#YAY WRITING AGAIN

[yellowsugarwords]

a new angsty and sappy Kenny and Clem fic coming later today 💛

[fel-mi-er]

He knew the stars are finnicky, but to have them give a present to the person he was arguing at the maple taffy stand? Sure, they somewhat made up with more taffy, but considering how that one scratched line was too painfully accurate to how he was feeling, he assumes this was some working of fate. And well, though he doesn't consider himself a fatalist, this was too much of a coincidence to ignore. He gives a sigh. Checking the small pot, he pours and seals the contents into a tupper bowl, and then returns to his room to get a present. At least this is easy to fix up quickly.

With his free hand, he knocks on the door to Epel's place. When he opens, Luciano gives a small head nod. "Merry Christmas to you, Felmier," he says. "I'm your pen pal for this letter exchange."

"Here is your present." He then hands him a present box with a small ribbon on the side. Inside of it an all-purpose crochet kit with some crochet needles and yarn, plus a book for several designs ranging from plushies to clothing; from beginner difficulty to expert. "I did not know what your proficiency level in crocheting was, but you had mentioned that you enjoyed using yarn, so I thought that it would be best to bring something to cater to your interest." He then shifted his legs a bit, somehow making the man look somewhat shorter. "As for where I live, I..." A chuckle escapes him, as if he didn't believe it himself. "I'm from the small town on the other side of Harveston." He then extends the tupperware. "And well, after reading your letter, I thought you might also like something a little reminiscient of home."

Inside the tupper, there's some freshly brewed soup. Though the soup structure gives it the appearance of minestrone, the soup's ingredients look more like the stews served in Harveston. "It also gets cold for us around this time, so I thought it would be appropriate." A pause. "And for the last question in the letter, all of the above."

He then takes out a spoon for the soup. "Well, here's a spoon. All I ask is that I get the tupperware by the end of the day." He then gives a small grin. "And once again, Merry Christmas."

Epel was a bit surprised to find the taffy guy (Luciano, right?) at his door, but it quickly made sense when he explained that he was there on account of the pen pal exchange. So it was him…

He didn't have time to respond before the guy was handing over a present. Oh! How nice! He could always use more yarn, and he was excited to learn more about crochet (he was more versed in knitting, but he had tried crochet a few times, and was always eager to learn new things). He was looking down at it in excitement, looking forward to opening it, and raised his head to look at him and say thank you. But it appeared that Luciano had more to say, so he let him continue instead.

"As for where I live, I…" he chuckled, "I'm from the small town on the other side of Harveston."

Epel's lips parted in shock, eyes widening.

No way. There was just no way. Really? Really really? Something bubbled up inside Epel, something hopeful and buzzing. Something like camaraderie, something like relief. This guy--

A tupperware bowl was extended towards him.

"And well, after reading your letter, I thought you might also like something a little reminiscent of home. It also gets cold for us around this time, so I thought it would be appropriate." Epel balanced it on top of his present without really thinking, moving on autopilot without taking his eyes off Luciano. Inside the tupperware was everything warm. Familiar colours, a familiar smell. He was honestly about to cry. He really didn't wanna cry in front of this guy, but he was really touched and really… he had just been so homesick lately. This hit him pretty hard. He felt all watery now, but he didn't cry. He wouldn't until he was alone. He was blinking pretty fast, though.

He was given a spoon for the soup, and asked to return the tupperware by the end of the day, to which he nodded. He cleared his throat before speaking,

"Thank you. I… I don't really know what to say. Thank you so much." He smiled up at Luciano.

He kind of wanted to be alone right now honestly, but he also didn't want to let this chance pass him by. Something was calling out to him, something was begging to talk to him more. He wanted to talk about home, he wanted to ask him so many questions, he wanted to show him his apples.

"Would… would you like to come in?" Epel bit the inside of his cheek, jittery with some kind of energy. Jade was doing whatever Jade did when he left, and Deuce had gone out for a run. They had time to talk, if Luciano wished it. If he said no Epel would have been a bit disappointed, but Epel was putting him on the spot right now-- maybe he already had plans.

He just wanted to talk to someone who would understand. Someone who knew where he was coming from. Someone he didn't have to hide in front of. If there was even a chance Luciano was that someone… Epel had to at least try.

[kitashousewife]

finishing school like unlocked a large large large multitude of fic ideas so get ready

[backwaterotter]

I've been cooking up a pretty simple AU concept, surrounding a simple idea: What if Purple had been deleted for slightly too long. What if there were permanent after-effects? Then, the only theoretical differentiation between canon and this au concept would be a second of waiting time.

Anyway, I'm working on a fic to go with it, I hope people will enjoy it! You can read it here!

[e-nonsense]

Request for batfam x estranged daughter who looks like Batdad's mom Martha💔 she's more independent and has been raised by her mother's family who she is extremely close with, but when it comes to Bruce’s side of her fam she gets awkward and shy cuz she never really interacted with them and doesn't know how to approach them which leads to misunderstandings and angsty setbacks in bonding time. But for whatever reason, she gets along great with Damian and Stephanie as if they've been friends for years. Which causes everyone else to feel left out and a bit jealous when they see the trio hanging out having a good time.

𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

pairing. Batfamily x batsis!reader, slight Dick Grayson x reader

summary. Reader looks startling alike to Bruce’s deceased mother, Martha Wayne.

warnings. swearing, platonic jealousy, mentions of death, horrible parenting (its Bruce), reader is like crazy rich, reader is also 22 and dick is 26. NOT PROOFREAD

authors notes. hope this is what you envisioned. no part 2 so don’t ask

wc. 1.4k

It was Alfred who made the mistake first. Accidently calling you Martha first. He couldn’t help it, you just look so much like her.

Of course he apologised right after and then nearly had a heart attack when you smiled reassuringly, “its fine Alfred.”

A kind heart to match the face of a woman long gone. The elderly man just nodded in response, deciding too keep his mouth shut from then on.

Then it was Bruce. He completely froze the day he met you, froze and stared like a creep. “Holy shit—“ He was immediately cut off by your mother’s glare at him swearing in front of you. “Sorry.”

That day went on with you being shy and awkward around him and Dick —his newly adopted son— who didn’t seem to have any interest in you at all.

“Bruce Wayne,” the man kneels in the get to eye level with a twelve year old you.

“Uh—“ you found yourself string at your mother nervously, only deciding to utter your name after she nods.

Bruce tries to smile —could you see the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes?— at you, “pretty name.”

That was the first time he had seen you, and the last — unless you count the little run ins you’ve had over the years— until ten years later. You were twenty-two, and looked even more like his deceased mother than before.

Bruce found himself watching as you gave Damian tips on the perfect brush stroke to get a texture that would look more like a cloud on canvas.

You nod and smile —one of those encouraging smiles his mother (Martha) used to give him when he got something right— “that’s it. Just try to get lighter towards the end, gives it that fluffy feeling.”

When you had decided to contact Bruce yourself ten years later it had caught him off guard but he agreed. He watched as Damian took to you immediately, the ten year old boy milking you for that motherly affection he never got from his own mother.

The validation when you pat his head and smile at him proudly at his minor achievements, something was child's play to him and yet you were so proud because of it.

The warmth you gave when you smiled in encouragement, or when you’d chuckle softly at his annoyance about one of his brothers. His brothers, not yours as well. You didn’t Bruce’s other wards as siblings, they hadn’t tried to reach out to you so you decided not to bother them with trying as well.

You were nice not stupid.

Stephanie walked into the art room you and Damian had filled with art pieces. You chuckled when the younger girl groaned and draped her arms around you, whining about some inconvenience she had been victim to earlier in the day.

You patted her head and chuckled when Damian scowled at the blonde girl, “get off her you mongrel.”

“Damian,” you say sternly and the young boy huffs before going back to painting clouds. You dragged both yourself and Stephanie towards the couch in the corner of the art filled room and listened as she whined about her day. How Bruce had scolded her about a mistake she made on the field, a minor mistake that even who would make from time to time.

You saw the tears of frustration brimming in the girls eyes and you sigh. “It’s alright Steph,” you hum softly as the girl presses her face into your shoulder.

If Damian hears the blondes sniffles he ignores it, leaving the comforting to you.

None of you speak of Stephanie’s breakdown after it happened. Opting to ignore it afterwards and move on.

Dinner later is chattier than usual, both Damian and Stephanie sitting on either side of you, giving the other member of the family zero chance to gain your attention.

Across from you sat Dick Grayson, who tried to gain your attention but continuously failed so decided to annoy his other brothers. You’re attention is finally somewhere else when Jason growls in annoyance at something Bruce had said.

“It’s for kids Bruce,” Jason seems to be seething. “Children who don’t have the luxury of getting a meal everyday.”

“I can’t trust that the money will actually go into that cause Jason,” Bruce simply sighs. You frown at that, for the first time you speak up.

“Sorry to intrude, but what are you arguing about?” Your voice isn’t timid or soft, it’s stern and had an authority quality that has Jason looking at you in shock before replying.

“Charity thing I’m tryna do,” he begins to explain. “Wanted some money to buy an empty warehouse and build a place that serves food on a daily basis to homeless people.”

You hum in response, “it’s a good idea.”

Jason beams at the praise, “thank you.” And you smile in response, “how much do you need?”

The question catches everyone off guard, “sorry?”

“How much, it’s a good idea and I’d like to help.” You ask and Jason nods.

“Well i wanted it in a good area in Gotham, might help relocate people and stuff.” You nod taking in his words. “$300,000. I need that much.”

Jason shrugs nervously as you think it through, “done.” You smile slightly, “call me if you need anymore though. I’d be happy to help.”

Jason stares at you like you’re some kind of saint, “where are you going to even get that kind of money?” He asks nervously, surely this was too good to be true. You barely knew him, why would you give up that much money so easily.

