#Father’s Day fic

[idontknowreallywhy]

Father’s Day

A little something for today - I maintain the Tracys would follow the US/Europe date for it rather than AUS/NZ. That’s my excuse anyway…

💛💙❤️

It had gone well. The atmosphere had been joyful. Hugs had been plentiful and the little tears of happiness badly concealed. Every scrap of the mighty takeout feast Scott had fetched from their favourite Auckland steak house had been demolished. Balloons littered the villa. MAX, in collaboration with EOS, had created a playlist that reflected every family member’s favourites spanning a good seven decades.

There had been singing, both tuneful and otherwise.

Six cards graced the mantelpiece, each varied in decoration as befitted the personality of the giver, but all containing a version of the same message - we are so glad you are home. We missed you. We love you. All but one had some reference to pink flamingos. The sixth had a remarkably detailed diagram of Thunderbird Three’s circuit of the sun.

The Man of the Moment had finally been chivvied off to bed by his mother when his head started nodding where he sat on the couch amongst his family. In her words, nobody needed to hear his boar-like snorting, but the flicker of concern in her eyes betrayed the real need to ensure he didn’t overdo it.

The eldest son of the Man of the Moment leant on the balustrade, watching the stars come out and absently swirling the whisky in his glass. The air was still warm and he had to slowly adjust the movement of his wrist to maintain the rhythm of the rapidly shrinking ‘rocks’. He’d come to prefer it un-iced anyway, but when your long-lost father offers you a sample of his secret, secret stash… well. Scott would have taken it with gravel and he would have enjoyed it.

It was good, if a little chilly. And the day had been wonderful, if a little strange. Like stretching a muscle that had gone untested for eight years. Maybe longer.

They’d never really made a big deal of the day before that in any case - even when he was alive their father had often been absent.

But there were always cards (some somewhat delayed in receipt). And he hadn’t realised until today, until he helped Dad drag a large flat box out from underneath his bed, that every card had been kept - from the first one picked out by Mom and signed on behalf of a 2-month old Scott - right up to the year Jeff disappeared. There wasn’t even a gap whilst Scott himself had been missing, thanks to the ingrained military practice of buying and writing cards in advance of deployments. Toddler scribbles, homemade masterpieces, that 4ft monstrosity Gordon had dragged home aged 10… even the obviously-last-minute convenience store purchases hurriedly signed 3 minutes before the still-damp envelope seal was broken. All were bundled together by year, little elastic bands and post-it notes delineating the passage of time.

There had been a lot of laughter, a fair amount of cringing and a few sniffles as those were explored. Happy times.

What Scott didn’t mention, what he’d never mention, was that when Jeff went missing, the cards didn’t stop. Not completely.

Every year except the first, where everything was still so raw and chaotic the day passed with nobody even knowing what date it was, there had been three Fathers’ Day cards written by the Tracy family.

Two were quietly slipped together under Scott’s door - a rare moment of collaboration between the Tinies. They were never the traditional kind, didn’t ACTUALLY mention Fathers Day on the front, but a would be a ‘blank for your own message’ card with a funny or interesting picture. Often an aircraft or some kind of bird. The contents would often be daft nonsense - silly puns, banter about the grey hairs and denial of liability for them, once a comedy poem about an albatross and the Kraken which had kept him smiling for days. But next to the signature, there’d be a little “you’re not so bad after all” or “thanks for everything, big bro” or even once a “Just wanted you to know it doesn’t go unnoticed xxx”

Nothing was ever said, but he’d find them later in the day and squeeze their shoulders or drop a kiss on the top of each head. Maybe there would be less squabbling and teenage stroppiness that day… often there wouldn’t. But things would feel lighter between the three of them for a while.

The third card was more of a letter, more of an incoherent flood of news, worries… regrets… requests for forgiveness. But it was always folded like a card for… reasons. And then folded again. And again until it was halved 7 times and couldn’t physically be squished up any smaller. Then, late at night when everyone else was asleep it would be set aflame right here on the balcony. Scott would watch the sparks fly into the sky and nurture a moment’s foolish hope that the message would be received.

No need for that this year. Dad was right here. Scott could tell him anything he wished at any moment, seek his advice, share his concerns, ask for… approval? All of that. He was right here.

And yet…

He shook himself. And downed the remainder of the whisky, flinching a little at the cold on his teeth and eyed the glass, wondering whether he could risk another one… a less rocky one. There was time for all the talking later. When he was well. When it was safe to burden him with such things. Not yet.

His pondering was interrupted by scuffling and heated whispering from just inside the balcony door behind him. He braced himself to mediate the latest nonsense from the Tinies but all went quiet and there was just a quite clack-swish of something falling through the doorway and sliding a little across the ground. Then running feet as they departed.

He looked down to see a single blue envelope at his feet. Unaddressed but for a tiny cartoon of a child’s scooter…

He rolled his eyes. Suspecting a prank was pending but, too tired to resist the inevitable, he crouched to retrieve it and slid his finger under the flap of the envelope to peer inside. Then closed it again, hurriedly. A chunky font screamed “BESTEST DAD EVER!” from the midst of a multicoloured explosion. They’d got the envelopes mixed up, clearly. He went to call after the two idiots but they were long gone.

With a sigh, he stood back up and decided he’d better chase them down but was arrested by curiosity. Both had given Dad cards earlier… what was this for? He hoped it wasn’t a prank… he didn’t think Dad was ready for that yet… they were trying to keep surprises to a minimum until his heart started behaving more reliably.

They wouldn’t, would they?

Hmm.

He’d better check.

Leaning back on to the railings with a good portion of free space in front to fling anything unpleasant into… he pulled the card from the envelope and opened it… very carefully.

