#ficlet

[natalievoncatte]

Alex and Kara looked at each other. Kara stood before her desk in full Supergirl regalia, cape feeling heavy on her back.

“There has to be an explanation for this,” said Alex.

Kara couldn’t accept that. If Lena had gone no-contact for a time, that would be reasonable. She’d sometimes hole up in her lab for days at a time, barely sleeping or eating, consumed by an idea- but she would warn Kara first. She definitely wouldn’t no-show a brunch da… a brunch friend meetup between friends at their favorite patisserie and then go totally off radar for three days.

“She didn’t show up to our brunch,” Kara said. “We have to find her. I need to know she’s okay, Alex.”

Her sister sat back in her chair and looked back at her over her desk.

“Have you looked? You can cover more ground and do it faster than we ever could.”

“Of course I’ve *looked*,” said Kara. “That’s why I’m so worried. I flew past her apartment and things weren’t right. There was a mug of tea left out on the counter. The place was messy. Lena doesn’t do messy.”

“But no signs of a struggle,” said Alex.

“I called Jess and she said Lena left her a message saying she needed a few days away and she’d be back by Friday.”

“So,” said Alex, “sounds like you should wait until Friday.”

“She missed our date, Alex.”

There was a heavy, uncomfortable pause. Alex went very still, examining Kara with calculating eyes. She picked up a pen and toyed with it in both hands, frowning.

“Maybe she just needs space?”

“Why would she need space. I’m her best friend. We were having Sunday brunch. We have Sunday brunch every Sunday.”

Alex rocked slightly in her desk chair.

“Okay. I’ll order Brainy to start a search and we’ll see if we can pin her down, but Kara… she’s your friend. Sometimes friends need space. Something may have come up.”

Kara crossed her arms. “Then why wouldn’t she tell me? She wouldn’t just ghost me, Alex. I’m telling you she wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Alex began, “alright, like I said, we’ll start a search.”

She said something else, but Alex’s voice was drowned out by another.

Lex.

“Hello, Kara. Don’t move, don’t react. I’ve hacked the DEO systems and I’m broadcasting on a frequency your charming sister can’t hear, only you. You’re going to follow my instructions. Say okay, or there will be consequences.”

“Okay, Alex,” said Kara, “I’ll go home and try to relax.”

Kara had to use every ounce of her Kryptonian control over her muscles and breathing to appear calm.

“I’ll let you know if we wind anything.”

Kara nodded and turned to leave.

“Go to your locker, and change. You’ll find one of my agents has left a note with an address. Go there, and do not change back into that cheerful little costume of yours. This one is for Kara Danvers.

Thinking along the way, Kara walked silently to the locker room. Once she was inside, and free of cameras, she hurriedly texted Alex, urging her not to react or do anything obvious but that the system had been compromised and there was at least one Cadmus goon in the building.

Then, she changed. The note was in the pocket of her shirt.

Grinding her teeth, Kara left the DEO as a human did, on foot, and traversed National City as a human did, slowly. It didn’t take long for her to spot the drones; she was being watched.

The address wasn’t far, a small commercial building about ten blocks from the DEO, a nondescript brick block with roll-up garage doors not unlike a dozen others on the same street. Kara walked around to the side of the building where a glass door buzzed and unlocked.

Kara opened it and stepped inside. Immediately inside the entrance was just an empty vestibule with an occupied receptionists’s counter and an old chair. A sticky note hung on the wall with an arrow.

Following it, Kara found a solid door that was lined on the inside with lead, as were the walls, of course. She turned the knob, super-hearing amplifying the turning of its oiled core, and stepped through.

On the other side was a large pod hooked up to a variety of tubes and cables. As she walked in, Kara passed a bank of monitors lining the wall with the door. A Bluetooth speaker sat on a folding table. Lex’s voice carried from it.

“Hello, Kara.”

“What is this?”

“I know you’ve been frantically looking for my sister. She’s been here the entire time. Look- but don’t touch. You won’t like the consequences.”

As he spoke, the outer shell of the pod rotated open, revealing a tank of amber liquid. Lena floated inside, an oxygen mask on her face and sensors stuck to her body. She was dressed in a black bodysuit, and looked changed somehow. Kara wasn’t sure how, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Sleeping beauty herself.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Well,” said Lex, “it’s quite a long story and you’re a bit too dull to grasp the complexity so I’ll sum up: a little bit of Harun-El here, a bit of your DNA that my mother stole there, and a tiny sprinkle of a special bespoke Kryptonite with a very short half life… the short answer is that I’ve given my sister superpowers.”

Kara blinked.

“You… what? Why?”

Lex laughed, tinny and distant. “It’s simple really. It’s all about the final, secret ingredient, another type of Kryptonite radiation courtesy of my… what’s the word I’m looking for… my inferior imitator, Max Lord. You may remember it.”

“Lex,” Kara said. “What did you do?”

“Let me show you.”

The pod’s inner transparent walls opened and dumped Lena on the floor. She landed on her knees, gasping as she yanked the mask away from her mouth and stood up.

“Kara?” she said. “Where are we? How did we get here? I was about to leave for… I feel strange.”

Lena looked at her with wide wild eyes and Kara edged closer, her heart pounding harder with every step. Her dark hair was slicked back over her neck from the fluid in the tank and she looked pale, but her cheeks were just a touch fuller.

Then it hit Kara, why Lena had looked different. She looked to have put on fifteen pounds at least of muscle, adding a blocky quality to her shoulders, thickening her legs and biceps. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Lena dear,” said the tinny speaker, “sister mine. I must tell you something.”

Lena winced. “Why is he so loud? Wait, Lex? What is this? What did you do?”

Kara froze, a cold ball forming in her stomach. Oh great Rao.

She could see it. A faint hint of a red sparkle in the whites of Lena’s eyes.

Courtesy of Max Lord.

“Lena,” said Kara. “Listen, okay? Try to stay calm. I’ll get you som help.”

“No, listen to me,” Lex said. “I have a little secret to tell you.”

Lena’s gaze snapped around to the speaker. Behind Kara, the monitors turned on, and Lena’s eyes went wide. Kara paused for a moment and then turned, dread coiling like a serpent in her guts.

One monitor showed her catching a bullet. Another, yanking open her shirt to reveal the crest. Another… another… another. There was even one with a feed of her changing out of her suit in the DEO locker room.

“Kara Danvers,” Lex intoned, “is Supergirl. She lied to you. She’s been lying to you. She’s always lied to you. It’s just as I said- the alien has been using you since the start.”

“Lena,” said Kara. “He’s lying.”

Lena looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing. “About you being Supergirl?”

“No, I am,” Kara admitted, “but I would never use you. I have my reasons why I didn’t tell you and I promise I’ll tell you everything, but first you need help. Lex has poisoned you. You will get very sick if we don’t take you back to the DEO.”

“So she can take your powers!” Lex said. “The powers I gave you. I didn’t poison you, I made you a god. We’re going be gods together, Lena. Once we rid the world of these alien freaks we’ll show the world a better tomorrow.”

“Lex,” said Lena, “shut the fuck up.”

“She lied, she lied!” the speaker cackled.

Lena looked at it. “Where are you?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you’ve dealt with the Kryptonian.”

Lena smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a baring of teeth.

“I see. I need a moment in private with Kara.”

Lena glanced at the speaker and it exploded in a shower of sparks and melted plastic, leaving scorch marks on the table.

Oh Rao. It took Kara years to use her heat vision. Lena had tapped into it in what, a minute?

“Lena,” Kara said, as softly as she dared. “I need you to listen to me.”

“No, you’re going to listen.”

Lena blurred. The impact shook Kara to the bones, rattled her teeth in the sockets. Before she knew what happened, she was against the wall, wrists held firmly in Lena’s hands, pinned above her head. Lena leaned in close, languidly pressing her entire body against Kara’s.

“Do you remember,” Lena husked, “that day in my office when you were being a little brat about doing your job and I called you to the carpet for it?”

Kara blinked.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “I don’t think brat is the word I’d chose.”

“I would,” Lena said, her voice low and sultry, as she looked at Kara through her lashes. “That’s exactly what you were until I put you in your place, and then you were ready to be a good girl for me.”

Kara’s brain short circuited. It took her a half minute to stammer a few nonsense syllables as a jolt shot up her spine from low in her hips to the crown of her head, like she’d been plunged into frigid water.

Kara stared back at her, feeling a strange squirming pressure that she quickly realized was Lena pushing her thighs apart with one of her own, pressing her knee between them to drive her thigh muscle into Kara, against the apex of her legs.

“Interesting,” Lena whispered, her blow eyes scanning Kara’s features. “The flush is obvious… but the heat bloom on your skin and the pupil dilation.”

Kara gasped.

“See,” Lena whispered into Kara’s lips. “Good girl.”

Kara honest to God whimpered.

“My brother. Silly boy, probably thought I was going to go into a rage and kill you because you lied to me for so long.”

Kara nodded. “Yeah that was probably his plan.”

“He’s such a silly goose,” said Lena. “I’m sure he’ll be surprised when I rip his head off his neck.”

“Lena!”

“Oh come on, you know you want to. You must have thought about it. It would be so easy to just… finish it.”

“I have,” Kara admitted, “but it wouldn’t be right. I can’t just murder a man in cold blood.”

Lena’s body undulated against her.

“Please stop.”

“Why?”

“He exposed you to Red Kryptonite. You’re not thinking straight. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

“It seems I’m the one who’s pinned you, miss Danvers. I don’t think you’re taking advantage.”

“Lena,” Kara said, “I want to talk, okay? I want to talk about all of this and… and take things slow. Your brother is probably watching this.”

“Let him,” said Lena. “I’ll be the icing on the cake. You know all this sturm and drang of his is just Lex throwing a tantrum because Clark wouldn’t fuck him.”

“Lena!”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kara. The way you look at my tits. We both know you want this.”

“Okay maybe I was looking,” Kara admitted, breathing harder. “You’re v-very… very pretty and I’ve been feeling things for you for a long time and… and Lena please I don’t want to do this like this.”

Lena drew back.

“You’re terrified.”

Kara nodded, biting her lip. Slowly, Lena released her grip on Kara’s wrists and stepped back.

“Please come with me to the DEO. It hasn’t been long but the longer you go without treatment the worse you’ll get. Pretty soon it won’t matter if I say no.”

Lena recoiled, horrified. “I would… I would never.”

“When I was poisoned like this, I threw Cat Grant off a building.”

“Apparently, it didn’t work. I’m sure she had it coming.”

“I almost killed Alex.”

Lena frowned. “Oh.”

Kara extended a hand. “Come with me, okay?”

Lena hesitated, then closed a firm grip around Kara’s outstretched palm and let Kara lead her back to the door. Kara took a sharp breath and guided Lena outside.

As soon as they hit the open air, Lena clapped her hands over her ears and screamed.

