#ficlet

[hairmetal666]

Scandal follows Eddie Munson wherever he goes. He doesn't mean for it to, it just does. And, like, sure, he should've known that cavorting with a bunch of topless models in a hot tub in a chalet in the Swiss Alps was a bad idea, but 1) he's gay and 2) even if he wasn't, does anyone really care if a rockstar has an orgy these days?

Well, it turns out that they do. They do so much, in fact, that he hasn't known a moment's peace since the photos leaked. Every time they go outside, they're mobbed. Their socials are a disaster zone.

Chrissy, Jeff, Gareth, and Freak are sick of his shit, worried that this will ruin the world tour, which doesn't make any sense. All publicity is good publicity, right?

Anyway, he's not surprised when he, Chrissy, and the rest of the band are whisked away in a fancy car with dark-tinted windows, thinks they're about to fly home for a break. And honestly? Good riddance to Europe.

Imagine his surprise when he exits the car mere feet away from the sun soaked Mediterranean.

"Oh no. No, no, no." He says, trying to force his way back into the sedan.

"Oh, yes." Chrissy links her arm with his. "You need to lay low for a few days and this was the best I could manage on short notice."

He glares. "You know I hate boats."

"You do not," Gareth accuses.

"You're just mad at facing consequences for your actions," Jeff adds.

"I didn't do anything!" He wails.

Freak pulls out his phone, reads, "Munson, 26, has always been open about being gay, out of the closet since Corroded Coffin's first gig. Now, though, his sexuality is in question. Multiple women have come forward to claim they slept with the rockstar. And, while many of the women in the photo have said that Munson was 'deeply uninterested' in them, the fact remains that his antics are more Motley Crue than Troye Sivan."

Eddie groans up at the sky. "Why would I be anything like Troye Sivan!? I'm in a heavy metal band! And he's around boobies all the time! Honestly, has no one been to a rave?"

"Not since the 90's." Chrissy smiles brightly, continues up the dock.

"I'm never forgiving any of you for this."

"It's a luxury yacht, Eddie. You'll survive," Gareth says.

He very bravely does not point out that he's wearing black jeans and an over-sized black hoodie and black platform Doc Martens, so obviously he's not the type of person equipped for any kind of boat.

The conversation ends but only because, when they get up to the main deck and the crew waiting for them, he sees the most beautiful man in the world. Artfully messy sun-bronzed hair, strong jaw, classic nose, skin dotted with freckles. Aviators hide his eyes, but even the sunglasses look good on him. Not to mention the little white uniform that shows off all of his many many muscles.

Eddie stares at him, blatantly, unabashedly, totally missing the introduction to the rest of the crew.

As soon as he's left to his own devices, he locks himself in his cabin. Not even the chance to gawk at that hot guy can draw him out of his pout. They can force him onto a boat, but they can't make him enjoy it.

He lasts until afternoon the next day, when Jeff barges in, surprising him enough that the throws his phone with a very un-rockstar yelp.

"You have to come out." Jeff's arms are crossed over his chest.

"Nope." Eddie relaxes back into his pillows. "Not until this is over."

"So, you're going to stay in your room for a week?"

"Guess so."

"Orr, you could come out and enjoy yourself instead of pouting over what your own actions caused."

"My actions!" He shrieks. "My actions! I stumbled on a bunch of topless French models in a hot tub, and I'm at fault?"

"No, you being drunk enough to get in with them was the problem."

"I wasn't even that drunk! I just thought it was funny. They did too!"

Jeff sighs. "You get yourself into a situation more than any person I've ever met."

"See? It's not my fault."

"I mean. It kind of is. I suspect any other guy would learn how to avoid this."

"I'm not leaving."

"Man, Chrissy isn't going to let you stay in here."

"Too bad."

"She told me to carry you out, if I had to."

"You wouldn't."

"If you come out, you can chat up the cute bosun."

"The bos-what?"

"Bosun. The guy you were ogling when we boarded. His name is Steve. He's really nice. He--"

"I was not ogling him."

"Eddie. You looked like you wanted to eat him for dinner."

"I'm not leaving the room." He sing-songs.

Look, would he have fought so hard if he'd known that Jeff was strong enough to toss him over his shoulders and fireman-carry him out of the room and up the stairs? He would not.

Instead, he screams the whole way from his cabin to the deck, where he's unceremoniously deposited into a lounge chair next to Chrissy. She's in a hot pink bikini, sipping a cocktail.

"Good to see you." She deadpans.

He glares. "Et tu, Chrissy?"

From behind him, a rich voice calls out, "Glad you could join us." It is, of course, the hot bosun. He waves when he catches Eddie looking in his direction.

Eddie sinks down in the lounger, Chrissy stifling giggles against her elbow.

---

The thing is, Steve is nice. He's nice and he's funny and he's hardworking. He's good with the other deckhands, Dustin, Max, and Lucas; strict but fair and good at keeping everyone on task. The stewards, Nancy, Robin, and El, all love him. Sometimes, he'll be down on all fours scrubbing the deck, and his t-shirt will bunch up, reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his taunt stomach that makes Eddie feel like a feral dog.

He's out on the top deck reading a copy of The Hobbit that Dustin loaned him, when Steve comes around the corner.

"Oh! Eddie, hey." Steve smiles. "Didn't realize there were any guests still up here."

"Do you need me to move?" He asks. He swings his feet over the side of the lounger.

"Not at all. Just wasn't expecting you." Steve's puttering around, picking up the detritus of the day. "I'm glad we've been able to overcome your expectations of boats."

His squeak is indignant. "It wasn't about the boat! I was brought here against my will!"

Steve smiles at him, eyes glittering. "Yeah, what a horrible punishment, boarding a luxury yacht for a Mediterranean cruise."

Eddie grabs at his chest, mimes being shot in the heart. "Stevie, how could you? All this time I thought you were on my side."

"Eh," he shrugs. "You were kind of being a baby."

He falls off the lounger at this. "The killing blow," he wails.

Laughing, Steve extends a hand, helps him to his feet. Their eyes meet and Eddie's struck, once again, by the way the hazel shines so gold, even at twilight.

"I'm being punished," he says, looking away.

"Again, getting on a chartered yacht for a week is not much of a punishment."

"I have a tendency to find myself involved in shenanigans."

"The topless women," Steve says.

Eddie groans. "You know about that?"

Steve does a real bitchy thing with his eyebrows that makes Eddie very warm in places it shouldn't. "Everyone knows about it."

"Okay. I'll have you know those boobs meant nothing to me, which is why it was fine! We had fun! Also, I am very, very gay. Like. The gayest."

"Oh, I know." Steve grins.

He doesn't know what to do with that. Changes the subject instead. "I hadn't clocked you for someone who listened to our stuff."

"I don't. Or well. Not really. No offense. The kids love you guys. And Robin. It's just--it's really loud? Not really my thing. Some good lyrics, though."

"No, I get it." He nods, licks his lips. "I write most of our songs." He's not sure why he says it, what he hopes to get from it.

"I know," Steve says.

"Oh." Eddie smiles down at his hands, The Hobbit. Before he can say more, Chrissy calls him down for dinner.

