#ficlet

[talktonytome]

At first, Buck feels a little self-conscious about his stomach. It was softer than it’d been in a while. He wasn’t ashamed exactly, but he did feel a little insecure as to what Tommy would think.

When they had sex, he’d roll over onto his hands and knees and he tried to keep Tommy from wrapping and lingering around his midsection. He should have known Tommy would notice before long.

He’s laying in bed with his latest read when Tommy comes home from his shift, immediately flopping forward on the bed. He scoots up until he can lay his head on Buck’s stomach and Buck tries to discreetly pull him onto his chest instead, but Tommy doesn’t budge.

“No,” he grumbles, pushing the hem of Buck’s shirt so he can nuzzle the soft hairs on his abdomen. “I’m perfectly fine right here.”

Buck sighs and resigns himself but can’t help saying, “I know I’m not in my usual shape,” he laughs nervously.

Tommy lifts his head and looks at him with a frown. “Sweetheart, I knew something was bothering you, but this? Don’t ever feel bad for this,” he punctuates by trailing his fingers across his stomach.

“This is a nourished body, a gorgeous body. It drives me insane like you don’t even know,” he groans quietly. He pushes Buck’s shirt further up and peppers kisses to every bare inch. He mouths from his sternum all the way down, stopping to dip his tongue into his navel and continues mouthing down his happy trail.

“Does this feel like I’m not into it?”

“N-no.” Buck says breathlessly.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Tommy smirks against his heated skin. “Look at how lovely you blush, baby. God, the way it spreads across your body.” He gently nips the soft swell of his stomach. “And this? This right here is my favorite spot.” He delivers more nips, alternating between soft and hard bites. “Mm I could spend hours worshipping you.”

Buck throws his head back, already panting. “Ok, ok I get it.”

“I don’t know,” Tommy sighs. “I think I need to really show you, don’t you think?” He skims the pads of his fingers under the waist of his pants and dips his tongue between the fabric.

Buck nods, too keyed up for words.

“I said don’t you think so?”

“Yes— yes Tommy. Please.”

Tommy chuckles, deft hands pulling his pants and briefs down in one fell swoop. Oh this is gonna be fun.

“Good boy.”

[bpmiranda]

hey i love ur fics!!!! this is kind of like the lumberjack!logan with married reader where logan is at dinner with them and logan can’t stop looking at reader 🫣

A/N: lumberjack!logan x married!reader, cheating, fingering, unprotected sex

first part

lumberjack!logan is at your husband’s bar so often that he and your spouse become close friends, it scares you and logan reassures you there’s no reason for you to worry, he’s going to play it cool

“it’ll be alright, baby,” he’s kissing you behind the bar while you’re closing up and your husband’s down in the cellar taking inventory, “we’ll be real careful” and you can only moan in response as you give into him

logan’s confidence has you lower your guard and you continue to play your part as the dutiful wife when you need to and sneak off with your lumberjack to do unspeakable things under the guise of visiting friends

“baby, i can’t ever get enough of you,” logan groans as he’s got you whimpering underneath him, his large hands pinning your legs to your chest while he fucks you hard, “stay here, please, stay with me”

you want nothing more than to do just that, leave your husband to be with logan, but you’re not sure how to initiate the conversation, you’re not sure your husband will take it kindly that you want to leave him

your husband invites logan to dinner and you feel like your heart might fall out of your ass from how nervous you are, you know logan won’t quit his little games even for one night, but you smile and nod

logan’s stare is searing during dinner, you’re dressed so modestly, but it doesn’t stop him from picturing the way you look naked, breathless when you’re underneath him, the sounds you make just for him

and then he fake laughs with your husband, only following bits of the conversation during dinner, too caught up in wanting to eat you out instead because he can smell how aroused you are for him right now

when your husband kisses you, when he touches your thigh, logan wants to sock him in the mouth for touching his woman, but he restrains himself and you swear you can feel the heat of his jealousy

as you’re cleaning up, your husband excuses himself and logan’s quick to come up behind you and spin you around, kissing you desperately while you whine against his lips, wanting him so badly “let’s leave”

“no, logan,” you sigh as he’s peppering your neck with kisses, his hands roam your backside, gripping tightly onto your ass so he can lift you up and sit you on the counter, “we can’t, not here,” you gasp softly

but he doesn’t listen and he lifts your skirt up so he can bury his face between your thighs, your hands grab onto fistfuls of his hair as he’s fingering you deeply and you cum hard, whimpering his name

logan gets off on the idea of fucking you in your husband’s home, pumping you full over the dinner table where he eats, but he knows he can’t, not now, but definitely later that night at his own place

your husband returns and you’re cutting up a pie while logan is in his seat, wiping his lips subtly with his thumb as you’re jabbering nervously about your family’s cherry pie recipe even though he didn’t ask

“you gotta try it, logan, wife’s got the best pie in the county,” your husband says as he kisses your warm cheek and you smile appreciatively as he pours the coffee for you while you sit a slice in front of logan

your eyes meet as logan dips the same fingers that were just inside you into the filling and he sucks them clean, “that’s some good pie,” he says with a sly wink at you and you feel like you might faint

Logan’s a menace around married women😮‍💨😅

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

My Darling

"Who even is that guy?"

"That's my darling"

----

It starts with a post.

Eddie had posted a photo on Instagram holding his acoustic guitar, cross legged on a chair.

Recently he had been front cover of a magazine of 'him' wrapped around a young woman. Living the Rockstar life.

His agent had suggested he show a more domestic side to him, a softer side.

Hence the acoustic.

It was summer so Steve was off of work and sleeping on the couch behind him, blankets up to his ears. The only thing visible was his hair peeking out and his arm hanging over the side of the couch. A sleeve of tattoos running down it all the way to his knuckles. Eddie loved that arm. He loved the way the tattoo curved around his knuckles like water. His nice, big. veiny hand that-

WOAH off topic.

He had done half the tattoos himself and made sure he payed for it all.It was the least he could do for all Steve has done for him.

They met eight and a half years ago, Steve had seen Eddie play at shitty clubs and recognized his mop of hair getting hit in the alleyway.

Eddie thought he was a goner for sure until Steve ripped the guy off him.

Steve just shot him a smile and complimented his guitar skills.

Eddie fell to his knees. He was gone for him.

He invited Steve to band practice as a thank you since he didn't have much to offer.

Two weeks later they were dating and Steve has been their number one fan since.

When Eddie got the record deal he dedicated everything to Steve.

Everything always was for him. As it should be.

Anyways,

Eddie posted the photo excited to promote the acoustic cover of his hit song 'My Hero, My Darling'.

The comments instantly went ballistic asking who the random man behind him was. He definitely wasn't in the band and why would notorious lady killer Eddie Munson have a man in his house...he couldn't possibly have friends.

Eddie responded to one comment only, knowing the rest would sort itself out.

"That's my darling ❤️"

----

"Eddie," Steve was frowning at him, poking his side with his foot.

"Eddie look at me this is serious."

"Yes my love?"

"You outed yourself. You were doing such a good job keeping this a secret. This will change everything."

Eddie turns over until his holding Steve close to him, his face in his hands.

"Good. I'm tired of hiding you my darling. I'm tired of the accusations."

"But Eddie you OUTED yourself."

"I won't say anything about you, I'd never out you Stevie. But I'm done hiding that I'm a simple man in love."

"...me too. I'm done too."

"Darling are you sure? This is a big deal. What about your school? Your principal?"

"I don't care. Everyone important to me knows. My family, my real family, know and don't care. They do wonder why I've been single for eight years but they'll get over it."

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me oh my god that's the hottest thing I've ever heard. I love you so much please I can't live another moment not having you mine. Besides, if you get fired that's definitely a lawsuit and you know I've been pleasing for you to quit so I can take care of you, but you love those damn kids. Just...be mine...please."

"I've been yours. Since the start. Since always." They both have tears in their eyes.

"Yes?"

"YES OF COURSE YES!"

They're giggling through their kisses.

---

"Heeeeyyy everyone thanks for joining my live. I have something super important to inform you on! I'm getting married!!!!!"

The comments instantly flood in questioning him on moving too fast, asking if he's on drugs. The usual.

"Oooooh you guys have no idea."

----

The photo goes up an hour after the live ends.

It's Steve sitting on the couch, glasses on, red pen in his mouth. He's wearing a thick sweater and grumbling grading papers.

He looks so soft, so smooth, it's Eddie's favorite picture. The next picture in the carousel is Steve backstage at his concert. They're holding onto each other like they need each other to breathe.

The last picture is a selfie taken minutes after. Eddie with his stage makeup sweating off his face smiling brightly at the camera. and Steve kissing his cheek. Eyes squinted shut and eyeliner thick, he had worn it as a treat for Eddie.

It was well received.

