Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.
It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.
Worse?
It was short.
Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.
The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.
“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.
Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.
“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.
Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.
‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’
“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.
They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.
Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.
Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.
(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.
Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.
The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)
Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.
Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.
Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.
“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”
He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”
To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.
None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.
Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.
Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.
Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.
“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.
A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.
“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”
Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction
“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”
“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!
“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”
As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.
Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.
“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”
It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”
Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.
Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.
(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)
The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.
It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.
Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.
Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.
“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”
He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.
Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.
(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)
“You know who doesn’t look scary?”
Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;
“Steve!”
Eddie’s left eye twitched.
‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.
Cartoon squawking and all.
“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”
So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.
“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”
Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.
There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.
Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.
One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.
(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”
“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)
“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.
“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!
“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”
He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.
“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”
A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.
“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”
This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.
Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!
He was right!
Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.
“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.
Because King Steve? Play D&D?
'Ha!'
“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”
“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.
Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.
Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)
The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.
As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.
“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.
"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”
Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table
Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”
The dick.
“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.
He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.
Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.
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Bellatrix Star
A TaliaxDanny idea that came to me.
Damian, Bruce, and the rest of the bats discover the Talia al Ghul they had been fighting against, the one that cloned her own son, had the clone kill him, plant a control device in him when he broke his spine, etc etc was actually not the real Talia al Ghul.
Turned out Ra's had cloned her and killed the original when she discovered his little plans to take over Damain's body and she confronted him about it. Ra's had to make a clone when after tossing a dead Talia into the pits but never returned (he meant to kill her as a warning, as a "you may be my blood but will not hesitate to end you Talia.") It explains so much to Damian when remembers how out of nowhere his mother changed, her training him changed from harsh to deadly, the soft motherly love she would give him when behind closed doors suddenly stopped, the tales she would spin for him about his father no longer whispered to him for bed.
How this was find out?
Well it's hard to ignore the facts that when your foolish grandfather in his quest for immortality summons an eldritch being known as the Ghost King into the Mortal Realm and uses Damian as a sacrifice while his (not) mother watches emotionless.
When the being appeared, plunging the room from green glowing flames and the glow of the Lazarus Pits into darkness before a cosmos exploded to life, its glowing green eyes snapped open in the stars and stared at them all. Making every single one of them feel small, so very small.
It took a single glance around the room before stopping on the al Ghul's. It's eyes widen before a steel and firm look entered them. Just as quick as the cosmos sprang to life, it suddenly swirled away into a ball, putting them all back into the Lazarus room,and reformed in front of them to a more humanish height and body.
When the body, around the height and build of Batman, was done forming it took a step forward and suddenly as one blinked a man stood in front of them. Or rather floated. Snow white hair that flickered and wisped towards a crown made of fire and ice, glowing green eyes that held none of the madness but all of the power the Lazarus Pits could give. His clothing were tailored made that were tastefully a mixture of black and white with some silvers and greens, clothes fit for a King one would say. The cosmos that once engulfed the room had shifted into a cloak that hanged around his body, on one side more than the other (think like how CW wears his only the hood is down).
This, this was no doubt the Ghost King, he stood tall and regal and made everyone in the room feel the need to look down, to bow ones head for even just a moment. Even Ra's had trouble disobeying the urge to do so.
"Well..." the being said, his voice deep but not as gravely as Batman's was "What an interesting way to meet my In-Laws and Step-Son..."
He has said that as he looked towards the al Ghul's. Damian flinched back with a frown of confusion and disbelief while Ra's looked panicked for a second when the words registered into his mind, meanwhile Talia... looked emotionless and barely even twitched.
"What the fu-?" Someone began only to stop when the King lifted his hand and with a snap of his fingers a green portal appeared, it looked almost like the Lazarus Pits but it felt... cleaner? Less angry?
"My Bellatrix, my warrior star. I believe I've been summoned to your home dimension. And judging by the looks of it your father created a barely functioning Mirror of you and planned on using your son as a sacrifice to me." He spoke out towards the portal before holding his hand out.
A hand appeared from the portal, a slender hand and with green and black painted nails manicure to perfection before someone walked through it as they took hold of the Ghost King's offering hand.
Standing in front of them was another Talia, only this one looked a tad older than the one in the room. She wore clothing that matched the King to a T but even then, as always, Talia looked deadly in it. Beautiful but very deadly. From the heels she wore to the crown upon her head, a crown made of not ice and fire but of stars and black jewels. Her eyes were sharp as she stared at everyone in the room, frown on her painted lips, but her eyes lit with a small soft joy when she saw Damian only for them to turn poisonous when they landed on Ra's and the other Talia nearby.
"I should had know you would had created a Mirror of me instead of admitting to my son you killed me Father." Queen Talia spat out. "The least you could had done was not make my Mirror so cheaply, it doesn't even have a proper soul attached to it."
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✺ (3/10) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: sugar — 1,146 words (jegulus dads ft. harry; when the five year old is on a sugar high)
Immediately upon getting home from his meeting, Regulus is aware that things have not gone to plan. James was meant to pick up Harry from his mums’, and the two of them were supposed to decide on dinner and their entertainment for the evening. They usually have a movie night together, the three of them, when Harry first comes back to theirs again, but it seems his husband and his son had other plans upon coming home.
Because they’re out in the backyard on the trampoline.