You chuckle in response, “my dad’s rich.” You pause before adding, “the man my Ma married I mean.”

“So is my Ma,” you shrug. “I inherited it all when they retired.” Jason blinks a few times, as if trying to determine if you’re actually real.

“So would you say you’re richer than Bruce?” Tim asks and you glance over at him before shrugging. “Maybe? I dunno.”

Bruce watches from the head of the table, “she is.”

You raise a brow at that, “stalking my bank account or something?”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head, “no. But I know your father and he’s been years ahead of me for a long time.” You snort in response, “sounds like him alright.”

The rest of dinner passes and you go back to talking to Damian and Stephanie. Jason watches you three from his seat beside Dick. “Why does she only talk to them?”

Dick pauses to look at Jason and puts his fork back down onto the plate, before glancing over at you who seemed to be nodding along to whatever Damian was saying.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “To be fair we haven’t tried to exactly reach out to her as much either.”

Jason hummed in response, “demon brats a bit attached to her though.. don’t you think?”

“Guess so, pretty sure he looks up to her.” Dick says to Jason before moving his fork towards his mouth. “Like a motherly figure or something.”

Jason snorts and Tim looks over at them, “funny. He’s got two of his siblings substituting as parental figures.”

Tim chokes on his food before laughing, “now that you’ve said it.”

Dick rolls his eyes and chuckles, “leave the kid alone. He got a shitty deal of parents.” Jason snickers but he doesn’t deny it.

Dinner finishes quickly after that, and they watch as you let Damian drag you away, Stephanie following closely behind. “You must meet batcow.” Damian says before leaning in closer to you, to whisper in your ear, “Don’t tell father but there are ducks in my room.”

You wink at him and nod, “our secret then.”

The rest of the night passes and Damian is asleep by the end of it. You find yourself back at the front door, slipping your coat on deciding to go home. “Leaving?”

You turn around quickly to see Dick Grayson, an amused look on his face and a small smile playing on his lips. “I am too,” he shrugs approaching you and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll walk you,” he offers and when you nod he grins outstretching his hand.

Nervously you take his hand in yours and let him pull you along towards the front door, “I know a great view.. I could take you?”

You smile and shrug, leaving the decision to him, “guess we’re going then. I’ll warn you though it high up and its Gotham so don’t expect it to be too pretty.”

You chuckle and he keens at the sound, he finds himself wanting to hear it again, and again, and again.

“I won’t get my hopes up then,” you smile up at him.

He grins and leads you out of the manor and onto the streets of Gotham, that coincidently happened to quite peaceful that night. He silently thanked Bruce for fucking up again, he wouldn’t get this chance if he hadn’t.

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[kelongt]

he's right behind me isn't he? ://

[howl-clan]

moon 5

[tubborucho]

Collecting

[littleoddwriter]

Trapped | Cooper Abbott x GenderNeutral!Reader | Dark Fic

Hi there! I'm incredibly down bad for him, to nobody's surprise, so here's the first fic I wrote for him. More to come! This fic isn't exactly romantic or even really sexual, albeit with some hints to it; but I used it to get a feel for writing him, first and foremost. And also because I saw somebody wanting a fic where Reader is in Lady Raven's position at the end of the movie, and I wanted that as well, so, here. It's not exactly what was imagined when demanding that, I know, but it's something! (also, excuse the uninspired title, please, it's very tongue-in-cheek, I know, dshjkfgsdkjs) summary; You're captured by the Butcher as his last chance of entertainment - and revenge - before his inevitable arrest or death. There, you learn a lot about him, and also yourself. notes/warnings; GenderNeutral!Reader; Reader is in Lady Raven's position (Reader is a pop star, etc.); slight spoilers for the movie (but I expect you to have seen that if you're reading this anyway); Character Study; Implied/Referenced (Attempted) Murders; Kidnapping; Angst; Implied/Referenced Sexual Attraction; Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse; Mostly Open End; Dark Fic. (once again, this is not a full on romantic or sexual fic about Cooper and Reader, but more of an exploration of the character, his dynamic with Reader, and Reader's own conflicting thoughts and feelings about the situation and Cooper. there are hints of romance and sexual attraction, though. this is a dark fic and it has a mostly open ending; but it does imply a bad ending if we're realistic. if you're like me, you could also find a way to imagine a better ending to it. that's why I left it somewhat ambiguous.)

The car’s passenger door was slammed shut on you, making you jump with the force behind it. A shaky breath left your trembling lips as you waited for Cooper to settle in the driver’s seat of his wife’s car. Soon to be ex-wife, you figured. If not a widow. 

Your mind was still reeling with the night’s events. One moment, you’d been giving your best for the concert, like you always did, and the next moment, you were stuck with a wanted serial killer because you decided to play hero. Desperately, you hoped it would all be worth it, in the end. Or else this might have been the stupidest decision you’ve ever made. You should have just alerted the FBI when you got the hunch that something was up with the man, you berated yourself internally. 

“Put these around your wrists,” the Butcher told you gruffly, holding up a pair of zip ties to you. 

