā€™s usually my line,ā€ Steve finally exhales, tries to make it a joke between them, an understanding and maybe it works, maybe theyā€™re both too distracted by the hinting promise of maybe never needing to have such a joke again:
ā€œNot too quick.ā€
And Eddie stays there, riveted,Ā beamingĀ something blinding and Steve justā€¦feels his own heartbeat. Under a hand that doesnā€™t seem inclined to want to move.
NotĀ tooĀ quick.
Eddie blinks at him, almost like heā€™s waking up from something he wasnā€™t even aware heā€™d been sleeping through, or walking through half-dazed. Like heā€™s seeing something real for the very first time. His breaths are fast, a little shaky, and then heā€™s standing, pulling Steveā€™s hand from his chest up to Eddieā€™s mouth and kissing his knuckles, watching Steve every second as Steveā€™s own breath hitches, and then pulling away, but not letting go yet. Like heā€™s reluctant to.
ā€œLet me hit the head real fast, throw some water on my face to make sure Iā€™m not dreaming,ā€ Eddie whispers to him, breathless still and looking almost like heā€™s trembling; ā€œwhile he gets those poured,ā€ he tips his head toward the bar where their drinks are still waiting their turn.
Then Eddieā€™s brining Steveā€™s hand to his lips again and whispering there, and yeah, the manā€™s shaking a little as he breathes, almost shy:
ā€œDonā€™t go anywhere?ā€
As if itā€™s even aĀ question.
ā€œWouldnā€™t dream of it,ā€ Steve promises with all heā€™s got, because he thinksā€¦itā€™s insanity, but he thinks maybe he walked so reluctantly into this bar however many hours ago and somehow, by some act of benevolent fate, heā€™sā€¦found the man whoā€™ll prove to be the love of his life?
Steve could not be moved forĀ anything.
Eddie walks half-backward for how much he turns to look back at Steve, and Steve waves a few times, makes a few stupid faces just to see Eddie struggle not to giggle, and itā€™sā€¦
HeĀ didĀ say his chest was gonna be sore by the end of the night but,Ā Jesus. He doesnā€™t know if he even has ribs left, or if theyā€™re all broken, crushed to smithereens, for howĀ fullĀ his chest feels. Nothing so common and simple as the bones of him could stand up toĀ thisĀ and not be changed.
He smiles as he pulls his phone outā€”when was the last date he had where he didnā€™t look at his phone? Has heĀ everĀ been on one before?ā€”and he registers theyā€™ve been sitting here,Ā sharingĀ themselves in a way that feels more like laying a foundation, deliberately, and thatā€™s, that isā€¦
Steveā€™s spent a very long time wishing for someone whoā€™d want that, with him of all people. He was pretty sure heā€™d made his peace with never finding it. And then: here he is.
He bites his lower lip, lest his grin crack his face, when he thinks of texting Chrissy real quick and justā€¦thanking her. Because, yeah.
Steve did, in fact, end up loving him.
Likeā€¦too-soon-but-for-real-pitter-patter-heart-skipping-beats shit.
So he thumbs open the chat and seesā€¦unread messages.
He doesnā€™t full-on frown, too high on, just,Ā everything, so he opens the texts before he can assume the worst of someone texting him during a date they, you know. Played a key role in setting up:
he may be running late for traffic, if you havenā€™t left please STAY I promise he is WORTH IT šŸ™šŸ»šŸ’ž
Steveā€™s not even sure EddieĀ wasĀ late, maybe theyā€™d been sitting a few stools away for twenty minutes: it feels like a lifetime ago, now, andā€”
Then Steve sees the timestamp. Sentā€¦like two hours ago.
Heā€™d been atĀ leastĀ two tequila sunrises in,Ā withĀ Eddie versus on his own, by then so, what was Chrissy even talking aboutā€”
He scrolls to the most recent message.
Seventeen minutes ago.
omg Steve Iā€™m so sorry and *he* is so sorry, heā€™s absolutely cut up about this heā€™s still in traffic but he says heā€™s determined to try, heā€™s got flowers for you and everything heā€™s SUCH A GOOD GUY STEVE I swear I wouldnā€™t have done this if if I didnā€™t think heā€™d treat you like you deserve and this isnā€™t his fault, I even checked waze and itā€™s a mess but he understands if itā€™s too much andā€”
ā€œEverything okay?ā€
Eddieā€™s already taken his seat, and is looking at Steve with polite interest, not leaning to see whatā€™s on his screen like so many people do on instinct, but thereā€™s actual concern underneath, and investment in it. Like whateverā€™s wrong, Eddie wants to help fix it.