“Kara! Kara, what’s happening, what is this?”

“It’s your super-senses. Just try to focus on one sound. Here.”

Kara pulled her into an embrace, guiding her ear to Kara’s chest as Eliza once did for her. Gritting her teeth, Lena locked her arms around Kara and breathed hard, squeezing Kara’s ribs.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

Finally, Alex showed up with five vans full of DEO agents. Kara focused on guiding Lena into the back of one of the vans.

“Was he here?” said Alex.

“Clear the building and all that but get us back to the DEO now,” Kara demanded. “Tell Brainy to get the Red K protocol ready.”

“What? Oh God, Kara, have you been exposed?”

“No, Lena has.”

Alex blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“Just get us back!”

Alex turned and made a motion at the driver and the van backed into a j-turn. Lena was still clinging to her.

“Kara, it’s too much, it hurts.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get you some noise canceling headphones when we get back. Just listen to my heart, okay?”

Lena nodded against her chest.

When they finally arrived, Kara gently picked Lena up and carried her inside and directly to the med bay, laying her on a the sunbed, while Brainy helped Alex set up the Red Kryptonite scrubber protocol.

Lena relaxed into the bed as Kara placed the headphones on her.

“Kara,” said Alex. “A word.”

Kara followed her outside, then immediately dumped everything on her.

Alex blinked a few times.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” said Kara.

“You didn’t have to be that detailed, Kara. I could have gone without you describing Lena doing the knee thing to my little sister.”

“The what?”

Alex rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay. She’s going to be okay. Except she has superpowers now. She still needs a complete physical, just to make sure he didn’t do anything else, no surprises.”

“Right.”

“I can’t believe that was his whole plan. Make Lena a super and expose her to Red Kryptonite?”

“If he could give her powers, he could give himself powers, or someone else. This is serious, Alex.”

“I know, but seriously, what did he think was going to happen? She’d lose her mind and attack you?”

“I think that was the idea, yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. This is a lot. One step at a time. We’ll need to find him. Let your girl sleep off the treatments and we’ll talk to her, see what she knows that might help us.”

“My girl?” said Kara.

Alex rolled her eyes.

Kara was on the balcony when Lena joined her, having changed into a borrowed set of DEO fatigues. She nervously walked out into the night air and leaned next to Kara.

“Have you adjusted to the noise?”

“Yes, but I…” she trailed off.

Lena stood up and her gaze fell upwards. She stared at the sky, dumbfounded.

“There’s… there’s an aurora. There’s an aurora and… colors. My God, is this how you see it?”

“Yeah,” Kara said softly, too busy staring at Lena.

Finally, Lena looked at her.

“About earlier. I’m sorry. I pushed boundaries and… thinking about it scared me. I would never hurt you, Kara.”

“I know,” said Kara. “I know that, but I also know what it’s like to be exposed to that stuff, to have all your worst thoughts come to the surface. To not feel control of yourself. I forgive you.”

Lena nodded, wringing her hands.

“About what I said, though.”

“About what you said.”

Kara turned and lunged, pulling Lena to her, lifting her slightly off her feet. Lena’s eyes went wide.

“Is this okay?”

Lena blinked a few times and nodded.

Kara kissed her.

She kissed her freely, without worrying about injuring her. She held her the same way, pressing firmly. Lena’s hands curled around her arms with stunning strength and Kara felt her belly do a backflip as Lena actually pushed her back a step and into the balcony railing.

Kara didn’t have to worry about hurting her. She didn’t have to hold back. Lena apparently had never even considered holding back, because she was apparently going for the Knee Thing again. Kara thought she heard the sound of something cracking, but that made no sense.

“Kara!” Alex barked.

Kara broke from the kiss, looking over Lena’s shoulder to find Alex glaring at her.

“Kara,” said Alex, “I’m glad you two dipshits finally realized that you’re dating, but please do not destroy the building.”

Kara furrowed her brows, then looked down to realize that her butt had cratered the retraining wall behind her.

“Oh,” said Kara. “Right.”

“We need to talk about next steps. Lena, I need to know what you know about-“

“Lex is, or was, at an old LuthorCorp satellite lab in Central City. I recognized the background sounds while he was talking.”

“Oh. Okay. We should-“

“Later,” said Lena.

Alex put her fists on her hips. “I don’t work for you, Luthor.”

“True, but your sister does,” said Lena. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Um, yes,” Kara said softly.

“I hate my life,” Alex muttered, as she stormed back inside.

Lena turned her full attention back to Kara, tilting her chin down to look at her through her eyelashes and smirk.

“Now, let’s pick up where we left off.”

[cod-dump]

The 141 looking at videos of younger price doing things they got in trouble for and got them yelled at by price

Keepsakes

___

"God, when was the last time he came here?"

"Long enough he doesn't want to bother cleaning this shit out himself," Ghost muttered as he shoves a facemask into Gaz's hands. The dust made it necessary.

Price finally made the decision to have his old storage unit cleaned out. He himself hadn't bothered to do anything yet, but he's convinced the boys to do some cleaning for him. He gave them a list of certain things he's looking for, then to their surprise Laswell did as well. Apparently it was a shared storage unit against Price’s will.

"There's the box Laswell told us to grab for her."

Most of the videos were in boxes marked by young agent Laswell, a clear warning not to touch them to a Lieutenant Price.

As they stuffed certain boxes into the van they arrived in, Soap found an old jacket. Not worn in years, SAS embroidered on it with Price's name proud on the breast. Soap shook the thing violently, to relieve it of any unwanted bugs and dust, before put it on. Almost a perfect fit.

"Hm, think he'll notice?"

Gaz snorts as he dares to open one of the boxes, "You're him made over."

Soap grins despite the sarcasm and starts posing, earning laughter from Gaz. Ghost rolled his eyes at him while he sorted through the boxes. He finally stops next to a particular box, kicking it lightly, "Nik box."

Soap and Gaz immediately dart over. Nik was precious with his mementos. Safe guarded them like a dragon. None of them saw anything he didn't want them to see, not picture or saved bullet casing. Not a single story unless he gives it up. Laswell and Price weren't so closed off and with start up a story from asking.

"Oh- What do you think is in it?"

Ghost lightly kicks the box again before he confidently says- "Nudes."

Soap gags and Gaz cackles.

"The head of his enemies. Or their di-"

"Stop," Soap grumbles as he pulls the box to the side with some of Laswell's.

There was something precious about how close they were, Price getting a storage unit only for Laswell and Nik to shove their own things inside without care. They didn't have any doubt the only protest from Price was only a bit of grumbling before he just let it happen.

“I think Nik wouldn’t let anything… unsavory be left where we could find it. There’s no way he would forget the location of anything sensitive.”

“What if, and hear me out, he’s forgotten with old age?” Ghost countered seriously, Gaz cackling in response.

Soap opens the box without hesitating another second. Ghost and Gaz whipped their heads around to stare as Soap pulls out a large book. It was a photo album with a slip of paper labelling the front. In Russian of course, just like the writing labelling the box.

“Alright, who’s been paying attention in Nik’s sort and somewhat weird lessons in Russian?”

Ghost stares hard at the photo albums front, truly concentrating as hard as he could. Gaz stared for a few seconds, eyes flickering to Ghost a few times, like he was waiting for him to reply. He didn’t, so Gaz did.

“I think it’s along the lines of ‘my sweet John’.”

Soap gags dramatically, “God, is it actually nudes?”

Ghost hums, “It’s not like we haven’t seen them naked before.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to see anything else beyond basic locker room shit.”

They were delaying, even though all of them desperately did want to know what was inside. But none of them made a move, just staring at the photo album while also eying each other. After a third minute of rather uneasy silence, Ghost sighs loudly before he grabs the photo album.

“Well, might as well. What’s one more piece of trauma?”

He unties the string keeping it closed, taking a step back before taking a deep breath, bracing himself. Soap and Gaz stared at him, waiting. So Ghost flipped open the album.

“Oh.”

Soap and Gaz shared a look before looking back at him, “Oh?”

Ghost flips a page, then another, before looking up, “They’re candids. A lot of them.”

Soap and Gaz finally look, and he was right. Each page was several pictures of a young Price just existing. Some of him napping in odd places, stuffing his face with questionable looking food, arguing with a young Laswell — He was just existing. And his behavior displayed in the photos were familiar.

“Johnny, weren’t you napping under the table the other day?”

“Weren’t you stuffing your fast with the shit you found in the back of the fridge?”

Gaz takes over the photo album, fondly looking at the pictures. Several photos, if not all, were taken clearly without Price’s knowing.

“Good to know Nik hasn’t lost any love,” the countless times Gaz has caught the man taking pictures of Price without the man knowing. He really wanted to know what his photo gallery looked like.

Suddenly, Soap gasps. Gaz looks up and Soap is holding a video camera, grinning madly.

“Sex tapes.”

“Simon!”

Gaz eagerly reaches for the camera, “Let me see!”

He saw the box it came from, labelled by Laswell. It was safe to look through… maybe.

He messes with the camera, laughing gleefully when it still turns on. Ah, they don’t make them like they used to.

“This is history!”

“And blackmail,” it was clear why Ghost was here. He never would pass up an opportunity to hold something over someone’s head, even the people who could make him disappear.

Gaz selects a video and starts playing it, watching the tiny screen intently. He wasn’t expecting to witness a past event of Price arguing with a currently unknown SAS officer, one that appeared to out rank him. He was cussing the man out with his full chest, and Gaz couldn’t help but look up at Soap.

“… what is it? I hear yelling.”

“I think we took after Price more than he realizes.”

Soap and Ghost were on either of Gaz now, watching the tiny screen with their chins on Gaz’s shoulders. Gaz played another video.

This one started with the camera facing a grinning Laswell, none of them could recall ever seeing such a mischievous look on her before. The camera switches over to show Price sitting on top of a cabinet with a guitar in his arms. He was clearly waiting for someone to come through the door by the cabinet.

“Do you know how many times he’s bitched at me for climbing on furniture-“

“Shh!”

Price was grinning at the camera and Laswell, and then an infamous figure they’ve all heard of but saw few photos of walked through the door. Captain MacMillan left his mark on Price, but clearly Price also left a mark on the man. Upon entering the room, he turns to say something to Laswell, then Price aggressively started playing the guitar.

“JONATHAN YOU CUNT-“

Laswell cackles as MacMillan grabs Price’s leg, dragging him from the cabinet. The camera cuts off right as the cabinet comes down with Price, the shock on his face blurred on the screen as the video ends. Gaz covered his mouth and Ghost leaned away. Soap chose to break the silence.

“I think he would throw us into a lake with bricks tied to our feet if we showed him this.”

“Clearly we make copies.”

They knew he was trouble in his youth, but this? Oh this was hypocrisy. And Laswell was in on some of it? Oh this was blackmail for sure. Ghost got what he wanted.