Stunned, you just looked at him for a long moment, your mind trying to catch up with what he was asking of you. Everything has been happening too fast. Too much, all at once. And worst of all, you were terrified. Yet at the same time, you felt for him. He was a desperate man. Trapped. Cornered. In a way, you were his last resort now. How ironic.

Cooper gave you a stern look, his dishevelled hair covering parts of the upper half of his face, but the fierce glint of desperation and murder in his eyes shone through the brunette strands. 

“Put. These. Around. Your. Wrists,” he commanded again through clenched teeth, shoving the zip ties into your chest, as your hands automatically flew up to catch them.

Shakily, you nodded and put your hands through the loop. Once the zip ties were around your wrists, the Butcher pulled them tight, the thin hard plastic cutting into your skin, rubbing it raw with every small movement. 

As soon as he was certain that your hands were tied, Cooper started the car’s engine and quickly exited the garage and driveway. In the distance, you could hear police sirens on their way to the house you had just left behind. Too late. 

“If only you hadn’t decided to play hero,” Cooper mused with a strained, almost manic, smile on his lips, “None of this had to have happened, you know? I would have let you go.”

“And let you kill more innocent people? I couldn’t bear the guilt, knowing I could have prevented it,” you responded quietly.

“As if you actually care about random people’s lives more than your own. You’re just as fake as they all are. Pretending that you’ve got it all figured out, that you’re fulfilled.” He sounded bitter, angry, spitting those last words in your direction, like your existence has personally offended him. His grip around the steering wheel tightened, turning his knuckles white. 

Not wanting to anger him any further, you decided to stay quiet; even though you had a million things on your mind that you would have liked to retort. 

The FBI had briefed you on what kind of man they figured him to be. A psychological profile, they called it. You had heard about those on TV before, but it always seemed silly to you. How could they possibly know what was going on inside a person’s mind without having ever met them before? With all conclusions based on evidence from crime scenes instead? It didn’t make sense to you.

Until now, that was. Cooper seemed like the exact man the FBI had described to you. Perfect on the outside, an overachieving family man, unassuming, kind, always happy and ready to lend a hand. And beneath all of that, on the inside, there was a hurt child, craving their parents’ love and approval, but never getting it. Now, he let that anger that had manifested out on people he deemed to have had it all, to have what he was missing all his life. 

Deep down, you felt bad for him. If his parents had been different, perhaps there would be one less killer on the loose. Or perhaps, he would have ended up this way, no matter the circumstances of his upbringing. Who was to say that killers like him were only a product of abuse? 

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled into another driveway, getting out of the car. His footsteps were quick and heavy, and your heart was sinking in response to those sounds. 

Ripping the passenger door open, he leaned down to look at you, grabbed your bound wrists and jerked your body in his direction, forcing you out of your seat. Stumbling out of the car, you almost bumped into him, your head barely reaching his shoulder. He really was massive. You stood no chance against him, you thought, feeling defeated. This was it, then. 

Cooper bent over and quickly picked up the bag he had taken with him from the garage, before slamming the door shut once more. And just like he had done before, the Butcher put his fingers on your shoulder, verbally giving you directions for where he wanted you to go, while keeping a dominating presence behind you, not allowing you a real chance to escape.

Eventually, you found yourself in a basement, not unlike the one Spencer, who was hopefully safe now, had been stuck in before. 

The Butcher pushed you down to sit on the cold hard chair in the middle of the room, a support beam right behind it. He made quick work of putting the ice-cold steel chains and cuffs around your wrists and ankles, snapping off the zip ties at last. 

Looking up at him from where you were seated, the sinking feeling of hopelessness creeped in. There was no way you were getting out of this alive. 

Cooper retrieved a cleaver from his bag and pulled out another chair, placing it across from you and sitting down on it, playing with the knife in his hands. He looked at you for a long moment, not saying anything, just breathing calmly, idly stroking the knife’s handle with his thumb of the hand that was holding it. With his other hand, he brushed the loose strands of hair away from his face.

Once again, he was smiling at you. A smile that never reached his eyes, which glinted with murderous intent and something else that you couldn’t quite place. His smile was too big, too sharp, to be genuine. It seemed manic and desperate. Strained. And at the same time, he looked to be in complete control over the situation. 

Cooper Abbott was a man of many facades, you came to realise. 

“I was gonna stop, you know?” he finally spoke up, the tense silence broken by his voice that was laced with too many emotions at once, giving away that he didn’t feel as in control as he seemed to be. 

You waited for him to continue, not daring to ask questions.

“It’s been a while since I last felt the urge. Until you, tonight. I don’t know if it was because of everything that happened, or because I could see right through you… but it was an almost pleasant surprise to feel the urge again.

“Spencer was gonna be my last. That was the plan. Go to the concert with Riley, kill Spencer from the comfort of my home, sneak out hours later, making up some kind of lie of having to work an extra shift because of an emergency, chop him up, dispose of his body and any evidence, return home, and pretend like nothing had happened,” Cooper explained his initial plan for tonight like he was talking about something completely normal, like a family vacation he was planning instead. It was eerie, but somewhat intriguing to you. 