The caption reads:

"I'm so happy to announce I'm marrying my best friend and partner of eight years! Everyone meet my darling. Steve is a local middle school teacher who has literally saved my life more than once. He saved my heart. God, I love him so much.

P.s. yes the tours are in the summer so Stevie can travel with us. I'd never leave him."

---

Bonus engagement edition:

"YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED TO EDDIE MUNSON?!"

"Yes. We've been over this."

Eddie stuck out his hand to shake, "hi, Eddie Munson, nice to meet you."

"YOU HID THIS FOR EIGHT YEARS?!"

"Yes."

"I'M BASICALLY YOUR BROTHER! HE'S MY FAVORITE CELEBRITY!"

"Yes Dustin and you can't keep a secret."

"...fair...welcome to the family."

*inspired by my friend only learning her cousin was marrying someone famous when he showed up to Thanksgiving and she lost her mind

[aychama]

I was wondering, does king Narinder have ever had any funny episode with catnip in his life?

-Im getting the warnings of becoming sick so no art but you guys can have a little idea I have!-

"What is going on? Why is everyone running out of the building?" Lambert looks to the panicked palace staff.

"The king has accidentally sniffed catnip!" One maid yells as she rushes out the door.

"Huh? Why is that a problem? Is he alergic or something?" Lambert grabs the arm of a fleeing butler, not understanding the urgency. Their grip is firm on the poor butler.

"The problem is, whoever sees him in that state gets punished the day after!" The butler answers as another maid stops by the two to warn them.

"Years ago one had seen him lick his own hand and the next day the poor butler was forced to clean horse shit with bare hands!" She says it like its the grosest thing in the world.

"And another maid had heard him purr and my god.... she was almost fired!" The butler pries Lambert's grip off of his arm as he speaks.

"That just sounds like he is embarrased of the state he is in?" Lambert understands the situation of everyone fleeing as no one would want to be fired from the palace for such reasons, working at the palace pays well, but the situation was still too ridiculous for everyone to run away.

"Yea it- eeeee!" The butler and the maid hightail it as Narinder approaches them.

He picks Lambert up, they dont even protest (were they really this light for him to easily hoist them up?) as he brings them to the garden. The sun is still up but no one is around, everyone has fleed from the palace.He purrs and wraps his hands around Lambert, who wasnt wearing their armor. He cuddles them, burying his nose into their nape and licks wherever he gets his snuggly face on while lying down as the birds chirp and Lambert looks at the blue sky all stiff, not sure what to do in this unexpected turn of events.

"Oh im so dead tomorrow..." Lambert says outloud to no one, feeling dread in their gut while they are forcefully cuddled in grass. Their heart beats fast in their chest and they think it has to be because of fear.

His nose tickles...

The next day, however, when Narinder and Lambert run into eachother in the corridor, the morning sun hits Narinder's face in just the right angle for his face to be seen behind his veil and he is... blushing? He turns away before Lambert can properly see.

How weird, he would usually give them an order to follow him or something else.

Maybe he forgot. Cute.

[sam-loves-seb]

the bathroom drawer

"Mickey!" Ian yells. "Did you move my cologne?"

"Your what?" Mickey calls back, appearing in the bathroom doorway while buttoning up his shirt.

"My cologne."

"No. I don't even know where you keep that shit."

"In here!" Ian says, shaking his head as he rummages through the drawer below their bathroom sink. "I swear I left it in here."

"Lemme see," Mickey says, nudging Ian to the side. "You're shit at looking."

"I'm not shit at looking, it's just not fucking there."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbles, moving the junk in the drawer around. "Jesus Christ. How much shit do we got in here?"

"Too much," Ian muses, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the sink. "But it doesn't matter anyway. It's not in there. I've been looking for--"

"Found it." Mickey holds up the blue bottle with a smug grin.

Ian grabs it from him. "Whatever."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Whatever? That's what I get?"

Ian leans in and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he says instead.

"Better," Mickey grumbles.

Ian spritzes the cologne onto himself while Mickey keeps rummaging around in the drawer. He pulls out an empty toilet paper roll, a broken comb with too many teeth missing, and an old phone charger with exposed wires.

He throws them all in the trash. "This thing is a mess."

"Yeah," Ian says with a sigh, checking himself over in the mirror. He paws at his hair a bit. "We gotta do a deep clean in here one of these days. Closet's a disaster too."

"What the fuck is--"

Ian looks over at his husband when he doesn't finish his sentence.

Mickey's brows are furrowed as he holds up a thin black stick in front of his face. "Is this makeup?"

Ian huffs out a faint laugh. "Yeah."

"Debbie's?"

"That thing's old enough to be Fiona's," Ian tells him, taking it from Mickey. "But no. It's mine."

Mickey raises his brows. "Yours?"

Ian uncaps the tube, twists the end so the little black tip pushes through the end. "Eyeliner."

"Holy shit," Mickey says slowly. "How fucking old is that thing?"

"Old," Ian says, trying to read the chipped writing on the side for any kind of date. "Probably expired."

"That shit expires?"

"Supposedly. But who knows."

Mickey tilts his head, watching Ian examine the eyeliner. "How the hell did it end up here?"

"No idea," Ian tells him. How it survived in the Gallagher house for as long as it did and moved to their west side apartment is beyond him. "Probably got boxed up with some of my shit a long time ago."

"Huh," Mickey muses. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't believe you used to put that shit on every night."

"Me neither," Ian says. "You ever tried it?"

"What, make up?"

"Yeah."

"For a disguise once or twice," Mickey tells him with a shrug. "Never like, just 'cause."

Ian starts to grin. "You wanna?"

"Fuck no," Mickey says instinctively. He bites his lip. "Why? You gonna wear it tonight?"

"Why not?" Ian asks, facing the mirror and leaning in close. "We're already going to a club. Might as well get go all out."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Ian glances over at his husband. "You got a problem with that?"

Mickey shrugs. "No."

"Okay."

Mickey watches with rapt attention as Ian applies the eyeliner to himself. The stick is old for sure, and it takes a few passes to really get the make up on his eyelid. It only takes a minute though, and then Ian's eyes are outlined in black.

"There," he says, blinking and turning to face Mickey. "How do I look?"

"Weird," Mickey says.

"Sure, but like, crazy weird, or hot weird."

Mickey's brows pinch together. "...Hot weird."

Ian grins. "It's kinda doing it for you, isn't it?"

"No. Shut up," Mickey says quickly.

Ian laughs. "You should try it," he tells his husband. "It's fun."

"It looks like it's gonna get in my eyes."

"Maybe," Ian says with a shrug. "But I bet you'd look hot with it."

"You say that about everything you want me to wear."

"And I've never been wrong once."

Mickey makes a face. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"...Can I take it off if it looks stupid?"

Ian's face relaxes. "You can take it off whenever you want," he says softly. "Doesn't ever have to leave this bathroom."

Mickey glares at the eyeliner, his face slowly melting into apprehensive reluctance. "Fucking... fine."

"Really?" Ian asks, perking up.

"How do I do it?"

"I can do it," Ian offers, holding up the eyeliner and his open hand. "Lemme put it on you."

Mickey sighs through his nose, then steps closer. He tilts his chin up and fits his face into his husband's waiting hands.

Ian kisses his temple. "Close your eyes."

Mickey does as told. His eyelashes flutter at the first press of the stick, eyelids scrunching at the new, weird sensation.

"Hold still," Ian whispers, trying not to poke him in the eye.

"Feels weird," Mickey mumbles.

"Yeah, but..." Ian pulls back, smiling at his work. "Open your eyes."

Mickey blinks them open, eyebrows bouncing with it. "So?"

"Damn," Ian says, grinning. "You look good, baby."

"Fuck off with that," Mickey grumbles, turning towards the mirror. He makes a face. "I look like a fucking alien."

"A hot alien."

Mickey gives him the side eye, but he doesn't immediately wipe the eyeliner off. He leans in close to the mirror, tilts his head this way and that. Pulls at the skin on his cheeks and his temples. "Weird," he says quietly.

"So," Ian starts, capping the eyeliner and tossing it back in the drawer. "You ready to go, or what?"

Mickey sighs heavily, taking one last look at himself in the mirror.

Ian slides in behind him, curls a hand around his hip. "Don't overthink it," he whispers, kissing his husband's temple. "If you like it, go with it."

"I don't know if I like it."

"That's okay too."

Mickey leans back against him. "It looks good on you."

Ian smiles softly. "Thanks."

Mickey hums. "Fine," he says, standing up straight. "Let's go. But if anyone says anything about it--"

"I know," Ian says, hands on his husband's shoulders as he follows him out of the bathroom. "You get to punch them."

"I get to punch them."

"Fine." Ian kills the bathroom light. "And we might have to hit the 24 hour CVS on the way home. I definitely don't have make up wipes."

[tommys-wings]

When they’re having pizza nights at Eddie’s, Buck and Tommy usually order the two with the most protein and then share them half and half, fist bumping once they’ve done the exchange, like this is the height of teamwork.