Steve, reeling over the way the puzzle pieces are slotting into placeā€”namely that, by all accounts, the earliest his intended date could have arrived was maybe ten minutes agoā€”looks up at Eddie, turns his phone screen-down on the bar and clears his throat, bites the bullet.
ā€œThis may seem like a,ā€ Steve takes a deep breath, because he has to ask even if he is almost dead certain of the answer; ā€œa kinda out-of-nowhere question but.ā€
And then Steve meets Eddieā€™s eyes square on, lets them wash over him and fucking hell:Ā theyĀ steady him. Already, theyā€™re an anchor for him in the worst of storms.
ā€œWere you, by any chance, here for a blind date?ā€
Steve watches Eddieā€™s face cycle through maybe the five stages ofā€¦shock, more than grief given the context, he guesses, but theyā€™re somehow closer to one another than Steve wouldā€™ve thought, definitely considering they only just met, though then heā€™s gotta consider that it feels like Eddieā€™s burrowed safe in his chest amidst all the blossoming joy, all the warm fullness like he lives there to be kept inside it always and also to maintain it, preserve it, as its sole cause and reason to be: but Eddieā€”Eddie looks at him with eyes that go wide, that fall with the rest of his face and then shutter a little, and that tears into Steve the hardest, to see something come up like barrier when Eddieā€™s the reason Steve feels so raw right now, andĀ aliveĀ for it; he canā€™t let Eddie feel less than that, feel the need to pull back from that, fromĀ himā€”
Then heā€™s placid. Calm. Accepting.
But he deep wells in his eyes: theyā€™re wet. Theyā€™re devastated, somehow.
Andā€¦no.
But before Steve can move, can speak: thereā€™s a bright, colorful thing that stands out in his peripheryā€”he catches it, flowers near the hostess standā€”and his eyes flick to the person holding them, looking dismayed and definitely out of breath; attractive, brunet, weirdly familiar, and then heā€™s gesturing just so andā€¦
Oh. Oh, thatā€™sā€¦
Steve made the comment two weeks ago, after the show he and Robin had gone to at the Gershwin, that heā€™d climb the lead like a goddamn tree. Sheā€™d groaned, pushed him into a nasty-ass wall thatā€™d earned her the bill for dinner and drinksā€”but sheā€™d had that look in her eye. And heā€™d ignored it but nowā€”staring said lead, out of costume, still very handsome even while so fucking distraught, wilting more by the second as Steve tries not to stare too obviously, but then add in that Chrissy knowing half the standbys, that her being the reason they even got tickets, and Robinā€™sĀ lookā€”well.
ā€œTheatricalā€ beingā€¦fucking literal, like a little clue, suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.
ā€œOh, shit,ā€ Eddie says it under his breath but thereā€™sā€¦way more disappointment than their objectively-brief encounter should merit as he processes, eyes already having followed Steveā€™s, and puts the pieces together: no matter how late, Steveā€™s very-probable blind dateā€™s entered the building.
Whichā€”if Eddie answers the question the way the resignation making its home on his face suggests he willā€”makesĀ Eddieā€¦
ā€œNo, sweetheart,ā€ and Eddieā€™s gathering Steveā€™s hands slowly, gently, and his face is mostly lax and his mouth tries for a smile but itā€™s just this side of a grimace as his eyes, god, theyā€™re so bright, like maybe if you canā€™t stare you wonā€™t see the hurt but Steve doesnā€™t have to look long for it to burrow into his own chest and flay at his beating fucking heart.
ā€œNo, I wasnā€™t.ā€
And Eddie looks down at their hands, like he did before, and the tenor to the staring is wholly different, now, subdued and mournful, and Steveā€™s mindā€™s already made up but, if it hadnā€™t been?
The unthinkable reality of witnessing this beautiful manā€™s heartbreak would seal the deal entirely.
