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hairmetal666 · 9 months

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Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #oneshot #angst #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #idiots in love #mutual pining #famous eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #pathetic gay yearning #fluff #the one that got away #second chances #getting together

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charliecuntcicle · 2 years

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🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

oo another one yay! i listen to many songs so i could do this for agess

harness your hopes by pavement

bitter water by the oh hellos

kiss me, son of god by they might be giants

under my skin by jukebox the ghost

hot venom by miniature tigers

#pavement #the oh hellos #they might be giants #jukebox the ghost #miniature tigers #no ajj this time......which is a shocker #i let people use my ask box and all i got was this lousy tag

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corisbrainrot · 8 months

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Dante, the most social person in the neighborhood, tripping over himself to go talk to the new loner guy after seeing him shirtless

There’s something so funny to me about such a social guy, one that claims to be really good at flirting and all that, absolutely tripping over himself to talk to this socially awkward loner guy. They’re so silly

#ask box jukebox #aphblr #aphmau #aaron lycan #dante aphmau #they’re so silly I love them #tfw there’s so many ppl on this street #and Dante becomes infatuated with the guy whose nips haven’t seen fabric in god knows when and is only seen outside from 5 to 6 am

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trigun-art-gallery · 1 year

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Oh! To clarify. Classic only or also the current reboot?

I’ll be reblogging art from both! I’ll also probably do maximum in the future too (when I finish the manga). I think both shows are pretty neat :]

#ask box jukebox #I watched stampede first #and I’m currently on episode 22 of the 98 version #ahhhh they’re both so silly!!!! I love both versions #and wowza the fanart for both is sooo cool #I’ve got the queue absolutely loaded haha!

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botanicadrabbles · 10 days

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Hydrangeas'

Lucifer x Reader

Warnings: Hanahaki fic. Established relationship, jealousy, self-doubt, relationship anxiety, blood, vomit.

Part 1, Part 2

Word count: 1,241

Hell was never some where people actively wanted to end up; Tales of an eternal afterlife of suffering and punishment, when you first arrived in hell that’s what you expected. Opening your eyes to see a… Some what inviting place, was absolutely not what you had expected.

However that was years ago, now you’re helping Charlie with the hotel, no real want to redeem yourself. Charlie always asks you why and you have to just shrug and not really explain, your relationship with her father was a secret and you didn’t know how she would react to him dating someone else other than her mother.

You always heard from Charlie how amazing their love story is and how deeply in love they where, “I mean he still wears her ring” she would say. You always deluded yourself to think the reason he kept it on was because he still was in love with her. That he still solely cared about her, you felt you had no place to tell him he has to take it off, he was grieving the loss of his wife and you have to respect that.

But when with him, and just him. You never felt any pressure to be something different. Dancing around in his flower garden, his arms resting around your waist, yours hanging loosely around his shoulders.

Music was playing softly in the background, post modern jukebox. He always says how he loves more classical and older styled music compared to the new way music was made, but you where born in the early 2000’s and enjoyed the music you grew up with. So you made a deal (though not a magical one) that we only listen to music covered by them so we both get enjoyment out of music while with eachother.

Stopping for a moment you detached from him to look at the garden, that is why you where invited over after all. To see his flower garden, he stays at the hotel but doesn’t trust any of the staff in the palace to actually look after the garden properly so he comes every day to make sure they’re being well looked after.

Lilies…Lilly of the valley… Royal lilly… Spider lilly… His love for Lillith ran deep and you’re no longer sure to yourself if he loves you as much.

“Y/N.. Are you alright? You’ve been looking at the flowers for awhile” He says, his voice is so sweet to you and you’re starting to hate it, you hate how jealous you’re becoming…How possessive. You want people say how in love he seems with you, you want flowers to be planted and taken care of as well as he does as these for you. You want to be more with him.

Ofcourse though, he doesn’t give you much more time to think as he scoops you into his arms, pulling you into a deep hug, lifting you off of the ground. Looking down was a mistake as you realise how quickly and how far you had gone off of the ground now.

Like any sane person you cling onto him worried about falling, souls where a fragil thing, and that’s all you where. A sinner, a lost soul who wasn’t good enough to get into heaven.

You could feel the two of you turning slowly in the air like a ballerina in a music box, scared still you look up at Lucifer and he has the worlds most loving and dotefull eyes. The moment seemed perfect, you hadn’t had a first kiss yet and thought it was now or never you swear you feel him pulling away but then feel the rain coming down, he laughs a bit and despite being confused you laugh along as he carefully but quickly hurries the both of you inside.