Eddie just calls them dorks and, one time, Tommy goes ‘you’re just jealous of our swag’ to which Christopher just pretends to leave like ‘I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool’ and Tommy lets out his offended ‘eeeh!’ (The same one he had when Buck teased him about the mouth static).

This prompts a contest between Buck, Tommy, and Eddie, to see who can misuse gen z/alpha slang the most egregiously, ending up in what can only be described as a Chris torture chamber.

Anyway, they’re never starved for banter.

[ohithankyou]

oooh okay, okay. The first time Tommy has a bad shift since they started dating, Buck gets a heads up from one of Tommy's coworkers. He texts Tommy and asks if he wants to come over for dinner and Tommy replies that he thinks he'll be terrible company but Buck assures him that he doesn't care so Tommy goes.

When he gets there, the smell of something delectable is wafting through the apartment and Buck smiles at him from the kitchen. Buck just says "hi babe" and Tommy drops his bag on the floor and just makes his way to Buck, wrapping his arms around him. Buck lets out a little 'oof' but wraps his arms around him without hesitation.

Tommy kisses him softly. "I didn't realize how good it would feel to see you until I got here. It was a really crappy day and I didn't want to inflict myself on you."

And Buck melts. "You can always inflict yourself on me." Then he considers. "That sounded less dirty in my head."

Tommy snorts a laugh. "Thanks."

Buck kisses him. "Any time."

That turned into a ficlet, sorry lol.

don’t be sorry. i love this so much. this was me reading this btw. i love that they’re each other’s home and safe space. it’s everything to me. ahhhh.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Heat

steddie, omegaverse, knotting, mdni 🔞

Eddie gets home from work early, wanting to surprise Steve for their anniversary. He’s picked up too much food from Steve’s favorite Indian place, but even the spices from the masala and vindaloo can’t cover up the scent of his mate’s arousal—bright lemons, fresh mint, and honeyed musk.

His heat came early.

Probably from going off his birth control. Eddie should have beaten him here, but he must have gotten sent home hours ago from the intensity of the scent filling their little house. Mouth watering, Eddie leaves the takeout bags on the kitchen counter, hoping they’ll have the chance to eat before it goes cold, and following his nose towards Steve.

He hears the pitiful little moans before he opens the door, his beloved calling to him without words. Somehow he’s still surprised by the sight that greets him when he walks in their room: Steve, face pressed into the crotch of Eddie’s sleep pants in the middle of their nest, ass up, in the prettiest little set of heat lingerie, his pussy on display.

“Eddie,” Steve groans, so deep in his heat, not lifting his face, likely unaware that he isn’t alone.

“I’m here, Puppy,” Eddie murmurs, rushing to his side, petting down his sweaty back. “What do you need?”

Pushing himself up on shaking arms, Steve nuzzles against Eddie’s chest. “Alpha, ‘m empty. Hurts.”

“You did such a good job waiting, Puppy. So good.” Eddie clutches him close, kissing at every bit of skin he can reach. “Can you get my zipper down? Otherwise I’m gonna have to let you go for a minute.”

Steve paws at his fly, managing to push the button through, but struggling to grip the tiny zip. Eddie pulls away and Steve whines, fingers like a vice at his hips. “You just need to let go for a second, Stevie, then you get what you really want. You want my cock, don’t you, Sweetheart?”

“Wan’ yer knot, Eddie. Wan’ it now,” Steve mewls, frustrated tears on his cheeks, but he relaxes his hold enough for Eddie to pull away and push down his jeans and underwear, cock already hard from the soup of pheromones in the room. Steve drops to his knees, mouthing sloppily at Eddie’s dick, breathing deep with his nose buried in his bush. “Alpha!” he whines again, as he turns, face down, plush ass up in the air.

Eddie doesn’t waste any more time, lining himself up and pushing in, hips making shallow thrusts, as he teases Steve’s hard nipples through the slits in his bralette. Normally he would last longer, but the intensity of the scent, the perfect warmth of Steve’s pussy clenching around him tipping him over the edge. His knot fills, pressing perfectly into Steve’s g-spot, making the omega lock around him, crying out as his own orgasm shakes through him.

Steve goes pliant beneath him then, and Eddie spoons around him, sucking a bruise over his mating mark as they lay in their nest. Purring, Steve catches Eddie’s hand in both of his, holding it over his heart, playing with his rings.

Ten minutes later, Eddie’s knot goes down and they separate. Their food is still warm, but Eddie throws it in the microwave for a minute, dishing up a plate for them to share, Steve in his lap as they eat.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

How To Be A First-Time Dad of Four Turtles

Title: How To Be A First-Time Dad of Four Turtles Prompt: New dad Splinter (Rise), very unprepared, but doing the best he can! Fandom:  ROTTMNT Word Count: 2230  Author: PhoebePheebsPhibs Rating:  Gen Characters:  Yoshi Hamato / Splinter, Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, & Michelangelo Warning: Donnie bites Summary: Notes: No Beta, We Die Like Gram-Gram!

@untitled-tmnt-blog @tmnt-write-fight

Link to AO3 <-

"There, that should do it," Yoshi stated as he pinned up the last set of string lights.

He'd found a little sale, where some family was moving out of their apartment and needed to get rid of some junk. Yoshi still had his savings in a private account that (fortunately) Big Mama didn't know about. He'd dipped into it to buy a couple things, just for starters. He wasn't sure living in the sewers was the life for him or his new... kids?

He just needed some time to get used to it.

Anyway, that little estate sale had plenty of supplies that he could use or refurbish. He'd bought an entire box of lights, plastic tupperware and eating utensils and plates and bowls, some throw blankets, a baby stool, a few plastic bins and buckets, and a series of extension cords. He'd get more whenever he could.

Yoshi had discovered a small area of the sewers during his escape from the Hidden City that seemed rather roomy, and would work out wonderfully for renovations. There were multiple rooms that connected via mini tunnels and corridors into a large expansion, perfect for training in.

Training... for what, exactly? He wasn't 'Lou Jitsu' anymore. He wasn't Yoshi anymore, either. He'd thrown that name and identity away years ago, when he left his Grandpa Shō.

Still... he needed to do something or else he'd lose his mind. He'd found a yoga mat in a dumpster and stole 'repurposed' it so he could do some exercises whenever he got the free time.

"Waaaaaaaahhhh!!"

Which was seeming less and less likely...

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Yoshi shouted out, rushing from his redecorating section and speeding into the opposite room.

He'd left the baby turtles in a plastic bin under a heat lamp in the other room, and had hoped that he could do his work while they basked in the warmth alone. No such luck.

Clingy little things...

"I'm here, I'm here!" he proclaimed as he entered the room, sliding in and kneeling besides the bin, leaning over to inspect the babies. "What's wrong??"

The slider and the softshell were fighting again, nibbling and smacking each other and occaisionally bumping into the other two and disturbing them.

"Oh, you two..." Yoshi groaned, reaching in to pull them apart. "Why can't you just -- Ow! Hey! No biting!"

Yoshi tugged at the two babies, gently tearing them away from each other. They made upset little beeps and chirps at him in response, the slider squirming in his left hand and the softshell wriggling in his right. 

"Now, can you two behave for five minutes, or do I have to put you in time-out?"

He wasn't actually sure why he asked them. It wasn't as if they could understand what he was saying.

But the understood the tone.

The quieted down quickly.

"Very good... now, please, please just behave yourselves so I can finish working on the rest of our... home."

It still hurt to call this mass heap of bricks and slime and mold 'home'. Just like it hurt to call these glorified pets his 'kids'.

It had only been two days. He just... needed to give it some time.

Yeah... give it time.

"Waah! Wah! Wah!"

Uh-huh. Right.

"Okay, that's it!" Yoshi shouted, having reached the end of his rope. "Time-out! You two are going in... in, uh... different boxes! That's what! See how you like that!"

In anger, he grabbed the two arguing turtles again and dropped them into separate containers, then placed them beside the biggest one where the other two turtles sat in confusion, wondering where the slider and the softshell had gone.

The two naughty little turtles, trapped in their separate prisons, started making all kinds of noises. The purple-tinted softshell was beeping and clicking furiously at Yoshi, snapping and biting the edges of his plastic container. The slider with the blue shell was making loud wails as he pouted, slapping the walls of his box and begging to be returned to his 'brother'.

"No, you can't be fight with him anymore," Yoshi scolded.

"Aaah! Wah, waaaah!"

Yoshi sighed with exhaustion and exasperation.

"...Fine. Maybe you're just hungry, hm?" Yoshi suggests. "You sit tight while I get the fruit..."