“Copies, Kyle. We need copies-“

Yes, they all were in on this. This was worth it.

[achromatophoric]

Wednesday: Enid, have you seen my new haunted puppet?

Enid: The puppet that your freaking stalker left in our room? The one that, for some horrifying reason, looks just like me from last semester?

Wednesday: Yes, that one.

Enid: *scowls* No, Wednesday, I haven’t seen your freaking mini murder me. Besides, weren’t you going to burn it last night?

Wednesday: I did.

Enid: And?

Wednesday: It was annoyed by the effort and swore to exact revenge.

Enid: WHAT?

Wednesday: It also recruited your doll as its lieutenant. Together they escaped with enough of my smallest knives to arm a miniature militia.

Wednesday: I can only assume that it is as adept at making friends as yourself, so I strongly suggest that we barricade ourselves in our room and prepare for an attack.

Enid:

Enid: 😱

– Elsewhere. –

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason (answering his phone): Hey.

Cass (extra sweet): Hi, baby brother!

Jason groaned.

Jason: Cass, you're only six months older than me.

Cass: Yeah so that makes you my baby brother! Enough about our sibling dynamic, I’ve been kidnapped.

Jason rolled out of bed, literally landing on the ground with a thud.

Jason: How do cats land on their feet with ease? Also, kidnapped?!

Cass: Mm-hm. Two big guys pointed their guns at me and led me to a van. I'm at their hideout with a lanky guy wearing a blue mask.

Blue mask: Not the most insulting thing I've been called.

Cass: They let me have one phone call to tell my loved one they demand fifty thousand dollars for my release.

Jason (rolling onto his back, exhausted): Cass, one question.

Cass: Yes?

Jason: WHY DID YOU JUST LET THEM KIDNAP YOU?!

Cass (lying): I don’t fight, remember? I’m a ballet dancer!

Jason let out an exhausted sigh, tapping his fingers on the floor. Bruce had told them not to fight as heroes to ensure no one figured out their identities. Except here was Cass, wearing a full-body black bat suit that concealed her face.

Jason: Just kick them in the balls and run!

Cass: I needed a day off from ballet dancing. They aren't harming me; they’re actually rather nice for criminals.

Kidnapper in pink face mask: Thanks! We just need the money.

Jason: That makes sense. Second question, why did you call me and not the big pubba?

Cass (laughing): He's in a business meeting. Plus we haven’t spent time together in the last six weeks. I thought we could go see Wicked after you bring the "briefcase."

Briefcase - Gun, 'cause he's going to save her as Red Hood.

Jason (standing to his feet and heading to his closet to change into his hero suit): I do want to rewatch Wicked and at least this isn't Tim. The briefcase will be there in thirty minutes; I just need more details.

Jason tapped a tracker button on his phone to trace where the phone Cass was using was. Cass picked up the paper with the crudely written ransom note, squinting her eyes.

Cass: I’m sorry, blue mask—it says Dove or Oove?

Blue mask: Damn it, pinkie, I told you to let me write the ransom note! It’s Dove, sweetheart.

Jason (grossed out, in his head): Eww, I’m hitting him with my pistol just for calling her that.

After gathering the information he needed from the ransom note and the tracker, Jason turned to his bed. He was about to move his pet cat to a different room before taking his spot in bed when he saw the calico cat had claimed his spot and was loafing contentedly.

Jason (sarcastically): Awesome, you’ll protect my spot while I’m out. Thanks, Austen.

Austen meowed in response, continuing to loaf.

[gaybirdnerd]

Scenario where when Iceman goes to apologize for what happened with Goose, Maverick just breaks down as he's leaving.

Ice is to the door when he hears a broken whisper of "I'm lost."

He turns around in confusion and watches as Maverick leans his head against his locker, tears slowly dripping off his face as he makes himself impossibly smaller against the locker.

"What?" is whispered between them, met with a shaking of a head and a hand covering a mouth in time to muffle a sob.

Ice walks to Maverick slowly, approaching like he would a wounded animal and stopping short when another sob escapes the smaller man, who simply curls into himself further.

At the next sob, Ice gently grabs Maverick by his shoulders and turns him around slowly, met with the most pitiful puppy eyes he's ever seen as they fill with tears and overflow in the same second.

"I'm lost" is spoken into the air between them as Maverick's face crumples further, any semblance of being put together falling.

In that second, Ice doesn't see the man who has been aggravating him this entire time; he doesn't see the cocksure man who did dangerous maneuvers to prove himself to the Navy. He sees a lost kid whose brother has just died due to an accident neither of them had the headspace to prevent in their competitive games.

Ice doesn't think as he reaches out and brings Maverick-Pete- into his embrace, strong arms encircling the smaller man as he sobs in earnest, his knees nearly buckle with the strength of his grief hitting him.

Pete curls his arms between them, cradling himself as Ice's arms squeeze his shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer as sobs turn into grieving wails, both of them sliding to the floor in the effort it takes Pete to finally let his anger and grief out.

Between the sobs and wails, Pete tries to explain what he means, getting out no more than one syllable as he tries to talk, being shushed by Ice soon after.

When Pete starts to hyperventilate, Ice drags him up off the floor and onto a bench, steadying both of them as he grabs a water bottle from Pete's locker and presses it against the back of his neck. He gets a gasp for his efforts, as the water bottle is still cold from when it was handed to Pete earlier.

Ice coaches Pete through breathing, holding him close, and rubbing a hand up and down his back to comfort him. When his breathing is finally as even as it's going to get while Pete still cries, sobs turning into whimpers as he buries his face in Ice's shoulder and breathes with Ice's coaching.

When his crying finally peters out, he's back to being Maverick, pulling away and wiping his face, reaching into his locker for a box of tissues Ice had not seen before.

"I'm sorry."

Ice startles at the words, staring at Maverick as he blows his nose.

"What for?"

Maverick shuffles and ducks his head, shame written in his shoulders, putting the box of tissues back into the locker. "Breaking down like that. It's not fair to you-"

"Shut up"

Maverick looks at Ice in shock, quickly turning to anger. "I'm trying to-"

"Apologize for being human." A hand lands on Maverick's shoulder as Ice shuffles a little closer to him. "You're trying to apologize for letting out pain and grief, something everyone feels. You two were close, and he was a good man. You're allowed your pain."

Maverick looks at him, puppy eyes still there, confounding Ice as he watches acceptance slowly bleed into the gaze of the man.

Maverick closes his eyes and sighs, another small tear escaping his right eye as he leans against Ice lightly, head thumping on his shoulder with the exhaustion he feels after such a large release of sadness.

Ice lets him stay there for a minute, bringing his head down to rest it on the shorter man's own. After a minute, he opens up his eyes and checks the clock on the wall above the door, sighing. Time to go.

Ice prods the younger man in the side, getting a twitch and a stifled, unidentifiable noise for his trouble.

Both of them stop and stare at each other, mischief lighting up Ice's eyes and distrust darkening Maverick's.

Deciding not to actually do anything, Ice stands up and gathers what he needs. "We should go, it's getting late."

A look at the clock brings Maverick back to the world, standing up quickly enough to wobble, gathering what he needs, and starting for the door.

Ice grabs Maverick's wrist. "Where are you going?"

"To my… bunk?" Maverick looks at the connection between them, then back at Ice's face and raises an eyebrow. "Is that illegal now?"

"No, I just don't think you should be alone." Ice starts gently dragging Maverick through the hallways.

Before he knows it, Maverick and Ice are in a resting room with the rest of their squad, Wolf and Hollywood staring as Ice shoves Maverick down onto a couch next to Slider, who simply glances at Maverick before going back to his book about who knows what. The others in the room simply ignore what's going on.

Maverick goes to say something- probably protest- before Ice sits down next to him with some paperwork pulled off the table, practically sitting on him as he does.

Maverick glares at him, getting a glare and a throat clearing back as Ice pointedly zips his lips and points to Slider, still reading.

In the minutes that follow, Maverick slowly relaxes, his exhaustion hitting him as he slowly drinks the water that had been previously pressed against his neck. As he finishes the bottle, he finds himself slumping into the couch, the calm silence of Slider and Ice combined with the quiet whispers of the others lulling him to sleep.

Ice startles briefly when he feels something against his shoulder, looking over to Maverick dozing on him with his mouth cracked open and his brows still slightly furrowed, the previous tear tracks on his face still visible.

Slider looks over, double-taking as he takes in the situation, opening his mouth before Ice puts a finger to his lips and shushes him. Wolf and Hollywood look over at the soft noise Ice makes, startling at the smallest of them sleeping on their ice-cold friend (pun intended).

"He must be absolutely exhausted if he's sleeping near us," is said, although Ice doesn't know who said it, too busy trying to move Maverick slowly so he's not as shrimp-shaped as he was. Slider reaches over and brings the man's feet to his own lap easily, slowly moving inch by inch so they don't wake the man.

A snuffle from Maverick stops them, the small tear running down his face breaking Wolf's heart based on the noise of hurt he lets out.

Eventually, Maverick is positioned so he's got his head on Ice's lap and his feet on Slider's, his shoes still on because they didn't want to risk it.

It takes hours before Maverick wakes up, a bottle of fresh water and a protein bar shoved in his face as soon as his eyes are open and he's taken in the ceiling above him.

He finds himself unable to be lonely after a small conversation with the others are being a team, his trust growing the more they work together.

After he and Ice save each other, he relinquishes himself to the group. They aren't Goose, Goose isn't coming back and it will always hurt, but they're his brothers. He'll take that over being alone any day.

[kentwvynes]

Clark stands, staring out the living room window of his 11th floor apartment, frozen. In shock, or awe, or... something else, he's not quite sure.

What he is sure about, however, is that the billboard that sits on the rooftop of the building a few blocks down from his did not have that ad on it the last time he looked.

He should ignore it. Shut the blinds and draw the curtains and board the window up. It would be the ethical thing to do.

Instead he suits up and flies out to float directly across from it, as if there's a chance his telescopic eyes had failed him.

No, it's exactly what he thought he saw.

A billboard for an underwear brand, advertising that every pair bought is a pair donated. And the model—

It's Bruce.

Laying on his stomach, made to look as if he's a giant relaxing against the edge of the roof itself. His feet are kicked up— reminiscent of a teenage girl lying in her bed while talking on the phone— and he holds his head with both hands on his chin, biting the tip of his finger as he looks out over Metropolis' financial district.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part, is that Bruce is clad not in boxers or briefs, but a thong. A thong and high heels. The long, thin heel of his right shoe is caught on the string of the thong, pulling it taut.

As if the fact that he's half naked and visible from Clark's apartment isn't torturous enough.