You can’t help but smile and laugh more at your circus leader boyfriend’s soaked hair and clothing making him look a bit like a sewer rat. He smiles too and for the first moment since being there today there was no doubt, no anxiety or second thoughts about your relationship with him.

“I’ll go get a towel for you” He says grinning with his sharp teeth you nod in response, “Okay Luce” you say and wonder the foyer into the overtly large dining room, raising your eyebrow at the grand and glaringly expensive dining room.

Lucifer doesn’t take long too come back puting the towel on your damp head for you to dry yourself off with. He takes a seat on the chair in front of you as he grabs your hands..Which forces you to drop the towel and look at him. “You’re so gorgeous Y/N” he’d tell you, you smile. You can’t help it, he has that effect on you. Something about him naturally makes you fall for him, wanting his praise and approval, some type of weird spell was cast on you the day you met him.

You didn’t even realise when you said it, fucking hell you regretted it the moment it came past your lips. You felt his hands retract from his, watched as his face fell and fear take over his previously peaceful and happy expression.

“I love you” is what you said..Regret is what you felt when he reacted that way, hurt is what you felt when he said “I’m sorry?” as if the complete notion of ever being loved by someone was lost on him. He laughed a bit when you didn’t respond, as if your feelings where a joke and what you had said was some type of childish prank.

Your heart ached, it twisted and turned and you where still, frozen in place as your heart begged your brain to start to allow you to move, run away. You can’t deal with him laughing in your face. It hurt. It wasn’t until the vomit crawled up into your throat that you felt your eyes tearing up. The rain didn’t seem to be a concern anymore as your legs moved.

They moved faster than you thought you could ever possibly do. Your own mind washing out the way he called out for you, the concerned voices of the hotel patrons and guests as you ran past and into your room.

You didn’t realise the breath you where holding, the amount of emotions you had until your legs trembled and gave out in your bathroom that was attached to your bedroom. Holding onto the bench you felt the vomit come back up your throat. That horrible feeling of vile burning the back of it until you couldn’t take it anymore and gave in.

As you vomited into the toilet, heaving and gasping for air, feeling as if your lungs where crushing under your ribs. Tears brimming your eyes as you hoped for it to pass.

The metallic taste in your mouth brought you out of the daze, confused you pat your finger tips to the soft skin of your lips.. Blood, there was blood on your lip, looking down at the toilet basin you see some of what you expect, pale vomit.. You didn’t expect to see a mix of blood as well as blue and while hydrangea petals.

You thought to yourself how stupid this was.

This had to be some weird curse, you read about it when you where alive. It was fictional right?

Well…Fiction is always based on some type of truth..

#lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #x reader

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starry-bi-sky · 9 months

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tick tock

Highkey dedicating this to @watercolour-carnations bc they sent me an ask about my 'danny is thomas wayne' au and singlehandedly revitalized my brainrot for it. Apparently the quickest way to a starry's heart is through their ask box

Now posted on ao3 under the name 'dniwer eht kcolc'!

In hindsight, hosting a science exhibit was probably not the best idea that Bruce has ever. This wasn't even one of Bruce's galas and, yet he was still attending because it gave him the opportunity to scope out any potential rogues (or henchmen).

Damian was by his side, and Tim was on the other side of the room, inspecting some of the other inventions under the prospect of gaining new hires for R&D at WE. Something that was not entirely false. Bruce could always use new, bright minds working to make Gotham a better place.

He was, particularly, eyeing up one moderately-sized invention that a woman with cutting blue eyes and stark white hair had covered with a white sheet. An interesting choice when everyone else had already revealed their own inventions. Drifting closer with Damian, he smiles charmingly at the scientist when they lock eyes.

"And what is this interesting contraption?" He asks, looking over the sheet as if it was the invention itself and not what was underneath.

The woman curled purple-painted fingers around the sheet, yanking it down to reveal a machine that looks like a mix of a jukebox and a grandfather clock. A long wire was attached to it, and a strange, blinking, circlet-like device connected on the other end.

Bruce's brows rose considerably, and he could sense Damian's eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"This is my Holographic Memory Machine -- the name is still a work in progress -- it's a memory machine meant to allow anyone to relive their memories right in front of them, even the ones they don't remember." The woman says with a smile, her name card reads 'Dr. Casey W. Kairos'. He's never heard of her before. An out-of-townie, perhaps?