ā€œYou know what?ā€ Steve grabs Eddieā€™s hands back, and squeezes them tight as he makes to stand:
ā€œNeither am I.ā€
Eddieā€™s lips part, and his brow furrows, eyes cutting to the front entrance, to the flowers, to a man who isnā€™tĀ himĀ as if that man could ever somehow be preferable, be moreā€¦moreĀ anythingā€”
ā€œBut,ā€ Eddie tries to protest, confusion undergirding the heartbreak, holding it still. Likeā€¦like breathless waiting, held in a frightful uncertainty, like weighing hearts against feathers: some cosmic importance in the balance.
Steve honestly couldnā€™t agree more. He just already knows how this scale tilts.
ā€œYou wanna get out of here, continue this conversation at any of the hundreds of other bars nearby?ā€ Steve says, buttoning his blazer and reaching out a hand, hoping it stays steady; praying Eddie will read his conviction, his certainty, hisĀ heartĀ and want to reach back.
And all the slow-rotting sickness in his stomach trying to climb upward and puncture all the buoyant joyful wonder in him for for every second that ticks by without Eddieā€™s hand in his, itā€™s all wiped away, burned by the flame of wanting and thenĀ getting, of Eddieā€™s hand in his properly held and Steve was fuckingĀ right.
They fit togetherĀ gloriously.
ā€œIt would be my heartā€™s-sworn honor, my liege,ā€ Eddie breathes, like maybe heā€™s afraid to hope and Steve wonā€™t have that; and he thinks he knows what Eddieā€™s saying, knows what the fanciful words mean but he needs to be sure, so he lifts a brow and waits until Eddie grins again so his dimples start to show and he huffs, relief in it:
ā€œIā€™d fuckinā€™Ā loveĀ to.ā€
They down their drinks in one go, gather their things and leave double their bill, barely paying anything so much as a glance when they could look at each other and marvel instead. They walk out opposite the flowers, paying neither the blossoms nor their holder any mind. The thing blooming between them, in Steveā€™s chest all the bigger and full andĀ brighterĀ for every step he takes with Eddieā€™s hand in his: itā€™s so much more than anything with stems and leaves, that grows in the ground. Like Eddieā€™s glow is more than a star could even hope for. Like the sunshine thatā€™s maybe not Steve at all, thatā€™s really just this feeling, and the way that it growsā€”itā€™s beyond explaining. Itā€™s held between their hands alone.
And maybe Steve will text Chrissy and explain, ask her to send his regrets to the theater guy. Tomorrow.
Then Eddie tugs him closer unexpectedly, his laughter all music as he brings Steveā€™s hand to his lips again, then to his chest where this time, Steve catches the wild gallop ofĀ hisĀ pulse as proof.
He doesnā€™t think either of them have a fucking clue where theyā€™re headed. They have every option in front of them, and want nothing more than the touch of the other, and the promise it holds inside.
So Steve does the tugging, now; curls one hand around Eddie and draws him in, his hand caught between their chests so perfect and tastes the coffee liqueur beneath the rye on his tongue and thinks of nothing else, not texting, not set-ups, not waiting: because heā€™s here. Right here.
And Eddieā€™s heartbeat feels like home somehow already; the taste of him is nothing short of divine. Theyā€™re fully clothed on a New York street and this is the most intimate thing Steveā€™s maybe ever felt, after the most meaningful evening heā€™s maybe ever spent with anyone. At a bar. Drinking tequila and grenadine.
He starts laughing, right against Eddieā€™s lips, right into Eddieā€™s mouth, so maybe some of the joy will trickle down into his chest, insideĀ hisĀ heart so heā€™ll know even just a fraction of the joy thatā€™s making Steve feel not lighter than air, or dizzy with the speed of it allā€”but again, maybe for the very first time: real. Solid. Worth something this momentous.
And maybeā€”increasingly likely, even, as if thatā€™s not the most incredible, unfathomable, heart-starting thought heā€™s ever entertained but he thinks maybe he might just actually have a shot here, or can even already say just a little bit that heā€™sā€”
Loved.
Fuck.Ā Fuck.
Scratch maybe sending a text by tomorrowā€”heā€™ll process getting ahold of Chrissy (and that conniving girlfriend of hers) to invite them to the goddamn wedding.