---

It's no secret that the Corroded Coffin boys are diehard dnd fans. They've done interviews about it, posted video of their sessions on YouTube and TikTok. Everyone knows they play, everyone knows Eddie DMs, so, he supposes, it's only a matter of time before Dustin and Lucas asks if he would DM for them.

The band, Chrissy, Lucas, Dustin, Max, Nancy, El, and Robin all agree to play. When asked, Captain Hopper snorts, doesn't take his eyes off the horizon, and Steve tells Dustin, "You know nothing in the world will make me play that game, kid. I'll try to stop by, though."

Eddie is totally in his element, everyone is having a blast, even Captain Hopper stops by. And Steve--he shows up after fifteen minutes, stays the whole time, can't keep his eyes off Eddie. He's not sure if it spurs him on, makes him more wild and dramatic, but the game is electric, the mood high.

It's an amazing night, one of the best of Eddie's life, and that's really saying something. They go late, well into the morning, but he's too hyped to sleep. He's pacing across the deck when Steve appears.

"You were great tonight." He says.

Eddie feels like he's effervescing. "You should think about playing sometime."

"Nah." Steve ducks his head a little. "Wouldn't be the same without you leading."

There's not a ton of space separating them, but he closes the distance anyway. "That could be arranged," he says, voice low.

"Yeah?" Steve meets his eyes, doesn't look away.

"If you want."

The air between them goes heavy, tightens, the silence lengthens.

"I can't," Steve breathes. "I'm working."

"No, yeah," Eddie nods. He steps back, runs his hand through his hair. He's never said no to something like this, never to someone like Steve. "I'm avoiding--"

"Situations." Steve finishes.

"Oh, but, Stevie, you're a situation I want very much."

"Take me on a date tomorrow."

"It would be my pleasure," he says.

He should leave but--he does love an occurrence, so he lets the impulsivity fly-- leans forward, places a soft kiss at the corner of Steve's mouth.

"Tomorrow, sweetheart."

[seen-the-stars]

@exhaustedpirate and i were talking about tommy yesterday and then this happened. enjoy, i guess :]

"Tommy, I do like you, you should know that.” Hen says, holding the cup of coffee in her hand, watching over to where Karen and Buck are playing with the kids. She can feel the way his body is tense next to her, and it reminds her of a younger Tommy a long, long time ago.

The tension never really left him, back then. Hen always attributed it to something else.

“I just never thought you liked me all that much,” she adds, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

His shoulders fall, but the tension remains.

"Hen, I…” his voice is quiet, soft in the way it wasn't back then. “I admired you from the second you walked into the firehouse. I just. God, I was so jealous, too.”

Hen can't help the scoff that builds in her throat at the words. “You. Were jealous of me?” She says it like it's crazy, because it is. She was the dirt beneath their feet under Gerrard, she would have gladly changed with anyone. She was in no position to be jealous of. It's absurd, is what it is.

“You came into the firehouse and you stood your ground. You never pretended to be anyone else other than yourself. And we treated you like shit for it, I know. Believe me, I do.” There's a pause there that feels significant, so Hen doesn't interrupt.

“I know you can't exactly hide it. But you could've made yourself smaller. Changed. And you didn't. You… god, Hen, you were so loud about who you were. Unapologetic and with both feet on the ground, immovable. Solid.”

Hen turns to look at him, wondering where this is all coming from. He's fidgeting with the mug in his hands, eyes trained on Buck in the other room.

“And every day I saw you,” his voice is even quieter now, “I thought: please stop being so loud. Stop showing me what I should be, because I can't. I hated that I couldn't be like you. I hated that I hid, that I was so terrified. I wasn't uncomfortable with you for any of the reasons everyone thought I was. I was uncomfortable because it's like someone gave me a mirror and said: look, this is who you would be if you were better, if you weren't such a coward. And I never learned how to deal with that while I was at the 118.”

There's a thousand conflicting emotions in her heart, but Hen knocks their shoulders together anyway.

"That's why you transferred?” She asks, because she has a hunch about it. "So you could be better?”

“Yeah,” he admits, leaning against her shoulder with his own, “I had a really good teacher, you know.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eight

“Uh hu,” Chrissy says into the phone, pacing back and forth across Eddie’s lounge, “so that sounds pretty certain?”

“Who are you talking to?” Eddie asks, Chrissy doesn’t answer.

She smacks Eddie’s legs down off the coffee table so she can make that part of her route. Eddie stares at the muted TV. Mid morning ‘Seinfeld.’ He’s pretty sure ‘Fraser’ will be on right after. Or is it ‘Everybody Loves Raymond.’ ‘Cheers’? maybe.

Eddie flops his head back on the back of the couch. Maybe time is actually cyclical, and he’s living the same shit day over and over again. Or maybe he’s dead, and this is purgatory.

“So can we book Steve for that?” Eddie perks up, looking over the back of the couch, watching.

Book Steve for what? “Book Steve for what?”

Chrissy glares at him, mouthing, ‘shut the fuck up.’

“Uh hu. Uh hu. Okay, send that over to me. No, male Beta is safest, trust me, Eddie’s impulse control is- yeah. Okay, yeah, Tommy, right, I’ll let Eddie know.”

“Hey,” Eddie frowns. Yeah, okay, his impulse control has, maybe, been questionable of late but, fuck. That’s just rude. And who the fuck is Tommy? “Who are you talking-mpfh.”

Chrissy leans over the back of the couch to shove a cushion over Eddie’s face.

Eddie doesn’t fight it. He can kind of breathe, he’s not going to die under here, but ‘Manager murders recovering rock star addict,’ is legitimately a hilarious headline.

“Okay,” the pillow comes off, “they think you’re going to rut again.”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah, basically you fucked with it so much for so long it’s going to take a few goes to settle.”

Eddie flops his head back again, he really doesn’t want to spend another week feeling like a warm gritty turd. “I didn’t fuck with it that much-”

“Eddie, if you weren't suppressing it you were inducing it for a fucking orgy-”

Eddie flaps a hand at her, he doesn’t want to hear it really. He’s fucked a lot of people, and sometimes thinking about the...group activities Eddie has been involved in makes him feel a little dirty. A little sick. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely fucking loved it at the time, then Eddie felt like he was winning at life. He felt like he was peaking. King of the world. Screwing people he didn’t even know the names of. Didn’t care to know their names, even. Now Eddie knows he's so fucking lucky he never caught anything major considering all the risks he took, and no one’s ever come out of the woodwork claiming to have an illegitimate Munson.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it, necessarily, consenting adults and all that jazz but...it’s like finding the best food in the world, and then eating way, way, too much of it.

One day you wake up and just the thought of it is enough to make you throw up.

Eddie’s Alpha bristles at the thought, his stomach turning over. He’d loved it, at the time. Constantly being in a position to dominate everyone around him. His Alpha constantly satisfied. Never being without options for a willing hole to knot, Eddie’s Alpha had been on as much of a rampage as he had. Those times have ended though, and just the thought of it has his Alpha bristling.

Eddie’s Alpha pines for a mate, now. One person, one scent, one nest. Now, the thought of all those mingled scents has him taking shallow breaths trying to clear them. Memories of waking up in damp piles of limbs, covered in the cloying, overwhelming soup of Alpha and Omega scents filling his nose, coating him, suffocating him.

It was fine at the time, but a lot of things were fine at the time.

