#I have a ficlet in drafts about this

[see-fee]

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[fazedlight]

Irish (soft season 6 ficlet)

Kara knew something was wrong.

Not dangerous wrong. Lena’s heart rate was steady and calm, and there was no one else in the apartment with her. But as Kara flew above the few buildings left to her apartment, she could see how Lena was hunched over, see the stress and sadness in her body. And it made Kara’s heart ache.

Landing in the open window, Kara stepped inside, the small taps alerting Lena to her entrance. “Kara,” Lena said, trying to hide the distress on her face as she rose from the couch, grabbing at VHS tapes spread in front of the TV. “You’re home early.”

“They put out the fire before I got there,” Kara said softly. “The winds weren’t as bad as they thought.”

Lena nodded, hurriedly placing the pile of tapes into a familiar box. Kara had flown the box back to National City herself - one of the many artifacts carried over from Lena’s mother’s home, which Lena inherited at the age of 18. Lena had only gone once or twice as an adult, until the discovery of her magic made her curious to reconnect to what she could of her mother. “Are you okay?” Kara asked.

“I’m fine,” Lena said.

“Lena.” Kara stepped forward, kneeling on the rug, gently taking Lena’s busy hands into her own. “Lena, I’m here.”

Lena paused, leaving the remaining tapes next to the TV, taking a slow breath as she dropped back to sit on the floorboards instead. “I just didn’t expect to feel this way.”

“Feel what way?”

Lena stared down at the floor, not quite ready to look Kara in the eye. “I was so young. There’s so much I don’t remember.”

Kara took a seat in front of her, still holding Lena’s hands. She waited patiently - silent, and comforting, letting Lena take her time to think or talk as she wished.

“In one of the tapes,” Lena said, her voice a touch deeper than normal, “She sang an Irish lullaby. I haven’t heard it in decades. The melody slammed back into me.”

“I’m sure it was lovely,” Kara said.

“She spoke to me. In Irish. She spoke to me, and I didn’t understand what she was saying,” Lena said, frustrated. “And in the tape, I spoke back, and I didn’t understand what I was saying. It’s all gone.”

And that’s when Kara stiffened, a bolt of lightning running through her as she understood. It was different in her case, of course - she had once thought herself the last to speak a language, carrying a dead culture in her soul. Through sheer luck, she was able to get her father, her mother, her people back - but the feeling of being orphaned, she understood, if in a different way than Lena. “The Luthors don’t speak Irish,” Kara replied.

“Language attrition is common in children who stop speaking their first language before the age of 12,” Lena said softly, in a tone that made Kara realize that Lena must’ve read about this a dozen times before. “I didn’t know what I was losing until it was too late.”

“Lena,” Kara said, leaning forward to give the brunette a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know it sounds so silly,” Lena said. “It’s not like I have much need to speak Irish.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t mourn what you’ve lost,” Kara said, thinking back to a million conversations she’d had with Kelly about her own traumas, even if later they were reversed by fate. “You can still be sad about it.”

Lena sighed, melting into Kara’s arms, and Kara felt relieved. They sat, wrapped in each other’s embrace and breathing in the peace of the evening, Kara rubbing gently at Lena’s back until Lena was ready. “Well, I can put the rest of this away,” Lena said, pulling back, her voice steady for the first time that evening. “We can start cooking dinner.”

Kara nodded, watching as Lena gazed back - a bit mournful, a bit sad, but a certain lightness compared to before. “If it helps,” Kara said gently, with one last thought, “I can learn Irish with you? It may not be like before, but sometimes getting some of the pieces back can mean something.”

Lena looked at her for a moment, before smiling. “I’d like that.”

[hypewinter]

This was fine. This was totally fine. The ghost bull Danny was currently trying to wrangle crashed through another wall. Okay. Maybe this wasn't totally fine but he had it all under control. The bull bucked as it smashed a car. He was trying alright? As Danny just barely managed to steer the bull away from another building, he caught a red and yellow blur. Oh joy! A hero. And when he was just plain old Danny Fenton too. Nothing could go wrong in this situation, nothing at all.

[unclewaynemunson]

There is thunder in our hearts

Eddie used to love thunderstorms. He loved it when he could feel the heavy electric tension in the air, when the skies got that dark shade of gray expanding over the horizon; he loved the anticipation of what was about to come. But most of all, he loved it when the clouds burst: the moment the skies broke open and the pouring rain, accompanied by the rolling thunder far away but swiftly coming closer, would sound like the opening chords to his favorite song. He loved running outside, standing in the dirt with his arms spread out wide, the taste of the water on his tongue and the rain washing away everything that didn't matter. He'd see other people sprinting from their cars to their houses and he would quietly laugh at them because they were missing out on the single most magical thing that nature had to offer.

Eddie used to love thunderstorms. Until that one time when the skies went gray and the thunder started roaring and all he could think about were bats crowding the air above him, long tails wrapping around his neck, claws and teeth tearing into his flesh, tears in Dustin's eyes...