Yoshi left the four in the room, walking backwards out of the room and watching them every step of the way before turning the corner and going to the room designated as a 'kitchen'. It had a tiny overturned box he pulled from a dumpster and a mini fridge he'd found in an alleyway. New York, what a town... Yoshi rooted through the tiny refrigerator and pulled out a container of half-priced strawberries, chopped them up into itty bitty slices and dumped them onto a little plastic plate. For an added touch, he took a few leaves of lettuce and placed them on the plate as well. Once he was finished, he took the plate back into the room with the others.

"What the -- Hey! You! No!!"

The softshell had literally eaten his way through the plastic box and was starting to chew through the slider's box as well. Surprisingly, the slider was very happy about this and seemed to be cheering his 'brother' on.

Yoshi dropped the plate and ran over to the turtles, grabbing the softshell and yanking him away from the bin.

No one was happy about this.

The turtles started yiping and yowling at him, especially the slider. The softshell took it as a personal offense and defended himself accordingly, twisting his head around and biting down hard on Yoshi's thumb.

"OW!!"

Yoshi clenched his fist and had to fight every knee-jerk reaction to drop the turtle, throw it, or flap his hand to get the child to let go. He released the turtle, but it still held on.

"Let go!" Yoshi shouted, trying to pull him off. He could almost hear the skin on his finger tearing. "Let go!!"

He pulled again, and the baby turtle suddenly yelped. Yoshi had pulled him too hard.

Yoshi released him again, and the baby turtle let go of his thumb, scrambling out of his 'father's' hold and hiding beside the box that still held the slider.

The four creatures watched in terror as Yoshi's thumb began to bleed.

It was silent.

Yoshi felt his face go red-hot with frustration. He yelled loudly. Just yelled, unbottled his anger and pain and... yelled. He shouted out no words, simply expelled his fury at the situation, his fury with the new life he was forced into, the squalor he had been reduced to, the pain of losing everything and suddenly being bridled with four ungrateful kids that couldn't be left alone for fifteen minutes without starting some situation. Once Yoshi had finished yelling his lungs out... he sobbed.

Yoshi wept and wept, the heaviness he'd felt on his shoulders crushing him to the floor. His tears pooled around him, soaking his pants he doubled over, unable to catch his breath. Everything was just too much. He'd lost the love of his life, he'd lost his dream profession, he'd lost his looks and livelihood, he'd lost the last family member he had, he'd lost it all. Everything. And Yoshi sobbed like a baby. 

Not his best moment.

Yoshi only stopped when he heard the weeping and wailing of four tiny babies by his side.

His head rose from his knees, glancing up in panic at the four children.

The softshell was sobbing desperately, cowering in fear at Splinter, afraid... afraid of him? Of his anger?

No, no... he was afraid for him.

The little boxshell turtle was wailing hysterically, clawing at the walls of his box, trying to get to Yoshi. The snapping turtle was crying as well, though not as loudly. The red-eared slider was whimpering and weeping as well, hands pressed against the wall and trying to push it away or push it down, trying to get to Yoshi as well.

Yoshi hiccuped, breathing in quickly as he realized what he'd done.

"Oh, oh, no no no -- I'm so sorry, my little ones, I'm so sorry -- I-I didn't mean to scare you..."

Yoshi reached into each box and picked the babies up, cradling them close. The boxshell kept crying, burying his little face into Yoshi's furry chest as he wiped his tears away. The slider also started rubbing his tiny face across Yoshi's shirt, trying to hug his father while also hiding his wet and gloppy tears. The Snapping turtle wrapped his tail around the rat-man's wrist as he gripped hand, hugging him tight and churring softly against his arm, trying to calm the both of them down. Yoshi started crying softly again as he held each one close to his heart, trying to soothe them. He heard a soft clicking chirp and glanced up to see the softshell somberly creeping towards him, suck-up sniffing as he came towards his toes. He tried to mew out a meager apology as he circled his foot.

Yoshi reached his hand out for him, hoping he would accept the invitation despite all that had just happened between the two of them.

Fortunately, he did, and crawled onto Yoshi's palm, sniveling as he did.

"I'm sorry," Yoshi whispered, bringing the little guy up to his face and nuzzling him with his snout and whiskers. The baby gripped his face and smushed his own snout against him, whimpering as their tears melted together. "I'm so sorry, my son. I didn't mean to scare you or hurt you. I won't do it again..."

The baby cooed at him, nuzzling him gently and patting his cheeks. He accepted the apology.

"Maybe... maybe you need more space than just a box, hm?" he wondered aloud.

He decided to let them roam the room instead, using the box as a makeshift baby-gate to blockade the door so they wouldn't escape. He also cleaned up the fruit and lettuce from where he'd dropped it on the floor. He left the plate out in the center of the room, close to where he sat so he could keep an eye on them.

The little slider nibbled on the lettuce a bit before running around excitedly. He seemed to love the extra space.

The snapping turtle lumbered after him, giddily giggling as he waddled around.

The sat messily munching on the strawberries, covering himself in the juices and skins.

The softshell wandered around the room, sniffing everything and inspecting it all. He growled if the slider got to energetic too close to him. The slider never figured it out.

"Boys, behave," Yoshi reminded them. "I'll still put you in the box if I have to."

That was mostly a joke. But you could tell that they believed him, because they made sure not to get into any fights. At least, nothing bad. They roughhoused a little. But all in good fun.

Yoshi exhaled and laid down on the floor, exhausted beyond all comprehension. The tiny little boxshell turtle chirped at him, almost asking if he was alright.

"I'm fine, just tired," Yoshi replied.

"Peep?"

"Because I've been working on fixing up our home all day. And I just cried a lot. Crying is tiring work."

"Peep, peep?"

"I don't know why. It just is."

"Peep!"

Yoshi felt somthing kneading agaisnt his ribs. He rolled his head over to see the sticky little critter trying to climb up his side.

He chuckled at the sight before helping the littlest one up.

"There we go, that's better, right? All high up now. I bet you can see the whole room," Yoshi joked.

The little baby sat proudly on his father's stomach, surveying the entire room and watching as his brothers played and explored. He then turned and waddled over to Yoshi's chest, rubbing himself clean on his shirt as he did so.

"Yes, thank you for that," Yoshi sighed. "You'll still need a bath, though."

"Peep!"

The little turtle's chirp sounded almost like a laugh. Yoshi chuckled back.

"You know... since you really are my sons now... I suppose you'll need names. Let's see..."

Yoshi elevated himself up on his elbows, studying the tiny baby boy on his chest carefully. He was tiny, had bright yellow spots and some orange-yellow markings on his shell as well.

"...How about 'Sonny'?"

'Sonny' spat his tongue out at Yoshi and blew raspberries at him.

"Okay, okay, maybe not. What about Shelly?"

The baby cocked his head to the side, almost to question his father's mental state if he actually thought that name was a good choice for him.

"You're a picky kid. Fine, fine, I'm sure I can come up with something clever soon... How about for now, I call you 'Orange'? Is that okay?"

The baby turtle plopped himself down, purring quietly. Good enough for now, it seemed.

"Then if you're 'Orange', let's call your snapping turtle brother 'Red', the softshell 'Purple', and the slider 'Blue'. That way I can tell you all apart! I'll get some little handkerchiefs or something to wrap around your shells so I can remember..."

Yoshi sighed.

"...I still have so much work to do..."

He looked out over the group of toddlers, running around and playing as 'Orange' started to fall asleep on his Dad's stomach, comforted by his warmth and one-sided conversation.

"...But I suppose you're all worth it," he smiled.

[closetcasefabray]

i found this in my drafts, & i don’t remember when i started to write this, but ta-da! finally wrote something. this is not a cohesive whole (nor is grief so we can pretend it’s intentional).

also this phone business is awful—almost threw it when tripling the length of this (what was supposed to be) drabble 😒 forgive wonky formatting &/or typos. (laptopless life sucks)

this drabble-ficlet thing is for @snowandwolves bc our friendship is based in wrecking each other emotionally with avatrice au’s & headcanons. also some of this was inspired by sixth to the ninth hour, from which i will never recover. but this isn’t complete despair!

—

summary: beatrice returns to switzerland and tries to live her life. (canon compliant, s3, grief)

—

a thing that carries itself

—

It is when you are asking about something that you realize you yourself have survived it, and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself.

(nox, anne carson)

—

beatrice knows hans could close the bar down on his own while blindfolded on a night like tonight—not much money to be made mid-week with dwindling tourists and seasonal stays—but beatrice doesn’t suggest it, and hans doesn’t offer. he’s come to recognize when beatrice needs some company, even if it’s just a couple hours and they exchange few words.

—

beatrice returned to switzerland a few days after camila found her asleep at the arc for the fourth time.