If Clark stares too long, which he's currently doing, he can almost see the billboard come to life, the string slipping off Bruce's heel and giving a loud smack as it makes contact with the skin of his rounded ass. Or Bruce giving him a wink as he lowers his leg, slowly pulling the thong down...

This is Batman, Clark reminds himself, you know, your friend.

He can't keep acting like this every time one of Bruce's suggestive photoshoots drops. The last one he'd done had been a near impossible challenge for Clark— Bruce had posed on a beach shore completely in the nude, his important bits artfully censored by the water rushing over his body. Clark would've been impressed with the execution of it all, had he not been so preoccupied with trying to keep his blood flowing to his brain and no where else.

He's not having any luck with that this time, though. His mouth begins to water as his gaze follows Bruce's long legs down to the curve of his ass, rising to a peak before swooping down into the valley of Bruce's arched back. Clark suddenly feels that tell tale sign of heat behind his eyes.

That's embarrassing. Thank god the streets of Metropolis are usually empty this time of night, and no unfortunate citizen has to look up to see their favorite hero popping a viscous boner at an underwear ad.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Clark breathes in deep and gathers the will necessary to fly away.

And if he sits on his couch half naked himself, staring out the window for a few more hours after that, then it's nobody's business but his.

[madaboutmunson]

Pick Me

For the dailydrabble prompt 'Necklace' by @strangerthingswritersguild

Ao3 Link

Eddie doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s probably one of the times his boyfriend’s face is at its cutest. Which is rare, because most of the time, to Eddie’s eyes, Steve is smoking hot, but right now, he’s cute. His eyes are big and inquisitive as he lies tucked under Eddie’s arm, twirling the ball chain of his necklace around his fingers, rolling it between the pads of his fingertips, smoothing over the guitar pick.

The same pick Dustin had used to keep Wayne safe, out of harm’s way, so he wouldn’t go looking for his nephew. The one that left a scar on the older man’s palm from how tightly he’d gripped it, day after day, until they were finally reunited.

Eddie doesn’t remember what happened in the Upside Down. One minute, he was looking up at a sobbing kid, and the next he woke in a hospital bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages, a groggy Harrington rubbing his eyes, making sure it wasn’t a dream, then running to grab a nurse.

These days, it feels like he’s the one dreaming. A wonderful, beautiful boyfriend who only ever leaves his side when absolutely necessary. A home, one where his uncle has his own room, too. A house with a view, and not a neighbour in sight.

He never thought he’d be one for peace, and yet here he is, effortlessly floating in it.

Those honey-brown eyes are so close, so shiny, Eddie can see the red swirls of the plectrum reflected in them as the man beside him talks about something funny one of the kittens did, one of the many they’d found in the old barn, while he’d been working on a customer’s truck.

“Hey,” he says, voice a little rough but full of fondness, and lashes lift in response, fluttering up like they always do when he gets Steve’s full attention.

“Hey.” The smile he gets starts simply pleased, but melts into something warmer, softer, like a quiet replay of the afternoon they just shared is playing behind those eyes.

“What’s your favourite colour again?” Eddie asks in the most faux-casual tone he can manage, but narrowed eyes pin him with suspicion. He doesn’t forget those details, never has, but it’s worth the game. Curiosity’s gotten the better of his love.

“Blue,” comes the simple reply.

He groans, reaching for something in the drawer behind him, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from that stupidly gorgeous form. His fingers fumble, it’s not right there, and he huffs before turning back, something hidden behind his back.

“Come here,” he says, tugging his partner on top of him as a small box digs into his spine. “Now close your eyes.”

A soft laugh, a little pout. Lips pursed like this might be another ploy to drag them back into the earlier rhythm of limbs and heat, but he does as asked.

It is too difficult to resist, getting lost in how ridiculously handsome Steve is. With his eyes closed, it feels almost like Eddie can stare without shame, count the beauty marks, follow his slight smile lines, that he’s gladly starting to feel responsible for, and marvel at the very bones of him. A playfully impatient dig of a knee in his side pulls him out of his art appreciation.

Eddie opens the box. Inside, a ball chain necklace with a plectrum pendant, just like his, only this one shimmers in blues, where his shows reds.

Carefully, he places it around Steve’s neck, fastening the bead clasp with a soft click. Eyes open wide as the chain settles at the back of his neck.

A breath escapes, sharp, searching, as his hand goes immediately to the pick. He hops off the bed so quickly Eddie thinks anyone else might take offence, but he just rolls onto his side, watching, soaking it in.

There he is, grinning into the mirror, fingers brushing the pendant, turning this way and that.

Some might call it vanity. And maybe a piece of it is. Steve does take pride in his appearance, and hell, if Eddie looked like that, he might live in front of a mirror too. But this? This is something else.

He knows his guy. Knows that thrill running under his skin. Because Eddie found a loophole.

It was no secret: as far as he was concerned, this was it. Final stop on the relationship express. No interest in going anywhere else. The feeling was mutual, but cautious.

Their life was good. Worth protecting. Rings brought questions, ugly ones sometimes, and Steve knew Eddie’s mouth and answers to those questions could get him in trouble. So rings were out. For now. Tattoos were suggested, but immediately vetoed. Steve’s skin was already art.

Bits of paper, handfasting ribbons, even stars named after each other? Too abstract. Too far removed. But this…this was real.

“Looks even better on you than I thought it would,” he murmurs, gaze heavy, satisfied.

“Thank you, baby. I love it.” That smile’s back as he turns from the mirror, then glances back again. “You don’t think-” A crease starts to form between his brows.

“Nope. I don’t think anyone’s going to jump to conclusions. If you lose it, it’s easy enough to replace. Cheap, like mine. People’ll just think you’re into guitar playing,” he grins. “Which you are , now.”

The worry melts away, replaced by laughter. “Maybe the guitar teacher.”

“I dunno about that. I’ve caught you more than once, strumming away when you thought no one was watching.”

“Creep,” comes the retort.

“Guilty.” He raises both hands, surrendering, then stands and wraps them around his boyfriend’s waist from behind, or maybe now it’s more than that? Life partner, fiancé, future husband, soulmate. “Can you blame me?” he murmurs, lips brushing warm skin as he presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“Shame I didn’t buy you yours.” The smile’s crooked, just a little sad, and Eddie sees what sits behind it.

“Doesn’t matter about the past. What matters is who I see when I catch it in the mirror. Whose hands I think of when I touch it. Whose lips I imagine brushing it when it dangles from my fingertips. Your money’s not in it, but you are.”

Steve turns from the mirror, hands sliding over Eddie’s arms, eyes searching his face. “Forever?”

“Forever,” Eddie says without hesitation, drawing him in for a kiss, then tumbling them both back onto the bed.

And soon, he’s tucked under an arm just like before, fingers tracing the new necklace, finally understanding why it’s so easy to lose yourself in the feeling of something that belongs to the person you love.

[iamthecomet]

Comet my beloved my darling. Can I invite you to consider: Aeon, causing problems on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of Dew, because Dew is just so much fun when he's Mad. And Dew knows all the little tricks, knows exactly what that little shit is up to and refuses to give him the satisfaction.

Buug's about to have the slowest, softest lovemaking he's ever suffered through and he's gonna hate every second.

Mal, my sweet, this made me black out it's delicious. This is my favorite type of Dew/Aeon dynamic FUCK.

700-ish words of Dew giving Aeon exactly the opposite of what he was hoping for, under the cut.

"Please, Dew. I—" Aeon's voice is a desperate, disappointed whine. Dew grins against the inside of the little ghouls knee, lips curling against tender flesh as he fingers him. Just one finger—though Aeon is definitely ready for more. Dew's hand is slick with lube, more than he needs. He presses in again, feeling Aeon clench around him. There's no friction, no stretch, no burn. Dew nips at the inside of Aeon's knee just to see what a little pain will do to him and Aeon bows off the bed.

"I'm just giving you what you wanted," Dew murmurs. He keeps his pace slow. A promise of what's to come once he finally get inside. He can do this forever. Finger Aeon open nice and slow, fuck him like that too. Facing him even. Forcing Aeon to look in his eyes as he takes him so gently it's basically torture. Satanas he hopes Aeon cries. He wants to press his lips to those flushed cheeks and taste salt.

It is torture after all, considering what Aeon's put him through today. Pushing every button. Desperate for Dew to break. Dew knows the game, can smell the need all over Aeon. If Aeon had asked him nicely—had told him what he really wanted—Dew would have obliged. Of course he would have. He would have pinned Aeon down, shoved himself inside, bit down so hard on Aeon's shoulder as he railed him that he drew blood. But Aeon didn't ask. He badgered. He bothered. He tried to dig himself so far under Dew's skin that Dew snapped.

Dew adds another finger, Aeon makes a sound between a moan and a sob—relief. Dew scissors his fingers apart, then presses deep. He skims his fingers over Aeon's prostate once—just to hear the strangled sound Aeon makes. Just to watch Aeon's cock bob and spit. Aeon looks down at Dew, stricken, panting. Cheeks flushed an adorable violet, hair—sweaty already—plastered to his forehead. Amethyst eyes wide and wild, black eclipsing purple as Dew works him open as slowly as humanly possible. He's a caged animal, Dew holds the only key to release.

Dew kisses his thigh again, feigning reverence, love, when really they both know this is a crueler torture than Aeon ever could have asked for.

"I need—Dew I need more."

Aeon grinds his hips down on Dew's fingers, and Dew rewards him with a firm hand on his hip, pinning him to the bed.

"Don't move. You don't have to do anything. Let me take care of you," Dew peers up at him, eyes molten amber, holding him with a gaze that is equal parts devotion and demand. "I know what you need."

Dew takes pity on him and gives him another finger. He hitches up on the bed to press a line of soft kisses to the shaft of Aeon's cock. It kicks beneath Dew's lips. Hard and velvet soft. Dew presses in deep, drags his tongue over the head of Aeon's cock tasting salt and musk and longing.

"All you've ever wanted was for me to love you," Dew whispers against the sensitive underside. "And now that I am you don't want it anymore."

Aeon whines. Past words as Dew strokes his prostate, makes out with the head of his cock. Aeon fists his hands in the sheets, always so good about playing by Dew's rules and keeping his hands to himself.

Dew slips his fingers free and shifts onto his knees. He presses the head of his cock against Aeon's hole. He reaches for one of Aeon's hands, lacing their fingers together by Aeon's head. The other he curls around Aeon's hip, finger so hot they feel like a brand.

He pushes forward, the head slipping in, surrounding himself with the warm tight heat of Aeon's body one slow centimeter at a time. Dew bends to kiss Aeon's jaw, reverent mouth dragging along that prominent bone

"If you hate it so much," Dew whispers pressing deeper, closer. "Tell me to stop."

Aeon looks at him, eyes wide, wet. Tears catching in his lashes. He shakes his head.

Dew nudges forward. Seats himself to the hilt with a low satisfied groan.