"Interesting." Bruce's hands fold behind his back and he looks down at his disinterested son, and then back up to Dr. Kairos. It sounded harmless, but even a pencil could be harmless until enough force was put into it. "How does that work?"

Dr. Kairos walks over and holds up the strange circlet device, "The user wears this headband. It scans their brainwaves and then plays a memory of their choice right in front of them like a hologram, including any voices that came with it." She explains, showing it off to Bruce and Damian. "Would either of you like to try it? The HMM has been tested and it is completely safe."

Damian scoffs and turns to him, "This is a waste of time, father," He says, "let's move on."

"Oh, don't be like that, Dames." Bruce smiles genially, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezing it. It reminds him of when his father used to do the exact same thing, and he turns to Dr. Kairos. "I can try it, Doctor."

Kairos smiles widely, looking incredibly pleased. "Come stand here then, Mr. Wayne. I can get the HMM up and working." She gestures to a spot on the floor within the circlet's range, and Bruce goes and does as told.

"Standing around and looking pretty is my specialty, Doctor Kairos." He jokes as she gets the device situated on his head. It sits on his forehead snugly, and tucks behind his ears. Kairos snorts and turns to get the machine activated.

"Father." Damian says, indignant and scowling. His arms crossed over his chest petulantly. Bruce chuckles at him.

"The Doctor said it was perfectly safe, Damian." He admonishes lightly, wagging a finger at him. "I trust the good lady to know what she's doing." Not really, but he'd rather test it out on himself if it was unsafe.

Thirty seconds passed with Dr. Kairos working on flicking on the HMM, and when it came alive it came with a low hum and a distinct, ticking like noise. "Ah, there we go." She hums, stepping away. "It's up and working, Mister Wayne. Just think of a memory and let the HMM do the rest."

"Thank you, Doctor." Bruce nods at her, and then tries to think of what to let the machine show. Nothing that would give away his identity as Batman, of course not. Nothing incriminating.

He looks to Damian, who still looked very unhappy with him. Perhaps a memory of one of his boys in the manor? Or a Brucie Wayne moment that everyone's seen. His brows furrow in thought. One of his speeches?

...No. No, he has an idea.

Immediately, the HMM begins to hum louder, the ticking drowned out by the sound of its fans kicking in. It starts drawing the attention of the other ongoers, and Damian steps to Bruce's side as a crowd begins to form.

"What is that thing?"

"What's it doing?"

"Is it safe?"

Hushed whispers scatter around them as more and more people abandon the other stalls in favor of seeing whatever spectacle was happening. Tim appears as well, pushing his way through the crowd and situating himself by Damian and Bruce.

"What's going on?" He whispers with a frown, looking between Bruce and Damian.

Damian hmphs, "Father is trying out this woman's 'Memory Machine'."

Just when Bruce is starting to think the machine doesn't work, he hears a sound that silences the spectators. A piano note. A singular note, followed by another, and another. Right before Bruce's eyes, the air shimmers, and a projection of his father sitting at the grand piano appears before him.

His breath hitches in his throat. He remembers this. He remembers this piece. It was father's favorite.

Damian and Tim are stiff at his side, and Bruce hears the crowd gasp.

There, sitting on the floor at the bench, is Bruce himself at six years old. He's resting his arms on it, and leaning his head on his arms with a look of pure adoration -- did he really look like that? -- aimed at his father.

There's no talking between them, a content silence as Thomas Wayne fills the air with his piano playing. That is-- until he stops midway through the piece, fingers stopping the keys with a abrupt jerk.

Thomas laughs, quiet and full of love, and little Bruce picks his head up with an affronted frown. "Why'd you stop? I like listening to you play."

"I know you do." Thomas says, his voice is as soothing as Bruce remembers it to be. The memory twists to look at little Bruce with a blinding smile, as if he was looking at his whole world. It's the first time in decades that Bruce has seen his father smiling like-- like that. His eyes involuntarily sting.

"But how can you hear so well when you're all the way down there?" Thomas shifts, and pats an open space on the bench. "Come sit up here, Boo. I can teach you to play."

(Thomas Wayne was always fond of pet names, he had plenty of them for Bruce, and he used them at every opportunity.)

