#triple drabble

[airas-story]

“Hey,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around Stephen’s waist. Around them the party was counting down the last minute of the year in raucous excitement. “Congrats on not dying this last year,” he said. “At least not permanently.”

Stephen laughed. “Most people don’t need congratulations on not dying,” he said.

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, you’re not most people. No, you’re special.” He paused. “Which is the nice way of saying you’ve got a problem.”

“Oh shut up,” Stephen said, shoving Tony gently. Tony moved with the push, unsurprised when Stephen immediately pulled him back.

“I never shut up,” Tony said. Thirty seconds left. “I have a goal for you.”

“Let me guess,” Stephen said dryly. “No dying.”

Tony laughed. “Apparently I’m getting predictable. No deaths. Absolutely none.”

Stephen’s lip twitched in a smile. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

Yeah. Tony’d believe that when he saw it. “Uh huh. We’ll see a year from now if you managed.”

“If you’re giving me a goal, then I have a goal for you,” Stephen said.

Ten seconds. “Go for it,” Tony said.

Stephen’s smile glinted impishly. “Your goal, should you choose to accept it...”

“Go on.”

“You need to… get a little stranger.”

Tony snorted. “Most people already think I’m strange enough,” he said. “Most people think I need to tone it down, actually.”

Stephen just smirked. “Not quite what I was thinking. I was thinking ‘Tony Strange’. It has a ring to it.”

The words took a second to really make sense. Tony gaped. Had Stephen just… Oh no he hadn’t.

“Five,” the crowd chanted. “Four.”

“You brat,” Tony hissed. How dare Stephen propose first!

“Three.”

Stephen laughed. “Well?”

“Two.”

Tony only had one possible answer. “I accept your goal.”

“One!” The crowd went wild.

Stephen kissed him.

Best New Year ever.

[infiniteeight8]

Yay! Prompts!

What about a pre-transition Stephen coming out to Tony?

🍿

I am doing a couple of things differently here than a lot of trans coming out stories do, because I wanted to do something a little different than the other ones I’ve read. One of those things is a deadname for Stephen that is not any variation on “Stephen”. 

I’ve also got Stephen thinking of himself as “Stephen” and he/him, because this is his POV and that’s how he thinks of himself. Tony addresses him otherwise at the start, this being a coming out story.

In my head they’re both adults here, because late transitions are a thing, but it’s not super obvious in the text.

-

Tony flops onto the couch next to Stephen and hands him a carton of Chinese food. “One beef and broccoli for the inestimable Shelly,” he says, and Stephen flinches. Tony looks sheepish. “Sorry, Doc, I know you hate it when people shorten your name.”

Stephen swallows a sigh. The nickname is not the problem. “Thank you,” he says anyway, taking the carton. 

“You know,” Tony says. “If you wanted me to call you something else, I would.” Stephen pauses in the act of spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork. When he looks back at Tony, the man is watching him steadily. “No matter what it was.”

Stephen’s heart starts pounding. He could say, Michelle is fine, and Tony would let it go. But… it seems like he has some idea of what’s going on with Stephen, and fuck, it would be nice to be able to talk about the terrifying pro/con list Stephen has been grappling with. On the other hand, if Tony’s not hinting at what it seems like he’s hinting at and it goes poorly… Stephen really doesn’t want to lose his best friend.

While Stephen debates, Tony has turned his attention to his own food, apparently taking his silence for an answer. There’s no sense of pressure or expectation or disappointment or anything else, and maybe that’s why Stephen blurts outs: “Stephen. I want you to call me Stephen. With a ph.”

Tony looks back at him and grins. “Not Steve?”

Stephen lifts his carton of steaming hot food, “I will throw this at you.”

Tony laughs. “Keep it! A growing boy needs the fuel.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but suddenly the whole world seems brighter. Stephen isn’t growing in the traditional sense, but Tony’s not wrong, either: there are a lot of changes coming.