(jillian is moving it back to her lab to rebuild, camila offered with a gentle smile—one that expressed she too was hopeful, but not so much she wished to give beatrice too high of expectations.

beatrice knew, even with every scientific expert working on the arc, it would take over a year to repair the arc and source enough power within their earthly limitations for it to open even briefly. beatrice also knew it would likely require a decade of research before someone could go through the arc, let alone explore the alien realm beyond it.

as of a month ago, the arc team is still a few brilliant nuns led by a genius scientist, but when beatrice looks at them, she only sees young women—too young to be willing to die in a holy war—and a mother mourning the loss of her son for a second time.)

before she left, beatrice said goodbye through the arc—if only for the smallest chance a loving god would take pity on her and split open the barrier between realms just briefly enough for her words to reach through to ava:

see you at home. (i love you.)

—

when beatrice first arrived back to town, she became overwhelmed as she took in the remarkably unchanged neighborhoods, all the same buildings standing as they had when she and ava left in the night.

(the ache in her chest turned bitter, so much so she had to refrain from shaking the couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company in the sunshine—ava is gone. do you understand? don’t you feel it too? the absence of her?)

their old flat sat untouched as well; beatrice knew the elderly couple who owned the building weren’t eager to put much work into clearing it out to show it to young university kids who would be far too loud for their liking. (not that ava would ever be considered quiet—she had charmed them like she does everyone.) they warmly welcomed beatrice back and handed her the keys within the hour.

(she found a crumpled tank top of ava’s in the back of the closet and, holding it in her hands, pressed to her chest, she let herself cry for the first time in weeks, sitting on the dusty floor, counting the pieces of furniture in the room that ava once touched.)

the usually absent bar owner also returned the keys and beatrice’s managerial position before she even finished asking if they were hiring.

(what about hans?

he likes being head bartender.

there’s really no one else?

i’ve had two different managers and three different bartenders come and go since you and ava left. i can’t find a replacement half as good as either of you.

beatrice isn’t sure what expression he read on her face, but he didn’t say ava’s name again after that.)

—

throughout the next few weeks, beatrice thought returning to a place so full of memories of ava was possibly some misguided, catholic-guilt-induced self-flagellation—to wake up in their bed alone, to drink tea across from an empty chair, to walk the familiar paths to their favorite places without her—the lack ached in the hollow of beatrice’s core like penance.

maybe i’m meant to feel like this, she thought, and still thinks at times, but then she remembers ava in the gold room—the only thing holy in a temple devoted to a false prophet—telling beatrice to live her life. (gospel, she thinks.)

when ava kissed her, beatrice didn’t think of sin or hell. she thought only of the truth of ava’s lips, her body—capable of flight and phasing through stone—standing before beatrice and choosing love, a tenderness the world had never offered her. it was the opposite of sin—it was sacrament, a baptism that tasted of salt as they kissed, bathed in light.

so beatrice stays and tries each day.

(we are all just trying to be holy.)

—

in the months of staying, of trying to live her life, her friendship with hans has grown into something quieter and gentler than beatrice would have expected from the same bartender who had taught ava german curses and euphemisms. (beatrice would pretend she couldn’t hear as they whispered conspiratorially, knowing ava was familiar with more than half of the swears, but ava was still delighted by every cautiously murmured phrase hans offered her.)

it surprised beatrice at first, to find that hans actually likes her as she is—his overly organized manager-turned-friend who drinks tea out of the same mug every afternoon she comes into work and almost never drinks alcohol but will sip the occasional “virgin cuba libre” when he asks her to hang out with him after work for a shift drink. hans is even familiar enough with beatrice to occasionally tease her in german, her fluency allowing her to respond with a quick-witted retort. she smiles at his amusement, and he is thrilled by each new detail he learns of her.

beatrice is grateful to be closer to someone who doesn’t owe god his life, who remembers ava as ava—not the warrior nun or the halo-bearer.

(instead, hans remembers training ava at the bar, her focus when he taught her classic cocktail specs, and her enthusiasm that breathed life and vibrancy back into the bar job he had begun to find tedious. he remembers making ava laugh so hard her cuba libre came out of her nose, the little snort in her laugh when something amusing surprised her, the pout she’d use before asking for a favor—always far less effective on hans than beatrice. he remembers ava beaming when she mastered a new skill, her eyes finding beatrice to check if she saw—beatrice always saw and always smiled back; how could she not? beatrice was a moon in ava’s orbit, and she had no other option but to glow in her light.)

mostly beatrice is grateful that their friendship doesn’t try to fill the space and silence ava used to occupy; instead they fashion it into a kind of shared insulation for them to keep warm in the cold of grief. so when beatrice daydreams over the books at the bar and something startles her back into this realm without ava, she appreciates that hans doesn’t say anything to draw attention to the way her eyes shine with the sorrow of reality, like they did the first time hans said ava’s name months ago and all at once beatrice felt the air leave her lungs and her eyes burn. hans will stay nearby in those moments, offering an ear if she does wish to talk, but far enough she doesn’t feel obligated to explain it. sometimes it’s just the comfort of someone nearby who misses ava too.

(occasionally beatrice lets her mind project ava across the bar, watching her move from table to table, turning to beatrice and giving her a wink, hips swaying to a german pop song, sometimes accompanied by a little spin as if she wasn’t carrying a precariously balanced tray of glassware. but when the reel in beatrice’s mind starts to fade and flicker, she blinks and the shining sadness of her eyes dims into a melancholy others often mistake for stolidness—when the vision of ava smiling and making drinks beside hans blurs, it’s too ghostly for beatrice because ava is alive.

beatrice doesn’t find much comfort in god these days, but she still has faith.)

—

beatrice steps outside with hans, takes a deep breath, looks up at the unpolluted skies, and finds the constellations ava drew when they would sneak onto the roof of their flat when the nights were clear. beatrice has taken to writing the mythology of each one in her head as she walks home at night. she often considers writing some kind of scripture based less in fear and shame and more in love and forgiveness. maybe if she tells the stories enough, ava will return a new testament.

(but beatrice promised herself that once ava returns, she won’t share ava with the world—no temples, no saviors, no holy wars. beatrice wants to watch the sun set on the ocean, casting ava in golden light that doesn’t feel like a goodbye. she wants ava to press her lips to hers again but as a greeting, as a stay here with me. she wants to watch the sunrise spill across ava’s face like a promise beatrice will keep. she wants ava, and she is learning to forgive herself for this—the selfishness, not her love—beatrice’s love does not apologize.)

“are you off work tomorrow?” hans asks as they start walking the several blocks toward their respective apartments.

“yes, but if you need—”

hans shakes his head vigorously, and beatrice gives him a small half-smile.

“you should go to the library, get a couple books. if you come by, i’ll make you tea but you absolutely cannot work,” he says, pointing his finger at beatrice with an exaggerated sternness.

beatrice smiles a little wider, “i won’t.”

when they reach the cross streets where they part ways, hans wraps his arms around beatrice’s shoulders, and she wraps hers around his waist—a strange arrangement of limbs both of them had grown up unfamiliar with, something that ava taught them to appreciate—touch, closeness, a human intimacy too many would never admit they needed. so they make a point to hug each other for brief moments to carry that part of ava with them.

—

her nighttime routine unfolds as muscle memory so her mind wanders to work, hans, and always ava. she climbs into bed and imagines ava teasing her for keeping her shirt under her pillow, where she rubs the fabric between her fingers.

you always liked being close to me when we slept, ava would say.

i always liked being close to you when we were awake, beatrice would confess.

she savors the moments just before sleep, when those minutes are hers alone without obligations or the weight of the outside world—her mind in a free fall. (when beatrice was a child and her mother was kinder, she would soothe beatrice after a nightmare by telling her to think of all the exciting things tomorrow would bring.) as if directing the trajectory of her plummet, she chooses ava every time.

she closes her eyes and plays the memories against the back if her eyelids, setting her unconscious mind on a path toward a kind of imagined heaven, so maybe—just maybe—beatrice will see ava again in her dreams.

tonight she is walking into work, and ava looks up and smiles at her from behind the bar.

hey, bea.

hi. she feels something joyous swell inside her, and the glassware behind the bar starts to glimmer as she walks toward ava. i missed you.

we had breakfast together this morning, ava says with a laugh, but once beatrice is beside her, ava leans close and whispers, i miss you too, bea. everyday.

when ava pulls back slightly, beatrice sees it—the melancholy half-smile on ava’s lips, her dark, shining eyes. the shimmering light grows, and beatrice feels ava’s hands take hers and pull her closer.

i’ll see you at home soon. ava tucks a strand of bea’s hair behind her ear, and she feels herself lean into her touch.

ava—

it’s okay, bea. just wake up.

when beatrice opens her eyes, she can see the night sky outside her window, but the flickering light of her ocs necklace on her bedside table seems to light the entire room. she cradles it in her hands and decodes it on the first pass, but to be sure, she watches it flash three more times—ava is alive.