“And then, with time, I would have cleaned out all the houses I had bought to keep my two lives safely apart. I could have been a regular husband, father, and firefighter in just a couple of weeks, maybe months. And no one would have been any wiser on what I had done for all those years that the Butcher was active. It was the perfect plan,” he finished with a frustrated sigh, brushing his hair away from his face again with more force than was necessary. You could hear the steady, but sharp, tapping of his fingers against the cleaver’s wooden handle.

There was a long, tense moment of silence.

You almost felt the urge to apologise for ruining his plans.

“Why did you decide to stop?” you asked, unable to contain your genuine curiosity any longer.

Strangely enough, Cooper’s smile softened, his face relaxed and his eyes lost some of the fierceness in them. “Because I thought that I had finally done enough. The urge had lessened over the years, like I said, I didn’t feel it for a while until tonight. I was just doing it out of routine at this point, I think. Believe it or not, it was fun. And I wasn’t ready to give that up for a while.”

“What changed?” 

“I did… My children changed me. Riley and Logan are everything to me. And I was trying my hardest to be the dad they deserved to have. The one that they needed. A loving, fun, and especially involved, dad. I didn’t want them to feel like I did growing up,” Cooper explained in a wistful tone, “It all started out as just another way to keep suspicions away from me. Starting a family with Rachel seemed like the perfect cover. Nobody would ever suspect that a true family man could be a messed up serial killer, right?”

Despite your current situation, you felt your heart flutter. You understood where he was coming from, and you wished things had gone differently for him. But most of all, you wished that he wasn’t what he was.

“I didn’t expect to actually enjoy fatherhood, or to love my kids the way I do,” he continued after a short pause, still in that oddly wistful tone, a harsh contrast to the entire situation and his true being, “It’s so strange… With everything that happened tonight, I’m just enraged. But I’m less angry about having been found out at all. I’m mostly angry because I’m never going to see my children again.”

This time, you couldn’t resist the urge, and so you whispered, “I’m sorry,” like it was somehow your fault, when in reality, it was his decision to murder people in the first place.

Letting out a long sigh that ended in a small, insincere chuckle, Cooper got up from his chair, meat cleaver in his hand, towering over you like this inescapable force that he was to you. 

With practised ease, he took his shirt off and threw it over the chair behind himself. You had no idea why he would do that. Easier clean-up, maybe? With regret, you realised that you didn’t hate the sight. He was an attractive man, there was no question about that. But to feel such attraction, despite your current predicament, was nothing short of confusing and embarrassing to you. 

“You don’t have to do this, Cooper,” you whispered, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“I wish that was true, but… there’s no escape. Not anymore. I might as well have fun one last time,” he told you quietly with that eerie smile that did nothing to hide his intentions. It only emphasised them now. 

Feeling your heart rate accelerate, your stomach sank with the realisation that this would be it for you. 

It only took two steps for him to stand right in front of and above your seated, captured, cowering form. Before you could utter another plea, Cooper’s free hand wrapped around your throat, almost covering the entire thing with his large palm as his fingers gripped onto your jaw, moving your head further back as he bent down, leaning into you.

A small noise escaped your throat, sounding both distressed and almost aroused. You had no control over that, and it felt utterly humiliating to have made such a sound in response to his actions. 

The Butcher chuckled darkly, a sharp smile playing on his lips, and a glint of intrigue in his eyes. 

“I think I’m gonna enjoy this a lot more than expected…” he whispered into your ear, his hot breath tickling your sensitive skin. 

“Please don’t…” you tried again, weakly, your voice strained from the weight of his hand against your windpipe. 

As you struggled to breathe, and his hand only tightened around your neck, your vision started to blur both due to panic and the lack of oxygen. Darkly, in the back of your fuzzy mind, you thought that at least you’d go out with a handsome face as the last thing you'd see. 

Faintly, in the far distance, you heard police sirens. Or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

“If only you had saved yourself…” the Butcher whispered to you before he quickly, and with impressive force, snapped your head back against the support beam behind you, and your world went dark.

[lemotmo]

So, apparently the writing room of 911 started working again last Monday. Shooting will begin in July. Kenneth confirmed it.

They could be writing that queer Eddie arc as we speak. Even already some sprinkles of Buddie in there. 🤞🤞🤞 Let's manifest. 🙏

(Also, as a side note: Interesting how a certain someone's cameos stopped in the week they started writing 911 again. 🤔)

[yuu-kumeii]

So imagine that the biggest cultural shock to your boyfriend —who keeps forgetting about it— every time he travels out to another country is that some of them just don't have bidets in every restroom.

Which led to you —his wonderful and very responsible spouse— always packing a portable bidet into his luggage the night before he leaves. You've never forgotten a single trip and he's so grateful to you because without it, he's sure to just sit on the porcelain throne waiting for salvation —that never comes so he's always had to begrudgingly take a sheet of toilet paper and hope for the best—.