[cephalog0d]

Bat Drabble - "Fireworks"

((Day 31 of @fluff-cember! The end! This is for everyone who has so kindly read and enjoyed and in any way interacted with my writing this year. I love and appreciate every single one! Wishing you all a season of peace and joy!

And especially for @dangerousdan-dan, as always, for being wonderful and supportive and enabling every Batkid idea I've ever had. <3))

“This isn’t actually a useful vantage point, you know,” Damian complained as they made their way to the very top of Wayne Tower. “It’s too high up to see anything helpful, and the drop is inconvenient.”

“Oh my god would you just trust me for like five minutes?” Steph groaned. “I promise it will be worth it.” She could hear Damian muttering under his breath but opted to ignore it.

The wind this high up was brutal. Her suit did a good job of protecting her, but she could definitely feel it in her face, and Damian, when she glanced over, was looking distinctly red-cheeked.

She found a little alcove on the correct side of the building, made sure she was blocking Damian from the wind as much as possible, and settled down to wait. According to her watch, her timing had been perfect.

“Okay, keep looking that way,” she instructed Damian.

“For what?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise. A good surprise,” she added hastily.

Luckily they didn’t have to wait long before there was a quiet shriek of sound, a pop, and a burst of bright blue and red light in the sky.

“Fireworks?” Damian asked with a frown, but more thoughtful than annoyed, Steph thought.

“Yes, fireworks. It’s New Year’s! Even Gotham celebrates New Year’s.”

“What is there to celebrate?” Damian asked sharply. Steph was pretty sure it was just him being difficult on principle, but she answered it seriously anyway.

“We’re still here,” she said. “As much as this stupid city might try otherwise, we made it one more year. That’s a win.” They watched in silence for a moment. “Plus, fireworks are awesome,” she added, nudging Damian lightly.

He didn’t agree out loud, but he didn’t argue either, so she took that as a victory.

((Crossposted to AO3

The world is stressful and scary, and while I can't say "everything will be okay", I can say that you are not alone, and you matter, and I hope that you are able to find joy and connection wherever you can. Take care of yourself and each other and Happy New Year. <3))

[seokmn]

OUR SHIRTS

pairing: bf!seungcheol x gn!reader

wc: 0.3k words

warnings: mention of reader’s small figure, suggestive comment abt taking a shirt off

seungcheol seemed to be searching for something in specific in his room, specially in his closet. confused by not finding it, he made his way to the kitchen, where you were peacefully making some tea. drying his damp hair with the side of the towel that was around his neck and looking around the house in attempt to find whatever he was trying to find.

“hey, honey. have you seen my-“ he stopped in his track when he landed his eyes on you turning around to look at him while he’s talking, he pointed at you and raised his eyebrow. “is this my shirt?”

you looked down at the shirt you were wearing before looking back at him with a smile on your face, “yeah, were you looking for it?” he simply nodded, his eyes fixed on your small figure with his large shirt on, complete hypnotized by your beauty. “i can take it off if you want to” you said with your hands already traveling to the hem of the shirt to take it off and give it to him.

he immediately shook his head, “no!” he cleared his throat, trying to get back to his senses, before letting out a chuckle and pulling you closer to him by your waist. “y’know, as much as the thought of you taking it off is very tempting, the sight of you wearing it is so…” he looked at you up and down with a slight smirk on his face. “breathtaking”

you chuckled and he hugged you, placing his head in the crook of your neck. he took a deep breath and let it out before mumbling against your skin, “i love when you wear my shirts”

“your shirts?” you pushed him back a little bit, just enough to get to meet his eyes, “babe, theyre not your shirts, theyre our shirts”

he scoffed and rested his head in you neck again, getting back to the original position and gently squeezing your sides. “i love when you wear our shirts”

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve's sprawled out on the couch with Eddie on top of him when the phone rings.

This is the first time they’ve had time for this in a week, so he’s not surprised when Eddie leans back to say, “Let it ring.”

He trails kisses down Steve's neck and Steve relaxes back into the couch—the loud sound of the phone ringing had made his muscles tense.