He ran outside like he always did, hoping that the feeling would pass, hoping that the rain against his skin would remind him of exactly how alive he was; but no such thing happened. Wayne had to follow him into the storm and carry him back inside. He wrapped him in a blanket and made him a cup of hot cocoa and it took Eddie twenty minutes until he managed to stop crying and almost two days before he felt like himself again.

Ever since that happened, he stopped going outside during thunderstorms. Instead, he curls into himself now, as far away from the windows as possible. He plays his music at the loudest possible volume to not have to hear the thunder and he closes his eyes to not have to see the lightning. Sometimes, Wayne is there with him. He never asks, never pries; he simply keeps him company and hands him a blanket in case he feels the need to hide himself further away. He does what Wayne does best: letting Eddie know that he is safe by merely existing next to him, a quiet and calming presence who tells him stories in an attempt to distract him, his soft voice barely drowning out the sounds of the storm.

But Wayne isn't always there when a storm hits. He's often at the plant, or Eddie himself is at work, or with his friends. And it's fine. It isn't like that first time anymore, when he collapsed in the middle of a big muddy pool in front of the trailer and could see nothing but red skies or hear Dustin's screams ringing through his ears, the scent of decay filling up his nose until Wayne got to him and pulled him back into the present. It's not that intense anymore; he can blink those memories away and focus on the music or the voices around him instead. Even though it may still speed up his heartbeat and make his breathing uneven, he can keep functioning.

Or that's what he thought. Until he's in the car with Steve and a storm takes them by surprise and there's nowhere to hide; no way to get away from the window, to bury himself underneath a blanket under the pretense that he's cold, to do anything to take his attention away from it all. And maybe it's also because Steve is sitting right next to him: Steve, whose arms carried Eddie out of the Upside Down, the same arms that are now folded in front of his chest in the passenger seat of Eddie's van.

It's just heavy rain, at first; Eddie can handle rain, he's not a complete coward. But then he hears the rumbling thunder in the distance and his fists clench around the steering wheel and he almost forgets how to breathe. He starts pushing random buttons on the broken radio in the hope that it'll magically have repaired itself and start blasting Judas Priest to save him. Nothing happens, though. Of course not. And the rain only gets louder.

'Eddie,' says Steve, letting his name dance off his tongue in the last echoes of the thunder. Only a few months earlier, Eddie would've loved the sound of that, would have wanted to record the melody and play it on repeat forever.

'Hm?'

'Are you okay?'

Before Eddie can even start to answer that question, another deep rumble echoes through the skies while the rain starts beating even harder against the roof and the windows of his van.

'Eddie,' Steve repeats, more urgent this time. 'I need you stop driving. Right now.'

And Eddie immediately obeys.

'What's happening?' Steve asks as soon as they're standing still. His soft brown eyes wander over Eddie's face, attentive and worried.

'It's the goddamn storm, man,' Eddie explains in a choked voice.

Understanding dawns over Steve's features right away.

'Want me to drive you home?' he asks without missing a beat.

But Eddie shakes his head. 'I can't - can't get out. Of the car.' His mind takes him back to that moment when he collapsed in the middle of the trailer park - he can't do that again. Not anywhere, but certainly not here. With Steve.

'Okay, well, there's no way we're gonna keep driving like this,' says Steve. 'Let's wait it out, alright?' He doesn't talk to Eddie any differently, still seems practical as ever. Probably what years of experience with the craziest fucking supernatural shit does to a person, Eddie supposes. It's Steve at his core: act first, think later. Make sure everybody is – or feels – as safe as can be, the rest is secondary.

The thunder has come closer and a forked bolt of lightning flashes through the gray expanse of the sky. Eddie can't help but flinch at it.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt and promptly starts climbing between the two front seats towards the back of the van. If Eddie was in any better mindset, he would probably have appreciated the view he is given much more.

'C'mon,' Steve says when he's sat on the ground, offering a hand through the two front seats. 'This seems like a good place to hide.'

Eddie has no choice but to take it. He ends up right next to Steve in the small space in front of the backseats, crouched down in a slightly uncomfortable position. Steve reaches further to the back to get the ratty old blanket that lies there and wraps it over both of them.

'Does this feel safer?'

Honestly, Eddie doesn't know. 'A little bit, I guess,' he mumbles, because that sort of feels like what the correct answer should be.

'You wanna talk about it?'

'Not really,' he admits.

'That's fine too,' Steve answers with a slight shrug. 'We can just sit here. Or do you want me to distract you?'

'I dunno.' It sounds quiet, with the way the big raindrops keep clattering onto the van. 'Wayne tells me stories, sometimes.'

''Bout what?'

'The olden days.' Eddie tries to use one of his dramatic voices, get things back to normal again, but the delivery doesn't land all too well. 'Shit he and my dad used to do. How my grandpa would get mad at them.' He pauses for a moment. 'Apparently my grandpa was scared of storms, too. And my dad. It runs in the family; that tends to happen when you're a farmer and a whole year worth of income can be destroyed by one single storm.'

'When I was younger,' Steve starts to tell, 'I was scared as shit of storms, too. I'd always make those huge pillow forts in the living room, put as many layers between me and the storm as I could.'