Nothing exploded. Or popped out at him. There was no glitter in his eyeballs nor squeaky earworm tunes blasted from tinny micro speakers.

And yet he gasped harshly as his heart raced and his eyes blurred with sudden tears.

The card was empty but for his name at the top, Alan and Gordon’s at the bottom and two words in the middle, underlined and emphasised with a heavy full stop:

Still True.

[koalasmashedoneucalyptus]

This has been sitting in my drafts

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Father's Day

Was going to post this for the steddie microfic June prompt, but decided it's probably not Steddie-centric. Still sticking to the reqs though, just for fun!

prompt: "stuff" || wc: 483 || rated: G || cw: none

~~~

Everyone knows Steve’s house is free reign for hangouts, yet the Party’s collectively designated Sundays as alone time for the new couple. So it’s a bit of a surprise that someone’s knocking. 

The fact someone’s knocking at all is weird.

“Hey sweetheart,” Eddie shouts from the living room, “can you grab that? I think someone’s here.”

Steve opens the door to find Dustin and Max looking slightly shy, if he had to put his finger on it. Odd, especially for them. They’re holding gift bags filled with colorful tissue paper, Max’s blue and Dustin’s red.

Before Steve can invite them in, they surge past him towards the living room. So not too far off from normal, he thinks.

He trails after them and finds Eddie right where he left him– sitting on the floor, surrounded by DnD books and a notebook perched in his lap.

“Babe, what are the sheepies doing here? It’s Sunday,” Eddie asks. He’s smiling up at them, despite the interruption.

Of course they’re happy to see the kids– always are, always will be– but only these two could get away with showing up on Eddie and Steve day.

“We brought you something,” Max says, thrusting the gift into Steve’s arms. Dustin drops his onto Eddie’s lap, scattering his loose notes.

Curious, Steve looks to catch Eddie’s expression to find him already tearing into the gift. Steve sets his on the coffee table and digs out the colorful paper.

Inside he finds a plain, white coffee mug, except it’s been hand-painted with colorful paint pens. On it he finds a basketball, baseball, and a crudely drawn version of his beloved beemer. But on the front, the word “Dingus” is written in Max’s bubble font underneath a bloody version of his nail bat. 

His eyes sting with warmth, and he looks up at Max, whose cheeks are flushed red. Steve finds Eddie holding a similar mug covered in what he assumes are DnD monsters, along with some dice, and his precious Warlock on the front with “Metalhead” underneath.

“What is this,” Steve asks, choking on the lump lodged in his throat.

“It’s all stuff you like,” Max replies, pointing at the mug, choosing the easy answer instead of the real one.

”No– why?” Steve feels like he can’t breathe, his eyes almost full, and his heart racing.

“It’s Father’s Day,” Dustin says, sniffling and wringing his hat in his hands “and me and Max, you know, we don’t–”

“You guys taught us how to play basketball, so we could practice with Lucas,” Max interrupts. “And how to play guitar. And all of the Upside-Down stuff. You’re always here.”

Steve wraps Max up in his arms, dragging her to the ground next to Dustin similarly draped over Eddie. It’s not the six little nuggets Steve asked for.

But these kids– their kids– are so much more than he ever could’ve hoped for.

~~~

To everyone out there who doesn't have a father, your father is absolute shit, or you mom was both parents -- I hope you have as good a Sunday as possible.

[temeyes]

happy father's day to him!

[ghostbsuter]

The notification came not even a second ago, and it had him fly across the city just as fast.

Nightwing barely acknowledged the thrum of the Batmobil following closely behind, already on his way to west end of Gotham City.

"5 Assasins in view, more possibly hidden away. A child, around 11, leading them." Oracle's voice was clipped in the way Dick knew she didn't like this.

This screamed like a trap, why else would the League of Assassins be in Gotham of all places?

He lands on the roof, tense and gripping his escrima sticks tightly.

Batman is on his tail, taking over lead, and they are near the group of unwanted guests.

He sees Red Robin on the other roof, backup if needed.

The child clicks his tongue at the sight of them, shaking head with a grumble. "Danyal, Father has found us, we should get this over quickly."

The amount of shock and confusion he feels makes him wonder if it were a dream.

Another click of tongue but not from the child in front of them, no. It was another child re-appearing from the invisible spectrum.

His hand around the throat of a limp talon.

"I didn't think he would be so fast." The other child comments.

"As expected of father." The first child, green eyed and serious nods. Towards batman.

"Now, for the reason we are here."

He steps to the edge of the building, and Nightwing desperately wants to get him from it, clearing his throat.

"I, Damian al Ghul, heir to the demon's head, formally declare war on the Court of Owls." Damian's voice is loud, unforgiving and unrelenting. Eyes burning.

It almost made him miss the words he spoke.

"The League of Assassins has a claim to Gotham," the boy spits. "And i won't let some society take it from us."

The unnamed twin throws the limp talon from the edge with a grunt. "Take that as a warning!" He halfheartedly shouts after.

And so it began.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Marvel

how to return home by JBS_Forever

Flash Thompson is a good person, but not a great one, so when Peter Parker accidentally gets drunk at his house party, all he can do is say, “Shit.”

Or: the one where Flash is just trying to be a decent person and get a drunk Peter home. Peter, on the other hand, has different plans.

scandal of the century by joshriku

The headline reads:

STEAMY SEX TAPE BETWEEN MAGNETO AND PROFESSOR X LEAKED!

“All right,” Charles says. “I wouldn’t call it steamy, you know, that’s an exaggeration.”

“That is seriously not the point, Professor,” Jean answers.