Regulus hears Harry’s loud laughter carrying from the back screen before he even has to check. Setting his keys aside, he makes his way to the door to the backyard. He stands there inside for a moment, helplessly fond as he watches where Harry sits cross-legged, looking up at James, waiting.
James bounces gently in place a short distance from where the five year old sits before launching himself to land on his feet closer beside him. It flings Harry a few inches off the trampoline’s surface, his little limbs flailing as he shrieks excitedly. He flops flat onto his back afterward, lost in a string of giggles that ends up turning into ‘again, again, again!’
Two peas in a pod, James laughs with him, then reaches with both hands to tow Harry back up in his previous position. Before James can properly send him bouncing as he had moments prior, both of their heads whip in the direction of the sliding screen door when Regulus opens it to step outside.
“Papa!” Harry smiles widely, waving over at him with both hands. “Papa, watch this! Daddy can make me fly.”
“Oh, he can, can he?” Regulus smirks, coming off the patio onto the grass near the trampoline.
Harry nods and looks up at James. “Show him, daddy.”
Despite the fact that he’d just witnessed it moments ago before joining them, Regulus plays along, pretending to be awed by the way James jumps and causes Harry to bounce up off the trampoline. Again, Harry giggles for several seconds, cheeks rosy and smile unrelenting as he rolls from being flopped on his back onto his belly.
“You gotta try it, papa,” Harry tells him. “Daddy’s been doing it for ages now and it’s so fun every time.”
Regulus chuckles with a slow shake of his head. “Where’s all this energy coming from, I wonder?”
“Cookies!” Harry answers immediately, squirming up onto his knees.
One dark brow arches, Regulus’ eyes shifting to James who has the decency to look momentarily sheepish under the questioning look.
“Cookies before dinner?” He asks pointedly.
“I can explain,” James starts.
“Mama was making a whole bunch of them and mum sent me here with a big plate to share with you and daddy,” Harry explains for him.
“So, really, that look should be reserved for Pandora and Lily, my love,” James chimes in.
Regulus smiles tightly, head cocking to the side. “I’m sure you’d prefer that.”
James grimaces faintly and clambers off the trampoline, out through the zip-up mesh opening that keeps the edges screened in, to come to Regulus’ side. A large hand falls at his waist, Regulus still managing to look sternly up at him even when James leans down to kiss his cheek. He clearly has been humoring their son for a while, because he’s flushed and a little sweaty, slightly out of breath and so warm at Regulus’ side.
“You know how hard it is to get him to settle down when he’s had too much sugar,” Regulus points out.
“I know, I’m sorry.” James smooths his hand along his lower back in a continuous motion.
Regulus hums, gaze drifting to where Harry half-runs, half-bounces around the full circle of the trampoline. “How many did you let him have?”
“Just one, I swear.” James follows his line of sight, stepping even nearer to him to curl his arm around his waist. “But he did mention that Pandora had been letting him help in the kitchen, and you know that means—”
“Licking all the spoons.”
“And handfuls of chocolate chips. Ah, and some of them are frosted, even, so uh… icing taste tests, too.”
“Great.” Regulus shakes his head. “This has to be some kind of payback for when we brought him and Luna back to theirs after all that cake and candy at Ron’s birthday party.”
James chuckles and squeezes gently at his side. “He’ll crash soon enough, surely.”
“I assumed that’s why you brought him out here in the first place,” Regulus says.
“It was either that, or his suggestion to build a pillow fort pirate ship in the living room. I felt this was less jarring for you to come home to.”
Regulus watches as Harry does a quick somersault only to spring back to his feet, bounce twice in place, and purposely land on his bum with another bounce. He laughs breathlessly, adjusting glasses knocked askew by the impact, and Regulus can’t help but huff a quiet laugh of his own. Hopped up on sugar as he may be, Harry’s joy is never a thing Regulus takes for granted. Even in the silliest of moments —if not especially then.
“You’re going to sleep like babies tonight,” Regulus comments.
“Probably true.”
“After a solid bath time because you’re both so gross right now.”
James snorts, giving a tilted nod of his head in agreement. “Fair.”
“Have to figure out dinner still, too.”
“We could order a pizza to make things easy?” James suggests. When Regulus nods in reply, he nods, too. “I can stay out here and help him run off some more of the sugar high if you want to go ring it in?”
“No, I’ll watch him. You go inside and get yourself some water before you pass out or something,” Regulus teases.
“I’m fine, thank you. I’m in excellent shape,” James scoffs. Lower, just for him, he murmurs, “A fact you’re very well aware of, my love.”
He punctuates the playful remark by nipping gently at the edge of Regulus’ jaw. Regulus bats him away, lips twitching upward in a smile that couldn’t be held back even if he tried.
“Heathen,” He mutters.
“That’s me. Your heathen husband.” James smacks an overdramatic kiss to Regulus’ cheek this time before separating.
Harry hops up closer to the trampoline’s edge, hands braced carefully on the outside net to ask, “What’s a heathen, papa?”
Regulus hears James laugh loudly behind him on his way inside.
He shakes his head, grinning fondly as he looks back at Harry. “Don’t worry about that, darling. Why don’t you show me how your cartwheels are coming, hm?”
Harry brightens immediately, nodding and leaping backward. “Okay! Make sure you’re watching the whole time!”
Nothing else in the world seems more worth Regulus’ time than watching their boy be so happy. Riled up on sugar or otherwise.
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