Eddie can picture it clear as day: a little version of the guy sitting next to him, with chubby cheeks and shorter hair, hauling a whole bunch of cushions and blankets around to make himself feel safe. It helps him take his mind off what's happening on the outside of the van.

'Sometimes my dad would crawl in there with me,' Steve continues. 'And he would wrap his arms all around me – like this – one more layer, y'know.' He shuffles to haul Eddie into his arms. They're warm against Eddie's own skin, and it is indeed comforting, so Eddie doesn't complain.

'Try to relax, okay?' Steve says. 'I'm right here, and I'll stay here with you for as long as you need. I won't let anything happen to you.' He tightens his grip and urges Eddie to let himself fall against Steve's chest. Eddie has no choice but to sway the way Steve wants him to and lands with his head right on top of Steve's heart. The fabric of his dark green polo is soft against Eddie's cheek and the sound of his heartbeat gets added to the symphony of the storm. He tries to focus solely on that heartbeat, complemented by Steve's breathing, Steve's voice – it makes it easier to drown out the sounds of the storm.

'I hate that this had to happen,' Eddie quietly admits. 'It used to be one of my favorite things in the world, standing outside in the pouring rain. Made me feel alive more than anything else.'

'It sucks,' Steve agrees. He raises one hand to put it on Eddie's head, softly stroking over his hair like he's a cat. 'After the first time we fought it,' he continues, 'when we, you know, pieced together what must've happened to Barb... I couldn't swim anymore. I was terrified of my own backyard. Nance helped me get through it, told me I should face my fears head on. She went to the library and got a whole bunch of books about phobias and traumas and kept talking to me about “exposure therapy.” I was skeptical about it at first, but it actually helped.'

Eddie chuckles darkly. 'Wanna know what happened when I tried to face this shit head on?'

'What?'

'I fucking lost it, man. Went out into the storm like I always did, and just – it was like I was back there. I lost my goddamned mind and Uncle Wayne had to pick up the pieces.'

Steve hand keeps stroking over Eddie's hair while he wraps the other one around Eddie's nervously fumbling fingers.

'We can try it together,' he says. 'We don't have to do it right now. Just... whenever you're ready. If you want to.'

Eddie nods. He isn't sure if he'll ever be ready, but at least doing it with Steve seems less daunting than doing it alone.

Another thunderclap, louder than any of the previous ones and accompanied by a bright flash of lightning, makes Eddie jump in Steve's arms.

'Try not to pay attention to it,' Steve says. 'It's gonna be over before you know it.' And then he starts humming. He even starts rocking Eddie in his arms. It should make him feel embarrassed, Eddie thinks, like he's a fucking child. But it doesn't. It helps him to let the sounds of the raging storm fade to background noise, finally taken over by the symphony that is Steve.

By the time the storm dies down, Eddie is pretty sure he must have fallen asleep at some point, because somehow he imagines that Steve presses a gentle kiss against his temple.

[ender1821]

The urge to write a whole character analysis for life series Pearl is eating me alive

[pix-writes]

I'm not sure if this will make it into a Sherlock Holmes fic I'm writing or not, if I'm honest probably not - BUT I'm incapable of keeping something so funny (to me) by myself! so here is the excerpt that made me giggle at my drafts today:

Holmes’ out-of-context conversation starters had become something I expected, though they still often surprised me, I was no longer bewildered or startled by them, as I had been when we first started our acquaintance. My friend’s mind could drift anywhere and alight on the most minute and intricate of matters, which would escape the notice of the general population. Though, I can hardly put into words my astonishment of what his opening words were when I entered 221B that afternoon. “Bees, Watson!” “Bees?” “Yes, bees. I have become intrigued by their structures, Watson – it is most fascinatingly detailed, and I must gather more data on the subject.” Holmes stood by the window, face turned at an angle, for the benefit of addressing me whilst still being able to watch the passers-by below, pale afternoon light highlighting his profile. As I set down my things and settled into my chair, he stayed there, pensive, I observed, given that his hands were steepled under his chin. “Is this for a case?” I asked, wondering if there were connections I had not yet seen.

[shares-a-vest]

Fruity Four Advent Calendar, Day 19: A Miracle

Prompt List

It will be a goddamn Christmas miracle if Steve and Eddie can get a full night's sleep with their daughter, Joanie, practically bouncing off the walls with excitement on Christmas Eve... Between calls from Robin, a late-night pop-in from Nancy with Christmas supplies, their menagerie of cats and Eddie trying to assemble Joanie's dollhouse, it's shaping up to be a long night of sleeplessness.

Word Count: 3200

Guys I've totally fallen off doing these prompts. Had crippling anxiety all last week bc I was going for Christmas lunch with my dad and I've been super down since. Shouts to anyone who has to deal with shitty parents this Christmas. Love you, you've got this 💖💖💖

'Operation Dollhouse'

Joanie tugs at the phone cord once again and, to save it from completely ripping out of the wall, Steve jumps up from the couch to follow the excited toddler around the living room. He really didn't want to have to move the couch on Christmas Eve to reach the socket. Joanie gestures wildly with her free hand, bobbing her head along with faint hums as she listens to Robin, presumably talking a mile a minute.