He briefly flashes on the memory of Steve’s very inoffensive scent. Clean and clear. A sun warmed breeze carrying the scent of something green and alive.

It jogs Eddie back to the present, “is that why you were asking about Steve?”

“Yeah, he can’t do it, you’re having some guy called Tommy.”

“What? Fuck off, no I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, doing his best to reign in his irritation and have a sensible conversation about this, he knows he stands a better chance of actually getting somewhere with Chris if he talks it through, “I only just got used to Steve, I’m not having another stranger in my house again. Please, Chris...I...me and Steve had a system going by the end there.”

Chris sits neatly on the couch next to him, “I know honey, but Steve can’t so-”

“Then I’ll go it alone-”

“Absolutely not. You need someone here to take care of you-”

Eddie scoffs, “I am not a child-”

“Uh hu, someone needs to be here, and it’s not going to be me. No offense but,��� she makes a hand wavy motion.

“No, yeah, I get that. Why can’t Steve make it?”

“I don’t-”

“I want Steve. Steve or no one,” Eddie crosses his arms.

Chrissy sighs, rubbing her forehead, “Eddie, I feel like you’re old enough that I shouldn’t have to explain this, but honey, you can’t always have what you want.”

Eddie huffs and stomps off into his bedroom.

Eddie’s done a bit of a lyric pick and mix, and now his chicken scratch stares back at him, mocking.

He’s pretty sure he has something, he just...can’t...make it. There’s got to be a beat in there somewhere. A stupid tune hiding out. Elusive. Cuntish.

Eddie taps at the counter top with his pencil, immediately reminded of Steve and his stupid cross words and his stupid tapping.

Eddie taps. Mirrors Steve. There’s...something, in Steve’s stupid tapping. Maybe-

“Eddie!”

Eddie startles, jolted from his thoughts, good job he’s already sitting down or he’d be on the fucking floor. “What?!” he snaps back.

“I spoke to them, Steve definitely can’t do it, he has PTO next week and that’s likely to be when your ruts going to happen, or at least overlap. He’s dog sitting.”

Eddie pulls a face, deflating, because honestly that sounds like a big fat lie. Steve’s just avoiding him, “dog sitting? For who?”

“Eddie, I don’t know this mans life, come on-”

“I like dogs. Why can’t he just bring the dog?” Eddie can’t resist but poke at it. Will he just make up another lie? Steve never seemed to be the kind to lie like that. Eddie was pretty sure Steve was on the level.

“I-” Chrissy frowns spectacularly, “since when do you like dogs? You don’t like dogs, I had to stop you from punting Paris Hil-”

“I wasn't actually going to do anything to her dog-”

“You called it a ‘vajazzled rat’-”

Eddie immediately looses it, howling with laughter, he can barely speak, “I don’t- I don’t remember saying-”

Chrissy crosses her arms, looking deeply unimpressed, “because you were fucking cross faded Eddie-”

“Oh come on! That’s funny!”

Chrissy sighs, “it is kind of funny. It wasn’t at the time though,” she slaps his shoulder, trying to hold her smile in.

She hits kind of hard actually, “ow,” Eddie rubs his shoulder.

“Shut up you big baby, I’ll go find out if Steve wants to bring the dog.”

“He’s a golden retriever called Falkor, and he belongs to a good friend who is going on holiday. Steve said, if you really truly don’t mind, he will bring the dog-”

“Yeah okay-”

“But the condition is that you will walk the dog, twice a day, with Steve.”

“Why the fuck do I have-”

“I really don’t care Eddie, that’s the deal. Take it or take Tommy. If you refuse to walk Steve’s going to pack up his shit and trade out with the other guy, Steve was very, very clear about it. One strike and you’re out.”

“That does sound like something Steve would say.”

Sitting in the studio is way better than sitting in Gareth’s garden. There’s stuff to do here, distractions, and it takes the attention off. Or at least, spreads it around a little.

“It’s not much,” Eddie is telling the guys as he sits himself at the drum kit. He can play a little, kind of. He’s proficient enough to get his point across at least. He never lasts long though, the pedal makes his shin hurt after about ten minutes and he’s never bothered to push through.

Building callouses on his fingers to play guitar was painful enough, he doesn’t need to suffer any more for his art. It’s not long before Jeff is nodding along regardless, he understands the assignment pretty quick, grasping the bones of it, Eddie can trust him to make it his own.

The bass line is simple, maybe a little too simple for what Eddie usually produces, but it’s enough background noise for Eddie to tentatively wedge the words where he wants them, his guitar slung at his back, headphones half on and half off.

It’s day three, and progress may be tentative, but it feels alright. Feels like the old days. Kind of like starting again.

Eddie does his absolute best to ignore the building itch under his skin.

[achromatophoric]

Wednesday: Given the opportunity, I’d take my finest blade and carve myself a sanguine path, splitting apart flesh and bone alike to make of their thoracic cavity a gaping ruin.

Wednesday: Butchery complete, I would next descend upon that hallowed chamber, burrowing through wet viscera and pulsating veins until I reach their insufferably robust heart.

Wednesday: Then—and only then—would I take my bloody reward, wrapping myself around that wretched organ until it becomes as irrevocably infested as my mind is with thoughts of them.

Wednesday: Is your curiosity sufficiently slaked?

Yoko:

Yoko: *queasily* Uh. Yeah. Sure. Thanks.

Wednesday: *nods curtly and storms away*

Yoko: *waits until Wednesday is well out of ear shot*

Yoko: *glances at the nearby bushes* Soooooo… you catch all that?

Yoko:

Yoko: Enid?

Enid: *feebily* Mm-nkay…

Yoko: *rushes over to the bushes* Pup! Are you—

Enid: *lying facedown in what looks suspiciously like vomit*

Yoko: Holyshit. Enid, you uh… ick. That bad?

Enid: *shakily lifts her head* Nnngh.

Yoko: *crouches to comfort her friend* Shhhh. It’s gonna be okay, she probably didn’t mean—

Yoko:

Yoko: Bitch, are you seriously SMILING right now?!

Enid: *pale-faced, hair sodden with yuck, and wearing a deliriously happy (if dazed) smile*

Enid: W-Wends wants to cuddle m-my heart!

Yoko: 😐

Yoko/Enid: 🤦‍♀️ 🫠💫💕

[winterssystem]

Natalie cooking once again, this is adorable.

They didn’t know Alex was watching them.

She was the only one awake- Kelly was sleeping in near silence, her breath tickling Alex’s throat, as her head lay pillowed on Alex’s chest. After the reception had formally drawn to a close, the core group, the Superfriends, had all moved on to the sprawling mansion that Lena had generously rented for them to inhabit for a few days before Alex and Kelly left for their proper honeymoon.

Alex was the only one awake. They’d all be tired and hadn’t even finished the drunken game of monopoly they’d begun for old time’s sake. Kelly had changed out of her wedding dress and Alex out of her suit and they lay curled up on a loveseat beside the crackling fireplace. Nia and Brainy were in a similar state on the couch. Between them all, Kara’s little doggie monopoly piece remained where it had last landed on Park Place, forcing her to declare bankruptcy and, of course, end up ceding all her deeds to Lena.

The game was essentially over at that point and everyone knew it, so the drinking began to lubricate the passing of stories and telling of tales. A second buzz in the same day always hit harder than the first and everyone fell asleep where they sat, except Alex.