Little Bruce perks up, "Really?" He grins, and then clambers into the bench. His father's arms wrap around him.

The voices fade as the memory slowly begins to collapse, and Bruce feels a spike of panic in his heart before the memory is replaced by another one.

He's younger, probably four years old, being sprayed down by a hose by his father. Little Bruce is squealing with laughter, trying to swat the water away like a fly, and his clothes are drenched.

Thomas is laughing as well, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks like he just came home from a business meeting. Bruce always thought he was old when he was little. But at four years old, Thomas Wayne is only a little over twenty. Barely an adult. He is twenty-four when he dies. He was so young.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Little Bruce squeals, trying to run out of the line of fire, but Thomas Wayne has a sharp eye, and the hose in his hands follow Bruce no matter where he goes.

Until finally Thomas drops the hose and runs towards Bruce, who is trying to recover from being sprayed down with ice cold water. Thomas reaches him before he has time to move, and scoops him up in his arms.

He is laughing loudly and boisterously, spinning them both around as Bruce clings to him for dear life, laughing with him. The memory fades away, and Bruce feels like there are hands around his throat trying to choke him.

A new one shows up, one he doesn't remember at all. His father is younger than before, a teenager, and he's holding a tiny bundle in his arms. He looks like he's on the verge of tears, hunched over it like a shield.

Someone, a girl with gothic attire, peers over his shoulder. "Gosh, Tom, a baby? That's a lot of responsibility." She says, dark-lipstick lips painted downwards in a frown. "And right after you've disowned your parents too?"

Another boy looks around Thomas with a similar frown and an uncertain look, "Yeah man, I'm with Sam on this one -- for once. You don't even have anywhere to live."

Thomas doesn't look like he's even paying attention, utterly smitten with the baby -- its himself, Bruce realizes -- he's cradling. "Look at him though, guys," he breathes, "he's so tiny. Have you seen his little watercolor eyes?"

(Watercolor eyes. Bruce had long since forgotten about that nickname his father gave him. hearing him say it is like a punch to his stomach.)

"You named him Bruce?"

Bruce huffs to himself, an involuntary smile twitching at his mouth as the memory dips again and cycles through another memory he recognizes.

The memories it shows are sporadic, with no chronological order to them other than each and every one is a happy one.

Bruce playing piano with his father.

Bruce stargazing with his father.

Bruce being carried on his father's shoulders.

Bruce getting ready for a gala with his father.

Bruce in the kitchen helping his dad make breakfast (there's pancake flour smeared on his cheek).

Bruce making a snowman with his father.

An apology between Bruce and his father in the form of a piano duet.

There are even a few memories he doesn't remember. Some of them are when he's old enough to, but many are when he's a baby. Some are before his father was adopted by the Waynes, when the only thing on their backs was a raggedy backpack and an oversized sweatshirt, and Bruce's baby blanket. And some are after, where he's sitting in an antique rocking chair bottle feeding Bruce with a look of sheer adoration on his face.

That look never seems to go away, ever, in any of the memories.

Finally, the HMM settles on a final memory, one that makes Bruce's blood run cold and snaps him out of his nostalgic revelry. His father is getting ready in his room, and Bruce comes barreling in with his own suit-and-tie.

"Dad! Dad! Dad!" He chants, running to Thomas, who whirls around and picks him up seamlessly. They spin twice before Thomas settles in front of the mirror, Bruce on his hip as he adjusts his tie with one hand.

"Yes, boo?" Thomas grins, wide-splitting with his shock-blue eyes looking at Bruce in the reflection. He and Bruce have the same eyes. It's shocking how much they look like each other, now that Bruce was older.

Little Bruce makes a dramatic face, a look that only lasts a few seconds before he remembers his excitement. He wiggles in Thomas' arms, "You gotta hurry up! Or we'll be late to the movie!"

Bruce's fingers dig into his palm, and he can vaguely feel his sons' looking at him. There's a feeling of impending doom square in the center of his lungs, and he forces himself to look on.

Thomas laughs, and nuzzles Bruce's cheek. "The movie isn't going anywhere, chum, I promise." He says, before setting him down. Little Bruce pouts, his lower lip sticking out. "I know how much you've been looking forward to this."

"Can you help me with my tie then?" Bruce asks, and looks at his own, sloppily done tie around his neck. "I can never get it right."

And, of course, Thomas Wayne kneels down to redo it. He always did everything Bruce asked or wanted. He measures it, loops it, and then knots the tie perfectly.