—

fin

—

thanks for reading!

some rambles/notes:

i almost never write from bea’s perspective bc she’s v smart—i’m decidedly not bea-smart (nor am i ava-smart but i am ava-eager-&-a-little-reckless, so that’s what i typically lean toward). so i think i did a rewatch & felt a little heartbroken. also p sure i drank half a bottle of wine during the rewatch so that may have been why this is [gestures vaguely] like this.

but anne carson and richard siken are my roman empires, so i named this after the opening anne carson quote from nox. and i will always think of avatrice when i remember we were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want . . . we are all just trying to be holy.

also what i didn’t include & is in my head:

- hans & bea’s talk about what happened with ava. basically “she had to leave, and i don’t know if… i don’t know when she’ll come back” & hans isn’t sure what it means but he never tells beatrice to move on bc he knows he couldn’t understand what happened. mostly he saw them together and he’s never seen beatrice smile the way she did with ava. also i said beatrice rarely drinks but she & hans have this conversation with wine involved. the drunk cry bar staff bond is real.

- the day beatrice realizes she’s been without ava longer than she was with her—she’s marking the date in the inventory book, then she just stops as her brain does the math against her will. hans sees her hands are trembling & he just knows. he takes bea up to the office & gives her some water. he asks, “do you think your home will help or make this harder right now?” so he has beatrice over to his small, neat apartment and he makes some food for her. he asks if it’s about ava & whether or not bea wants to talk about it. she doesn’t want to talk, but she says hans can talk about her. so hans tells bea some of his memories with ava. thus some of the memories included.

anyway, sorry? i guess?

also if you haven’t—read @snowandwolves fics if you want coherent & complete(ly devastating & healing) fics:

sixth to the ninth hour is canon compliant s3 & basically ava walks through hell to get back to bea. 😭 i cried. my heart ached. but also there’s plenty of spice 😏 [ava eyebrow wiggle]. all my favorite things heh…

leave the light on (i'll find my way home) is lighthouse au. our babes are so soft and in love 🥹 i went on a trip to see puffins & lighthouses bc of this. the whole fic is incredible, but there’s this one part in the lighthouse… i think it altered my brain chemistry in the best way.

[raayllum]

Lissa had always wanted a mirror.

A big one, nearly ceiling to floor, and rimmed in gold or silver. Pretty, pristine. Elegant.

Warriors in Del Bar prided themselves on fine furs and neatly braided hair, and though her family had never had much money—just enough to send her for schooling as a minstrel, which had brought her to Katolis ("If you were really twice as clever you'd go into maths or medicine," her mother had admonished)—Lissa had taken as much pride in her appearance as she could. She knew the cut of her furs draped over her shoulders made her look fetching, and where to place the flower in her hair to bring out her eyes.

Fetching enough to catch the eye of the court mage's apprentice, clearly.

In the lead up to their wedding, Lissa had brought up her yearnings, surprised when her husband-to-be resisted.

"You certainly spend a far amount of time preening like a peacock," she'd needled goodnaturedly.

Viren had snorted in reply, sitting on the bench in the courtyard they often occupied these days. "What do you need with a mirror when you have me each day to tell you how lovely you look?"

And then he'd leaned in and kissed her sweetly, softly, and she hadn't dropped the matter entirely in the weeks to follow—"Couldn't it be your wedding gift to me?"—but one day, he wakes up from a nightmare and confessed the truth.

"The first time you do dark magic, mages... fall prey to visions, nightmares. In mine, there was a mirror. Oblong and grand."

Lissa takes his face in his hands, his beard just a tad untidy; she'll fix it for him later in the morning, under the warm light of day. For now she hopes the warmth of her hands are enough, his skin clammy and cold—almost gaunt and grey with fear.

"I saw—a version of myself. Grotesque, and... Sometimes, I still cannot get it out of my head."

She pulls him to her, stroking his back and catching their reflections in the tiny, square mirror across the way on their dresser. His breathing slows, and she smiles when his hands drift to the growing curve of her stomach. His ear to her heartbeat.

"It was just a nightmare," she assures him, drawing away to look again into his handsome face, and Viren leans into her touch.

She has what she needs; a large mirror does not need to be among them.

(Years later, in one final bid for her favour, Viren buys her the grandest mirror his yearly shillings can afford, but all she sees is the jagged lines on his face, covered up by more magic. Besides, it's not like she spends time in their bedroom anyway these days.

Even later, Viren hauls the mirror from his nightmares from the dragon king's lair back to the castle. What does it matter what he becomes?

Lissa is already gone.)

[thebat-musicman]

The Perfect Family

Bruce discovered the show shortly after his parents died.

It was 12 seasons and had been filmed from the 1950s-60s. It was a classic sitcom about a man named Bruce (that’s how he’d discovered it) and his six children. Richard, Cassandra, Jason Peter, Timothy, Duke Marlon, and Damian Thomas.

Bruce spent years watching it to the point where he memorized every line and scene. Eventually, the line between this Bruce and him faded, him no longer being able to tell the difference.

He grew resentful, why should this Bruce have a family when he doesn’t? But of course, TV Bruce had gone out and found his family, Regular Bruce just needed to do the same. There had to be at least one child with one of those names in Gotham.

Other facts about this AU:

Their names are all super long so they can call each other names (Dick, Cass, Jason, Tim, Duke, Damian) not associated with Bruce and so their TV characters can be differentiated from them.

Six months passes every season and the kids are 15, 13, 12, 10, 8, and 4 in season 1. So by season 12 they are 21, 19, 18, 16, 14, and 10

Jason Peter was “killed off” in the season 6 finale for views, but he came back in the season 8 finale as he was a fan favorite character. Jason doesn’t talk about where Bruce sent him that year.

Cassandra had no lines in the show (we love misogyny) and was generally regarded as mute by the other characters, so Bruce made sure Cass wouldn’t talk. She keeps herself to sign language (and that’s only with her siblings) as he has threatened to cut her vocal cords if she talks.

Barbara and Stephanie are love interests for Richard and Timothy, but Dick/Babs and Steph/Tim are completely platonic. Steph and Babs are the least traumatized since while Bruce did grab them, they’re not on screen a lot so he mostly leaves them alone.

Alfred didn’t exist in the show so….. you can interpret that as you want.

[blitzosicedcoffee]

Ficlet- Sick Day

Partner gave me some kind of chest infection so in bed still 😭 so have a small fic that I can write on my phone.

Timeline: Stolas and Blitz are dating, they've said they care about one another and stopped *most* of the bs. Post season 2. Stolas has his own new apartment from his IMP check that Blitz stays over most nights.

Stolas yawns, stretching and preening in the red sunlight that strewns in from the pride pentagram sun. He grabs his phone and widens his eyes, shaking Blitz.

"Darling we're going to be late! It's half past nine", he hurriedly gets up and starts pulling on pants, jumping up and down and Blitz waves, groaning.

"I cancelled today", he pulls the blanket over his horns as much as he can, curling up under the blanket. Stolas blinks, "cancelled?"

"Yeah so do whatever", he tells him. Stolas walks back over and puts a hand on Blitz's back, "Are you feeling alright darling?"

Blitz whimpers, one that you'd probably hear from a cat. As his tail wraps around Stolas's wrist.

"Is-thet a yes?" Stolas asks, and Blitz murmers, "Mmmno".

"No you aren't feeling alright?" He asks again,

"Yes", Blitz groans now, pulling his tail away and back closer to him, wrapping around himself and the blanket.

Stolas fidget with his hands, "Would you Uhm, what would help?" Blitz shrugs.

"Well, what are your symptoms?" He asks and Blitz turns around, his face clearly flushed, nasal drip refusing to lessen down his face and he coughs into his elbow.

Stolas nods, "I see". Blitz whines again and Stolas rubs his forehead, "What do you need, love?"

Blitz pauses and squeezes his horse stuffy closer to his face and whines into it, "I dunno, water?" He looks up at Stolas and his boyfriend has a smile on his face, "Of course darling, easy". He floats over a glass of water and Blitz struggles to sit up, but Stolas puts his hand on his back and helps him sit up then uses magic to tip the glass for him.

When he's done Blitz pushes the levitating glass away, "You don't have to dote on me ya know. I've been sick by myself since I was 18", he mentions and shivers, holding his arms.

Stolas chuckles, "So have I. And I remember that the rare times I am sick, it's miserable darling. So relax. Let me take care of you?"

Blitz just groans in reply as he blushes and Stolas moves his horse blanket over his shoulders, and Blitz's head instinctively leans against Stolas's shoulder. He smiles, levitating the remote over.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" he asks, grazing his fingers over Blitz's forehead.

"Hmm?" he replies drowsily, his eyes fluttering. Stolas just smiles down at him and turns on one of his spirit movies that are already in the player, and Blitz curls up against his lap, starting to purr under the blanket but interjecting every once in a while to cough.

"Would you like some medicine, dear?" Stolas asks, lifting the blanket. Blitz whines and pulls the blanket back over him, "MMno". Stolas chuckles and pets his horns, "Perhaps after a nap then".