Because right now? Steveā€™s kissing the man heā€™s gonna spend the rest of his life with, the man heā€™s going to live and die learning to love better with everything he is and ever could be: one hand pressed between both their chests, and itā€™s not too much because Eddieā€™s pressing them together tighter, body to body and hanging on like heā€™s trying to hold Steveā€™s heart in from the back of his ribs just in case; and itā€™s not too soon because it feels like every single goddamn thing heā€™s waited for his whole life, beating and clinging and gasping and melding into place finally,Ā finallyĀ because itā€™sā€¦everything. This is everything.
They areĀ everything.
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For @starryeyedjanai, who requested 'Wrong Number/Wrong Blind Date AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and incidentally also for @steddie-week for the Day Three prompt 'Long' (which is employed in a couple of abstract ways here)
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āœØpermanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth
divider credits here
ao3 link here āœØ
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howicked Ā· 22 days ago
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BBC GHOSTS (2019-2023) | 05E07 (A Christmas Gift)
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shrub-jay Ā· 10 months ago
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Cujo the Bathound
EDIT: Now a fic on AO3 :) : Let Dead Dogs Lie ā€œHand over the dog.ā€ Gothamā€™s reputation for crime and many flavors of strange preceded it, but Danny did not anticipate being robbed at sword point for a dog. Granted, a green, glowing dog does attract some attention, but this was a city with rampaging clowns and toxic sludge. Cujo wriggled excitedly in his arms, tightening the leash wrapped around Dannyā€™s wrist. ā€œThis dog?ā€ Danny freed his other hand to point at Cujo emphatically, cartoonishly looking around the deserted alleyway as if the sword swinging child might have been mistaken. ā€œAre you sure? You can have my wallet, it has 15 cents and a Bat Burger punch card, only one more visit for a free side!ā€ ā€œDonā€™t be absurd.ā€ ā€œYeah, I heard you used to get a free combo. Punch cards arenā€™t what they used to be.ā€ The edge of the blade pressed into Dannyā€™s throat, Cujo jumped down and Danny raised his hands placatingly, keeping the leash out of reach of the would-be petnapper. ā€œIā€™m afraid I canā€™t do that, what kind of person would let someone take their dog?ā€ The kidā€™s face softened slightly at that, and Danny took the opportunity to swat the sword away, scoop up Cujo, and run. ā€œSTOP!ā€ Danny kept running. Faintly, he heard the click of a device, but no one pursued him. It was a good thing too. He lied about the punch card. ā€œHand over the dog.ā€ Gothamā€™s reputation for crime and many flavors of strange preceded it, but Danny did not anticipate being robbed at sword point for a dog. Granted, a green, glowing dog does attract some attention, but this was a city with rampaging clowns and toxic sludge. Cujo wriggled excitedly in his arms, tightening the leash wrapped around Dannyā€™s wrist. ā€œThis dog?ā€ Danny freed his other hand to point at Cujo emphatically, cartoonishly looking around the deserted alleyway as if the sword swinging child might have been mistaken. ā€œAre you sure? You can have my wallet, it has 15 cents and a Bat Burger punch card, only one more visit for a free side!ā€ ā€œDonā€™t be absurd.ā€ ā€œYeah, I heard you used to get a free combo. Punch cards arenā€™t what they used to be.ā€ The edge of the blade pressed into Dannyā€™s throat, Cujo jumped down and Danny raised his hands placatingly, keeping the leash out of reach of the would-be petnapper. ā€œIā€™m afraid I canā€™t do that, what kind of person would let someone take their dog?ā€ The kidā€™s face softened slightly at that, and Danny took the opportunity to swat the sword away, scoop up Cujo, and run. ā€œSTOP!ā€ Danny kept running. Faintly, he heard the click of a device, but no one pursued him. It was a good thing too. He lied about the punch card.
Cujo was Ace the Bathound. Need I say more???
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wellfine Ā· 1 year ago
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Short haired Robin, our beloved šŸ¦
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goddessofbees Ā· 2 months ago
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Hello I participated in the āœØJayTim Exchange 2024āœØ
@jaytimexchange
And I got @jaytim-addict as my giftee! I loved the prompts they gave! I hope i did some of them justice!
I tried going with a comic book style...
Prompt: "robin Jason finds pre-robin Tim stalking him and the bat"
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Prompt: "Jason is kidnapped and Tim comes to the rescue"
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