He's so very thankful to you that he put this fact in as one of the —many— reasons he can't live without you during your vows.

And to this day, you still pack a travel bidet for him just in case and he's always happy to tell you that he would not survive without you every time he finds it.

BOKUTO <3333, ATSUMU <333, HINATA <33, KAGEYAMA <3, Sakusa, Oikawa, KUROO, suna (calls you his bidet fairy)

[sailing-through-hawkins]

i got a much bigger response to my Harrington Charms Hellfire post than i expected so i wrote a little something that was along the lines of what i was thinking!

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ AO3

Sometimes Eddie thinks the real Upside-Down is his life after they close up the gates and pulverize Vecna ("they" in this situation being superhero Jane Hopper and the rest of her merry band of warriors), because past-Eddie would probably have a breakdown over...well, everything.

For one thing, Eddie is currently in the passenger seat of none other than Steve Harrington's Beemer, at the man's very request himself.

"Wait, I'll drop you off."

"'Preciate the thought, Steve but -"

"Munson. It's been like two weeks since you even started walking by yourself, sorry if I'm kinda worried about letting you go across town without me."

"Uh...just you?"

"Any of us, but me specifically since I'm clearly everyone's chauffeur. Might as well play the role, right?"

It's been like a month and every time Eddie wants to go anywhere in the slowly rebuilding town, Steve's right there with him. It'd be infuriating if it wasn't so obvious he liked doing it. If Steve wasn't so intent on just making sure Eddie's alright and yeah the mother-henning should have gotten old by now but if Eddie even thinks about telling him to stop, all he sees is sad eyes and hunched shoulders hiding under a complacent smile and wave bye-bye. God those eyes are fucking weapons.

They're heading over to Gareth's garage for a light-hearted band session. It's funny because Dustin was the one who convinced Eddie to "get your head out of your ass and talk to your friends, dick" and actually reach out to the rest of Hellfire about the whole 'not a murderer OR dead' thing. After some apologizing (ugh) and grovelling (double ugh), the rest of his sheep were willing to forgive him for ignoring their calls and visits while he was in recovery. Provided, of course, that he continue to check in with them on a bi-weekly basis at minimum. It's unfortunate that Steve, for all his head trauma, makes sure that Eddie actually sticks to that basis.

The things he does for love.

Or no, not love, definitely not love, it is way too fucking soon to call this teensy little infatuation anything as huge as love. No. Not love at all.

They're about to reach Gareth's place, that's important. By the time Steve rolls to a stop outside the garage, Eddie's panic (not panic, just a strong argument, this is not love) has simmered down. He has to take his time getting out of the car today, thank whatever deity is out there for quick-feet Steve, who runs around the front to help Eddie out onto his two feet. It's been a rough week but he had way worse back in that first month at the hospital, not to mention needing a little Steve-assistance isn't the worst thing in the world.

"Hey!"

Eddie blinks as Steve helps him lean against the car, the spots in his vision fading away to reveal Gareth right up in his space with a murderous gaze directed right at Steve.

Eddie worries that he's gonna start a fight even though it's been months since he's introduced Steve as his live-in-nurse (nobody takes Eddie's hints at a sexy nurse uniform to heart thankfully, he doesn't know what he'd do if Steve caught on that he's only half-joking) and Steve's been doing the best he can to make amends with Hellfire.

At least the guys aren't walking on eggshells around him anymore, judging by how Gareth barely took a glance to assess Eddie's wellbeing before going back to glaring at Steve with eyes ready to kill. Well fuck you too Gareth.

He crosses his arms, eyes burning with resentment as he continues go stare down a pretty nonchalant Steve who is very much in Eddie's space as he also leans against the car, fuck he's so close. When Eddie glances at him to scope out what the fuck is happening, he sees that gaze again. The gaze that reminds Eddie of Steve's days as King, looking over his reigning population with a boredom teetering on malicious negligence. That gaze used to send Eddie's mind into hysterics, painting images of crowding into the King's space just to see those big brown eyes waver. But that's not how it is anymore, Steve's eyes are usually brimming with concern, irritation or a spark of contentment as he watches his little nuggets run around screaming about Eddie's latest one-shot campaign.

Right now, there's no screaming teenagers. It's just silence for a few moments, a tension building in Eddie's bones until he thinks this must be what it's like to watch a sports match, head running back-and-forth between the two teams and waiting with baited breath.

"So?" Gareth spits out, squinting at Steve, just tilts his head in response and lets a few strands of perfect fall into his eyes, damn that bastard. Gareth grits his teeth and takes a breath, "What did you think?"

Steve watches Gareth, as if assessing his line delivery, shifting so he fully faces him but is still totally in Eddie's space with a hand on the car roof behind Eddie and the other crooked up on Steve's hip. The motion lets Eddie smell his aftershave and fuck, Steve still runs so warm. Whatever he finds in Gareth has to be what he wants because he gives them both a half-lidded smirk and shrugs his shoulders. "Eh, wasn't that into it."