(A sex tape is leaked. PR crisis ensues).

DC

two vigilantes carry a cake across gotham by JBS_Forever

Jason's had a nagging suspicion that Bruce keeps stalker-esque levels of tabs on all the places he’s lived, so when Tim Drake shows up at his apartment door, it takes only a half second for Jason to level his gun directly at Tim's stupid face and to say, bored, “Give me one reason not to shoot you.”

Honestly, he knew Bruce had a problem, but sending a bat to his doorstep? This is just ridiculous.

Or: in a scheming attempt to make them bond, Bruce forces Jason and Tim on what should be a simple quest: retrieve Alfred’s birthday cake from across town and make it back before the party.

But this is Gotham. And nothing is ever simple in Gotham.

racing on the thunder by merils

Fortunately or unfortunately, Clark Kent is kind of used to getting phone calls about his too-curious-for-her-own-good wife being held hostage somewhere. Superman usually handles it.

Conner Kent gets a phone call meant for Clark Kent, who is Superman, who is currently in space. Uh.... Have no fear, Superboy is here!

What could possibly go wrong?

Original Works

Halfway Home for Wayward Mages by hoebiwan

Part 24 of mage in a wolf pack (This whole series kills me)

He wouldn’t mind it if Lada collared him, if Khalida or Dimitri collared him, because none of them have forced him to hurt anyone, whether human or wolf. They mostly just want him to—

Live, Jaime. Live.

In which the wolves rescue Jaime, but he doesn't realize he's free.

the sin eater by whitegeraniums (puertoricansuperman)

Part 25 of mage in a wolf pack

Lada, alpha of the Hearthstone wolf pack, finds herself in possession of a captured, broken werewolf hunter.

ATLA

Keeping Ones Head Down by ApoplecticAtPeace

Part 3 of May You be Noticed by The Fire Lord

Bao lost his ability to walk when he was 19. Despite the prejudice of many Fire Nation citizens, he got a job as an accountant in the Royal palace, in the Department of Education. After 11 years of working quietly, keeping his head down and allowing his work to be claimed by others, he expected nothing to change when Fire Lord Zuko took the throne. He didn't expect the entire department to be reformed under the new Minister Shu-Lin, and Bao's overlooked position with it.

Clone Wars

Something in the heart beat like a drum by CombatBootsandDreams

Most Jedi only have to take three formal sexual education classes. Obi-Wan, in all their blessed biology has to take five.

Or: Obi-Wan growing up in a galaxy where Stewjoni are Succubi. This changes very little--but it does make certain things a hell of lot more interesting.

A Stewjoni are succubus au that has way less to do with sex, & is more about logistics, medical problems, and cuddling. Featuring Qui-Gon being an excellent master, codywan, aromantic Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan using he/they/she pronouns, and plenty of costume changes.

[imfinereallyy]

Steve Harrington hadn’t talked to his dad in a year.

The last thing the two of them had talked had been after the earthquakes, across the room in the den; his dad barely stepped through the front entryway, and Steve’s back pressed against the back door. The house was messy but still standing, unlike Steve, who was broken and barely keeping himself upright. The only thing Richard Harrington had said to Steve was,

“I think it’s time to move on.” Which was his way of telling Steve they were selling the house and he should figure out his own arrangements. Steve hadn’t cared, though. Didn’t even look at him as he spoke. Instead, he stared at the cracks in the ceiling and wondered if it was some kind of metaphor.

He tried not to think too deeply about it.

It had been a year since then. There had been time to move on, as his dad said. There was no more Upside Down. There was no more worrying about the next move. Max and Eddie were healed. Everyone was back in Hawkins. Robin and Steve lived in a little house on Fifth while Robin took community courses. Eddie practically lived there, too, with the strange friendship bond that had grown between the three of them.

Eddie had argued once it was because their couch was comfier than his bed, but Steve liked to think it was because Eddie wanted to be close to them. To be close to him. Sometimes Steve thought about letting him stay in his bed together.

Time had not moved to that yet.

Everything seemed good. Despite Steve’s resentment towards Richard, and his reluctance to admit the man was right, sometimes it was good to let things go, break apart and move on. Though Steve was sure, this wasn’t exactly what Harrington Sr. meant.

Steve hadn’t talked to his father in over a year. And he didn’t really miss him. Sure, there were moments that passed when Steve would yearn for the small happy moments between them. Secret smiles at baseball games, lunch at his office, and him cheering Steve on at the one swim championship he managed to show up to.

But it always got mixed in with bigger, badder moments. Being left alone for months on end. The belittling. The missed graduation. The yelling. The slurs when he grew his hair out too long. The cold way he said to Steve,

“I think it’s time to move on.”

Like he had been breaking up with a high school sweetheart before leaving for college.

So Steve didn’t miss the man, not really. But in moments like these, in the back of the Byers-Hopper’s backyard at the Father’s Day BBQ, where all party members and parents alike gathered, Steve couldn’t help but ache.

Steve ached for something better than Richard Harrington.

It wasn’t because of parents who stuck around that made Steve’s stomach churn in jealousy, but the ones who decided to show up. It was the way Wayne threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and the cheers their beers to something probably ridiculous. The way Steve knew that man would crawl to the ends of the earth for someone who wasn’t technically his, but was nothing short of a son.

It was the way El and Hop manned the grill together. Him laughing at something El said, probably something ridiculous, and her smile back that could light up the sun. The way Steve knew that El wasn’t a replacement for the things Hop had lost, but instead an addition to his life he would choose over and over again.

Steve ached to be loved and care for because someone wanted to. Not because of obligation or by accident. Steve wanted to loved deliberately.