Robin's call was her fourth phone call of the day and the third interruption in Steve's attempt to get his three-year-old daughter into bed. She’s been practically bouncing off the walls since November when the first signs of Christmas started to appear (far too early displays at the grocery store and Christmas music on the radio the day after Thanksgiving) and now the energy is in overdrive.

"And Pa's coming in the morning!" she excitedly announces like Robin hasn't spent ten years' worth of celebrations in the same general vicinity as Wayne Munson. "And he promised to take me out in the snow."

She makes an attempt to climb up on her little pouffe by the window but Steve stops her, scooping her up with one arm.

"Nope, we are not climbing up to the window."

Joanie laughs, letting her hand holding the phone fall, slumping under Steve’s arm as he marches her back to the couch (and closer to the phone socket).

"Daddy just picked me up," she yells into the phone through giggles.

He plops her down on the couch and resumes his seat with a heavy sigh as Joanie straightens up, holding the phone to her ear once more.

"Alright, enough," Steve says, flailing to sound stern enough as he desperately tries to wind the conversation down. He sticks a hand out for the phone as Joanie stares him down with just as much seriousness.

"Bye, bye, Robbie. See you at Christmas," she says cheerily and hands over the phone at a glacial pace.

Disappointment fills her big, dark-brown eyes with the theatrics that only Eddie Munson's daughter could possibly possess. She cuddles into Steve's side, probably sulking, as he attempts to untangle the coiled phone cord.

"Ugh, Rob?" he starts, giving up and deciding to just talk with a limited cord length. "I gotta get her to bed."

"But my precious bean and I are having our girl talk!"

Joanie practically rolls off the couch and runs across the living room to the Christmas tree, stopping dead in front of it to look it over, glee twinkling in her eyes.

"You'll have all day tomorrow for that. I've been trying to get her to bed for two hours," Steve mumbles, still trying to convey his annoyance as covertly as possible.

"Where's Munson?"

He can't help but snort a laugh at the thought of Eddie in the garage, still, trying to assemble the dollhouse Joanie was getting from Santa.

"Still hard at work on the D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E?" Robin answers for him teasingly, rapid-fire spelling and cackling.

"Yes," he says, side-eyeing Joanie as she carefully examines the presents under the tree.

"Oh, I'll be teasing him tomorrow. Alrighty, Steve, love you. And don't you get up too early to start in the kitchen! Just chill the fuck out."

"Love you," he smiles and hangs up the phone, mustering any parental authority he has left from Christmas-time exhaustion.

"Joanie," he begins, cradling the phone in his lap. "It's bedtime. Go brush your teeth."

Surprisingly, she nods and heads for the bathroom. Despite the lack of protest, Steve doesn’t expect much. The same had happened before Robin called, panicking once more about exactly what she was bringing over for Christmas lunch. He busies himself with rearranging the couch cushions, always in a state of disarray after Joanie has been squirming around while talking on the phone.

He's about to head into the bathroom to check on the tooth brushing progress when Nancy comes fumbling in the front door, bags in hand and balancing a pie under her arm as she tries to unjangle the spare key from the front door lock.

"Help!" she says as she makes fleeting eye contact she with Steve.

He rushes to her, taking a bag and the pie, allowing her to yank the key from the sticking doorknob.

"Have you been at work?" he asks, incredulous as they enter the kitchen.

"The news never stops," she retorts with a tight-lipped smile as she sets her bags down on the cramped kitchen island and places her hands over them to explain. "Okay, I have my mother's pie recipe, the P-R-E-S-E-N-T-S. Well, some of them at least. Robbie is still wrapping hers. And wine."

She beams at that last part and Steve knows that his house is another stopover on Nancy and Robin’s busy, alcohol-fueled, seemingly never-ending December festivities as they party-hop all month long.

"I’m pre-preparing for Robin having a meltdown tomorrow, so I thought I’d just drop in my side of things to make it easier on myself," she continues, slipping the bag filled with presents down between the kitchen barstools, concealing them from curious not-so-little toddler eyes. "I’d really like us to have at least some relaxation in the morning over breakfast before the panic sets in."

Steve laughs, "She just called."

"Nancy!" Joanie gasps, standing at the line between the kitchen linoleum and the wood flooring.

"Are you still up?" Nancy teases, propping a hand on her hip and chancing a sly smirk at Steve.

"And we were just going to bed," he smiles sarcastically, making for the young girl. But she folds her arms in protest, the separation in flooring becoming, as it so often did, a battleground.

"Where is Daddy?"

"In the garage, honey."

She narrows her eyes, too much like Eddie for her own good. His absence had drawn suspicion all day, and there were only so many excuses Steve could concoct.

"He needs to read me a story," she insists.

"You already got a story. But I'll go get him to tuck you in."

She purses her lips, probably weighing up the bargain, eventually offering, "Can Nancy tuck me in?"

Before he can answer, Nancy picks her up.

"I can absolutely do that."