"There." He says, and smoothes out Bruce's little jacket, smiling in adoration. "Now go play, I'll call you when it's time to go."

And Bruce does just that, running out of the room with a yell of, "You better promise!"

"I promise!" Thomas yells back, laughing at his son as he turns back to the mirror.

The memory shimmers, and changes to as they're leaving. And then and there does Bruce call it quits. His eyes are glistening, his tears nearly blinding him with the swelling, overwhelming grief in his heart. He looks away, and tries to find Doctor Kairos.

(He doesn't see her switch something on the side of the machine. There is no noticeable difference in the machine, but on the inside a time rune starts to glow.)

"I think I'm done here, Doctor." He says once he can find his voice without it shaking. He can't hide the full crack and tremble laying beneath it, but at least he doesn't cry. He's almost forgotten that he had a silent audience.

Doctor Kairos nods and steps forward, reaching for the headband. "The memories should cut off once I take this off, Mister Wayne." She says, and fiddles with it for a moment. Behind her, the memory of himself and his father are walking outside. "I hope that wasn't too much for you?"

(The ticking of the machine grows louder, and the memory glitches.)

"No, no." Bruce assures with a smile that wasn't all Brucie Wayne yet. He looks down when he feels Damian's hand curl around his, and his son leans into his side. His smile softens, and he presses Damian closer. His other arm finds itself over Tim's shoulders as well, pressing him to his side.

"It was fine. Actually, it was an honor to be the first to try out your memory machine. I'm sure it will help many people." He tells her. She smiles slyly, and slides the headband off his head.

"That's what I'm hoping for, Mister Wayne." Doctor Kairos places the headband onto the table. The memory hasn't disappeared, Bruce notes with a furrow of his brows. And the audio has muffled slightly.

"I thought you said that the memory would cut off when the headband was off?" He asks. Kairos looks at him, and then behind her at the memory. She frowns.

"It should have--"

Little Bruce suddenly frowns, and looks away from Thomas. "Do you hear that?"

Bruce frowns. "I don't remember this." That wasn't in his memory. They just went straight to Monarch Theater without any issue.

Thomas looks down at his son, "What noise?" He asks, squeezing Bruce's hand. His head cranes, as if trying to hear whatever noise Bruce was hearing.

"That ticking sound." Bruce's frown deepens, "It sounds like your clock, dad."

Thomas' immediately frowns, looking so strikingly like Bruce that he marvels for a moment. He looks around as well. "...You're right. I hear it too." He steps a little closer to Bruce, his hand tightening around his.

A sense of unease fills Bruce's lungs. "What's going on?" He asks, taking a step away from the memory. This was different. This isn't his memory.

"I'm not sure." Doctor Kairos says, and her unsurety sounds so practiced and calm that Bruce's suspicion levels to her immediately. His boys look at her too with the same unease. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

She strides around the memory to the side of the machine just as a gold symbol appears on the ground. It looks like a giant roman clock, and a loud, clunky ticking fills the room.

The memories see it too, and Bruce's heart drops to his feet as he and the rest of the crowd back away from it. "Dad, what is that?!" Little Bruce exclaims, a look of fear morphing across his face as he suddenly clings to his dad's leg.

Thomas looks pale, looking at his feet and gripping little Bruce to him protectively. "I don't-- I don't know, Bruce."

(A memory that Bruce doesn’t have is his father arguing with a man named Clockwork. He does not see the man named Clockwork all but beg Thomas not to go out tonight.)

("Does something happen to Bruce?" His father asks the ghost.)

("No," the man says, "but--")

("But nothing, Clockwork." Thomas, once Danny, says firmly. "My son has been looking forward to this all week. I'm not going to crush his hopes by changing my mind last minute.")

("Thomas, please.")

("Look, if something happens tonight, I will handle it, okay?" Thomas assures him, a hand atop Clockwork's shoulder with a small smile. "I promise.")

(And then he leaves, Clockwork defeated in his wake.)

(Clockwork has seen this boy grow up from the shadows, and now he can do nothing to stop his fate like he once did before.)

The strange, clock-like circle, something intrinsically magic, begins to glow. The minute and hour hands tick faster and faster. Little Bruce holds onto his father like a lifeline, and Thomas Wayne crouches down to hold his son tighter, protectively.