Gareth sputters, face turning crimson and Eddie is like super confused because what the fuck is going on right now? 

Steve is the one to fully break his brain with a laugh that throws his head back, his neck stretching out so the light hits his jawline perfectly, that bastard. He looks back at Gareth's flushed face with a sunny grin that sets fire to Eddie's veins. "You totally liked it, didn't you?"

Eddie snaps his head to Gareth, who squirms before dropping his shoulders. His little mutter of, "Yeah, I did," sounds so defeated that Eddie feels a second-hand guilt, but over what? He has no fucking clue.

That small pit of guilt quickly dissolves into even more confusion when Steve laughs again, kicking himself off his car to land a hand on Gareth's shoulder and fucking wink at Eddie. "The miracle of Grease, huh Munson?"

Record-scratch. Sorry, what?

"Sorry, what?" Eddie snaps his eyes from the grinning god that is Steve and the sulking fluster that is a member of his club, one of his friends, one of his very overprotective sheep who has hated Steve's guts for a long time and is now letting the guy give him a fucking noogie in broad daylight with empty complaints.

"Looks like I've been corrupting your crew, Eds, if Gary being a Greaser -"

"I am NOT a Greaser, I just -"

Gary? Steve calls Gareth the Great...Gary? And he doesn't even comment on it? Last time Jeff tried that, Gareth threatened to hide a spider in his guitar case. But Steve Harrington, someone Gareth has had no qualms about verbally tearing apart, does it and it's fine?

"Eds? Hey, Eddie." And now Steve's looking at him with that concern-rotten gaze, eyes flitting over every inch of Eddie's face as if to pinpoint what's wrong and fix it with a smile and a soft you're okay now, I've got you. "Back with me?"

Swallowing down an incessant I'm always with you, sweetheart, Eddie nods. In his peripheral, Gareth is watching him with his hands out as if to catch Eddie from falling. Which is stupid because Eddie hasn't fallen from light-headedness in like two days (Eddie shuts up the part of his brain that reminds him Gareth wouldn't know that with a part that says Dustin probably gives the whole club daily medical chart updates) and wait fuck is that Steve's hand on his neck right now?

"So!" Eddie claps his hands, eye twitching as Steve's hand slowly trails to his shoulder, lingering for a moment before he takes it off entirely. Stupid jock bastard with his touchy-ness and his smile and - "What's this I hear about Grease, Gary?"

Oh yeah, there's that livid face of watch out for the tarantula bitch, Eddie's missed that. Well, Gareth still does it everyday but not at Eddie for a while there, probably because of the whole intensive injury recovery shit. Oh well. "None of your -"

"Gareth and I made a bet," Steve clamps his hand back onto Gareth to shove them closer together, pointedly ignoring Gareth glare of betrayal. The space on the back of Eddie's neck still burns with the ghost of Steve's touch, something ugly in his chest snarling at how that touch is now on Gareth's arm. He wonders if the bats left him with more than bites sometimes. "About some movies we recommended each other. And since I won, that means -"

"No way, I'm not -"

"Uh yeah you are, I won so -"

"Fuck you, Harrington -"

"Not on the first date, hotshot," Steve laughs as Gareth tries wrangling out of his hold, holding onto him by his shoulders with one gloriously bulging forearm. Eddie's starting to think the light-headedness might be a symptom of something other than his brush with the bats. Oh don't think about the bats, bad move, bad move. "Didn't know you raised a cheater, Eddie."

Steve's eyes are glowing with mirth, his grin wide as Gareth threatens to bite him with a smile of his own. And that's. Huh?

"And I didn't know you two were so close," Eddie manages to cough out, snapping his gaze to Gareth with a raised eyebrow. He squirms again, ducking out of Steve's grasp (Eddie can't imagine why anyone would want to) and dusting off his shirt. "Holding out on me, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs, his eyes fixating right next to Eddie's eyes. He steps closer, a firm and warm presence right in Eddie's space, right in front of him, and raises a hand to caress Eddie's hair, that fucker. Eddie stifles his gasp because he knows Steve's just getting something out of his hair, like he does every goddamn time he sees a leaf or dust or fucking anything in Eddie's mass of curls. "Just being friendly. Now giddy up, you two've got a session to do."

"Not sticking around?" Gareth looks back at the garage, the forced nonchalance in his tone nothing compared to the shadow of King Steve's gaze. "Frank wanted to ask you about those threads from last week."

"Shit," Steve slapped his forehead, looking into the garage at Frankie who - fucking waves at them?! Mr. "Do what you want but I'm never falling for that Harrington charm bullshit" is waving at Steve. Who, incidentally, waves back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Frankie, I can't make it today, got a shift with the supply run! Rain check on the wardrobe?"

And Frank the Unwavering, notorious for sticking to his guns with a grip tight enough to choke a man, gives Steve a thumbs up before going back to strumming with Jeff. What the fuck.

"Wardrobe?" Eddie chokes.