Steve mouths a, “thank you” as she passes him to move down the short hallway to Joanie's bedroom. He clamours for the radio on the kitchen counter, thinking, this is it. Joanie is finally going to sleep.

Dustin would probably give Steve and Eddie a lecture if he knew they used the emergency radios basically as a paging system between the apartment and their designated garage across the alleyway. Typically it was Eddie's studio but right now most of his music equipment was shoved to the side, making way for the dollhouse. The dollhouse that had taken him all week to assemble. And they still had to bring it upstairs and place the furniture in it.

"How's it going, Edward the Elf? Over."

"Fudge-off, Steve!"

"Eds, Nancy is helping Joanie into bed. And need I remind you, you have to say, ‘over’. Over."

"This is fucking bullshit, over."

"Can you come up and tuck Joanie in, she absolutely will not accept less than both of us."

"Fine. But, dude. I need your help."

Steve can feel his begging puppy eyes through the radio.

Nancy gets Joanie into bed without issue which, to Steve, is some combination of frustrating (considering he wrangles children for a living at preschool), a bruising to his super-parent ego and, ultimately, being thankful. Although, her persuasiveness is a continuing mark of her unwavering authority and Steve can’t argue with that. It has literally saved their lives time and again, after all. Eddie makes a flying appearance, hair frizzed in a messy bun and clearly half-stoned. He grumbles something about the garage being, "Santa’s fucking workshop" on his way out which leaves Nancy in hysterics.

Despite his clear grouchiness, Steve and Nancy can’t help but take a trip down to the apartment building’s garages to taunt him a little before Nancy heads off across the city.

"Why are you smoking?" he asks, immediately plucking the joint from between Eddie's lips and taking it for himself.

"Because I want to rip this stupid thing to pieces with my bare hands!" he says, voice deepening into his Dungeon Master voice as he shakes his fists.

Steve had bought the bare-bones dollhouse two months ago, deciding on a wooden one that they could customise to Joanie’s liking. Besides, they didn’t think whichever Dreamhouse Barbie had on offer this year would have unicorn-themed wallpaper in the bathroom or a bedroom for the plastic spiders Eddie had purchased as stand-ins for Joanie’s spider plushie collection. Steve still has no clue where Eddie and Robin had managed to find them. Like everything he did, Eddie went all out on decorating, subtly quizzing their daughter on interior design choices and then fashioning the house to her preferences.

Eddie turns around and grins.

"But I'm done now," he adds, turning back to the dollhouse with a miniature rocking chair and delicately placing it in the Christmas-themed living room.

"Eds," Steve chuckles. "How are we going to take this upstairs with the furniture already in it?"

Eddie's jaw drops and he hangs his head in his hands, groaning so loudly that Steve is happy their neighbours are just used to the Eddie-generated noise by now. Nancy bursts out laughing.

When she calms down enough to form words, she leans forward and gives Eddie a condescending pat on the shoulder.

"See you in the morning, Santa’s Little Helper."

She hops out of the garage, giggling and disappears into the night before Eddie can give an expletive-laden response.

He jumps up, boots stomping on the concrete floor.

"Shit," he says, rubbing his butt and grumbling. "Better help me, He-Man. This freaking dollhouse has stolen my youth! I need the help of your big, strong arms."

He makes grabby hands for Steve who quickly stubs out the joint in an overfilled ashtray. He kisses Eddie on the forehead.

"Operation Dollhouse enters its final stage."

"Praise Jesus!" Eddie mocks, adding a whining, "I wanna go to bed."

They make quick work of removing the furniture Eddie had already placed in the dollhouse, Eddie walking ahead as the chief door-opener and toddler scout, while Steve hoists the thing (surprisingly heavy) upstairs, hoping this was close to the last thing he would have to do this Christmas that will inevitably give him back problems in a week. He sets it down right in the middle of the living room and places a dining chair in the hallway so he can keep watch if Joanie walks out of her room. Meanwhile, Eddie fulfils his one last elvish task, perched on a cushion in the living room as he works on the furniture.

Steve's heart skips a beat as a shadow moves near Joanie's ajar bedroom door, but it's only his cat, Meatloaf. He watches as the little brown cat, with a slight wobble in his step, moves down the hallway and into their bedroom, a sign that Joanie is, in fact, asleep. Despite being a shy cat (and being the unfortunate target of some household cat bullying) Meatloaf was protective of Joanie, just quietly observing her and hurrying away to hide when he decided she was okay.

Eddie takes his time with the furniture, presumably relieved he’s on the home stretch. Once he’s done, they drape a crochet blanket over it for good measure, still uneasy at the possibility of Joanie snooping around if she awakens. They do a speed-run of their typical night routine, Eddie grumpily protesting Steve's last-minute lingering in the kitchen even though there really wasn't any more he could do in preparation for Christmas Day.

It feels like mere minutes have passed when Steve awakens to the feeling of someone slapping his shoulder. He blinks awake, realising it’s still dark out. All he can hear is a murmuring sound. He looks over to see the shape of Eddie, the likely source of muffled noise, turned away from him and waving his hand in the air. He reaches over to his nightstand for his hearing aid and jolts with a gasp at the sight of Joanie standing at his bedside, bright-eyed like it wasn’t the middle of the night. He can see her head moving about, likely talking. He fumbles for his hearing aid and places it in his left ear.