Steve sipped his beer instead of bringing down the celebration with his thoughts. Eddie caught Steve’s eye across the yard and gave him a megawatt smile. Steve couldn’t help but smile shyly back.

“Hey, Steve.” A shy voice said beside him, startling him out of his thoughts. Steve turned to find Dustin standing beside him, nearly up to his nose now with his recent growth spurt. Steve couldn’t help but miss when he was small and could throw him over his shoulder.

Steve was a little surprised to find him there. Dustin wasn’t one to speak small or shy. He liked to make his presence known (much like the lovable metal head he was staring down earlier).

“Hey bud, what’s up?”

Dustin looked around the two of them before answering. Everyone else was with their dads, or talking to one of the party members. Even Robin managed to wrangle her dad and Mr. Sinclair into a conversation about WWII. Dustin looked a little relieved everyone was doing their own thing.

“Okay so you know how like, everyone is celebrating their dad today? And mine isn’t here?”

Steve felt his stomach drop. Somehow in the midst of his self-pitying, he had forgotten that Dustin’s dad wasn’t around either. Didn’t even stick around long enough for his first words. “Yea, dude, I’m sorry this must suck for you.”

Dustin looked nervous. He shifted on his feet back and forth, as if he was trying to find a rhythm to calm himself down. “Yea, so that’s what I actually came over to talk to you about.”

“Yea, Dustin. Im here if you need to talk.”

Dustin seemed to finally be at ease and rolled his eyes at Steve. “No, asshole, I don’t need to talk. I haven’t thought about the dick in years, if I’m honest. I just, it’s something else. And you don’t get to be weird about it.”

“I’m confused.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Hey!” Steve laughed despite his protest. A year ago, stuff like that hurt Steve’s feelings. But now Steve knew it was all in good fun, that Dustin was kind of dick to everyone. And he knew that the joke wasn’t about his intelligence. It hadn’t been a long time, since Steve threatened to push him out of a moving vehicle last time. Steve was pretty sure it had to do with a particular conversation involving his feelings for more than women.

Only Dustin and Robin knew. She was overly supportive, and Dustin instantly made a joke. Both made Steve supported and safe.

The dumbasses.

“Not my fault this happens to you often.”

“Is there a point being made or are you here to just be a dick?” Steve questioned, laughing behind the lip of his beer.

Dustin fidgeted again before pulling something out his back pocket. “Just—promise not to laugh.”

Steve crossed his heart with a giggle before he took a folded white piece of paper out of Dustin’s hands.

Suddenly, Steve’s face got serious as he saw what was on the front.

A poorly drawn Steve with a nail baseball bat, with the title “Happy Father’s Day”.

Steve swallowed thickly before placing his beer on the ground and opening the card. There in Dustin’s chicken scratch, was a message.

Dear Steve,

Don’t be weird about this. Okay here it goes.

My dad wasn’t around a lot, big whoop. Big surprise. I honestly don’t care anymore. Don’t give me a look.

I honestly didn’t think I would really care about any of the dad stuff, didn’t feel like I was really missing out. My mom and her annoying love for cats has always been more than enough. But as time went by sometimes I thought maybe I would be better, I would be different if I had a dad. I see it with the rest of the party, how willingly or unwillingly they all reflect their dads. And how I don’t.

Sometimes I don’t feel like my whole self because if it. Thought maybe I would never really be a whole me because of it. That maybe the world was better off anyway because I know I am a lot.

But then I met you asshole.

I didn’t think I would like you, and more importantly I didn’t think you would like me. But suddenly we are battling worlds together, and you’re hanging out with me even outside the end of days, and I have a new best friend.

If I’m being honest I do see you more as a brother. Someone I look up to. But the more I think about it (again don’t be weird), I do see you as a dad some days. Although the hands on hips do scream mother hen, you’ve been a dad to me in the ways the asswipe who made someone as amazing as me hasn’t been.

You are brave, and funny and despite popular belief you are kind. One of the kindest people I know. You make me feel safe and loved, and give me rides despite me never giving you gas money. Some days I look in the mirror and see parts of you in me, and I feel proud.

Some days I look at you and hope that I can see the braveness and kindness in myself too. I don’t yet, but you make it feel possible.

I don’t need a sperm donor (thank you Robin for that one), I have the world’s okayest dad right here.

Love you brother, friend, dad.

Happy Father’s Day, from your fellow nerd,

Dustin <3

Steve was crying. He knew that. He knew he promised not to make it weird, but Steve couldn’t help it. The little shit got him right in the heart.

He couldn’t be blamed for scooping up Dustin in a hug. “I love you too, Dusty Buns.”

Dustin squeezed Steve tight, “You don’t get to call me that.” He grumbled, but Steve could feel his tshirt getting wet.

“As your father it is my right to get to call you embarrassing nick names.” Steve squeezed Dustin even tighter.

Dustin just laughed and pushed him away jokingly. They both wiped their eyes, but the smiles on their faces remained.

Steve thought about Richard at that moment again, about how he ached for someone to care. And maybe Steve would never get it, but he could be that someone for someone else. He could give that care, Dustin.

The little shit.

“Thank you Dustin.”

Dustin shook his head, his crooked smile remained. “Nah man, thank you.”

They both just stared at each other in comfortable silence before they were interrupted by a barking force.

“What are you two saps talking about?” Eddie slung his arms around the both of them, mouth spread wide in a grin. But then he noticed the tear tracks, and suddenly his face dropped.

Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Steve shook his head fondly, “Nothing—“ He started, preparing to wave it off. But then Steve realized he couldn’t lie to Eddie. “—nothing bad. Happy tears. I promise.”