"Yeah." He nips at Aeon's lower lip. "That's what I thought."

[catzz089]

ORR CURSE OF OBEDIENCE AHHH THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS IT COULD GO (but lowkey established relationship max has the curse put on him and ppl r using for the wrong reasons (what ever that be) so charles pull some protective bf vibes and is like you can only listen to me and then curse solved and max is soo greatful to charles (lowkey could be unestablished relationship and this is where someone confesses)) whoops got a bit carried away 🩵

Max woke up feeling normal.

Entirely regular, not one discrepancy across his entire body.

None.

Charles wasn’t next to him, they’d slept in separate rooms the night before to ‘improve focus’ which was really just their way of saying they were unhappy and didn’t want to spread it to the other person.

In all honestly it was never their brightest move, considering every single time Max woke up feeling far more upset when he couldn’t curl into a warm body, and Charles would cling to him for the next couple of days until they finally felt satiated.

His mind felt a little fuzzy.

Nothing in particular, definitely not.

His phone chimed on the beside table next to him, Christian.

Max, we need you to come in earlier today, to look at the car. We want you to get us that number 1!!!

Max was at the track before he even registered the words.

Huh.

“Max! Exactly who I wanted to see! I need you to pop round to the mechanics for me, they want you to take a look at some last minute changes, I don’t know about them, I trust you, do what you think is best, alright?”

Max nodded and sped straight off.

All in all it was a relatively simple conversation, the team knew him, knew he was good, they changed what he wanted with only minimal refutes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, definitely, it keeps the front of the car heavy.”

“And we can’t have anyone messing with your precious car balance, can we Maxie?” Rupert said, slapping his hands onto his shoulders. He’d been preying on Max from the sidelines for at least 10 minutes, more than enough time to come over.

“No, of course not,” he replied easily.

Rupert grinned and firmed up his grip, “Come on, Max, we need to head off now.” And dragged him away, he fell into line next to him.

“You alright mate? You seem a little distant today.” Rupert questioned, “Please tell me you’ve done all your race prep.”

“I’ve done all my race prep,” He said automatically and immediately felt his skin crawl.

He couldn’t even remember his way to the track, he knew damn well he hadn’t done a single fucking stretch or warm up, he hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, he hadn’t even fucking eaten anything.

He had nothing to burn or sweat, he hadn’t even drunk a singular drop of RedBull.

Max Verstappen hasn’t drunk RedBull.

And he was a good racer, he’d been a good racer. But you could only do so much when you were hungry and thirsty and under-caffeinated.

So why the fuck was he lying to Rupert instead of telling him so he could go off to the cafeteria, or do some stretches with him. Literally anything.

He opened his mouth to say something, refute it, anything but he just couldn’t.

His chest tightened and his hands clenched.

“Oh and text Charles would you? I’m sick and tired of him pestering me about you. Tell him you’re doing fine and I’m not destroying your muscles.”

Max pulled out his phone without even thinking about it.

Me:

I’m fine

And Rupert isn’t destroying my muscles

Charlie ❤️🏁:

Max!!!

Good morning!

You never text first!

How are you?

Me:

I’m fine

Charlie ❤️🏁:

Okay…

Very descriptive

I need to go, Fred wants me

But please don’t overwork yourself mon cœur, oui?

Max began to type a response, but-

“Alright, not that long. We still have stuff to do Max, race is in 5 hours and we’ll be working for every bit of it.”

He put the phone back into his pocket, despite the buzzing, which only increased as time went on.

It stressed him out, more that it usually would.

His fingers itched to pick it back up again, but Rupert was talking. He had to listen to Rupert.

—

“Alright, get out there and do your best Max, the positioning of this track is a bit bad for you, so make sure you keep that P1 in that first corner, okay Champ?” Christian said whilst grinning and clapping him on the back, pushing him forward and towards the car.

Max mumbled a vague agreement and made his way over to the track.

The car rumbled steadily underneath his hands, it was feeling much better than before, he wasn’t yet happy with it, probably never would be, but it was certainly an improvement.

The lights went out and he slammed the accelerator, heading towards the first turn, Oscar right on his heels and-

Keep that P1 in the first corner

He turned, barreling straight off the track, completely cutting off the first corner.

Shit

It was fine. All fine.

The FIA usually ignored any first corner infringements, especially on a track like this. It was okay.

“Keep it steady Max, keep pushing,” GP’s voice crackled through his ear.

“Wait- but with the-“

“No comment please, Max.”

He shut up.

He continued as normal, twisting and turning the car wherever need be, doing whatever he could to extend the gap.

Don’t overwork yourself, mon cœur

Right. He-

Keep pushing

Oh.

He couldn’t slow it down, he had to keep pushing. But he was meant to slow it down- so surely he had to fall back a little.

A faint thrumming began in his head, not entirely painful, but distracting enough that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

He drove in instinct, he wasn’t sure what he was doing or saying, but at least something was happening.

The drumming grew, it shook through his brittle bones and he gripped the wheel tighter in some futile attempt of averting the pain and regaining control.

But he hadn’t had control for a while now.

Not in the morning, not in any one of his conversations and certainly not in his driving.

But it just can’t be. Things like this don’t just happen, and they certainly don’t happen to Max.

Although, not one other thing could explain what’s going on.

Someone asks him to do something, and he just goes and does it, he doesn’t have control over his actions at all.

It unsettled something deep within him, he liked to be in control, needed it almost.

And now he had nothing.

He pushed down on the accelerator, sending the car in a perfect arc around a corner, gaining milliseconds to try and catch up to Oscar in front. He pushed harder and harder and-

A bright flash of pain sparked through his mind, he flinched and the car stumbled around a turn. It felt like burning and aching and freezing and it just hurt. It hurt so much.

“Keep the car steady, Max. Oscar 2.5 seconds ahead.”

Max barely managed to keep in another strangled, pained sound.

—

The car crossed the line in seconds, it was okay.

He wanted to win, but he always wanted to win.

He could take second.

But he really couldn’t take the fiery pain across his entire skull, only exasperated by the time he took off his helmet.

He closed his eyes and gripped the stand his helmet rested on. Blindly, he reached out and grabbed a water bottle and brought it to his mouth.

“Max.”

Oh fuck.

“We need to have a little chat,” Came the cocky, condescending voice of Muhhamed Ben sualem.

Quite possibly the last person he would ever want to be talking to right now, especially when Charles was right there.

“I would just like to remind you of the rules, Max. Considering you’re prone to breaking them. You are not to speak badly about myself or the rest of the FIA to anyone, press or not, or there will be harsh consequences, Max. It would do you well to remember this.” His voice droned on and on.

Max tried to refute, tried to say something in the one second he had before the cameras brought there mics over and he lost the chance to say anything at all. His mouth stayed closed.

Sulaem walked away with his typical goblinish grin.

He wasn’t really hearing much over the pounding in his head. He wasn’t really sure if it was because the only water he had was that in the water system, or if it was because he was running in absolute fumes after doing too much without any form of sustenance. Probably everything, considering the way he trembled where he stood, but he could see Charles out of the corner of his eye. At the very least he could be with Charles, especially after the shit show he’d suffered through.

He walked over and slumped wordlessly in a nearby pillar. Charles looked over and grinned with a small wink, although nothing else considering they had about a hundred cameras on them. It was a shame, Max was pretty sure he’d be okay with publicising his relationship for a kiss and a hug.

“Did you have a penalty?” Charles asked, also breathless but conscious enough to get his mouth moving, which was a little more than Max was currently capable of. He gave a small nod.

“God it was really hot out there today, wasn’t it?”

Again, Mad gave a bid but nothing else.

And Charles, probably sensing the fact his boyfriend wasn’t really up for a conversation, shut right up and came over.

He leant down on the same pillar, pushing their overheating bodies together, which was nice and pleasant but also very uncomfortable. Max knew it must’ve been the same for Charles, yet he was willing to do it, for Max.

Max dropped increasingly more weight into Charles’ side. Charles frowned and gave him an odd look.

“Are you okay, cherí? How do you feel?” He asked.

“Odd,” Max replied thoughtlessly, which he was not meant to say because he didn’t want to freak Charles out, and Charles would always be freaked out at the slightest change of his attitude.

Charles was clearly about to say more, but their PR managers came around together,

“Max, come on, you need to go speak with the media.”

His head flared up from where he hadn’t even recognised it falling.

You are not to speak badly

Max answered questions clinically, rushing through them and running off the second he could, in order to avoid any extra questioning.

He knew he was unsociable during the cool down room and podium. He hoped people believed it was because of the heat and penalty, rather than his overwhelming headache and aversion to speak in case anyone at all asked about penalties and he answered and his head flared up again.

It was much of the same in the post-race media room. Clipped answers, sips of water and wondering if he could sneak away to grab a bite to eat, or get some painkillers. Or just avoid the world for an hour or two.

The second he finished he slipped out of the room with a sigh, grateful to finally, finally-

“Max!”

Of for fucks sake.

It was a reporter he didn’t recognise, tall with dark eyes and a smile that instantly put him on edge.

“Sorry guys,” Max refuted, “I’m done for the day, I can’t really answer your questions.”

“We need you to answer some questions Max, we won’t take too long.”

Max’s body turned to face him before his mind could catch up.

“What happened with Oscar on the first turn? Was that his fault? Do you agree with the penalty?”

You are not to speak badly about myself or the rest of the FIA.

“Of course it is upsetting to get the penalty, but it cannot be changed now, so there is no point talking about it.”

“Ah, our typical world champion, blunt as always. What about the McLarens? What do you think about them?”

Stupid prick, Max wasn’t ‘their’ anything.

“I think they are very fast, they have a very good car-“

“Obviously not that. On a personal level, are you still friends with Lando? Do you like Oscar? Will yourself and Oscar’s relationship be able to repair after this incident?” He interrupted.

Max wasn’t sure press had ever bombarded him with quite so many questions, he wished the guy would just shut up and take that stupid camera out of his face so he could leave.

“Our relationships will not be affected by racing. We are all adults and we know how to separate from in and off track.” He replied dryly, hoping he would just get the fucking hint.

“What about outside of the track? Recently people have been speculating your relationship with Kelly. She’s been spotted around with other men, the tabloid are saying you have a PR relationship. Is this true? Who are you really dating?”

No no no no no, he could not seriously ask any of this right now. Not when Max couldn’t lie.

He had to shut up, he had to clench his mouth closed and drop any and all sound coming out, he couldn’t let them know, he couldn’t out himself and Charles.

Hell, they’d be arrested in half the countries they drive in, he couldn’t ruin both of their careers by letting his mouth run, but the guy was smirking at him and the camera was inching closer and he he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.

“Well-“

“I don’t see what that has to do with racing,” a cold voice cut in.

Charles.

Thank god, at least he was here.