"You couldn’t hear me!" she complains with the innocent impatience of a toddler.

"M’sorry, Joanie, you have to wait for me to put my ears in," he says, sitting up and yawning. 

"Is Pa here yet?" she asks, clasping her hands together expectantly.

He can now hear Eddie groaning and grumbling, "Go to sleep, Joanie."

Steve looks at the clock radio on his nightstand. 2:17 am. He rolls his eyes, just knowing that bargaining isn’t going to work, especially considering Joanie's cat, Blondie, has just scuttled into the room and is circling her little legs.

"No, baby. He'll be here at breakfast," he says, relenting and leaning over to pick her up.

"Which is how long?" she beams, wide, curious eyes glinting with mischief.

"Many hours yet," he rationalises, knowing Wayne will arrive fairly early but not wanting to say so and adds "Plenty of time to get some sleep."

He settles her in between them and Blondie promptly follows, jumping on the foot of the bed and kneading at the covers right at Steve’s feet.

"Now the cats are here!" Eddie whines, rolling onto his back. He changes his tune when he spots Joanie staring at him adoringly, "Joanie Bologna!"

"Hi," she beams, all teeth.

Eddie quirks an eyebrow, "Are you going to go back to sleep?"

"Promise!"

She pulls the covers up to her neck and kicks around a ridiculous amount before squeezing her eyes shut.

"I’m sleeping!" she announces.

Steve settles back down, "Well I need to sleep, I have a lot of cooking to do."

"Yes, Martha Stewart needs his beauty sleep," Eddie agrees, a grin detectable in his voice.

Steve nods off, now feeling like hours have passed when he stirs at the feeling of Joanie kicking around and grumbling.

"Can I go back to bed?" she stage-whispers.

"Who’s taking you?" Eddie grumbles, turning on his back with a quick "ouch" as Joanie kicks him in the process of mobilising her legs like they are helicopter blades to get the covers off.

"Both," she orders sleepily, managing to boss them about with her eyes half-closed.

They look at each other and Eddie rolls his eyes.

"A miracle," he stage-whispers as he picks her up.

Steve slips out of bed as they both muster up a shred of energy with the silent promise that this is it. The movement startles Blondie, who promptly leaps off the bed, narrowly missing being tangled in Steve’s feet and runs into the hall.

"Night, Joanie bear," Steve coos, kissing her on the cheek when they get Joanie into her own bed.

"Mhmm," she hums with a disgruntled frown like they have the gall to be disturbing her sleep.

She turns over and hugs her favourite spider plushie (named Gregory, lord knows how she comes up with names). Blondie jumps up at the foot of her bed and settles in too.

As they move into the hall, Steve catches a glimpse of the Christmas tree, twinkling just enough from the streetlights outside that he can see it in the fuzzy darkness. And there it is. That inevitable thump Steve has gotten in his chest every Christmas since 1986, the last he had spent with his parents. Actually, it was the last time he had spent any significant time with them, even if it was just a miserable Christmas dinner in silence. For all Joanie knew, Claudia Henderson was Steve's mother. And he liked it that way.

He sniffles as his mind drifts to the last phone call he'd had with his father, eight years ago when he and Eddie first moved to Chicago.

Something drops to the floor and they both jump. 

"Shit!" Steve curses, covering a blubbering gasp as he reflexively shields Eddie with his arm and backs him up against the wall. They immediately look towards Joanie's room but she doesn't seem to stir. He squints in the darkness, unable to make out the moving thing on the hall stand.

"Oh it's just Gandalf," Eddie laughs, picking up the greyish form that must be his cat, aka, the most menacing terror of the bunch. "Go find Ozzy to fight with, you little hell demon."

He sets him down in the direction of the living room and promptly snakes his arms around Steve's middle to lead him.

"Okay, back to bed, mister. Don't want you stumbling around in the dark by yourself without your glasses," he adds, kissing the nape of his neck.

"Where’s Peanut?" is all Steve can think to say, tears prickling up.

Eddie kisses into his hair as he whispers, "Probably asleep in the bath."

Steve grips his arms tight and Eddie hugs him back, probably sensing how tense he is as they awkwardly waddle as one back to bed. He even throws back the covers, helping him in before climbing over to his own side.

"What's wrong?" Eddie asks when he settles back under the covers, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes glisten with worry.

Steve settles in, curling an arm around him and nuzzling into his neck, shielding himself as tears fall as he tries desperately to blink them away. Eddie's hand finds its way to his hair as he begins the soothing motion of combing his fingers through it.

"Just thinking about my folks," he mumbles, not moving from the safety of the crevice between their pillows and Eddie's neck. They hug each other tighter as Eddie gives the faintest, "oh" like he always did when Steve got like this.

"Steve," Eddie says, voice shaky. "You've got Joanie and me… And the silly cats."

"Where's Meatloaf?" he asks, voice cracking from the lump in his throat. He sniffles and shakes his head at the sheer silliness of prioritising locating the damn cats.