Eddie sucks a mark on his neck as he grinds their hips together, the sound of the phone becoming background noise again.

Steve shivers when Eddie runs his teeth over his pulse point.

The phone stops ringing and the answering machine starts going, playing the recorded, “You’ve reached the Harrington’s. Sorry we couldn't make it to the phone,” message out loud.

Eddie’s mouth catches Steve's in a bruising kiss right before the caller’s voice rings out shrill over the line.

“Steve, it’s happening. If you’re home, get to the hospital now,” Robin’s voice says and then the answering machine clicks off.

Fuck. They’ve been waiting for this phone call for over a week.

They immediately spring apart and Eddie hauls him up by the hand. He throws Steve his shirt and Steve pulls it over his head quickly.

“Fuck,” he says. “Robin’s going to make fun of me for the rest of our lives for missing the call that my nephew is being born.”

Eddie’s pulling his pants on with an amused expression. He laughs and says, “You think I’m gonna let you forget? You’ve been wound up about this for over a week now. Baby Buckley has incredible timing.”

Steve glares at him. “Yeah, yeah. The one time I try to let loose for ten minutes to be with my boyfriend is the time that Chrissy goes into labor.”

Incredible timing, indeed.

[firenati0n]

forget-me-nots, breeze, forehead kiss - a triple drabble for @hollivens 💐

It’s a cloudless day, sky an endless cerulean as Henry walks home from the shelter. He’s holding a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots, courtesy of a delivery from Alex. Every year on this date like clockwork, he receives flower arrangements at work—some from shelter staff, a particularly colorful one from Pez, but a striking blue one always from Alex.

His eyes sting as he rounds the corner to the brownstone. It’s been years, but he isn’t ever sure what the morning will bring on this day. Maybe it’s sinking into his bed, watching his father’s movies with memories flickering behind his eyelids, faded with time. Or, it’s a day of courage, spent in the shelter or in a park, David and quiet contemplation keeping him company. 

Today, in the gentle breeze, there’s a whispered affirmation—you can do this, I believe in you, I am always with you, I’m proud of how far you’ve come. 

He wipes at his eyes before rummaging for his keys, a futile exercise—the door suddenly swings open to a beaming Alex. 

“Just in time,” Alex says, before pulling Henry in by the sleeve of his coat. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Between the caress of his father outside and the comforting smell of Alex’s efforts inside, Henry knows—he will be okay. 

Alex carefully watches the flicker of emotions cross Henry’s face before pushing himself up on his toes to give Henry a forehead kiss, tender and sweet. He always knows, because he’s Alex, and his fidelity to Henry’s emotions knows no bounds. And isn’t that lovely? The knowledge that Henry is never alone, that no matter how the day goes, whether he’s cocooned in a blanket or braving through the workday, he always has this to come back to. A bouquet of flowers, a forehead kiss, and Alex’s cooking—home. 

[disasterbuck]

interlude

married buddie | 300 words

With a sigh and his eyes still closed, Buck stretched an arm out across the bed in search of Eddie. He found nothing but air and a pillow, so he cracked his eyes open to confirm that the other man wasn't there.

Sitting up, Buck looked over to see the bedroom door open. With a yawn, he got out of bed and wandered down the hallway in search of his husband.

Eddie was in the kitchen, leaning against a counter with his head bowed.

"Baby?" Buck whispered as he slipped up behind him, winding an arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"Hey," Eddie said, lifting his head slightly and putting a hand over Buck's arm. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"I'm not sure," Buck confessed with another yawn. "I just woke up and you were gone. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just can't sleep."

Buck turned his face into Eddie's neck and began pressing soft lazy kisses to his skin.

"This is not helping me sleep," Eddie said with a chuckle.

"Okay, and?" Buck asked, kissing his way up to Eddie's ear and tugging playfully on the lobe with his teeth. "Maybe I'm done with sleep for now."

"Is that so?" Eddie asked, the words coming out breathy.