Eddie looked at Steve for a moment before nodding, giving his face a tight squeeze, and then dropping his hands. “Okay, Stevie, as long as their happy tears.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Dusting grumbled.

“Aweee Dusty, I could never forget you!!” Eddie threw himself at Dustin in a horrible attempt at a hug.

Dustin just pushed him off before rolling his eyes. Steve swore they were gonna get stuck one day.

“Whatever, man. Just make sure that you treat my dad right, or I’m going to have to make some tough calls.” Dustin stared down Eddie seriously before laughing evilly and walking away.

Steve wanted to freeze at Dustin’s implication, but Eddie looked adorably confused, so Steve didn’t feel too bad.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is this new? Him just getting protective about this without explaining?” Eddie asked Steve.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve looked down at the card again wistfully, before glancing back up at Eddie. Steve took one of Eddie’s hands and started to play with his rings. A blush bloomed across Eddie’s cheeks; Steve wanted to kiss him. Instead, he just said,

“Just think he’s trying to be a little like his dad.”

***

Dad’s are complicated, and family isn’t always blood. I hope you enjoyed my little Father’s Day contribution. I do headcannon Hopper as Steve’s father figure/replacement, and usually write it that way but this seemed like a fun opportunity to show how Steve is his own father figure for others.

He is a good egg.

Now with Father’s Day over, my birthday is in two weeks which is making me feel all sorts of things. So I’m distracting myself with steddie. Either way expect a lot of writing and updates soon.

[eywaseclipse]

Because fatherhood looks good on you Jake💙🥹

[madocactus]

It's 2003, and Allan Bravecog has a brilliant idea. He just needs to make it real.

It's Family Business!

A story about the Senior VP and his journey to fatherhood.

10k+ words from @madocactus

Illustrations by @cluniies

Custom HTML + CSS formatting

Sellbot HQ shenanigans

Read now on AO3

[elvensorceress]

fic: Father's Day

buck/eddie | 11K | rated: G | AO3

The breakfast tray has buttered waffles and syrup, scrambled eggs mixed with ham, onions, cheese, and peppers, a stack of bacon, a bowl of sliced strawberries tossed with blueberries and blackberries and peaches, a steamy cup of coffee that looks like it has cream and spices stirred into it. And a heart made of two chives curled around each other and resting on top of Eddie’s favorite way of eating eggs. 

He pushes himself up and leans against the headboard, and Chris isn’t here. But Buck is here. Even if Buck doesn’t belong to them. He’s still here. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says even if it’s still hoarse and doesn’t come out right. He means it. He’s just broken. And it’s harder to pretend that he isn’t broken. 

Has he ever been happy? Was it only ever pretending? Why does everything feel like faking, play acting, words that seem like they should be said, things that should be true, but nothing ever being true? Why is everything smoke and mirrors and losses and performing? 

Is anything about Eddie real?

Buck rests a hand on Eddie’s forearm. “Hey. I— I know— I know it’s not. I know. But. I’m here? I’m here and we’re going to have a fun day. Okay? You and me. We’re going to have fun.”

Eddie bites his lip and shoves it to the side of his face. “We are?”

Buck nods and smiles sweetly, beautifully even though it echoes the sorrow embedded in Eddie’s whole being. It’s in Buck, too. “Yeah. We are. I have a whole plan. You’ll see. But you’re going to need fuel. So, eat up.” 

Eddie breathes deeply, and he trusts Buck. With his life, his heart and soul, his everything. He picks up a fork and digs into their breakfast and they share everything down to the very last bite. 

~

Eddie faces a sad Father's Day all alone, but Buck has A Plan and will not be deterred. Because Eddie deserves love, family, and celebrations.

(read on AO3)

[idontknowreallywhy]

Father’s Day… The Aftermath?

This little Father’s Day snippet was satisfyingly complete as it was and was never meant to have a tbc, but if anyone is interested in a ‘how Scott reacted’ introspective then err, read on? Oh yeah and there is some EOS and The Tinies too :)

💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️

“Gordon Tracy and Alan Tracy.”

The brothers skidded to a halt as the disembodied voice floated out of nowhere… well, probably the stairwell speaker but, in eeriness terms, as good as nowhere.

Gordon decided to go for charm

“Hey EOS, my favourite niece!”

“I am your only niece, Gordon Tracy.”

“Heh, that makes you his least favourite too doesn’t it?”

“Shut up Alan, I’m bonding here.”

“I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘Good luck with that.’”

Hearing John’s deadpan style in that childish voice was never not going to be creepy. Also the knowledge she could open Four’s airlock while he was 3 kilometres under… brrrrr.

“Can we help you, EOS?”

“What did you do to Scott?”

They exchanged a glance. She sounded… annoyed? Worried? The AI didn’t always select the right tone for the emotion she had decided to project and thus it wasn’t always safe to rely on it, but EOS had a definite thing about their eldest brother’s welfare. Recently, non-family members who upset him tended to have a subsequent run of poor social and financial luck… she admitted nothing and John couldn’t prove it but Gordon had heard Virgil and John fretting about it.

“Nothing… bad?” Alan ventured.

“Why?” Gordon took the direct approach.

“He hasn’t moved in seven point eight two minutes. Scott always moves. Was your missive an especially lengthy one?”

Alan’s fingers dug painfully into Gordon’s arm and he yelped and shoved him into the wall.

“Eight minutes”

“Gords, did we screw up?”

“No! It was a nice thing! We said a nice thing!”