Bruce Wayne turns away just as the light grows blinding, tucking Tim and Damian into his chest like a human shield. There is yelling and screams as the crowd tries to stampede away from it.

Bruce has no idea what this light will do, but he'd rather die than let his sons get hurt.

The light burns his eyelids even when he isn't facing it. And when it dies without even a burn across his back, Bruce slowly unfurls. His hands stay on his sons' shoulders, keeping them close to him, and he peers over his shoulder.

There on his knees, is Thomas Wayne, curled protectively around eight year old Bruce Wayne, much like Bruce had been. Bruce holds his breath, and his sons slowly unfurl themselves as well and peer around him.

Thomas Wayne is frozen in place for one second, two seconds, three. And then he begins to move. First, the tension drains out of his shoulders, and his head jerks, as if surprised that nothing has happened.

He looks up, his eyes open, and he and Bruce make eye contact. Bruce cannot breathe, and he cannot believe the sight before him. It's just the memory machine breaking. (Doctor C.W Kairos is nowhere to be found.)

And then recognition flickers in his father's face as his panting slows and quiets. His head tilts to the side like a fawn's, a familiar wrinkle appearing before his brows.

"Bruce?"

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp crossover #danny fenton is thomas wayne au #dftw au #oh my gfod this is so long #watercolour-carnations how does it feel to have singlehandedly revitalized my brainrot over this au #the fastest way to starry's heart is through their askbox #anyways i was thinking about this the whole time #the memory with clockwork was SUPPOSED to be seen by bruce honestly!#but i couldnt write it in properly #imo at least #io had to check the wordcount on this and this is THREE THOUSAND WORDS #OOPS I ACCIDENTALLY WROTE A 3k WORD ONESHOT #YOU KNOW. AS YOU DO

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mochiwrites · 1 month

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thinking about your secret husbands au

just imagined the hermits getting frustrated they aren’t getting together (I guess before Scar and Grian learn they’re trying to set them up)

and they’re like “if anyone’s going to say anything it’d be Scar, right? he just needs to know Grian is also pining”

so they go up to Grian, secretly voice recording or something, and ask “do you love Scar”

and Grian’s so confused like “of course I love him???”

and they go to Scar with the recording and show it to him like “see he loves you now go talk to him”

and Scar is also very confused like “…i mean i would sure hope he did”

and the hermits just get more frustrated bc they assume he interpreted it like friend love and is just being oblivious again, when really the rest of them are the oblivious ones

“Scar! Scar come here real quick!” Tango’s urgent whispers catch the man’s attention. He lifts his head up from the chest he’s currently got his head stuck in.

“Oh hi Tango!” He smiles, stepping back from said chest. The lid falls shut as he turns his attention to the other. “What can I do for you, my flaming friend?”

“Nothing much! I’ve just got a little disc here I want to show you,” Tango hums, twirling said disc around in his hand. He waves it around so Scar can see it. “I think you’re really gonna wanna hear this one.”

Scar’s eyes light up as he looks at the disc, “Well I do enjoy a good disc. Hit me!”

Tango grins at him in return before setting a jukebox down and sliding the disc in. Scar walks up to it, staring down at the box with interest.

There’s a soft skip in audio before someone begins speaking, Scar instantly recognizes it as Tango’s voice, “Hey G! You got a sec?”

“Ahhh, yup. What’s up?”

At the sound of Grian’s voice, Scar’s lips lift in a soft smile. To this day, Grian’s voice remains his favorite sound, next to his laugh. Oh, and the cute little bird noises he makes. And he can’t forget how he sounds when Scar — he’s getting off track.

“I’ve got a bit of a random question for ya. How do you feel about Scar?”

“I’d question why you’re asking me this, but knowing you and the others, I don’t think I want to know.” Grian’s laugh comes through, and Scar’s smile melts just a bit. “In answer to your question, I love him.”

At Grian’s confession, Tango rips the disc out, looking at Scar. “See! The guy loves you man! Go talk to him!”

Scar blinks, puzzled as he looks up at the other. “I mean… I sure hope he does. I just talked to him this morning.” They had a lovely breakfast together, even! Jellie accidentally knocked over her water bowl, and Grian had laughed his heart out when Scar slipped on the leaking water. “And I’m seeing him again later! I talk to him a lot?”

Tango groans, face palming.