She had a sick terrible feeling in her stomach, not of regret surely, but a dread she had trouble explaining. It finally hit her as she watched the firelight dance across Kara’s features.

Something had changed. Something was over, a page turned to a new chapter. One where, Alex somehow knew, their lives would no longer revolve around alien insanities and mystical calamities. The world was settling, shuffling back to the state it was in before Kara caught that plane all those years ago and announced herself to the world.

A more normal time, calmer, changed perhaps in many ways but just… life.

Now that Alex was at the threshold with her toes curled back from it and unsure if she was ready to cross, she felt a little loss. Her future was looking less superheroic and more soccermometic; Kelly had her two-thirds of the way convinced to reactivate her medical license and join a practice. When everyone talked about their futures the sounded mundane, even Kara was more excited about her big new job and chasing her dreams.

Wait.

Alex was wrong. Kara was awake, she was just so utterly entranced that one might be misled into thinking that she was merely dreaming.

Kara and Lena somehow ended up in a wide chair together, curled up in a tangle of limbs, wrapped in Kara’s cape as a blanket. Lena was tucked in under Kara’s chin on Kara’s lap, clearly in a deep, peaceful sleep.

Kara, however, was very much awake. She held Lena in a particular way, at once shockingly gentle and fiercely protective, making a fortress of her arms. Kara was intently focused on her chair-mate, either staring at her with the most pitiful expression of fear and anxiety or nuzzling her nose into her dark curly locks and sighing.

Alex frowned, unsure what to do or say. Her sister looked pained, as pained as Alex had ever seen her. She knew for a fact that she and Lena weren’t fighting- they spent more time together than ever now; it had started with them effectively splitting their time between their respective apartments but over the last couple of months had shifted to Lena, for all intents and purposes, shacking up with Kara. They spent no more than one night in ten apart and of those nine they were together, eight seemed to be at the loft.

Whenever Alex set foot inside, Lena was simply there, for no special or particular reason, the two of them just sharing the same space casually and naturally.

So why did Kara look so broken?

“Hey, kiddo,” Alex whispered. “Why the long face?”

“I can’t talk about it now.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“You guys didn’t have a fight or something, did you?”

Kara was quiet for a time.

“I think I waited too long.”

“For what?” said Alex.

“Don’t you know?”

Alex furrowed her brows, watching intently. Lena stirred, perhaps nudged towards consciousness a little by their murmured conversation and the urgency in Kara’s soft voice.

Then it hit her. Indeed, it struck her like a physical force. Kara looked down at Lena again and Alex gasped at the realization, wondering how the hell she had missed this, of all things.

She’s seen Kara smitten before, like she’d been with Kenny or the fuckboi from the dickhead planet. That was different. That was not this. Kara looked at Lena like she might not be able to breathe if she let her out of her sight.

Oh. Oh shit.

“We’re all moving on with our lives,” Kara whispered. “Taking new jobs, getting married, starting new careers. What happens when she’s too busy for me, Alex? When she finds somebody else and wants a real family and a real life and not… whatever we’re doing? What happens when…”

Kara must have noticed, her incredibly unfair super senses alerting her even before Alex noticed that Lena was awake, her blue eyes dark and soft in the flickering light.

Total silence fell over the room; all Alex could hear was Kelly breathing against her.

“I have a real family, Kara,” Lena said, softly. “They’re right here. You’re right here.”

“Lena?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lena said, lifting her head gently from Kara’s face. “Ever. I promise.”

They stared at each other for long heavy moment and said nothing. Kara’s eyes were so soft, her gaze so heavy with love, beyond love, adoration, almost worship. Lena gave her a little smile and looked up at her through her lashes.

“Oh for fucks sake, will one of you just goddamn do it already?” Alex blurted.

To her surprise, or maybe not, it was Lena who crossed the gap, who sealed the deal. She was the one who kissed Kara but in moments it didn’t matter who started it, and Kara simply stood and lifted Lena with superhuman ease and was already carrying her up the stairs.

Silence again fell on the room.

“Querl,” Nia said, from the couch.

“Yes?”

“You’re from the future.”

“Indeed.”

“You knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh come on!” Nia snapped.

“I’m trying to sleep,” said Kelly, prompting Alex to snort.

Finally, they all did.

[gothamite-rambler]

Stephanie: May we all exude the confidence of a mediocre white man. Bruce, any tips?

Bruce: What?

Stephanie: Obliviousness! Yes, pretend we're not mid, but not in an alpha male douche way. I knew it!

Bruce: (stammering) I… You… I am not mediocre.

Stephanie (teasing): Yes, you are.

Bruce: No, I’m not!

Stephanie (smirking): You are.

Bruce (aggravated): Alfred, make her stop!

Stephanie: Don’t drag your foster dad into this! My mom is just a phone call away! We could start a British versus Irish war!

Alfred: Bruce, just concede. I don’t feel like dealing with Crystal today.

Stephanie stuck her tongue out at Bruce prompting him to flick Stephanie on the forehead then walked off, muttering about how Batman makes him superior.

[lsunstreakerl]

28 "curse of obedience" for lestappen thanks

this was kind of fun! couple different ways I could've taken it, but I liked this one :) 1.2k

Charles didn't mean to do it. The stupid book was all fucked up and ragged, pulled out of storage when Lorenzo had gone looking for something, and it had never made its way back in.

He and Arthur had laughed about it when they were younger, and then Charles had decided that it would look good in his room, and it's just...

Always been with him. He hadn't thought twice about putting it in his room when he'd bought his own place, and it's never been an issue.

Until now.

Lando is squinting down at the letters, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at the page he's randomly flipped open to.

"Mate, am I just really dyslexic or is this not in English?"

Charles rolls his eyes, stalking over and snatching it out of his hands.

"Obviously not. It is in Italian."

Come to think of it- he's not sure why his family has an old Italian book, but. Heirlooms are weird.

Lando gestures at him, spreading his arms.

"Okay? What's it say?"

Charles shrugs.

"I've never actually read it before."

Alex looks up from his phone, drawn back into the conversation.

"You've had that book your entire adult life and you've never read it? Really?"

Charles scratches at the back of his head, slightly embarrassed.

"I am not much of a reader."

He looks down into the book, squinting at the handwriting.

Something about obedience, behavior, and servants- Charles is somewhat confident this book could get him cancelled.

He reads further, confused about all the prior "emotional prerequisites".

Oh.

He must make a face, because Alex snickers.

"What, is it a sex book?"

Charles runs his hand through his hair again, sheepish.

"It's a, ah. It's a spell book."

The uproarious laughter is probably deserved.

------

Several hours later, and they're all wine drunk, eating their way through trainer-unapproved pizza. Lando rolls over, poking at Charles' thigh.

"Hey, that spell earlier, what was it?"

Charles rolls his eyes, reaching for another slice.

"It was-"

He hiccups.

"Mate, it was an obedience spell. Can you imagine if those worked?"

Lando breaks out into laughter again, and Alex chokes on his pizza slice.

"Charles, please- imagine if someone did that to someone like Max, it'd be so funny-"

Charles bites on his lip, giggles building up inside of him.

"It'd be so bad, no-"

Lando sits up, leaning backwards to snag the book.