“Yeah but… maybe we should have hung around…”

“This is how it goes! We write the mushy thing in the card, nobody says anything out loud that he can argue with and he is happy. Why mess with a system that works?” Gordon could hear an old teenage defensiveness creeping into his own voice and his throat suddenly felt dry as memories of certain times he had not been… pleasant… to his eldest brother floated to the surface.

“Eight point five minutes. Perhaps I should contact John.”

“No! Don’t… John can’t know… we’ll go. We’ll fix it.” Gordon croaked. “C’mon Al.”

💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️

Still true.

Scott Tracy was pretty good with words.

He could instinctively summon up the ones that would land perfectly on the right side of the line between trite, unbelievable nonsense and courage-inspiring reassurance. He could charm the press, silence the Board, encourage a nervous member of staff. Given time, he could write a pretty cracking keynote address. If he wasn’t given time, he could give a decent (if slightly less structured) speech on a variety of topics.

Yes, Scott Tracy could make words work for him. With strangers, anyway.

With family it was different.

Especially Gordon and Alan. Ever since he had to be better than just a brother there was always too much blocking his ability to be coherent. Too much exasperation to persuade or correct. Too much worry to convincingly advise. Too much overwhelming need to wrap them up in his arms and never let anything near… to let them stretch their wings without a fight.

About a year in, when it became clear this was it - that he was all they had and it was down to him to make sure that being orphans didn’t leave them too messed up - he’d started binging books on successfully raising teenagers. It didn’t help that most recommended completely different approaches and that Gordon had seen his attempts at ‘calm parenting’ coming a mile off and laughed in his face.

He’d messed up and lost his cool almost every day. The three of them had had more blazing rows than he could bear to remember. YOU’RE NOT MY DAD!!! And they were right. And there were plenty of occasions where the moral high ground had not been his, where he felt like he was the younger brother, not even sure if he was right but begging to be heard. Outnumbered and desperate for one of them to be on his side for once. Begging for someone to understand why this was so damn hard. Virgil and John had helped, of course they had. But they were still big brothers, mediating between the grieving teenagers and The Legal Guardian.

Scott had spent too many hours slumped in the corridor outside one of their rooms, waiting for them to be ready to come out and receive his apology, to ever believe he could merit a “bestest dad”.

A little voice whispered that his dad had yelled a lot too. But Scott had been hard work, he knew that. And even if Jeff Tracy would have yelled at Gordon and Alan for the same things he was at least their Father. It would have been different.

He’d been a stand-in, a substitute.

Better than nothing, sure! And they’d turned out ok - in what must have been a mixture of luck and their good genes, he’d managed not to ruin them completely.

He realised he hadn’t been blinking enough and the two words were burning into his retinas as his eyeballs watered.

How could… how could they say this?

Surely now he was back, now they had a real father again, this was the time they’d realise how much better it could have been if he’d been here instead? Scott had expected that kind of fall out - the regrets, the if-onlys. This… didn’t make sense.

Maybe it was the shock of having the man but not quite the Dad back yet. Maybe after all that build up the fact they hadn’t rescued the exact same person they remembered was disappointing. Maybe Scott should have been better at managing their expectations… or at managing his own.

Maybe when he was well. Which he would be. It was just a matter of time then everything would become as it was supposed to be.

And he’d better get rid of this, because if Dad saw it, it would break his heart. Because if today had taught Scott anything it was that being a father had meant a lot more to Jeff Tracy than his eldest son had ever realised.

In a minute he’d burn it.

In a minute.

He would just look at it for one more minute.

💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️

[seiwas]

cw: happy tears and tickle fights, birthday celebrations and other things. unedited sawry. ‼️ FIC SPOILERS PAST THIS PORTION OF THE CONTENT WARNING ‼️ pregnancy.

.

hajime’s birthday this year is different.

you don’t celebrate on the day of, contrary to your tradition of keeping it free no matter what. instead, you decide on the weekend, taking time to prepare his gift while he’s out of town.

the sunday morning starts out slow, a late wake to his usual 5:00 a.m. runs. you shift beside him, turning to snuggle deeper into his hold.

you weren’t able to wait for him last night, any hour past midnight simply impossible for you to keep up with these days.

your breath puffs out in a long exhale, tickling his collarbone.

he pulls you closer when you move, tucking his nose into the crown of your head. it’s something you both do, you’ve noticed—breathing each other in the moment you return to one another.

the celebration today is not lost on you, but you take in these few silent moments with him for just a bit longer.

when he stirs, squeezing you tighter as he mumbles a low ‘morning’, you peer up to kiss his chin. he’s ticklish there, you know, especially when your lips catch on the bits of stubble grown a few days after he shaves.

it takes longer for you both to get out of bed because of that, a tickle fight ensuing as hajime sneakily crawls his fingers up your armpits, blowing raspberries at the spot right below your ears.

you slip into the bathroom that way—a little clumsy and a lot giggly. then you crouch low, opening the cabinet under the sink; hidden in it is your gift for him, a flat rectangle wrapped in kraft paper and a green bow.

it’s the first thing in your agenda today, you’ve decided, unable to wait until he receives it at the end of the day, like you’d originally planned.

hajime’s propped up against the headboard when you step back into your bedroom, blanket scrunched at his hip. you’re no fan of the season’s heat, but you thank god it’s summer, because at least, you’re met with the view of his exposed chest every morning.

he holds an arm out to welcome you back in, letting you rest your legs across his lap as he cradles your back.