"We can have a sleeping interlude," Buck whispered directly into his ear, then spun him around and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "How does that sound?"

"Honestly?" Eddie murmured, winding his arms around Buck's waist. "It sounds amazing."

Grinning, Buck nuzzled their noses together and then stepped back, his hand slipping down to find Eddie's so he could lead him back to their bedroom.

"Let's go have interlude sex," he said with a wink.

Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes, but went with him eagerly.

[polutrope]

The night his father rides out over Anfauglith, Fingon does not sleep. He stands upon the parapet of Barad Eithel’s highest watchtower. It is a clear night of icy starlight — but to the North all is dark. 

The Eagle appears suddenly, like a blue brushstroke against the blushing dawn. All through the slow sunrise Fingon’s heart hangs upon the brink of hope and despair. Could Manwë’s pity bless them twice? 

He teeters towards despair on the Eagle’s return journey, for it is somber and without urgency. Still, Fingon waits. He waits until the ends of his nails are scraped away from clinging to the stone walls.

The Eagle wheels down into the jagged bowl of the Echoriath. 

Fingon forestalls the onslaught of grief with denials, clinging, clinging. Say not that he is gone. Say not that the Noldor have lost their King. The Eagle rises again!

“Thorondor!” Fingon cries, knowing he can be no other.

Once the Lord of Eagles bore Fingon hither. Against reason Fingon hopes to see his father where once Thorondor accepted the burden of another Fingon loves.

But Thorondor’s back is bare. Fingon chokes, nearly collapses onto the stone — but his eyes catch on a flash of light beneath the Eagle’s great body. He hauls himself to standing. 

Thorondor lands upon the tower’s roof, huge and majestic. In his talons he holds Fingolfin’s sword. Ringil, glittering through ropes of thick black blood. 

The Eagle offers no words of explanation or consolation. He lets the sword fall gently at Fingon’s feet, and that is enough. Fingon knows: Fingolfin has fallen, but not in vain. 

Reverential, grieving, Fingon bends to pick it up. As he stands, his cheeks are streaked with the salt trails of his tears, blown back by the beat of the Eagle’s wings. 

[jedi-order-apologist]

There's no sun in the shadow of the wizard

Bail and Breha discuss their fears and their hopes under the new regime. Written for Fandom Empire Mahjong 2024 - Prompt: Lost/300 words and Star Wars 100 - Prompt: Child and Lyrical Titles Bingo - Prompt: Free Space ("Stargazer" - Rainbow)

Read on AO3

“I was worried,” Breha admitted, “I kept checking the names on the arrests, wondering when I’d see yours.”

“We were strategic about it, Mon and I,” Bail said. He reached out a single finger to brush Leia’s face, and she shuffled in her sleep in Breha’s arms. He’d already explained everything to his wife that he couldn’t over comms. “I’m sure Palpatine has his suspicions, but we weren’t the visible face of his opposition. He expects the arrests will serve their purpose to make everyone else fall in line.”

“Far too many will, I’m sure.”

Bail closed his eyes briefly. “We saw the signs. We made our preparations. And yet there’s still a part of me that can’t believe this is the situation we find ourselves in. The people offered up the Republic on a platter. And now, so many lives lost, and so many more I know we will lose. Dark days are ahead, Breha.”

She fixed him with an earnest look. “We will not let that stop us.”

“I had no doubt of that,” he said, a hint of a smile returning to his face as he met her gaze, before returning his attention to the child in her arms. “All is not lost. It never is, as long as we keep hope in our hearts. But there’s work to be done if we’re to keep the memory of the Republic alive, and disrupt the Imperial effort. I can only hope that there will be enough of us.”

“More will come,” Breha said, and leaned against Bail as he tenderly took Leia out of her arms, careful not to wake her. “We all have our part to play.”

“Empires fall in time. We may not live to see it, but let our efforts be enough that Leia will.”