“In fact, I’m not even sure you have a permit to report right now, considering you are outside of the media pen. You have no right to blockade off a driver from leaving just to pester them with useless questions. We are leaving. I’m going to ensure you never even see a race track ever again, after you’ve broken rules and harassed drivers.”

He snapped at the man, glaring daggers over the camera, directly into his eyes without backing down the slightest.

We are leaving.

Okay. Simple.

Just leave with Charles, he can do that.

Charles gently grabbed Max’s wrist and dragged him away, “Come on, mon trésor. Let’s get far away from these people.” He whispered.

Charles led them to their car and guided Max into the passenger seat, before jumping into the drivers and grabbing Max’s hands from across the console.

“Max, baby, you know I love you.” Max tensed, he wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“And that means you can talk to me. About anything.”

Max nodded wordlessly, Charles just looked more pained and brushed a hand over his cheek.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on. You’ve acted strange all morning, you didn’t respond to my texts, you’ve been distant, you’re letting yourself be hounded by the same type of reporters you hate and now you look about tap away from collapsing. What’s happened?”

The words spilled out before he could stop them, panicked and rushed, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening to me, every time someone asks me to do something I just do it. I have no say in it, it just happens. I barely even remember it, Charlie. I’m scared, I don’t know how far it goes, I don’t know how to stop it, and my head hurts- it hurts so badly. I don’t even know what’s wrong or how it’s happened but it doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh baby,” Charles cooed, pulling Max into a tight hug, “You poor thing. We’ll fix this, okay? I’ll get it sorted don’t worry,” he soothed as Max collapsed into his shoulder, thin streams of water soaking into his shirt, which only seemed to make them both more upset.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart, don’t cry. I know it’s stressful, but it’ll be okay, alright?”

Max tried to hide his face more thoroughly.

His head hurt as more tears flowed. He had to stop them, he wasn’t allowed to cry, but he’d already collapsed and now they couldn’t stop.

“Okay, how about this baby. Stop listing to what other people say. From now on you aren’t allowed to follow what they say at all, you have to use your own mind and your own opinions to make descisons. And if you’re ever in a position you are uncomfortable with, you leave as soon as you possibly can; you don’t stay around people like that, okay?”

Max sighed, “yeah. Yeah okay.”

“Perfect,” Charles grinned, “Let’s go back to the hotel now, cherí.”

—

Max stepped through the door, lightly supported by Charles’ hand resting over his waist and his vision promptly went back.

He collapsed forward, scarily close to getting the ground, until Charles’ scrambling was enough to grab and the back of his shirt and yank him away from the floor.

Charles sunk down himself, and brought Max to lay on his lap. He patted his face gently but firmly,

“Max. Max wake up. Mon cœur please get up, please,” he was feeling more and more frantic with every passing second, fumbling with Max’s legs to try and raise them both with one hand.

Thankfully, Max’s bleary eyes blinked open and he stared up at Charles before he could get worried enough to call an ambulance.

“Max, oh Max.” He sighed, “are you okay? Why did you faint cherí?”

“Food,” Max muttered.

“Food? Baby have you not eaten since the race? That was three hours ago. You need to eat afterwards, you need to regain the energy, Max. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“No,” Max mumbled, “not since the race, yesterday.”

Charles blanched, “baby, please do not tell me you haven’t eaten at all today, please.”

Max paused for a moment, “okay.”

“Wait-no. Mon Sucre I didn’t mean it like that. Have you eaten at all today?”

Max shook his head, looking like he was going to fall back asleep.

“Max!” Charles stressed, “That’s so bad for you! On a race day? Oh my god, okay okay, I’m going to take you to the couch then in going to get you some food, okay?”

Max nodded, only looking mildly surprised when Charles hauled him up and dropped him onto the soft, plushy couch. At least it was comfortable.

Super comfortable.

—

Max woke up slowly, he could feel two strong arms wrapped tightly around his torso, dragging him into a familiar chest. There was also a leg draped over his own and Charles’ warm breaths hitting the back of his head.

He tried to squirm a little bit, to turn around and at least face Charles, but his grip was so tight no amount of wriggling was really helping.

“Max?” Came Charles’ sleep soaked voice, “go back to bed, cherí.”

Max huffed, “No, Charles. let me move around, I want to face you.”

Charles instantly sprung up, unravelling himself from Max. He rolled Max onto his back and straddled over him.

“Did you just say no?” He asked with wide, hopeful eyes.

Max giggled lightly, “No.”

Charles let out a frillish squeal and bent down to pepper kisses all over his face.

“You’re back baby! Oh thank god, I have my sweet baby angel back!”

“Oh shut up, Charles. You’re slobbering over my face.” Max drawled.

“God it really is you, isn’t it?” Charles asked, looking terribly endeared.

Max just placed his hands around his neck and yanked him down for a good, proper kiss.

[unholyfudgebiscuits]

The Truth of Witches

Witches… 

Derek hates witches. 

His life was cursed enough as it was and now they had happened to stumble upon a coven? An actual coven! It had happened so quickly, the packs hadn't even had time react before they were engulfed in a plume of yellow smoke.

He guesses he should be grateful no one was hurt... Deaton had called it a lucky break but he doesn't particularly feel lucky as he stares around the room...

He hadn’t wanted to come to the Martin Lake House. Not with what the Druid had mentioned was essentially a truth spell that both his pack and McCall’s had been drenched with. He had planned to hole himself up in the loft, wanted to wait until the magic ran its course and he was safe from this… This ‘pack bonding experience’ Scott had put together. It hadn’t worked of course. 

Deaton said they needed to stay together. That the witches might come back and Derek couldn’t leave when the betas were vulnerable. It was decided to come to the lake house. Away from parents and friends and anyone not yet in the know of the supernatural of Beacon Hills. Derek had been against it and surprisingly, so had Stiles but they had both been overruled. 

So now they sat in a circle in the white room, playing a game of truth and … truth, each beta taking turns in asking the other a question. 

Derek doesn’t participate of course. Even though the members are good at boundaries and the game is surprisingly vanilla for a large group of high schoolers he’s not taking the chance. He does sit and listen though and it’s…nice, finding things out about the betas. 

How Boyd’s favorite color is yellow and Lydia’s never had a cavity. How Scott wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger and Isaac learned how to play piano from a neighbor who’d invite him over when his dad got too loud. Erica had always wanted children but was told she’d never be able to with her seizures. Kira couldn’t cook and Liam had been allergic to bees. 

It wasn’t until Lydia zoned in on Stiles that Derek felt the atmosphere shift. 

“What do you think is the most attractive thing about Derek?” 

It wasn’t a secret Stiles liked him. Stiles himself had been very vocal about it actually. Shamelessly winking at the alpha any chance he got, leaving him smily faced notes and calling him stupid nicknames of ‘My Sourwolf’ and ‘Big Bad’. It had been annoying at the beginning and then familiar and finally falling to the category of stupidly endearing. 

He didn’t growl every time the little human beta flirted with him anymore. He expected it at this point. The stupidest, cheesiest pick up lines that Derek could almost admit ended up being charming more often than not. 

He didn’t dislike Stiles. In fact, now that he was forced to be honest with himself he could admit he probably had a crush on the little goofball too. He was just… so different than anything Derek had ever imagined in a mate, he wasn’t sure how to process it. But he did like him. Really liked him… Was practically smitten with the idiot if anyone would have asked him about it under the spell. 

He’d never admit it. Not out loud. Not when he still woke up screaming from the memories of Kate and the fire. Not when he’d find himself frozen in the middle of a store isle after catching a glimpse of blond hair… When Jennifer’s real face warped over a normal passerby’s on the street... 

Stiles didn’t deserve to have a partner with that sort of baggage. Shouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares or sudden bouts of unexplained anger. When Derek would loose himself to moments of frustration and silence that were brought on by nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat... Stiles deserved someone who wasn’t damaged.

So he did what he had grown so good at doing. He buried those feelings and wants, rolled his eyes and pushed the human to an arms width degree of safety and hoped for it to pass. 

But it didn’t pass. 

Stiles was determined and with sidekicks like Lydia it was inevitable that something like this would happen. 

Derek steels himself for the answer. He had heard the string of praises before. Had stomached all he could take about what people thought or felt or wanted from his body. Maybe it had been flattering once. Maybe others thought he was conceited or narcissistic now but the compliments rung hollow at the best of times and degrading at the worst. 

He didn’t want to feel that from Stiles. Could almost taste the revulsion of it as he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable list of ‘appealing’ characteristics. 

Kate liked to gush about his ‘pretty blue’ and later ‘red eyes’ enough times to make him sick. And Jennifer ogled at his ‘incredible physique’. Even Braeden would unintentionally tell him how 'sexy' he was without knowing how the words used to turn his stomach. 

He crosses his arms and bows his head and waits to hear a similar speech as the heaviness in his chest threatens to choke him. 

“His smile.” Stiles says without missing a beat and Derek’s head whips up to meet his warm gaze.

The world stops spinning for a second because it’s the last possible thing Derek expects and the only one he’s never heard. 

“W-What?” He asks quietly. 

“I like seeing you smile. You don’t… not very often but it’s really beautiful when you do. Your eyes get all crinkly and you have a little dimple on your left side.” Stiles said matter of factly. Derek can’t make himself breathe, can’t stop looking at the human sitting across from him. “It’s my favorite thing, when I can get you to laugh.” Stiles says with a grin.

Derek's whole body shudders, a knot forming in his throat and he stands so quickly the chair he's sitting on topples over. He can't blink fast enough to stop the sudden wave of tears so he turns, rushing out of the room and into the cool night air.

Stiles follows a few minutes later, finding him leaning heavily against the fence railing.

“Derek? I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t.” He says, shaking his head as he stares out over the lake. “Y-You didn’t… I just…” But he can’t explain it. He doesn’t know how to say what he really wants to say and Stiles stands patiently  as he digs his claws into fists. “No ones ever…” 

Stiles takes a tentative step towards him. “Ever… liked your smile?” He asks gently and Derek shrugs. 

“I guess no one ever cared if I did smile.” 

A look of anger shutters across Stiles' face before it flickers back to concern and he moves closer. He cautiously reaches to touch Derek’s hand, the movement startling the other enough to turn and Stiles tugs gently at his fingers. Blood drips down onto the gravel and it takes longer than it should for Derek to loosen his grip.

“I do.” Stiles says. “I care.” Derek nods weakly.

“Its not because I’m in love with you Derek.” Derek whips his head to look over at him and Stiles rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I mean, I am… In love with you that is. But that’s not why I said it. I mean before all that. Before anything else you’re my friend and I just want you to be happy. Even if I’m not the one that makes you happy…I just wanted you to know that.” 