“your gift,” you whisper, holding out the wrapped rectangle, “open it first. that’s the first thing on our agenda today.”

he chuckles, taking the soft rectangle from your hands while kissing your temple, “thanks, babe. you didn’t have to.”

you watch eagerly, tucking yourself into his side as you wrap an arm around his waist. he tears through the wrapper but sets aside the bow, knowing you like to recycle them when you have the chance.

hajime is a simple man, and at the sight of his favorite brand of socks, he lights up at the addition of one more to his already-full drawer of them.

he turns to you, about to pepper your face with a bunch of kisses but—

“check the hem, i got something done to it.” you giggle.

he looks confused for a moment before he turns them over, plain white save for the dark green letters running around its ankle garters.

there’s another reason you decided to celebrate his birthday this weekend, on the third sunday of june.

he deciphers the word, reading each letter: p-a-p-a, and you can see the cogs turning in his brain before he immediately whips his head to face you.

“you’re—?”

you nod.

there’s something indescribable in his eyes, emotion welling up as they gloss over dark olive green—it makes you want to cry, too.

damn all these hormones.

“happy birthday, papa.” you sniffle, smiling wide, “and happy father’s day.”

(after a whole lot of tears, and even more kissing, you show hajime the tests you took while he was away. he tells you you should have told him, that he would have come home, but you shake your head.

it’s well worth it, seeing his reaction to two things he can celebrate today.)

[wigglesdtuff]

Robin put her up to this

[fatuismooches]

Dottore is so girl dad, she takes after reader with her supprtivness and move for him despite it all ( obviously she has no real clue what her father does and is kept away from with much caution) she loves to snuggle up next to her daddy and demand attention much like reader after going for to long without ot

Dottore never once saw himself being a father, even when he has his child it still doesn't click sometimes due to how... unbelievable the whole thing is. Him loving you was already something he didn't foresee. But he supposes it's thanks to you that impossibilities can become possibilities for him. He's still not accustomed to seeing his daughter stumble into his office, his attention drawn away from his work and moving to put her back to bed.

He's still not used to seeing her sit on his desk, fiddling with all the trinkets and (safe) machinery she can get her tiny hands on. He's still not used to holding her in his arms, the foreign feeling makes him feel all too strange. It's no surprise, considering his childhood. How does he deal with these situations if he's never gone through them? But he goes through them for his daughter anyway, with your help of course.

Regardless of whether the child is biological or adopted, she would end up taking after both of you in some way after observing and being around for a while. The idea of her being a mini-you was cute at first, and Dottore soon found out it was quite easy to pacify her with some attention, but once she started copying your jokes and teasing him too, he wanted to bite you. Hard.

He tends to keep his mask off whenever his daughter is near, because every time he's with her, she reaches for his face and tries to pull it off. Thankfully, she doesn't seem perturbed by the scars on his face. (She just wants to be with her dad.)

[selineram3421]

An Adoptive Father's Day

Alastor and Child Reader Oneshot

Warning? ⚠

⚠ little hint of Reader's living life, alcohol, food mention ⚠

You had snuck construction paper and other supplies into your room for the past few days. Taking what you needed from the party supplies, knowing Charlie wouldn't mind.

Father's day was just a few hours away and you wanted to make a pop-up card for Alastor.

The plan was for you to stay up and make the card while he was asleep. Everything you needed was under the bed.

When the time hit nine, Alastor made sure you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed.

"Good night mon petit.", the deer demon said as he tucked you in.

"Good night.", you replied, hugging Murder Mittens.

He turned off the light on his way out and slid the door to a close.

Waiting for a good while, you heard the door to the hallway close and jumped out of bed, quickly bringing out the box full of supplies out from under it.

You turned on the lamp on the nightstand, setting out the papers and markers, scissors and glitter to the side for later.

"Let's start!", you whispered excitedly.

.

Alastor stared at the glass in his hand.

It was Father's Day. A day he didn't enjoy celebrating in his living life.

Husk hadn't bothered to start a conversation but that was fine. The Radio Demon didn't want to talk at the moment.

For a bit longer that's what he did, just sat on a bar stool and stared down at his drink with a fake smile. It wasn't until the clock struck one in the morning that he finished his drink and stood up.

"I shall be on my way now Husker.", he said and fixed his coat.

All the cat demon did was grumble, picking up the glass from the counter.

With that, Alastor made his way back to the hotel room. Humming a tune while walking, he wondered if his little demon had a parental guardian in their living life.

They'll tell me when they want to. He thinks as he reaches the door of his room.

After opening it and walking in, the demon in red notices light coming from the crack of the sliding door.

Did they wake up? He wonders, closing the door to the hallway and going over to his little demon's sliding door.

Taking a look in the room, he sees them on the rug asleep with many cut up papers scattered around them. Making his way over to the little one, he pics them up and puts them back in bed, noticing the card in their hand once he set them down.

He covers them with a blanket before carefully taking the card out of their hands. He finds red cursive letters on top with a old radio drawn with marker in the middle, it says to and from, his name and theirs half way done.

"Happy Father's Day..", he reads and opens the card up.

"I never liked celebrating Father's Day. But now I have you and I think I can enjoy it. Let's have fun and do something we like. Or you could have fun on your own. Either way, have a good time.

Love, -."

There's little drawn out figures popping out of the card and its the two of them holding hands, they even managed to add in his cane and shadow.

Setting the card down in his lap, he looks at the sleeping child.

Yes, we'll have fun today. Perhaps make some cake for dessert. The Radio Demon thinks with a real smile and puts the stuffed cat back in their arms.

"Sweet dreams little one."

He debates on taking the card but decides to leave it, wondering how they'll present it to him as he turns off the lamp and leaves the room.

I hope everyone had fun today.

~Seline, the person.

Extra!

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @naelys-the-aster @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @scary-noodlesblog @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[shares-a-vest]

"Are you sure you don't want to just come over to my place?"