[dallianceangel]

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 🛁🍻

Here’s a triple drabble for you all, I love me some soft Happy😍

🛁 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🛁

“Missed me, handsome?” you ask Happy, leaning against the doorframe, still in your nurse’s uniform.

“Always,” Happy whispers with a smile, the sight of you in your uniform immediately turning him on.

Closing the door behind you, Happy can barely keep his composure as he watches you slowly strip to your underwear, his eyes darting to the hickeys he left on your breasts a few days ago. Guiding you into the adjoining bathroom, your boyfriend greets you with a desperate kiss.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed you.”

You can’t help smiling. “I’ve missed you, so much.”

Rock music starts playing in the distance, a sure sign that another rowdy clubhouse party has just begun. Normally, you’d show your face before retreating to Happy’s dorm a few hours later, but tonight you’re both in no mood to party.

“Lavender or Jasmine?” Happy asks you, holding up two bottles of bubble bath liquid, hoping a bubble bath will help you recover from your difficult shift.

“Jasmine, please.”

While you step outside to grab a bottle of beer from the small fridge in the corner of his room, Happy works on drawing the most romantic bubble bath you have ever seen. Lighting some soy wax candles, dimming the lights, putting on some romantic music, making sure the water is the exact temperature that you like, he’s gone all out for you. “Come on in, darlin’!”

Removing your underwear and grabbing another beer from the fridge, you join your boyfriend in the bathtub, completely in awe of what he’s done for you. “This is perfect, baby, thank you.”

He reaches out to hold your hand. “Think they’ll miss us?”

“They are probably too drunk to notice we’re not there.”

Happy chuckles, clinking his beer bottle against yours, signalling the start of your romantic evening together.

[airas-story]

https://www.tumblr.com/airas-story/762418523005943808/soulmate-au-stephen-identifies-the-mark-just?source=share

Sequel to this one please

First part here!

Tony Stark.

Stephen hadn’t known his soulmate’s name when he’d ended up on Stephen’s table. As callous as it made him sound—as callous as the others called him—he tried to never know his patients’ names. 

He’d never lost a patient. But no one could maintain perfection forever, not even him. When it happened, Stephen hadn’t wanted a name to haunt him. 

Tony’s name, he knew, would haunt him far longer than any other, if he ended up losing him, whether he was the one with the knife in hand or not.

“Doctor Stephen Strange?” a woman asked. 

Stephen looked up, trying to keep his control. “Yes?”

The woman examined him, strawberry blonde hair up in a pony tail and dark circles under her eyes. “I’m Pepper Potts, Tony Stark’s PA,” she said. He’d seen her before he’d scrubbed in, demanding the best care with vicious adamancy. “They told us you’d been removed as the primary surgeon because…”

“I’m his soulmate,” Stephen whispered. He could barely think through the complications of who his soulmate was. Didn’t know what to think, when he knew his soulmate from tv segments and gossip, but didn’t know him for the person he really was.

He might never get that chance.

She tried for a smile. “He’s always wanted to meet you,” she whispered. Her gaze flickered to the door that led to the surgical ward.

“I’ve been waiting for this day as long as I can remember,” Stephen admitted quietly.

“Give it a few hours…”

Stephen’s smile was probably closer to a grimace. “Looking forward to it.”

Nic’s surgery stats ran through his mind. Nic wasn’t as good as Stephen. No one was as good as Stephen.

Please, he begged the universe, let him survive.

He’d never had much faith in the universe.

[infiniteeight8]

stephen's birthday triple drabble

I believe that today (November 18) is the generally agreed upon birthday for Stephen Strange, so here is a ficlet on the subject. 😀

-

Stephen had been debating this for almost three days, the entire time Tony had been away on business, but the moment he laid eyes on his partner the decision crystallized. The words tumbled out as soon as they were done kissing hello: “Do you have much on your schedule for Monday?”

Tony eyes lit up, but his answer was studiously casual. “Nope. Nothing on the calendar at all.”