#mochi speaks #mochi writes #secret husbands au

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talkfastromance4 · 11 months

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Listen… I am obsessed, as I’ve said before, with Sugar Daddy!Jake and Sugar. And I’m a sucker for being taken care of so the blurb about the migraine and bad day was my jam but it got me thinking… Jake needs taken care of too sometimes, and I’m dying to know what that would like when he’s having a bad day and just needs a little tlc

Sure thing bby😊 prepare for extra soft!Jake

Lift Me Up–Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 1.7k

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

You were just finishing up some boutonnieres and corsages for another wedding when your watch buzzed on your wrist. At a quick glance you saw Rooster’s name appear but you didn’t read the message yet because you had to finish wrapping twine around one more set of flowers. Your wrist buzzed again, and again but you were adamant on finishing this before being distracted.

Once it was wrapped and tightened, you scrolled through your notifications, messages equally from Rooster and Phoenix.

Rooster: are you coming to the hard deck by chance?

Phoenix: are you busy tonight? Please say no, Bagman is extra sour

Rooster: we’re all begging. Hangman’s in a terrible mood.

Rooster: WE ALL NEED YOU

Phoenix: please babe, he’s bad

“What in the world?” you mutter as you read through the frantic texts.

It’s only a little after five, what could Jake possibly be doing that both Rooster and Phoenix are reaching out to you? You place your finished flowers in the boxes and set them on the shelf in the fridge and gather your things. Reynolds is waiting for you in his usual parking spot, his smile turns into a frown at your own troubled expression.

“Is something wrong?”

“Can we go to The Hard Deck? Something’s wrong with Jake…”

“Really? He didn’t text me…” Reynolds scratches his chin as he opens your door. “But we’ll stop by and see what’s going on.”

“Thank you.”

The bar isn’t that far from your shop and for a Thursday night, it’s pretty packed with cars and pilots loitering onto the sand.

“Should I come in with you?” Reynolds asks.

“No, I’ll be okay. Maybe wait for a bit in case we need to drive him home,” you say and get out.

Some of the other pilots say hello to you as you pass them but you barely smile because you’re growing concerned for Jake. Is he drunk and he’s acting belligerent? Is he sick and refusing to go home?

You weave through the crowd finding Rooster near the back by the jukebox and pool tables. There’s a loud crack! followed by a collective groan and someone cursing Jake’s name.

“Penny’s gonna ban you from ever entering her bar again,” Rooster shakes his head and moves out of your way.

You see Jake holding a splintered cue stick, one half of it is on the pool table and his face is hard, stony. His brows are furrowed in a permanent scowl as he tosses the broken stick on the table.

“I’ll replace it. Give me another one,” Jake snaps his fingers but no one moves. He turns around snatching one from the holders and you push yourself in front of Rooster.

“Thank God you’re here,” he mutters. “Hangman, time to go home.”

“No, I’m not ready to go home, Rooster. Not until I win a game of pool and–Sugar,” he stops himself short when he turns around and sees you. He drops the new stick in his hand as if he’s caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What are you doing here?”

“We called her to come get you,” Phoenix says. “It’s been a long day. Go home.”

“I thought you were working late,” Jake says, ignoring the others completely.

“I got caught up,” you walk towards him, hand reaching for his cheek. When you’re close enough his cheek falls into your palm effortlessly. You can feel the tension in his jaw. “You had a bad day?”

“Wasn’t the best, no,” he murmurs as you bring your other hand to his other cheek. You rub at the circles under his eyes, noting how they’re bloodshot.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

He follows you willingly, walking past his friends who stare at your retreating backs dumbfounded. They insisted he should go home hours ago but he refused and then you come in saying only a few words and he follows you not a problem.

When the two of you get back outside you let Reynolds know he can go home. Jake says he’s fine to drive and you want to ask him what happened but his body language is screaming annoyance. He keeps one hand on your knee and you trace your finger over the grooves of his knuckles, circling over the back of his palm.

His silence is so loud when you’re finally home and he slams his door when he gets out. He opens yours more gently, his hand held out to you, his gaze soft as he looks at you. You take his hand and close your door behind you, following him closely into the house.

“Can I make you anything?” you ask quietly.

“Do we have tomato soup?”

“I’m sure Rhea keeps it on hand,” you smile, continuing to stroke his hand with your thumb. “Do you want grilled cheese with it?”

“That sounds good,” he nods.

“Okay. Why don’t you go take a hot shower, the food will be ready when you’re done.”