"Don't worry about it," Steve waves a hand in the air and gently pulls Eddie off the car, settling his arm around Gareth, who takes Eddie's weight with ease. "I'll tell you later. You'll be good to take him, or should I?"

Gareth scoffs but his eyebrows aren't scrunched with any irritation or anger. "I think I can handle it, Harrington. Go handle your hero shit."

And here's the thing. Steve has a thing about that word. Eddie's noticed because, well, he's always watching Steve and he has a rocky relationship with the word "hero." Sometimes his whole body glows with the praise, smile so wide and eyes so sparkly it makes Eddie want to scream. Other times, Steve shrinks just a little, barely noticeable, and his smile dims and his eyes are shadowed with something Eddie doesn't understand. Or can't understand. He's not sure.

This time, Steve seems to be on the glowing side of things but it's so subtle compared to usual that Eddie just has to blink and all that golden haze is gone already. He blinks again and Steve's waving bye to him, blinks and Steve's in his car, blinks and he's driving back on the road to wherever people need him to be.

Gareth snorts, tugging Eddie out of his daze and shuffling them both toward the sofa at the back of the garage, the brown beauty it is. "Wipe the drool, man, you're getting it all over my hair."

"Oh like you're one to talk," Eddie waits until Gareth settles him on the sofa and fully stands up before fluttering his eyelashes up at him. "Gary."

"Shut up!" Gareth flushes, stomping over to his (barely holding together, but Eddie likes to think they're made of the same stuff Steve is, to keep going after a fucking averted apocalypse) drums. Jeff laughs when he fumbles with his sticks and Eddie grins when Gareth's attempt at throwing them lands the fuckers right at Frank and that sets them all off.

Yeah, maybe some stuff has turned on its head, Steve and the town and Eddie's general worldview, but he's still got his inner circle and that's good enough for him.

[cherrywperson]

yapperbert bertrotting

[sentmail]

Sea salt in the air, the air warm with the lingering presence of the sun slowly beginning to lower towards the horizon, lively chatter sounding in the streets as the old timers sit around with their drinks at the local cafes… He was at Costa Del Sol alright.

It was hard to call it home after being gone for so long, but the saudade of it all never left him, a melancholic longing for the simpler times he'd spent here and what now could never be.

Well. No better time than the present to get himself reacquainted with the town, needing to cash in about 5 years worth of vacation - in a weekend, preferably, as he was technically on business here, but it could wait a day, no?

He's woefully under prepared for a beach day, but a man on the move makes do; dressing down and heading down to the shore, lingering around one of the beach-side bars. He makes small talk, catches the barman's attention and laughs along with someone who ends up recognizing him from the days before - it's a good time.

But. As conscious as his efforts to relax might be, his subconscious mind continues uneasy, never letting go of the reason why he's come to this continent - he's supposed to meet with another ex-SOLDIER over in Rocket town.

There's been hit jobs taken out on them as a group, although no rhyme or reason has been found as to who is attacked… except for one detail:

They've kept in contact with Kunsel. And they've helped him with his current little project.

He's uneasy, and it shows in how his smile only reaches so high, eyes scanning behind the faces he was making conversation with, glancing across the once familiar rooftops he used to climb as a kid and —

A glint of reflected sunlight. The flush of adrenaline. The way very expensive liquor bottles shattered as he rolled across warm sand after a dive. The panic that sets in as people scramble, and how his immediate reaction is to try and mitigate the situation.

"FIND COVER AND STAY DOWN!"

— plotted starter with @meteor-shots

[sliceofhotsoda]

“Even if we never become pro volleyball players, I think we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Shoyou leaned sideways into Tobio’s back, laying his head down on his shoulder. He wished he could see his face.

“What’s the point in doing all this if we can’t play volleyball in the end?”

Tobio’s voice seemed to rattle inside of Shoyou. Good question, he thought feebly.

“There’s a point,” Shoyou insisted, firm. But in his head, he said to him, there’s a good chance you’d be all alone in that house right now if we’d never met.

No way would Shoyou let that happen.

They stared at their feet in a shared sad silence. Kageyama glanced down at him at the same time that Shoyou risked a look at Kageyama, then both gazes flitted away.

“There’s a point,” Shoyou repeated. Heaviness sunk inside his gut, profound. “Maybe volleyball isn’t the point at all. Would there even have been a reason to keep playing if we didn’t have the team we have now? I mean, if you were on Seijoh instead of Karasuno and we never learned our special quick, or if you were never there to push me further, maybe volleyball wouldn’t be worth all our attention anymore.”

Shoyou swallowed hard, awaiting Kageyama’s response. He wasn’t even sure why this felt so important, but he had a feeling it had something to do with how much Kageyama meant to him.

Kageyama’s brows furrowed. He seemed deep in thought, his eyes growing wide as if he’d remembered something very necessary.

“Without you, I might have given up volleyball,” Kageyama said, hushed.

[reiverreturns]

a rough draft wip? on wednesday? groundbreaking.

said another way - we're fully on the mota train now girls buckle up