Steve bites his lip, contemplating the proposal Robin has offered him several times this week, ever since he'd told her he was having lunch with his parents.

It was Father's Day after all.

His parents would be home for at least a fortnight this time, on a quick stop-over in Hawkins before leaving again, this time for a vacation somewhere. They needed "a break" his mother had said with a laboured sigh, all whistful and longing as if she wasn't making such a statement amidst a lengthy monologue about all the friends they had just caught up with in Indianapolis.

Steve guesses they were technically a business trip. Though his recollections of such trips he'd gone as a kid (back when his parents absolutely had to bring him along) did involve the odd visit to Head Office in between social gatherings that only ever felt vaguely related to his father's business.

He turns away from the wall-mounted phone in the kitchen to look out at the patio. His father is sitting on a lounge chair, drinking a coffee and, low and behold, reading his new copy of The Bourne Supremacy Steve had handed him at breakfast.

His father was impossible to buy for - so a book was always a safe enough choice, one that would at least give him a "thank you" in return with no further commentary or snark.

"Uh..." he hums into the phone as his father turns a page, "Y'know what? Maybe later."

He gasps as his mother opens the back sliding door to the kitchen, the skirt of her yellow patterned kaftan flowing along with her. He turns back to the wall, crowding the phone base.

"Steve?" his mother asks, chuckling, "You're still on the phone!"

It isn't exactly chastising, more amused like Robin's mother gets about the pair of them talking on the phone for a solid hour at a time.

He looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes as his best friend groans at the comment.

"Are you sure?" Robin asks, tone abruptly turning serious, "You know my dad loves you, Steve."

"I'll come by later," he insists, "Promise."

"...Okay..." she sighs before hanging up.

As he mounts the speaker, Steve is greeted with a knowing look from his mother. She is holding a glass of iced tea, fresh ice cubes tinkling away in the tall glass.

"Mom, don't," he whines, hoping to get outside and drive straight into the pool and away from any further conversation.

She holds her free hand up in surrender, tilting her head, "Okay, darling."

"I'm going for a dip," he grumbles before heading out to the pool area.

"Your mother and I are headed over to the Martens soon," his father announces as Steve passes by his reclining form.

His stomach drops and he freezes mid-stride to the outdoor chair he'd designated for his towel.

"What?" he blurts out, practically shouting as he whips around.

His father sets his book in his lap and looks up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his left hand. The sunlight reflects off his shiny watch and directly into Steve's eyes.

He grimaces, quickly mirroring his father.

"But..." he begins, trying to even out his clipped tone, "You said... We... You said we were having lunch here?"

"Your mother didn't tell you?"

"But..." he repeats, his voice catching in his throat a little, "It's Father's Day."

His father stands, stretches and gathers up the beach towel he had propped under his knees.

"We wanted to see them before we headed out."

"You're here for two weeks!" Steve argues, waving his hand as if to capture the presumed time his father has to visit his oldest and most insufferable friend.

"Steve, John and Louise's son is that busy working, he doesn't have time to be sitting around on Father's Day. So, we figured we'd meet them for lunch."

"Um..." he gulps, now blinking away tears.

He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in and out as slowly as his growing anger will allow. The sun feels like it is burning into his bare skin, now, no longer feeling like the calming warmth he had felt when he came out to access the pool earlier.

He opens his eyes to find his father turned towards the back door.

"I'm going to Robin's."

He doesn't wait for an answer as he pushes past his father and back into the kitchen. Thankfully, his mother is nowhere to be seen as he makes a beeline for the laundry room where he'd left his work clothes from yesterday with his car keys still in the pocket of his jeans.

He grabs his Member's Only jacket from the coat rack on the way out. Even though the thing is less than weather-appropriate for a Sunday in June, right now it will suffice...

"Steve!" Robin's dad beams after he opens the front door.

The man is wearing a comically bright shirt, a Hawaiian-style button-up with a primary-coloured geometric pattern and squiggly green swirls. Steve thinks his father would hate it.

"Hi, Mr Buckley," he says, offering a tight-lipped smile as he holds out a store-bought key lime pie.

"Steve, please call me Richard," the man insists, unaware that sharing a name with his own father makes Steve want to fucking scream.

Richard takes a pie with a formal nod, his smile dropping a little as Steve shuffles about on the spot. The man looks him up and down.

Shit.

He'd forgotten about the jacket just as quickly as he had shrugged it on before speeding off in his car. But Richard waves him in with an insistent hand, thankfully not prying any further. It is probably quite obvious he isn't wearing a shirt underneath. The thought makes him itch as he becomes all too aware of the slippery fabric, its lining making the back of his neck prickle with sweat.

"Robin is in her room," Richard whispers as Steve steps inside and remembers his flip-flops too as they scuff on the threshold.

"The pie is from Melvad's, sorry," is all he thinks to say.

Richard gives him a pat on the back, just as Robin begins descending the staircase, wearing a shirt just as loud as her father's, only purple and maroon.

She smiles, though her eyes suggest she is clearly worried.

"Steve's here, darling!" Richard announces, intentionally boisterous for their close proximity.

"Oh, thank god," Robin dry-sobs, making grabby hands for the pie.

But Richard snatches it up, playing a one-sided game of keep-away that Robin doesn't even attempt to buy into. He lowers his hand with a swooping flourish, looking a little disappointed.

"Anything's better than the in-laws' dry fruit pudding," he laughs as they both examine the dessert.

"Come on," Robin says, grabbing Steve's hand and yanking him towards the stairs, "This Father's Day's theme is Richard Buckley-Approved Shirts, I've already got one ready for you. It's yellow. You'll love it."