"You should do it! Like a fun little 'he does whatever I ask him to' thing. And then next time you see him you should get all upset about why the spell isn't working."

Alex snorts, grinning over at Charles.

"Mate, you have to."

Charles rolls his eyes, wetting his throat with more wine as Lando passes him the book.

"Yes, yes, whatever. He's not even going to get it, it won't be funny at all."

------

Charles forgets about it. He goes back to his usual routines of working out, spends some time on the piano, gets bored in his Ferrari meetings- it doesn't even cross his mind.

Not until race weekend.

Max seeking him out isn't exactly abnormal. He likes to talk over car setups and track temps, can go for hours about weather and tire graining. Charles has a reputation as one of the few people willing to listen to it all.

He's never understood why more people don't listen to Max- he has good info, if you're patient.

Except Max is weird this time. He doesn't immediately launch into a conversation about the upcoming weekend, but instead simply settles near Charles, quiet and unobtrusive.

It's two words Charles doesn't normally use for Max.

He nudges him with his elbow.

"You okay?"

Max's eyes snap up to meet his- they seem more... blue than usual. Not that Charles spends much time staring at his eyes.

"Yes, I'm good, do you- do you need something? Can I get you anything?"

Charles blinks, taken aback. That's doubly weird. Max does not make a habit of making life easier for anyone.

"...I'm fine, thank you."

Max nods, eyes dropping back to the floor. He's jittery, foot tapping, fingers running across his hands and wrists.

He still won't leave his seat.

------

Max has been following Charles around as much as humanly possible when you drive for two different teams, and it's getting weird. He doesn't even have anything to talk about- he's been a complete pushover, going along with whatever Charles says, keeping quiet otherwise.

He reaches a breaking point when Max almost follows him to the presser, that Red Bull isn't in, dragging him into an abandoned hallway.

"What the hell is going on with you, Verstappen?"

Max's eyes go wide, still deep blue.

"I'll fix it, I'll- there's got to be something I can do for you?"

His fingers are digging into the sleeve of his jacket, and Charles notices his fingernails are bitten down to the quick.

"Max, what? Do for me? What are you even...?"

Max grips violently at his own wrist, eyes flashing for a moment, and Charles is startled by how wild he looks for a split second, like a caged animal- but then he relaxes again, positioning himself to appear smaller.

"Sorry, sorry, just- if you think of anything, let me know, yes?"

Charles furrows his eyebrows, uncomfortable for a reason he can't quite place.

"Uh, anything? Maybe let me by on turn one tomorrow, yes?"

It's a common joke in a paddock, so Charles has no idea why he gets the reaction he does.

Max- Charles doesn't have another word for it, the way his full body twitches, eyes bright and normal and seething, making a half aborted grab towards Charles, lip curling- but it's gone as soon as it had started, except Max looks mildly ill afterwards.

"Right. Of course."

He says it through gritted teeth, eyes back to being deep blue, and his fingers are digging into his own wrist.

He still doesn't leave until Charles does, following behind him until his press officer bodily drags him away.

------

Charles doesn't think about it again until lights out.

After Max smoothly lets him by in turn one, doesn't even attempt to battle for it, even when Charles was going for a late lunge anyways-

Afterwards, it's the only thing he can think about.

------

He doesn't hear what Max says in the post race interviews, doesn't want to look online and see all the speculation- he splits from his press officer as soon as possible, and manages to somehow get ahold of Max and drag him far away, into the private sections of the paddock.

He doesn't stop until they're in a meeting room, door locked behind him, before he spins around, staring at Max.

His heart is pounding in his chest.

"Sit."

Max drops into one of the chairs, eyes never leaving Charles'. There's a sick feeling settling in his gut- but maybe that was just Max being Max, maybe-

He needs to make him do something Max would never agree to do.

"Tell me I'm the best driver."

He sees it again, Max's fingers tightening around his wrist. There's faint purple splotches showing from underneath the edge of his suit sleeve.

Max wets his lips, opening his mouth.

"You are the best driver."

Charles-

It's not real. It can't be real, Max has somehow figured out their prank on him and decided to flip it around.

He stares wide eyed at Max.

"Are you under a spell?"

The corner of Max's eye twitches.

"Yes."

Charles takes a steady breath out. This is fine, he's just accidentally cursed his direct competitor to be- to be at his beck and call.

His thoughts screech to a halt.

He'd made Max give up turn one.

If he breaks this spell, Max is going to kill him.

[kinardsevan]

i'm coming home to you (every night)

(I have a very firm theory on where 816 will go and ofc had to write it.)

Evan wakes up in the hospital, still on a ventilator. He’s already attempting to vocalize, trying to tell anyone available to listen about the god-awful nightmare he’s just woken up from. He’d thought his first coma dream had been bad after the lightning strike, but somehow, it couldn’t even compare to the version of events he’s just woken from. A world without Bobby in his first coma dream had been terrible, but somehow, the idea of a world in which he was able to have Bobby and then lost him after the cartel had set fire to his home feels even worse. 

He tries to make noise again, his brow furrowing at the vibration of the tube in his throat irritating him enough to fill him with at least half a dozen questions. 

“Fuck, you’re awake.” 

Evan’s gaze trails up as he looks next to him where the voice had come from and sees Tommy. His eyes soften at the pilot. For the two times he’s now seen Tommy look devastated, there’s something entirely different about the way he looks today. Maybe it’s the fear, but the redness around his eyes makes it clear that he hasn’t been doing well. The bags beneath them suggest he hasn’t been sleeping either, and Evan wants to ask questions about that as well, but his current predicament is preventing that. 

Tommy brushes the back of his fingers over the side of Evan’s cheek, and the younger man leans into it, lifting his hand up to Tommy’s and interlacing their fingers. 

He doesn’t remember everything from the last time he was awake, but he’s pretty clear on the last thing Tommy said to him.

“I need to get the doctor,” Tommy tells him, sniffling. More tears are coming down his face, but the small smile on his face suggests that they’re probably of relief. Evan squeezes his fingers tighter and his smile grows a bit. “I know, baby. I’ll be right back. Stay awake for me, okay?” 

Evan nods, letting go of Tommy’s hand. The pilot crosses the room and opens the door, only to return a few seconds later, tailed by a physician, Maddie, and Chimney. 

“Thank God,” Maddie states tearfully. She’s wearing a mask and gloves, which is mildly concerning to Evan, but her bump is a quick reminder to the fact that she’s pregnant and it’s not just her at risk of any room she enters. 

He points at her as he looks up at the doctor, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“We’re just taking extra precautions,” Chimney explains. 

“There’s no reason to assume that you’re still contagious,” Tommy adds. 

The physician that accompanied into them into the room does a quick check of Evan’s vitals and the various machines he’s attached to before opening his chart on the tablet in his hands. 

“You’re doing much better than you have been, Mr. Buckley,” the man explains. “Your oxygen saturation was pretty low when you came in, and we’re working on weaning you off the ventilator as your sats have continued to rise back up. We should have it out in the next day or so.” 

Evan nods at the man before his attention is back on Tommy and Maddie. When she reaches the side of his bed, he rests his hand over her stomach, feeling the firm pressure of his nephew’s kicking. His fever dream nightmare hadn’t just had Bobby dying in the housefire. It was also a version of the world where the woman who kidnapped Maddie got away with her actions due to Athena’s inability to deal with losing Bobby. 