"Mmyeah", he replies and within fifteen minutes he's fast asleep. Stolas levitates over a novel and sets the bottom of it on his horns to prop it up, and reads as his boyfriend sleeps his sickness away.

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

The Epilogue

It starts off on a simple hot sunny day at the lake.

The kids are giggling and splashing water in each other's faces.

Dustin and Steve are off to the side getting the sandwiches ready. Steve is watching Eddie flip the boys into the water.

"I'm so glad we're all like this together. I never thought I'd even get you an Eddie into the same room."

"Well he's really changed a lot. Definitely since we were kids. I like being his friend, I think we're better for it." He finishes wrapping up the sandwich he's working on and ignores Dustin's eyes piercing into his skull. Behind him he hears another splash and some screaming.

"What."

"I didn't know you used to be friends."

"Friends? It's been a long time since I've been regarded as one of those."

"Be for real I didn't know you and Eddie used to hang out."

"Yeah we used to hang out all the time." Steve looks off into the distance wistfully.

"So what happened?"

"Well, we grew up. I grew up and Eddie grew up and we both grew into different people and Eddie didn't like how different we ended up being. It happens all the time. We didn't have monsters to bond us like you guys."

"Well that sucks, maybe you guys will reconnect as strong as you used to be."

Steve rustles Dustin's hair much to his complaint.

"We'll be fine champ, we're doing well now aren't we?"

"Yeah Stevie we are." They both spin around at the sound of Eddie's voice. He's giving them a confused look. Squinting his eyes at Steve like he doesn't know how to feel.

---

A long time ago

"Do you want to be friends?"

"Why?"

"I think you're cool."

"No you don't you just think I'm cool cause I'm in 4th grade and you're only in the baby 3rd grade class."

"Am not!"

"You are!"

"UGH...I'm Steve by the way."

"Eddie."

Middle school

"Steve there's something wrong with me."

"Don't be ridiculous Eddie, whatever it is we'll fix it."

"This can't be fixed."

"Dude just spit it out I won't get mad!"

"Ok...I have a crush...on a boy."

Eddie's eyes are welling up with tears.

"Hey it's ok Eds." Steve walks closer to him, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.

"I won't judge you."

"Really?"

"Yeah! So what if you like boys I'll kick anyone's ass who says anything bad. You're still my best friend that's never going to change." He wraps Eddie up in the tightest hug he can muster.

"I love you Steve."

"I love you too Eds."

Before high school

"I just don't know why you're being like this!"

"What Steve? You can't believe I'm mad at you for blowing me off for your other friends?!"

"I wasn't blowing you off! I had basketball practice! Tommy's mom just drove me home dude it's not as crazy as you think it is."

"Oh really?!"

"Yeah! If anything you're being crazy!"

"Oh! If that's how it's gonna be then we don't need to be friends anymore."

Eddie's stomps off. So angry he doesn't hear Steve calling back out to him. The next time they interact, Tommy is pushing Eddie into a locker.

When Steve called Jonathan Byers a queer he remembers the promise he made to Eddie and promptly throws up afterwards.

When Robin comes out to Steve on the bathroom floor he thinks he has a second chance to prove himself. When she ends up being better than he imagines he is so thankful.

God he misses Eddie.

---

"Me and Stevie boy can pack up the car don't worry munchkins."

The two try to pick everything up but Eddie gets progressively angrier by the second. Steve is trying to figure out why he has personal beef with a cooler.

When they reach the car Eddie tries to shove everything in the trunk but it all falls apart.

"What's wrong."

"Me? Nothing, why?" he hastily folds the towels again, shoving them back in.

"Well...you're all huffy."

He spins around, his face getting closer, red with anger.

"You wanna know what my problem is?! I can't believe you told him that like I was the one to break things off, like you ever missed me, like you never hated me!"

"That's ridiculous! I've never hated you! You hated me!"

"No! You're the one who changed. You made the final decision!"

"Yeah because you pushed me away."

"You didn't fight me on it."

"I fought you everyday. Everyday I thought of you. Everyday with the name calling and the lockers, I was trying to get your attention."

"You think I wasn't? You think I stand on tables for fun?!"

"...it's all been a misunderstanding?"

The two stare at each other not even daring to blink.

"We wasted so much time, we could fix that, that is if you still want me"

"I never went a day without thinking of you."

he gets shy, his face darker than his sunburn.

"I know you've changed, I've dealt with that but a part of me still thinks you hate me. For what I am. What you'll hold against me. I don't know if I can handle being friends with you with that fear in my heart."

"I'd never. Ever. Do anything. Besides," Steve flicks his hair back. "Birds of a feather and all that." The blush on his cheeks is high and getting darker by the second.

"The what?"

"I'm uh kind of bisexual."

"Kind of?"

"Definitely. Definitely bisexual."

"Oh."

"Right um...so you won't have any problems from me. I hope that won't be a problem for you."

"No! Never! I'm just...surprised."

"Yeah you would be," Steve grumbles.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

----

Steve is sleeping in his bed when he feels something wrong. His eyes shoot open and he spots a figure standing over his body.

"Jesus Christ!" He shoots out of bed and is ready to grab his weapon when he registers who's in front of him.

"Eddie?" He says softly. "What're you doing here? You had a gig tonight, how did you get in my house? Why are you in my room-"

"Steve." Eddie's face is golden. The moon is reflecting into his eyes, shining so bright. He looks so happy, like he's going to cry. His smile is so bright.

"Steve. I got it."

"You go it?"

"The record deal. I got it."

Steve runs at him and Eddie catches him. Of course he did. He always will.

"Oh my god oh my god," he mutters into his shoulder. Eddie's arms are squeezing his waist tighter. "I'm so proud of you oh my god."

"Steve. I have to tell you something, that's what I came here to say."

"What's going on Eds? You never sound this serious." Eddie lets go of him and sits him down on the edge of the bed. Eddie lingers closer to the door like he's ready to make an exit.

"The recording studio is in Chicago."

"Oh."

"I leave in a week."

"Oh."

"I want you to go with me."

"What?"

Steve feels confusion run through him but he's not complaining. He'd follow Eddie anywhere.

"Yes! Ok! Let's go!"

Eddie smiles but it looks like it's causing him pain.

"There's a condition to you coming with me." He comes closer to Steve but still keeps his distance. "You need to know the truth before you agree to leave everything behind."

"What's going on Eds?"

"Ever since we were kids I've been in love with you. Big. Gay. Feelings. I want to hold you and kiss you and start a life with you. I know you're bi but that doesn't mean you'd be into me, especially considering our history. I was going to keep it a secret, never tell you, but it's not fair for you to be with me and not know my true intentions. I understand if you don't want to speak to me anymore but I'll do anything to keep our friendship. I've tried to forget you but have you met you? You're unforgettable. You're too damn loveable." He chuckles at that, eyes darting at every corner of the room.

"Eddie..."

"I understand-"

"Come here please."

"Um...no."

"Edddiiie," Steve whines. He stands and grabs Eddie's hands and drags him back to his bed laying him down. He crawls on top of him and tucks his head into Eddie's neck.

"I am very confused right now Steve."

"Thank you for telling me, I understand how scary that can be to share your feelings. The only thing is I can't believe you don't see how I feel!" He props his head up until their noses are touching. "I love you you idiot. I've been in love with you since forever. Of course I want to start a life with you and whatever else you wanted-"

"Kissing. I wanted kissing."

"And you'll get it."

Steve giggles into his mouth and the two kiss for what feels like forever. They finally break apart and keep their foreheads touching.

"So...Chicago?"

"Chicago."

-----

Eddie's suit jacket is grabbed and he's thrown into a bathroom stall.

"Oh my god I can't believe you did that."

"Steve how did you even get back here? Bribed a guard. He knew who I was anyway, congratulated me on having such a loving partner." He ends the sentence smashing their lips together shoving Eddie against the wall.

"Mmm well," Eddie pulls away. "I didn't know the next time I'd win a Grammy I wanted to make it count."

"Eddie you confessed your love for me and came out in your speech that was something...something so special. God all I wanted was to see you, be near you. I couldn't go another second not being by your side."

"A bathroom stall was the closest you could get huh?" He smirks.

Steve smirks, sinking to his knees. "What? It's not good enough for you?"

"Nope! It's perfect! Absolutely perfect sweetheart no complaints here.

----

"You want to marry...me?"

"Yeah baby why wouldn't I?"

"I- I...yes! Ok! Yes!"

----

It ends on a simple hot sunny day

seventy years later

"Hello everyone, my husband lived a long successful life. You may know him as the lead guitarist for the many bands he's been apart of during his long career. You knew him as Eddie Munson rockstar but I knew him as much more. I knew him as my love. My husband. An uncle to our little gremlins little gremlins. A friend to all. A supporter of all. He passed away yesterday from natural causes. I was asked by his Manger how I wanted to handle this and I knew I had to do it."

There are tears in his eyes as he stares down the camera but a small smile on his lips.