You squeeze his hand, debating on kissing him but he turns away and heads towards the stairs. You skip to the kitchen grabbing the necessary things to make the soup. Of course Rhea bought the best type of canned tomato soup and you took two out since you hadn’t eaten yet either. While the soup is heating up in the pot you begin on the grilled cheese using the panini maker.

You’re humming ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’ as you look in the freezer for dessert. Jake loves sundaes with chocolate syrup and sprinkles. You stir the soup, make another grilled cheese and then Jake struts in. You were hoping he’d take a longer shower, letting the hot water worry away his tight muscles.

“Hey,” you smile loving how fluffy his hair is looking already. He has on your favorite shirt, the NAVY one and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “That was a quick shower.”

He moves past you and turns the soup down on low so it simmers. Then he places the grilled cheese on a hot plate and covers it up.

“The soup is just about done. Aren’t you–ahh!” you squeal when he lifts you up onto the counter. You open your legs and he slots between them, his arms moving behind your lower back.

“Wanted to be with you,” he mumbles.

“Jake…what happened today?” you ask resting your arms on his shoulders.

“I couldn’t beat my times today and in the meetings following, I was used as the example of what not to do. I don’t know what happened, I couldn’t accelerate fast enough. So I wanted to blow off steam at the bar, prove to everyone I can do it all.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day. It’s okay if you can’t do it all, you know, I think you’re pretty perfect already,” you encourage. “You’ll beat your times, just keep practicing and you’ll get there. Want me to come yell at your officers for singling you out?”

“No, that’s okay,” he chuckles slipping his fingers under your shirt. He draws circles on your skin. “It wouldn’t do much, you’re too adorable.”

“I can be feisty if I need to,” you put on a tough face, “I can scream and shout about how you are the best pilot there is.”

“Thanks Sugar,” he smiles. He turns his head so he can kiss the inside of your forearm then sighs. He keeps kissing up your arm until he’s by your shoulder and you turn his head so you can press your lips to his.

Your arms tighten around each other, and your legs hook around his hips. His kiss is hurried and hot, his fingers hot on your bare skin as he shifts them up under your shirt. One hand moves to your stomach, his lips feverish as they transition to your jaw and neck. You toss your head back gasping, his fingers graze the side of your breast as he sucks on your neck.

Your hips involuntarily rut against his, fingers tangling in his hair. Your body is electric from his touch and kiss. His hand on your lower back rocks you forward, his lips moving to your collarbones and in between your breasts.

“Jake,” you whimper enjoying the sensations but then he stops.

He removes his lips from your breasts, his breath hot and wanton on your skin as he recollects himself and pulls you back up in a sitting position. You stare at him quizzically.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” he exhales.

“I wasn’t telling you to stop,” you shake your head suddenly feeling ashamed.

“I know. But I don’t want to rush anything, wanna take my time and give you the proper attention you deserve,” he says pulling your shirt back down. “And not when I’m upset about work.”

“But–”

He shushes you with a soft kiss.

“Don’t forget how much you tempt me on the daily, Sugar,” he says on your lips. “You made me my favorite comfort food, so let’s enjoy that okay?”

You nod and hop down the counter, your legs a little shaky from that quick but intense makeout. You ladled the soup while he gathered plates and silverware. Still feeling a little dejected, you sat on one of the stools and began to eat slowly. When Jake joined you, he dragged you closer to him, the stool grating against the floor. Then he lifted your legs onto his lap and smiled.

“Want you as close as possible,” he says then starts to eat. You smile into your spoon.

When you’re finished eating, you move into the living room climbing onto his large couch.

“Pick your favorite movie,” you tell him. He decides on 10 Things I Hate About You and when he turns around, you pat your chest as a place for him to lay.

He jumps onto the couch cuddling onto your chest, basically laying on top of you with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around you. His overexcitement makes you laugh and you start to play with his hair. That calms him down fairly quickly and you scratch at his neck.

“You’ve no idea how good that feels,” he groans.

“Oh I know, it’s my specialty, remember?” you tease and kiss the top of his head. You move your hands down his back, scratching it lightly and he groans again.

“Don’t ever stop,” he sighs.

You remain that way for the whole movie, one hand scratching at his back and the other petting his hair thinking the whole time how you never want to stop.

#an arrangement series #an arrangement #jake seresin oneshot #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin fluff #hangman fluff #top gun writing #top gun maverick writing #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman fic

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