“How’s his fever,” Maddie asks as the doctor runs the temporal thermometer across his forehead. It takes a few seconds, but the machine beeps and he lifts it. 

“Still hovering just under 102, but it’s a marked improvement even from earlier today,” the man answers. 

“But the half-life of the virus-..” 

“Was about twenty-four hours,” he answers her. “He stopped being contagious before he got here.” 

Maddie, Tommy, and Chimney all nod at the doctor’s explanation, and he turns back toward his tablet. He makes notes in it and then promises to have regular check-ins before leaving the room. Tommy settles into the chair beside him while Maddie squeezes the hand still resting over her stomach lightly. 

“We were worried about you,” she tells Evan. He looks up at her with sad eyes, wanting to tell her that she shouldn’t worry—that it’s not good for the baby—but he knows it wouldn’t do any good. 

Evan turns his head toward Tommy and then looks back at his sister, using his free hand to point at the pilot. Maddie snorts. 

“I tried. He refused to leave,” she comments. Evan looks back at the pilot, scowling at him. 

“Evan, you literally passed out in my arms,” Tommy tells him, his voice gruff. “I wasn’t-….I couldn’t.” 

There are so many responses to the end of that statement that he knows the pilot isn’t saying. Couldn’t leave you behind. Couldn’t be without you. Couldn’t let ‘I love you’ be the last thing said between us. 

He lifts his free hand to Tommy’s cheek, staring up at him as the pilot looks back at him. He brushes his thumb against Tommy’s lips, vaguely aware of the fact that their helipad kiss could’ve put the pilot at risk after he’d spent an entire day trying to survive hijackers with a live virus in his helicopter. All of Athena’s work could’ve been for nothing. 

The pilot stares back at him, his eyes shiny with tears unshed—maybe tears he’s too exhausted to give at this point—but there’s a knowing between the two of them as Evan stares at him. Tommy turns his head and kisses Evan’s palm as the younger man blinks wearily at him, clearly starting to fight keeping his eyes open. 

“Baby you’re out of the woods, but you’re still very sick,” the pilot murmurs as he leans forward toward the bed, resting his arms on the edge of it. “Please rest.” Evan’s thumb moves against his cheek as he stares back at the pilot, only having his gaze to communicate begging the other man to do the same. Tommy just smiles wearily at him. 

Eventually, Evan’s eyes slip shut, and they don’t open again. 

“Buckaroo, you need to stay calm,” Athena says from beside him as they wait by the elevator to the helipad. “Raising your heart rate is only going to make the infection spread faster.” 

He knows that. He’s well aware of the fact that whatever these people managed to smuggle out of CalTech’s labs and somehow infect him with on a timeline; that if he’s not careful, he could expire before Tommy and Bobby bring the antidote to save him. 

Still, Tommy and Bobby risked their lives to get this antidote. They’re still risking their lives by trying to stop those involved from creating a full-on outbreak of another pandemic, and he just… he needs Tommy to know. 

The helicopter grows closer—close enough that he can practically feel the whipping from the rotor blades in his bones as it lowers down, until the helicopter is finally down on the helipad, and then the machine is whirring down as Tommy turns it off. 

When he and Bobby finally emerge from the bird, all bets are off. He takes off in their direction, and by the time he and Tommy reach each other in the middle, the pilot’s arms are already ready for him, quickly wrapping around him as Evan’s go tight around his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into Tommy’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I never meant it.” 

“I know,” Tommy murmurs into his ear, holding him closely. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve stayed, both times. I should’ve-..” 

“I love you,” Evan says, leaning back enough to look at Tommy as he cradles the pilot’s head in his hands. “I love you so much. I’ve loved you for so long now, I just-..” 

“I know,” Tommy tells him, brushing a hand down his face. “I love you too, baby.” His gaze skates down Evan’s face and then back up to his eyes. “But baby, you’re so warm. We need to get you inside.” 

“I know,” Evan answers, feeling the bone-tired weariness in his bones as the words leave his mouth. “I just- I needed to tell you. I needed you to know.” 

Tommy nods quickly, still staring down at him. “I do. I do know.” Evan pulls him into a kiss, and the pilot doesn’t stop him, kissing him back, though they both keep their mouths closed. When they part, Tommy’s eyes are on him again. “I’ve loved you since that first night in your kitchen. I’ve- Evan. Evan?!” 

. . . . .

He wakes up coughing. Monitors beep out-of-sync, loud and erratically as people funnel into the room. He’s still only half-awake and his vision is blurry at best as doctors talk to him. It all happens so quickly that one minute he’s choking, and the next, the breathing tube is out as he sucks down gulps of air as an oxygen mask is fitted over his face. 

There’s more talking, and then doctors are leaving the room, and he finally becomes aware of his surroundings again as Tommy perches on the edge of the bed, looking down at him as his fingers brush across Evan’s cheek. He looks as though he’s gotten some sleep as well, if his eyes are anything to go by, although Evan doesn’t think that the chair beside his bed is the best option. 

He takes a few seconds to remember the feeling of saliva in his mouth, inhaling and exhaling in deep breaths still as he looks up at Tommy. 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he rasps when he finds his words. 

“What do you mean,” Tommy asks, still staring down at him. 

“Could’ve killed you,” Evan answers, bringing his hand up against Tommy’s on his cheek. “The infection-..” 

“Had run its course by the time we saw each other again,” Tommy answers. “I was fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Evan asks. 

Tommy nods. 

“I had a nightmare fever dream,” Evan states. “Bobby died in the fire. We broke up sooner and Gerrard still ended up at the 118 again. Eddie still left. Maddie died.” 

Tommy frowns at him. “That sounds awful.” 

“It was,” Evan murmurs. “Bobby-..” 

“Bobby’s taking some vacation days right now, but he’s been up here keeping vigil,” Tommy tells him. “He worries a lot about you.” There’s a wistful smile on his face, and Evan can’t help but be reminded of their conversation a year ago when Tommy had mentioned the jealousy of their relationship. 

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Evan tells him. Tommy’s gaze flits back up to his eyes and he shakes his head as a small laugh escapes him. 

“I wasn’t. There wasn’t a single moment I was here alone,” he states. If anything, I was reminded that it’s not just your crew.” 

The corner of Evan’s mouth pulls up at his words. 

“Our crew,” he murmurs back. 

“Always around when things go wrong,” Tommy adds. Evan nods. “Especially when things go wrong.” 

The younger man closes his eyes briefly, and Tommy’s fingers brush through his hair in a way he usually only does after sex, and it always puts Evan to sleep. He huffs after a minute and opens his eyes.

“Don’t wanna sleep right now,” he murmurs. “Wanna…wanna know what’s next.” 

Tommy inhales a breath, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Well, first you get better, and then you go home and get better some more.” 

“And then,” Evan asks. 

“And then we take it a day at a time,” Tommy replies. “We lay it all out on the table, and see where that takes us.” 

Evan nods. He closes his eyes again and focuses on breathing for another minute. When he speaks again, his eyes are still closed. 

“Said I didn’t know what I was ready for last year,” he murmurs. “But I do know now, and I still think that it could be with you, if you’re willing.” 

He opens his eyes, feels them getting heavy again, but he’s determined to see Tommy when the pilot answers. 