Stephen leaned back from the embrace, arms still looped around Tony’s waist, and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Stephen smiled. Tony never had nothing planned; there were too many demands on his time. He must have arranged it that way, which meant he knew what Monday was. He must have been waiting to follow Stephen’s lead. Either that or he was planning an extravagant surprise. “How convenient,” Stephen said. “Monday is my birthday. I was hoping we could spend it together.”

“I’d love to,” Tony said. He hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if you celebrated.”

No extravagant surprise, then. Stephen was relieved. “It’s been years,” he admitted. “The idea of being celebrated for existing instead of for my achievements used to piss me off.” Tony’s grip on him tightened a little. Existing had started to seem like something worth a lot more recognition, lately. For both of them. Stephen leaned in and gave him a slow, reassuring kiss. He rested their foreheads together in the aftermath. “I want to spend a whole day just enjoying being with you.”

“Does that mean I’m your present?” Tony teased. 

“Depends. Do I get to unwrap you?”

“As many times as you want.”

Stephen smirked. “Do I get to choose the wrapping?”

Tony scoffed. “You don’t wrap your own gifts! But I guarantee you’ll like it.”

“I look forward to it,” Stephen said, pulling Tony in again.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Embarrassing Pictures

Ian was having one of his better days. He was coming off a depressive episode that left him fairly tired, so he was lounging on the couch while Mickey rummaged through the living room in search of something to do. 

“You’re making a mess,” Ian murmured. “Fiona’s not gonna be happy.” 

“She can deal with it. Not any different than when those other two are messing shit up.” 

“What are you looking for anyway?” Ian asked, his eyes still shut. 

Mickey just made a noise. He clearly didn’t know. 

Ian drew the blanket up closer, getting himself comfortable. That is, until he heard his boyfriend talking to himself. 

“Jesus. How many pictures are there of you Gallaghers?” 

Ian’s eyes shot open. He sat straight up. “Don’t open that,” he blurted out. 

“This?” Mickey raised a brow. 

“Yeah...It’s, uh, old and fragile.” 

“Doesn’t look fragile,” Mickey started to grin. “You got any embarrassing pictures of you in here?” 

Fuck yeah, he did. Too many. And Ian knew without a doubt he’d never live it down if Mickey saw them. 

“Mickey, put it away-” 

“Fuck that,” Mickey opened it right up, snorting. “Shit, Gallagher, and I thought the floppy hair was bad.” 

Ian’s cheeks went red. 

“Give that back!” 

Mickey jumped to his feet, dodging Ian’s attempt at grabbing it. “Holy shit,” he cackled when he flipped the page, “are you seriously sucking your thumb?” 

Fuck, Ian thought with a groan. 

Fiona had taken that picture years ago when he was no more than four or so. He’d been asleep, didn’t even know it was taken until he came across it years later. 

“Mickey,” he whined. “Give it back. Come on!” 

“Ain’t gonna happen, Firecrotch,” Mickey pocketed the picture, shooting him a smirk. “I’m keeping that one.” 

“What? No!” Ian made a beeline for him but his boyfriend was faster. He was on the other side of the couch in seconds. “Come on, Mick.” 

“Bet Mandy’d love to see this.” 

“No!” 

[digitalfantome]

Jealousy Tropes.

Carmen was annoyed.

The journalist kept asking Sydney stupid questions. Sure, the man wasn’t a Chef, but still—it was pretty basic stuff, things every human being should know. The worst part was, she was humoring him on purpose; she kept smiling sweetly at him, answering every single question thrown her way and there was no way she hadn’t noticed by now the way the man was staring at her.

A server passed by and he grabbed a champagne flute, making his way towards them. Placing a hand on her lower back, he offered her the drink, not even trying to hide his scowl. She accepted the flute, took a sip and turned back to the journalist. Every time they attended an event it was the same—there was always someone trying their luck. Not even the wedding band sitting on her ring finger seemed to stop them.

If you don’t want this to happen, all you gotta do is start making an effort to be nice to the journalists and food critics instead of relegating me to the task, was the retort he got the last time he tried to point out how she needed to stop being so nice to them.