Eddie lolls his head to the side, speaking directly into Steve's ear, "If I can detach myself for a moment, I'll look under the bed."

He reluctantly nods and Eddie swiftly moves away to hang over the bed edge.

"Loafy," he coos and makes kissing noises.

"Here he is," Eddie smiles weakly, presenting the little furball. Meatloaf meows excitedly at the sight of Steve and quickly curls up, tucked in right under the arm he slings back over Eddie.

"Listen to me, sweetie," Eddie whispers, his hand combing through his hair with more purpose now. "Joanie is asleep and we'll wake up fresh as daisies in the morning. Wayne will get here for breakfast. Joanie will absolutely adore her dollhouse and then they'll go out in the snow while you get started on the food. Nance and Rob will be here and soon after so will Max, Lucas and Henderson. It will be a great day like it always is with our family. All of us together... Plus, I’ve got an extra-special present for you this year."

Sensing a teasing smile in his voice, Steve can’t help but laugh, "You say that every year."

"Well, yes. Of course, there’s your super-naughty present but I have something else too," Eddie says, not relenting on the teasing.

"Love you Eds," he says, shifting ever-so-slightly to wipe at his nose with his sweater sleeve.

"I love you, Steve," he replies, kissing his cheek as he begins to pry the hearing aid out of his ear. "Get some sleep, muffin."

[chaoticvictorianspirit]

On strange jobs and family legacies

(or how a certail Mr. Fell got himself a barber in the 1800's and has been visiting him ever since...or so he believes)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

a very short drabble inspired by this post by @andhumanslovedstories (hope you don't mind me taking this delicious inspo, shoving it down my greedy throat and running away with it like a feral dog)- anyway enjoy!

*somewhere in London, at a pub, in the wee hours of the morning probably*

"So the job market's damn tough these days, right? The missus thinks I oughta spruce up my applications but I just.. how does one even go about adding 'amateur occult barber' to their CV?"

"Probably list it as a special skill. Wait, what do you mean occult?"

*shrugs* "Yeah, man, my family's been, like, haunted? For generations. This strange fella pops up every four years like clockwork to get his haircut. His hair doesn't actually grow all that much though so he mostly just gossips for a bit and then leaves. Some thought he was a vampire but he shows up in mirrors just fine, so...my money's on ghost."

"Ha, right. That's enough whiskey for you, mate. You're wasted."

"Am not! It's all true! Goes all the way back to my great-great-great-great-maybe even greater-grandfather! We kinda pass him down through generations. You know how some families have, like, war medals and gold watches and stuff as heirlooms? Think that, but a bit more fucked up. There's even this big family book of all his crazy stories and all!"

"...you realise how insane you sound, right?"

"Meh, you get used to it. His tips alone put the last five generations of my family through university so we just kinda stopped asking questions."

"So you're telling me. You're haunted. By a billionaire ghost."

"Yup."

"And he doesn't...I don't know, torment you in any way? Just.. asks you to cut his hair."

"Uh-uh. Not so big on the whole door-slamming, wall-scratching, book-throwing business. Just got a knack for personal grooming I suppose."

"...Brian, you're an accountant."

"Yeah. I don't think he noticed."

[jpeg-dot-jpeg]

hi jpeg!!! what do u think of 14 and konbart for the prompt meme? 🥺👉👈💕

I think it would be my absolute pleasure <3

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always."

They always came out of nowhere. The memories. Everything was fine, then, for no discernible reason, at any given time, everything was very much not fine.

It was nothing. An inconsequential moment identical to all the ones before it. Everything was fine, and then it wasn't. Everything was normal, then the cup of water in his hand was a mangled mess of wet plastic and his knees were giving out and the heaving breaths he took in seemed to go anywhere but his lungs.

Kon had looked in the mirror. That was his mistake.

He'd stumbled groggily out of bed to get a drink, not even bothering to check the time because he knew he'd just curl back up in his warm nest and fall back asleep the second his thirst was quenched. He was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be past this.

Maybe it was because the lights in the bathroom were blinding compared to the safety of his dark bedroom. Maybe the tile felt a bit too much like stone under his bare feet. Or maybe it was just one of those times when his fucked up brain realized he was finally safe from the dangers of his past and that made it the perfect time to process all of his unacknowledged traumas at once. It wasn't the first time. Whenever the memories hit he was always alone, and never ready for it.

Mirrors always shook him.

Once upon a time, he'd preened like a peacock in front of every single one, checking his hair, adjusting his clothes, practicing that Cool Guy Grin. Part of him always expected to look in the mirror and see his sixteen year old self, the version he'd been stuck at for so long that looking at himself older and world-weary felt like seeing a stranger. And when that sensation overtook him, everything else rushed in with it.

His phone disconnected, which was weird because he didn't remember trying to contact anyone. Kon looked down to see a call recently ended and thought, When did I grab my phone? because he definitely hadn't brought in in the bathroom with him.

That happened sometimes. Seconds, minutes, entire chunks of time disappeared. The world around him jumpcut and left him reeling.