It would be easy for Derek to scoff and shake it off and tell himself that humans lie. Any other time… But he can still feel the warmth of magic rushing through his veins and when he himself opens his mouth to tell him it doesn’t matter he can’t. The spell won’t let him because the truth is, it does matter. It matters more than anything and the truth is, that Stiles is being honest. Completely honest. And Stiles doesn’t lie, not even without the witches’ influence. 

It takes a moment for Derek to anchor himself back to reality but he realizes that Stiles does make him happy. And that he wants Stiles to be happy too. Despite his head and past experiences and cursed family name telling him it's a bad idea...

He reaches towards his hand this time, linking their fingers together and when Stiles gives him a wink he returns it with a smile.

[ffigwit]

pearl bones and whale cries

“Bleached or water-logged?” He asked, suddenly. Celebrían thought he had failed to hear her. He sat again in the roots; legs pulled beneath him as a child would. 

“Pardon?”

“Your bones, maiden. Which will they be?”

She thought it over, her hands clenching beneath her gathered sleeves. “Neither, I suppose. They shall burn us should death find us there.”

“Even so. I wonder to think your bones will be pearled. Swathed by the sea.” He laughed. “May Ulmo lift you from the seafoam. Glaringly new.” 

—

Whilst travelling to the Grey Havens, Celebrían strays from the path and bumps into a fading Elf.

[tirsynni]

And more, I guess???

Chris: -- and leave Leon out of this! Wesker: Leon? As in Leon Kennedy? I had no idea you had such an interest. Chris: ...wait. Wesker: He is an interesting man. Cunning, resourceful. Creative. I will have to look into this further. Thank you, Chris. Chris: ...shit. Later Leon: So... you basically waved a red flag in front of a bull. Chris: I was trying to protect you! Leon: By waving a red flag in front of a deadly, megalomaniac, near-invincible bull. Chris: ... ... ... Leon: If he turns me into a BOW, you're the first one I'm coming after.

Wesker: *holding Leon in the air by the throat and choking him* So you're Ada's little puppy. It's time to put you down for good. Leon: Ch... ch... Wesker: *loosens his grip* Do you have final words, pup? Leon: Choke me harder, Daddy. Wesker: *drops him* What. Hunnigan on comms: What. Leon: *wheezing* Safe word is Raccoon.

[billyharringson]

Steve couldn't believe what he was seeing, or hearing. The fact that ABBA was playing in their tiny apartment wasn't that unusual, Steve played them all the time. Except it was normally accompanied by Billy bitching about Steve's 'terrible' music taste. ABBA usually only played when Steve was in the house too, and he definitely hadn't been when this song started.

"Voulez-vous, ah ha" Billy sang, exaggeratedly swinging his hips in time with the 'ah ha' as he danced around the kitchen "Take it now or leave it, ah ha." That little wiggle again, Billy's arms above his head, completely oblivious to his new audience. "Now is all we get, ah AH!"

Steve tossed his head back with a laugh as Billy finally faced him, the noise that escaped his boyfriend comedically high and squeaky. "What happend to 'this is housewife music' eh?" Steve asked, leaning against the doorframe as Billy's cheeks flamed red.

There was a beat of silence as Billy clearly scrambled for some kind of excuse. "Uh..." He said eloquently, before waving a hand in front of himself. "You're dreaming. This is a dream."

Steve chuckled again, pushing off from the doorway and walking over to Billy, wrapping his arms around his boyfriends waist. "You know, I think you're lying Billy."

"Says who?" Billy asked, openly pouting at him as he continued to blush.

"Me. You know why?"

Billy shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Because if I were dreaming," Steve leant close, until their noses touched, his grin cheeky, "you'd be naked."

Billy snorted, his shoulders finally relaxing. "If I get naked, will you pretend you never saw that?"

"If you get naked, baby, I'll do anything you want."

[redfadedghost]

The rain’s coming down and Soap still doubts that his life is on the right path.

That the mistakes he’s made were suppose to happen. That him going left instead of right was right, that it was god’s will for him to get injured so badly on that last mission that he’s now at home with those discharge papers burning a hole in the drawer he’s stuffed them in.

Why, that the first time he actually listened to directions and not his gut, he gets blown and beat up, leg broken, arm snapped, clavicle shattered, one too many concussions to be service worthy anymore. The hearing in his left ear’s going too, but nobody needed to know that.

He’s bitter, for the most part. Sad and disappointed, too, lost because the only thing he ever saw himself doing in life was ridding the world of evil. And now he’s stuck in bed, not on base, wondering what the hell he’s suppose to do with himself now? A broken man, inside and out, who’s only ever been a civilian for no more than two months at a time in the last ten years.

This isn’t even his house. 

Soap wonders if maybe, just maybe, there isn’t purpose in this life for him anymore. That he’s served it already, and the military letting him go was a sign for him to let go, too. To start over, a new life, new chances, new goals. New body, too, because this one isn’t what it used to be.

It all seems pointless now, life, living, all that jazz. The path he was put on seems to have ended, ended the moment he laid unconscious on a dirty concrete floor, blood slowly leaking out of multiple spots on his body.

Maybe if he had done things differently, gone right, he’d be in his barracks bed instead, antsy to get out on the field again. He still is, but there is no field anymore, not for him anyways. The field for him is edged with darkness and a whole lot of nothing.

Until the bedroom door opens, Ghost walking in balancing two to-go cups in a tray with a bag of scones in his other hand, blond curls slightly damp from the rain, warm smile on his face as he tosses the bag to Soap.

And maybe the path he’s on isn’t the wrong one, just different than he expected. And maybe there is still something to look forward to.

[gothamite-rambler]

Robin (on the phone): Dad, Lian and I are hiding out in a cabin from a bear that snorted a bunch of cocaine. We're fine, be safe, but come save us.

Batman opened his mouth to speak, paused, then checked the date on his phone. It wasn’t April 1st, and Damian didn’t usually joke like this.

Batman (his stoic tone gone): I'm sorry, what?

Robin: It sounds crazy, it is crazy, but trust me on this. We saw her snort it. I'm pretty sure it's Penguin's supply not the Joker's. She'd have a twisted grin if it was something Joker made.

Lian (in the background, eating the snacks in the cabin): It was nuts! I hope his heart doesn't explode like the one from the '80s.

Batman (in disbelief): This is... Am I on something? None of what you said is making sense. The bear... The cocaine... Nightwing, help me here.

Nightwing laughed unable to take this seriously although he knew it was, but he knew if Damian and Lian were safe there wasn't too much to worry about.

Nightwing: Remember that story about the bear that ate a brick of cocaine and in reality, he had a massive overdose and died?

Batman: Yeah.

Nightwing: Robin, Lian, and Superboy watched a movie loosely based on it. I scolded them for watching it, but in that version, the bear survived. Guess this bear only snorted some of it.

Batman (deadpan as he took this all in): There's a movie where the bear survived from eating a brick of cocaine?!

Nightwing (crossing his arms, chuckling): Yeah, it was nuts!

Lian: Right?! Anyway, we're safe regardless. Call my dad; he can shoot the bear with one arrow.

Robin (shouting): He's not killing the bear! The bear can be saved, she only consumed a small amount.

Lian: Dami, either his heart explodes, or he gets a mercy killing.

Robin: No, no! Shut up! I told you we're not killing her! Also it's a woman! You are giving me a headache!

Batman: We’re still on the phone.

Robin: I know, Batman! I’m reminding Lian that a bear isn’t dying today! You have to save her! You can save her right?!

Lian blew a raspberry, prompting Robin to shush her with an annoyed hiss.

Batman: Okay, call Arsenal, find out where you are, knock out the bear, and don’t kill it. Yes, the bear I'm just finding out is a woman won't die, I'll make sure of it. Then I'm going to figure out how a bear snorted coke.

Robin: Exactly! I told Lian you could handle this without murdering a bear.

Lian: You better hope his heart doesn't explode first then.

Robin: Silence, child! You saw her cubs! I'll smack you without a second thought! Batman, I have to go—hurry!

Robin ended the call, surprising Batman.

Batman: Only I can end calls abruptly.

Nightwing laughed, texting Roy about the current insanity unfolding in the forest and asking him to hurry with tranq darts and a camera.

[steddiehyperfixation]

let the sun rise

this is pure self-indulgent angst sorry. inspired by this post; written for @steddiebingo prompts: time loop + established relationship + saying goodbye | 2.9k words | T |

Steve has been living the same three days over and over again. Just before the sun rises on Thursday, March 27, 1986, the day they’re supposed to defeat Vecna, he wakes up again in the Wheeler’s basement on Monday, March 24. He’s been at this for a long time now and he’s gotten pretty good at blending in with each loop, letting all the major events play out more or less they way they’re supposed to and being careful not to do or say anything that might make anyone think there’s something weird going on with him. But sometimes he slips. Sometimes, just sometimes, he loses track, the days all blend together and he says something he shouldn’t—a mention of Vecna’s plan that won’t be told to them until the sunrise that will never come, an offhand comment referencing a conversation that only happened in a previous loop and not the current one, or an exhausted complaint about going through something again. 

It’s always Eddie who notices these slips, always Eddie with his big worried eyes and careful attention who demands to know what’s going on with him and won’t let up until Steve either tells him the truth (which rarely ends well) or gives him a believable enough excuse (which is no small feat either; Eddie has always known how to see right through him). 

“I'm in a time loop,” Steve grudgingly admits this time, too tired to come up with anything else as he crawls into Eddie’s haphazardly remade bed, fresh bat bite wounds still aching. It’s been a while since he’s told the truth, and the loop will reset soon anyways. All they have left now are these few quiet hours while Nancy collects herself after her Vecna vision and the rest of them try to sneak in a couple precious hours of sleep. 

“Oh shit.” Eddie believes him instantly, always does. Still standing at the opposite side of the bed, he looks down at Steve with wide eyes. “For how long?”

“Dunno. Years, probably. It’s a three day loop and I lost track of how many there’ve been a long time ago,” Steve answers boredly, dismissively, hoping maybe this time Eddie won’t make a big deal out of it. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll reset soon and I’ll wake up on Monday.” 

“On Monday? Steve- sweetheart, why the hell didn’t you say anything sooner?” Eddie seems agitated already, hands moving fretfully as he speaks. So much for it not being a big deal. “You should’ve told me—the kids, Nancy, Robin—we could’ve helped you get out of it! We could-” 

“I don’t want to get out of it,” Steve cuts him off. It comes out a bit sharper than he intended, but it succeeds in giving Eddie pause. 

Eddie freezes, blinks, frowns. “What do you mean you don’t want to get out of it?”

“I asked for this,” Steve says. “I chose this.” 

“The fuck you mean you chose this?”

“I mean I chose it, Eddie. It's not a riddle.” 