They could go fuck for all he cared, fucking vultures.

“Excuse us,” he intertwined their fingers together and started dragging her away from him, not really waiting for a response, when he deemed enough was enough.

“Your jealousy used to be cute, but we’re literally married now, Carm,” she whispered, although still allowing him to drag her away from the crowd.

He pressed the elevator button, “Who said I’m jealous?”

“Your actions?”

“I’m not jealous, Syd.”

“Then why are you leading us back to our room?”

“Because I wanna spend the rest of my night alone with my wife.”

——— A collection of SydCarmy ficlets inspired by prompts of the #SydCarmyWeek2024.

← // →

[cephalog0d]

Batkid Drabbles - "Winter Flu"

((Day 2 for @fluff-cember! Some Reverse Robins AU for this one; Cass is 10 and Damian is 20. For @sepia-stained-sunset!))

Damian only realized the pile of blankets on the couch was a person when he went to tidy it up and it groaned. He carefully shuffled aside the layers of fabric until he found a pair of dark, slightly glazed eyes glaring up at him out of a distinctly flushed face.

Cass shoved at him and scrambled to pull the blankets back into place.

“Are you sick?” Damian asked as she bundled herself back up.

“No,” she said in a cracked, raspy voice.

Well that answered that.

Damian left her alone in her cocoon for a moment, but returned quickly and started the process of fully extracting her from it.

Cass, predictably, did not appreciate his efforts. Luckily for him the fever she definitely had balanced out her natural abilities enough that he managed not to get his nose, or anything else, broken in the process, and he eventually had one very angry, very ill child sprawled on the couch and glaring furiously up at him.

“You can have one blanket so you don’t overheat, and you’re going to take these, and drink all of this,” he said firmly, holding out some chewable pills and a bottle of neon sports drink.

Cass narrowed her eyes stubbornly and Damian heaved a mental sigh.

“You’ll feel better. I promise,” he tried in a gentler tone.

For a long, tense moment he thought he was going to have to either give up or actually fight her before Cass swiped the pills from his hand and chewed them aggressively, then slumped back into the couch and started wrapping her one blanket around her again.

“I want blue,” she demanded, lightly kicking away the yellow drink he had offered.

“Sure,” Damian agreed immediately, quietly hoping they had blue so he could just take the win.

((Crossposted to AO3))

[hayanwulf]

Maybe supreme family having a their first game night.

Stephen stared at the scene in front of him.

Tony and the kids were gathered on the table with Morgan in his lap. At the center of the table sat a Monopoly map. Some D&D dice were scattered on one side, alongwith a neatly placed stack of ...Uno cards?

All in all, it was a monstrosity.

Morgan rolled the dice for Tony, whose shoulders immediately slumped when he realized where he’d landed in the Monopoly map. Peter whooped, pumping his fist in the air. “Ha! Pay up.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Peter, then a smirk slowly grew in his lips as he produced the hidden stash of Uno cards he owned, and threw a card down at the table. It was a +2 card. “Double and give it to the next kid.”

The next kid in question was Harley. He didn’t even look up from where he was reading something on his phone, and threw down an Uno reverse card. Tony’s jaw slacked.

Stephen was pretty sure that wasn’t even how Uno worked.

“What on Vishanti’s name are you all playing?” He asked, drawing the room’s attention.

“We call it The Convergence of Games!” America answered. “It’s a mix of D&D, Uno, and Monopoly.”

Stephen stared at them like they had spontaneously turned into potted plants. “Why!?”

Tony snorted. “Cuz no one could agree on what to play.” He passed Monopoly cash towards Peter.

“So you just.. decided to mix them all?”

“Why not?” Peter shrugged, picking new cards from the stack of Uno on the table and holding it out towards Stephen’s direction. “Wanna join? It’s fun!”

“He won’t,” Tony said, his eyes trained on Stephen, challenge sparkling there. “He’s a wuss.”

Well then.

Stephen took the offered cards and sat down. “What are the rules?”