"Kon."

He blinked and Bart was in the bathroom, kneeling next to him on his good knee. Oh. That was who he'd called. Of course.

Bart was always who he called. Bart was his gravity, his tether. Bart made air fit in his lungs again. He sucked it down, desperate for oxygen.

"I'm here, Kon," he said. "I'm here. Focus on me, okay?" His hand, freckled and sun-warmed even when he hadn't seen the sun for hours, grabbed Kon's and guided it to his throat, peachy looking against the bronze of his skin.

Just beneath his jaw, Kon's finger was tucked just below his jaw. The hummingbird pulse of a born speedster thrummed under his touch. It felt more real than the steady heartbeat of a normal human would have.

"You're here," he repeated dumbly.

"Yeah, I'm right here." The hand not sandwiching Kon's hand to his neck squeezed at his knee, then his shoulder, then the back of his own neck, bringing him back into his body one piece at a time.

He smelled a little bit like mud and a lot like being alive, like the natural sweet scent of human skin, but multiplied by 10. Kon breathed it in and felt a little bit more real.

Panic seized him suddenly, another wave of adrenaline vibrating through his bones. "Don't go," Kon croaked - which was stupid because Bart hadn't even tried to go anywhere - and fisted Bart's shirt front like a child.

"I'm not going anywhere," Bart reassured him, but his words went in one ear and right out the other.

Kon couldn't be alone again, he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't do it anymore, it was too much aloneness. He couldn't be abandoned again, he couldn't be forgotten again, he couldn't be homeless and familyless again. People kept going and the world kept turning and Kon was so, so terrified that he would blink out of existence one day and no one would notice all over again. The half-evolved pack animal instincts in his half-human brain keened and cried and howled, desperate to find companionship. Independence chafed and authority chafed and the only thing that felt normal was being with his best friend.

"Please don't go," he begged.

"Hey."

Bart's eyes found his, that naturally unnatural tint to them that was just short of glowing. That achingly familiar face was perhaps the only thing that could pull him out of his own head because Bart was just so entirely himself. Older and world-worn, but still completely himself. Bart didn't need to be remembered to exist, not the way Kon did.

"I'm with you, okay?" Bart said. "Always."

Kon tugged weakly on Bart's shirt and Bart shuffled obligingly closer until their foreheads tipped together.

"Stay," Kon whispered.

"Always," Bart said again.

[professorxsmokesweed]

man i really miss first class alex/darwin they’re my one background characters with like not super established characterization that id go to war for yaoi pairing

[alterumsinealterononest]

Someday in the future, Beatrice and Ava are living together, there are rumors of an impending engagement and jokes are made about it ("for the last time, I did not cheat on Jesus! And I can keep a promise!")

"good morning boo" Ava says, kissing Beatrice's forehead before going to open the curtains to let some light into their bedroom.

"good morning darling" Beatrice smiles, before yawning.

"why are you already up? It's so early" she asks Ava

"I made you breakfast" Ava smiles sweetly, laying down next to her and pecking her lips.

"also I woke up with explosive diarrhea" she laughs

"oh okay, nice" Beatrice smiles, blushing. After all this time she's still not used to Ava's crass speech. But sometimes it's funny.

"yeah, it's because of my period, I hate it but it's necessary I guess"

"Aw darling I'm so sorry" Beatrice pouts at her.

"It's fine it's fine. Although, you know. If it sucks so much we better give it a purpose soon. Like, not to the period because that's what kills the...the thing we should give the purpose to" Ava starts rambling, making weird mildly-sexual gestures with her hand.

"What are you talking about?" Beatrice giggles at her, with nothing but admiration in her eyes.

"like, you know. I'm ready to...stop my period for a while. When you're ready. If?-"

"Ava."

"Like, we don't have to, but it'd be such a waste beca-"

"Ava."

"-you think?"

"Ava you're adorable. Are you saying you want to have a child?"

"...maybe...like, one or...fifteen, whatever", she says looking down.

"I love the idea" Beatrice smiles" but - I'll agree if you show me that you can fold a t-shirt" she teases her

"Hey! Not fair! You do laundry, I make meals and wash the dishes. That was the deal!"

"Okay okay" Beatrice laughs "how about this: you get pregnant...and then we also adopt one"

Ava beams at her

"you know, that way we test it on our child before screwing up someone else's" Beatrice adds

"I just look at you sometimes and I cannot believe I found you"

[epicfranb]

New Etho video and i still haven't watched Bdubs's one or Scar's or Grian's or Gem's or the Tango VODS i have in my watch later and I'm definitely not going to watch the MCC tomorrow. Sorry guys I'm busy with 3 other fixations i have rn 🥲 no time for mcyt gotta draw more fairies and collect pokemon and solve murder cases. I'll be back tho

[leqclerc]

.

[conradrasputin]

via @abusivelittlebunny

X

[todayisafridaynight]

fucked up that i have two drafted comics of jo in jail and both of them Of Course hinge on whether aoki's alive or not

[buckera]

i went to bed at like 2am... and woke up before 6am. still up.

it's been like this for days, waking up earlier every day