The older man smiles down at him, his fingers brushing through Evan’s curls again. 

“I’m more than interested,” he responds softly. “But for now I just want you to focus on getting better. Think you can do that for me?” 

Evan nods, lets his eyes slide shut again. He turns into Tommy’s hand once more, sighing softly when the pilot rests it against his cheek again. 

“I love you, Tommy,” he says, hardly above a whisper. 

Light fades around him, and then warm lips press into his temple. 

“I love you too, Evan Buckley,” Tommy whispers next to his ear. “So much more than I ever thought possible.” 

[thornsinwinter]

So I love the Witcher and wrote a thing: Tamlin played the fiddle with practiced hands. The skill remained from his youth, before his brothers and father were murdered and duty fell to him without warning. The melody filled his private chambers, a rare moment of respite.

His shoulders carried the weight of the Spring Court. He'd never been groomed for leadership like his brothers. The crown had come to him through blood and necessity, not preparation or choice.

The music offered brief sanctuary from decisions that never came easily to him. Protection, diplomacy, judgment. They were skills learned through harsh necessity.

Three knocks interrupted his playing.

Tamlin set the fiddle aside and his his expression shifted to the mask of certainty his people needed from him. The one he'd crafted through years of pretending to know what he was doing.

"Come in," he said, standing straighter.

He would return to the demands of lordship that he still struggled to fulfill, the music remaining unfinished, another small sacrifice to the role he never asked for but couldn't escape.

Tamlin in a nutshell

Born to be Jaskier:

Forced to be Geralt:

@viktoriaashleyyx

[raayllum]

When he was a boy, Corvus hadn't liked his name very much.

He'd sulk after his father as they checked snares in the woods, black-feathered birds chirping overhead. Most of the village didn't come out this far, seeing them as bad omens, but his father was not most people, apparently, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, his blue scarf wrapped around his broad shoulders.

"Why'd you have to name me after them?" Corvus had complained.

His father'd spared a glance skyward. "You know why. They're your mother's favourite."

"Yes, but—they're bad omens."

"Says who?"

"Everyone."

His father chortled. "Just because everybody says something doesn't make it true, son."

"Yes, but—" Everybody said his younger brother Antoni was better natured than him; easier to get along with, easier to understand, and smiled at all the right times. He was never cold. Never standoffish or too quiet.

"Ravens are perceptive," his father had carried on. They were nearly to the snare now. "Clever. So are you. Would you rather be like Lord Bradford's boy, named without thought at all?"

Better that than to be named after ravens, Corvus had thought glumly, who gathered together are known as an unkindness, but—

"Still no luck at naming the city?" Corvus says, turning away from the trees to bring two cups of tea to main table at the Banther Lodge.

Terry sits by the dim light of the window, the sun long since set. His lips twitch upwards, though, as Corvus sits down across from him. "It's hard to find something that will work for all of Xadia," Terry says. "The books Lady Opeli—"

"Cleric," Corvus corrects softly, smiling; it turned out Earthblood elves didn't have those, and so he kept forgetting.

"Right, Cleric—the books she gave me about the Pentarchy are interesting, but if I pull from just one of the kingdoms, the others will be upset. And if I pull just from human languages—"

"Xadia won't be happy."

Terry snaps his fingers. "Exactly."

And it's not like naming the city is exclusively Terry's task, but much the way Soren has thrown himself into rebuilding Katolis to not think about his sister, Corvus suspects Terry is doing the same to avoid thinking about his ex.

"I'm afraid I'll be little help," Corvus says. "Neither myself or my family has ever been very good with names."

"Really?" Terry gives him a tiny, sincere smile. "But your name is so pretty."

"For the raven family, really?"

"Ravens—Moon and Earth ravens, I guess, are good luck for my people. They're symbols of kindness. Reminders of it too. There's been enough cruelty, don't you think?"

"Hm." There's a strange warmth that spreads down to his toes, and it's not just the hot tea in his mug as Corvus takes a sip and considers. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he says confidently. "You did a very good job choosing your name, didn't you?"

Choosing his own path, again and again, when the time came to choose. It reminds Corvus a little of Soren.

Terry's smile widens, light in his eyes not just for the people around him that Corvus sees often, but for himself too. He deserves more of it, Corvus thinks, after all of Claudia's darkness. "Yeah." Terry exhales in almost a snort, tension ebbing out of his shoulders. "I guess I did."

[naked-covered-in-bees]

Dean had his arms around Cas and he was not letting go any time soon, which Cas found more than acceptable. They were fully clothed, lying  on top of Cas’s bed and Dean was still sniffling, his eyes swollen and red from the avalanche of emotion that had come pouring out of him minutes after Cas had returned in the bunker’s dungeon as if he’d never been gone at all, though it had been months.

Cas had been overwhelmed himself, not least by the repeated if hysterical “I love you”s that came out of Dean as if he was incapable of saying anything else.

“Are you feeling better?” Cas murmured, combing his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yeah.�� Dean squeezed him tighter. “Mmm… Sam told me when you fall in love with somebody, they make this space inside your heart for themselves. But then, ya know, when they’re gone…you got this hole. Hard to fill it again.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Cas said.

“Yeah but…” Dean sniffed again and sat up, meeting Cas’s careful gaze. “Thing is, Cas, you made a space right here for yourself.” He beat his chest with his fist. “And you’re as big as the damn Chrysler building. That’s how big that hole is when you’re gone.”

“Dean…I’m so sorry-” “Don’t be sorry.” Dean shook his head and reached down, a shy and crooked smile crossing his lips as he tentatively stroked a thumb along Cas’s cheek. “Don’t need to be sorry. Just need you to stay here. Be right here with me in that place you built, that’s your home. It always was.”

“Okay,” Cas said, and took Dean’s hand, pressing a kiss to his wrist. “I’ll stay home.”

[achromatophoric]

Wednesday: *in bed, staring at the ceiling, and deathly silent*

Xavier: *in the same bed, staring at the same ceiling, and looking somewhat nauseous*

Wednesday:

Xavier:

Wednesday:

Xavier:

Wednesday: *pierces the silence* This—

Xavier: *looks nervously over at Wednesday*

Wednesday: —is uniquely disquieting, and not in any enjoyable fashion.

Xavier: Yeah, um— *clears throat* —Yeah.

Wednesday:

Xavier: *fidgets uncomfortably*

Wednesday: Upon further analysis, I’ve come to the conclusion that while the concept of a hate fuck is intriguing—

Wednesday: —it is not necessarily something that demands an experience.

Xavier: *nods vigorously* Agreed. Like, totes.

Wednesday: *sidelong glance* Shall we end this farce, then?

Xavier: PLEASE.

Wednesday: *suddenly rolls herself atop of Xavier, grabs a fistful of his greasy hair and—

Xavier: OH!

Wednesday: *—RIPS it free*

Xavier Enid: THANK GAWD!

Wednesday: *tosses aside the greasy wig in disgust* THAT was most certainly not one of Tanaka’s better suggestions.

Enid: Sorry, babe. How about I make it up to you by roleplaying that thing you like instead?

Wednesday:

Wednesday: *hopeful* Do you mean—

Enid: *abruptly flips Wednesday, pinning her with a feral growl*

Wednesday: *tiny gasp*

Enid: *snarls* I am Fenrir, monstrous wolf of Norse mythology! Ragnarök is upon us, and as is destined—

Fenrir: *already shifting* —Wōden (Odin) is MINE to devour!