(Steve couldn't cope after Eddie died. They got back from the upside-down, the hospital declared Eddie DOA, and Steve shattered. Not just his heart and his soul broke, but his mind snapped too. He put on a good face in front of the others, like a mask with artfully placed cracks to let only the appropriate levels and displays of grief through, but behind it he'd gone mad. He'd become obsessed. In private, he pored through books of ancient mythologies and occult rituals, lighting candles and chanting nonsense and spilling his own blood. Because if psychic kids and monsters from parallel dimensions exist, then surely there must be other things out there too—surely there must be something that could bring Eddie back. 

For weeks nothing happened, nothing worked, but Steve kept on trying, again and again, the very definition of insanity, until finally something did. Something came to him. In the dark, in the candlelight, the shadows gathered into a shape just at the edge of his peripheral. It hurt his eyes to try to look at it, and so he closed them. He didn’t need to see it, didn’t need to know what it was—spirit or demon or god; there was only one thing that mattered: “Can you bring him back?” 

It spoke to him in a soundless voice, words that bypassed his ears and slithered straight into his brain. I cannot, it said. 

“Then what’s the fucking point of you!?” Steve shouted, hands clenched into fists, fingers pressing into the gash in his palm.

I cannot raise the dead. I cannot undo what’s already been done. But I can give you more time, the thing whispered. He felt its presence move closer. I can take you into the past, let you relive the days before his death as many times as you need to. You will not be able to change anything, try though you might, but you can see him again, touch him and hold him as he was, alive. I can give you that, if you wish. 

Steve shuddered, the shadowy entity cold at his side. “Yes,” he exhaled. “Please. Take me back.”)

Eddie shakes his head, a refusal to accept that answer. “Why would you do that?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Steve sits up and reaches across the bed to take Eddie’s hand. “Just come here and get some sleep. Please.” 

“Tell me why.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand but doesn’t budge, standing firm. “Why the fuck would you willingly choose to relive three of probably the most stressful days of your entire life over and over again?”

“Eddie.” Steve tugs at his hand, begging him one more time to drop the subject. 

“Why?” Eddie insists. “Why would you do that to yourself?” 

“Because you die, Eddie!” Steve blurts out, emotion getting ahead of his better judgement. “Because you die tomorrow and there’s nothing I can do to change it except make sure that tomorrow never comes. Because if I let this next sun rise, it’ll be the last one you ever see, and we didn’t get enough time. We deserved more time. So- so I was given a choice and I took it, I had to. This was the only way I could be with you again. This was the only way I could keep you alive.” 

(That’s as much as he can say without giving away his insanity. He told Eddie the full truth once, only once, in one of the earlier loops when he was still half-mad, manically pouring out the whole story of his grief and obsession and witchcraft. Eddie had backed away from him as if from something monstrous. “Steve, you’re scaring me,” he said, and Steve made sure to never tell that story again.)

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie mutters vehemently. He drops Steve’s hand and turns away from him, raking his fingers through his hair and exhaling a sharp, heavy breath through his nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Steve lets his dropped hand fall onto the bed like it weighs a ton, as heavy as the air between them and the words he’s confessed. “Please don’t get angry at me,” he pleads. He doesn’t want it to be a fight this time.

“What did you expect?” Eddie whirls back around. “You’ve been in this loop for years, I take it we’ve had this conversation before. So tell me, honestly, has there ever been a version of me that isn’t upset to learn that not only am I dead, but also that I’m the reason that you have been basically fucking torturing yourself for years?”

“No,” Steve admits. He doesn’t always act the same, so Eddie doesn’t always act the same—but whether it’s loud and angry or quiet and sad or somewhere in the middle, there has never been a loop where Eddie has reacted positively to any of this. And yet Steve still finds himself here, in loops like this one, desperate to make Eddie understand. “But it’s not like that. It’s not- I did this for you, so you could live!” 

That only makes things worse, it always does. 

“What, are you expecting a fucking thank you?” Eddie shakes his head, mangy curls flying. “You didn’t do this for me, you did this for you. Don’t you dare try to pretend like it’s anything other than purely fucking selfish. You haven’t given me any more life or any more time; I just reset, for you. You get to have all these extra years with me, but I’ll only ever have these three days with you.” His voice, though harsh and bitter, cracks; his eyes, though they blaze, are fractured and watery. “That’s not fucking fair, Steve. That isn’t right.” 

“It’s not right that you’re gone either! It’s not fucking fair that you died and you left me!” 

“Of course it fucking isn’t! But that doesn’t mean you go and stick yourself in a time loop, you idiot-!” 

“Fuck! Just stop yelling at me!” Steve sags back against the headboard, scrubbing his hands over his face and his stinging eyes. “I know, I already know. You’ve said all this before. I get it.” He drops his hands into his lap, tips his head back and closes his eyes as he sighs. He’s too fucking tired for this. Too fucking tired and in pain, and all he wants is to fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms and wake up last Monday with this conversation erased from Eddie’s mind and a fresh loop ahead of him.  

Because Eddie’s wrong, he’s not torturing himself. Yes, they spend each loop in a near constant state of fear and stress, but they can still seek comfort in each other in the quiet moments; and even a panicked breath is still a breath, even a racing heartbeat is still a heartbeat, and Steve will treasure every second, every moment of proof he can get that they’re both still alive, together. That’s not torture when it’s all he’s got left. That’s worth everything. 

“There’s only a couple hours left of this loop,” Steve mutters wearily. “Can we please not waste it arguing with each other?” 

Eddie sighs in surrender, a slow, controlled huff like he’s still seething a little, but Steve can feel the worst of his anger beginning to curb into something softer. After a moment, the bed dips beside him and an arm slides around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He tugs Steve close and presses a kiss into his hair. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you’ve just got too much heart for your own good, and I’m flattered that I mean so much to you. But…I also think that you need to let me go.”

Steve opens his eyes to Eddie’s soft, sad ones. It’s unbearable. He ducks his head, settling it onto Eddie’s shoulder and burrowing even further against his side. “Yeah,” Steve exhales a humorless laugh, “you’ve said that before too.” 

“And you’ve never listened,” Eddie says the obvious part out loud.

“No,” Steve confirms. His eyes close again, exhaustion pulling at him. “I don’t want you to die.” 

“Well, shit, sweetheart,” Eddie gives a dry, shaky laugh of his own, “I don’t want me to die either. I’m kind of really fucking terrified actually. I mean, given what we’re up against, I’m sure it’s gruesome and horrible—and don’t tell me,” he adds quickly when Steve starts to open his mouth to comment. “But you already know, don’t you, because it’s already happened for you. I’m already dead. I’m just…I’m nothing but a ghost to you now.” 

“No, you’re real,” Steve insists. He shifts to wrap both arms around Eddie’s waist and rest his head against Eddie’s chest, right over his heart. It’s beating a bit fast now—contemplating your own mortality will do that to you—but it’s beating, it’s beating. “You’re not a ghost. You’re alive.” 

“Only for these three days,” Eddie says, quiet with the effort of keeping his voice steady. “That’s not living, that- that’s not life, it’s just an echo of it. Countless echoes, but the real me is already gone. You have to let me go.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve holds him tighter, desperately, throat closing up with panic and grief just at the thought of losing him again. He buries his face in the dingy, unwashed fabric of Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. “Stop saying that. Just let me keep you.” 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, and he holds him tighter too, his other hand coming up to run gentle fingers through Steve’s hair, “my Stevie, I’d let you keep me forever. But not like this. Not if I can’t keep you too, and especially not if keeping me is keeping you from living your life. I need you to live, Steve.”

“And I need you to live, Eddie,” Steve counters, mumbled petulantly into Eddie’s chest. This conversation is going in circles and Steve wishes Eddie would just let him sleep. He’d be lulled off in seconds by Eddie’s warmth and his soft hands if only he’d stop talking and making Steve want to cry.

“Steve-” 

“Stop,” he begs, voice breaking into something just short of a whine as it passes through the lump of emotion in his throat. He doesn’t want to hear this anymore. 

“Steve, look at me.” Eddie tugs lightly at Steve’s hair to get him to lift his head, pushes gently at his shoulder to peel him away from Eddie’s side. Steve tries to fall back into him, but Eddie’s hand slides from his hair and holds his chin up with firm fingers, forcing Steve to remain locked in Eddie’s intense gaze. Which would be incredibly hot if only the circumstances weren’t so devastating. 

Steve has to look at him now, no matter how tumultuous an ache it leaves in his chest. Eddie’s face is tear-stained, water tracks tracing streaks in the layer of grime left there from all the trials of the past few days, but his expression is hard-set, determination and resolve pulled tight over all the quivering emotions behind it. Steve has never seen him look so grave, so serious and sad and scared all at once. And even like this, he’s beautiful. 

“I don’t want to die. There is so much more I want to do with my life, and if I have any choice at all in the matter,  I’m gonna fight like hell to keep it; I can promise you that,” Eddie tells him, words a little rough around the edges with how much he means them. “But if everything you’ve told me is true—if I really am doomed, if I’m already dead—if I can’t live, then you have to. Not just the same three days on repeat, none of this time loop bullshit, I mean really, actually live. If you do anything for me, do that. Let the sun rise, let me have my last day, and go have the best fucking life.” He speaks emphatically, urging, demanding, pleading. His unwavering eyes never leave Steve’s, even as fresh tears well up and collect in beads on his lashes. “Please. Can you promise me that?”

Steve manages a tiny, noncommittal nod and pitches forward to pull Eddie into a kiss—if nothing else just to shut him up, but also, maybe, just in case this time it might really be their last. It certainly feels like a last kiss, has all the desperation of one, all the clumsy fervor and salty taste of tears.

But Eddie recognizes it as the evasion it is and doesn’t let him get away with it. Though he indulges the distraction with equal, if not more, desperation for several long moments, he soon pushes Steve back. “Promise me,” he says again, a bit breathlessly now but still just as serious. “I need you to promise me you’ll let the sun rise. Don’t just placate me, don’t just shut me up, promise me.” 

Steve’s stubborn tears finally spill over as for the first time he finds himself truly considering it. For the first time, his denial is not as immediate; for the first time, Eddie’s words and pleas have started to sink in somewhere he can’t ignore, and he knows, somewhere deep, that he should let go, he should move on. If only the idea didn’t make his whole body shake and the monster of his grief tighten its claws around his heart.

They look at each other with haunted eyes, hold each other with trembling hands. Just a couple of scared kids—Eddie scared to die and Steve scared to live without him, both of them trying hard to have the courage to face the inevitability. But Eddie has always been the braver of them (though he’ll never quite know it), and being in a time loop has made an excellent liar out of Steve. 

“I promise,” he says, with enough softness and sincerity that Eddie lets him kiss him and curl up close again without any more argument. They whisper goodbyes to each other instead of goodnight as they lay down to sleep, Steve settling his head back on Eddie’s chest and finally drifting off wrapped blissfully in his arms. 

He wakes up on Monday, March 24th, and he tells himself it’s only for a little while longer.