"He lives on through our friends and family. Through those who have watched him grow. Through his awards and his fans. Through his charity work. Most importantly he lives through his love. He loved so much. So hard. Everthing had meaning to him. Everything had purpose." He wipes a stray tear away.

"I'll see you soon my love."

The final epilougue is the next day, for the sweethearts could not live long without the other. They had already been making up for the time they did not know each other, for they time they spent ignoring each other. They couldn't spend another minute apart.

[ddagent]

It was Margo's first time in Russia. She'd seen news footage, of course. Heard it spoken of so fondly by Sergei in the years of their acquaintance. Despite the reservations of his government, his hatred for the KGB, he had spoken warmly of vacations with his family, of cooking with his mother, of the first heavy snow. Margo wished, truly, that she could experience Russia through his eyes. But Sergei had been dead for eight years and all around her was ghosts.

Thankfully, there was the work to distract her. Always the work.

The Goldilocks capture conference in Leningrad had not been as...productive, as Margo had hoped. Political posturing; capitalism and bottom lines outweighing scientific merit and discovery. Exhausted, Margo had retired to a fireplace in the hotel bar, sharing a drink with Aleida, licking their wounds after the new Director of Roscosmos had scuppered their intentions to bring the asteroid to Mars.

Margo rolled her neck, fingers pressing against the condensation of the glass. "We should be holding this in Houston."

"No arguments here. Instead, Morozova gets to run the show." Aleida sipped her brandy. She was still pissed she'd been relegated to an inferior hotel, whereas Margo, as director of NASA, had been give five star accommodation. Margo couldn't blame her. "There's something about her I just don't trust."

"I'd say someone was pulling her strings, but I think she's at the top of the food chain here."

Margo didn't enjoy spy novels. Didn't enjoy ear pieces and false identities and honey traps. Any possible love for the genre had been eroded when the KGB had throttled Sergei in front of her. But she knew the signs. The hallmarks. The way Irina would pause. The way she would formulate words on her tongue that held no meaning, just regurgitated from others. No doubt, Margo would know what lay behind it all in due course. But for now, she was happy to spend some hours of the day away from Irina Morozova and Dev Ayesa.

"I'm gonna head up to my room." Margo stared at Aleida. "You sure you're going to be okay over there? You can stay with me; it's not a problem."

"I've slept in worse." Aleida drained her glass. "Text you when I'm there. Don't forget to text Ilyana and Andrei."

Margo would not. Sergei's aging parents had been so excited about her trip when Margo had told them during her last visit. Maps had been involved; images summoned from the web to replace the photo albums they had lost. It had been another dinner where Margo had felt a stab in her gut at all they had lost to come to the States: their home, their possessions, their son. Margo had done everything to get Sergei and his family out. All but see him home safe. Still, Margo had promised to take pictures for his parents and she would fulfil that promise.

As she left the hotel bar, Margo noticed that Irina had left. She traversed the halls, seeing if she had picked up a shadow. She entered the elevator alone. Pressed seven. Flexed her fingers around a phantom touch. Exited alone. Margo hovered, as the doors closed, imagining his body close to hers. Aleida went to the IAC now. Margo couldn't bear it. At least there were no memories here. No ghosts that would haunt Margo as she entered her room.

Margo began the short walk to her suite. The door was ajar. Fuck. There was no housekeeping cart outside, or room service. Just an open door spilling light into the hallway. No. Not again. She was not going to stand for this. She was done being messed with. Storming into her hotel room, Margo caught sight of a figure by her desk and called out: "I am not being fucked around by you people anymore. You'll have to strangle me this time."

The figure turned around and Margo's world spun.

"Hello, Margo."

It wasn't possible. She was dreaming or had been knocked out somehow between the elevator and here. This wasn't real. Bradford had tried to get home. He'd been on the plane; had made it to Germany. But the KGB had found him. Bradford had spared her the details, not wanting to see her tears, not wanting to know how close the head of NASA was with the former head of Roscosmos. But he was dead, of that she was sure. Margo had mourned him. His parents, his sisters had mourned him. There was a photograph of them from Apollo-Soyuz on her shelves that Aleida always stared at when she came into Margo's office. Staring at a ghost, a legacy.

Yet here he was.

Sergei Nikulov – older, with creases around his eyes but still looking healthier than the last time she'd seen him in person – stared at her. Smiled at her. Before the weight of his haunting fell heavy on his shoulders. "We do not have much time."

Margo didn't respond. She merely approached, cautiously, as if he were made of vapour and would disappear if she made one errant step. She took stock of him: the rise and fall of his chest, the flush of his skin under the warmth of the hotel lights, the stray thread on the sleeve of his shirt. After a visual inspection, Margo investigated closer. She took his hand in hers. Familiar grooves and lines. A phantom touch made real. His grip tightened, held her hand for the first time in nearly a decade.

Margo gasped and immediately closed the distance between them, cradling his face in her hands. "I thought—" He nodded. "I thought I couldn't save you."

Sergei took one of the hands pressing against his cheek and kissed her palm. "I am afraid, Margo, that I am beyond saving. This time, I am here to save you." His shoulders fell in defeat. "We need to talk about Irina Morozova."

[infiniteeight8]

I love your dabbles!! And time travel is my favorite!

Can we get more if the ironstrange time travel when Tony shows up in the hospital room? Maybe an outsiders POV?

Oooh, one of my favourites of the ficlets and outsider POV! This is a very fun prompt. :D

We could get more outsider-y than Christine, but I felt like her familiarity with pre-accident Stephen would make the contrast more interesting.

It also occurred to me when I was almost done that you might have wanted something a little further along in the development of this timeline, but this is what I thought of when I pondered outsider POVs. Hopefully it is still enjoyable!

-

Christine could hear Stephen’s voice, crisp and animated, long before she approached his hospital room. That could mean only one thing: Mr. Stark was visiting. 

In the days after Stephen was recovered from the wreck and before he woke from surgery, Christine had braced herself for denial, or fury, or depression. Operating was everything to Stephen. It had certainly meant more to him than their relationship. She’d braced herself for a viciously rocky road to whatever recovery he could make, and for the first few hours, it had seemed like depression had won the lottery. Stephen had been so silent. It was an unsettling reaction from a man who had opinions on everything, especially everything medical. 

And then Tony Stark had arrived and it was like the entire world went screwy.

Not only had Stephen snapped out of his nascent depression, he didn’t even seem to care about his hands. He didn’t denigrate the work of his doctors, he didn’t ask for a second opinion. He didn’t even ask to see his own films! Instead he spent every waking moment—literally—deep in discussion with man he’d once described as the worst possible expression of the military-industrial complex. And that had been after Stark’s establishment as Iron Man. Just because now he’s keeping the bombs for his personal use, Stephen had said once, doesn’t make him a hero.

Honestly, if Stephen hadn’t been in a hospital, closely monitored, Christine would have suspected Stark of… of… something. She couldn’t think of any drug or bribe or whatever that would turn Stephen’s opinion around so dramatically, but it still made more sense than reality! Christine couldn’t even call it a nervous breakdown—Stephen somehow seemed better adjusted than before his crash.

Shaking her head, Christine continued on her way to Stephen’s room. She’d promised herself she’d be there for him, even if the role she’d expected to take had somehow been co-opted by Tony Stark.

“…not sure,” Stephen was saying as she approached. “The first time I was in hospital for a month, but I didn’t have anyone to help me care for myself. Christine tried, but I was… not receptive.” 

The first time? Christine didn’t think he’d ever been hospitalized before. 

Stephen looked up and saw her in the doorway and any chance at more information was lost. “Christine!” Stephen said warmly as Mr. Stark dismissed a hologram. Christine only glimpsed enough to guess it was some sort of timeline before it was gone. “Tony and I were just speculating when I might be released. I don’t suppose you have any inside information?”

“Ah, no, I’m afraid not,” Christine said, somehow thrown off balance again. “It would probably depend on how much support you have. Your apartment—“

“Nah, he’ll be staying with me,” Mr. Stark jumped in. “I can get you whatever support you need,” he told Stephen. “Nurses, accessibility features, you name it.”

Christine’s gaze flew to Stephen, expecting him to flinch at ‘accessibility,’ but he just nodded. “Thank you, that will help. The sooner I can get out of here, the better.”

“Stephen, are you sure you’re comfortable with that?” Christine jumped in, glancing at Mr. Stark. 

“I won’t be freeloading,” Stephen assured her, as if that was the problem. “Tony and I have a big project to get started on.”

“Huge, world changing project,” Mr. Stark added brightly. Then he got a considering look on his face and turned to Stephen. “We’re going to need support staff. Do you think—?”

Stephen hummed thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t have worked before, but this time, maybe.”

“We’ll add it to the list,” Tony said.

Christine could only glance between them. It felt like she was missing half the conversation, but, somehow, she suspected it was a lot more than half.