Wōdnesdæg: 👁️🫦👁️

[wwwdamerc]

Mike knows better than to test Harvey’s patience, but sometimes, the brat in him just can’t help it. A snide remark here, a little disobedience there—anything to get Harvey’s attention in the middle of their long workdays. But he always forgets one thing: Harvey never lets it slide.

Now, after hours, the office lights dimmed, Mike is on his knees in Harvey’s apartment, his wrists tied behind his back, his mouth open, waiting. Harvey leans back in his chair, one polished shoe at Mike’s hardness, pressing lightly, nowhere near providing any pleasure, just a tease, as he smirks down at him.

"–Harvey," Mike begs.

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you, puppy?” Harvey murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “Let’s see how long you can hold it.”

Mike shivers, his whole body thrumming with anticipation. Harvey hasn’t even touched him yet, and he’s already coming undone.

safe to say its mike and harvey after work

[mari-writes]

🔧💖 “I really appreciate this, Jayce.” 

Viktor’s voice is soft, but it echoes, stark and resonant through the otherwise quiet lab. It’s after midnight. The two of them had been at work for hours before Viktor finally admitted he needed a break, his body stiff and sore.

This in itself isn’t uncommon. They both have a bad habit of overworking, staying up later than they should. They get so determined to hit the next milestone, another breakthrough, to the point of exhaustion.

What IS new is this: Jayce, situated behind Viktor, one of his own modified wrenches in one hand. His other palm, still covered in a work glove, grips his partner’s bony shoulder.

“It’s no problem,” Jayce replies, leaning in. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Viktor’s pain has been worse lately. The new back brace is good, great even, and Jayce knows it helps him. He’s seen to that personally—working with Viktor’s doctor and physical therapist on the design and construction.

But the first tests had been with the medical team. And Viktor had learned quickly to put it on himself, eager to be independent in his own care. He’s never needed Jayce to help. Until now.

“Um, I think it’s the third bolt down.” Viktor shifts where he sits on his desk. “Something feels loose.”

Jayce nods, makes a noise of understanding. His hands are shaking just slightly. Which is also new. He’s spent years perfecting his steady grip on his tools, both in the forge and the lab. He’s always been secure. Stable.

It must be nerves. This is the first time Viktor has ever let Jayce adjust the brace alone, and he really wants it to work. To fit perfectly. Because Viktor deserves that, at least.

A small turn of the wrench has Viktor sucking in a breath. “Vik—!” Jayce cries, worried. “Did I—”

“I’m fine,” his partner mutters. “The cold tool just bumped my skin.”

His skin. Ah, yes, Jayce should be more mindful of that. His eyes scene the expanse of Viktor’s pale back, dotted with freckles and moles. There are so many. He knew there would be, but wow! So many of them are dusted across his shoulders.

“Jayce?”

Shaking himself, Jayce clears his throat. “Right, sorry!” He gets back to work, taking care not to press the wrench too closely.

But he can’t stop looking. Viktor’s neck is very slender. His hair looks soft, so naturally wavy that it makes Jayce wonder what the man would look like if he grew it out longer. When Viktor had unbuttoned his shirt earlier, Jayce’s eyes were immediately drawn to his pronounced collarbones. He sort of wishes he could lean over to take another peek.

Instead, he squeezes his friend's shoulder, instructs him to sit up straighter as he tightens the final three turns.

He feels Viktor breathe in deep and exhale, as if the adjustment had released a good amount of tension. “Okay, um, there you go!” Jayce steps back, placing his wrench to the side.

Viktor reaches back to pull on his shirt. But since he hadn’t taken it off completely, it’s now tangled up at his lower back. The fabric is bunched up and twisted, catching on the brace.

Jayce immediately reaches out to help. “Here, let me—” Carefully, he straightens out the shirt so Viktor can slip his arm in. The man starts to button up, and Jayce has to force himself to stay where he is, to not move around to help Viktor more. Even though he wants to. Badly.

But that would be too much, right?

“Thank you again, Jayce.” Viktor is still facing away, grabbing his cane from nearby as he hoists himself to his feet. He takes a few tentative steps, rolling his shoulders a bit, turning his neck. “It feels much better.”

Together, they return to their workstations. Jayce forces himself to focus, to pick up from where he left off earlier. But his mind, and gaze, keeps wandering back to Viktor. 

He hopes Viktor trusts him enough to ask for his help again. Because being close to him is nice. Comforting. Exciting. He’s not sure how it can be all of these things at once, but it is. He supposes he’ll have to investigate these feelings sooner rather than later.

But for now, just being here with his partner is enough.

//

This was inspired by this GORGEOUS piece by the amazingly talented @allgidity! Their work is amazing, go check it out! I really wanted to do more for this but I’ve had a really rough month and it’s been so hard to write. I hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless. Please comment and share if you did! 🙏🤗

[callivich]

Thanks to @michellemisfit for this week’s @galladrabbles prompt of ‘panic’ 💖

———

The front door is ajar. Everything is quiet.

Ian steps inside. His shoes crunching on broken glass.

Panic bubbles up and he takes a deep breath.

“Mick?” Silence. “Mickey!”

He was only gone for an hour. Mickey should be here.

In the living room, there is a smear of blood on the floor.

His heart is hammering in his chest, his hands shake as he calls Mickey.

No answer. Tries again. Nothing. Shit.

The rest of the apartment is empty. Everything else looks normal. But Ian is sick with fear. Something bad has happened.

Where the fuck is his husband?

[gothamite-rambler]

Diana, six months into her pregnancy, rushed into the office where Batman and Superman were waiting. She nervously tossed Batman her ringing cell phone.

Diana: I’m not here! I’m not here! When you answer, tell her I am not here!

Superman (reading his book): I'm not talking to her.

Batman (judgmental tone): Ah, yes cause Colleen Hoover is so much more important.

Diana: Would you just answer the phone, she's going to keep calling until I give her an excuse to give me space!

Batman answered the phone, greeted by Hippolyta yelling.

Batman (stoically): Yeah… I’m fine… I’ve stayed away from your daughter… yes, I know you’d break my hands if I touched her romantically… You want to talk to her?

Diana shook her head and waved her hands insistently.

Batman: She’s right in front of me. She doesn't want to talk to you.... Oh yeah, I can hand her the phone… Diana, it’s for you!

Diana: You son of a bitch!

Hippolyta (voice loud even off speaker): Don’t you cuss at him, Diana! We need to discuss your future daughter and the male’s role as a father! Plus stop ignoring my calls I'm going to be a grandma soon!

Diana: …

Hippolyta: You may be hundreds of years old, but I’m over a thousand! I can punish you if you don’t talk to me!

Diana: Give me the dang phone!

Diana snatched the phone back.

She stormed out of the office, smacking Batman on the back of his cowl. He chuckled, covering his mouth, while Superman shook his head, amused, and returned to reading his Colleen Hoover novel.

Batman: Game recognizes game. I’d say the same thing to my sons.

Superman: Of course you would. You too are a parent with a God complex, just the male version.

Batman: That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

Wonder Woman (shouting on the phone): I’m not naming her Kore!