#a quick lil fic

[haveihitanerve]

"Hey uh, old man?" Jason called, frowning as he entered the Batcave.

"Yeah bud?" Bruce asked, coming down the stairs after him, tapping absentmindedly at his phone. Their peace was tentative, but built enough that Bruce felt comfortable not focusing every single cell on not annoying Jason.

"Uh, what's the thing on my bike?" Jason asked, moving towards said vehicle. Bruce looked up, setting his phone down as he began getting dressed for patrol.

"Oh," He laughed awkwardly, looking down at his hands instead of at Jason. "I uh, made you a new suit. Well, Alfred did." His cheeks flushed pink, and he fiddled with his gloves a little.

"Just... I don't mean to imply anything-" He added hastily. "Just.. your jacket seems a little... worn. Its okay if you like it like that I just thought-" He was rambling and so he stopped, running a frazzled hand through his hair. "I just thought it'd be nice." He finished lamely.

Jason grinned at him, slipping his own jacket off his shoulders. "Its great B. Really. Thanks." Bruce brightened at that, cheeks still flushed red, and nodded back, smiling lightly.

"Ok then." Jason made sure to smile back before he focused on the jacket again. His breath stalled as he felt the pockets. The pockets... there were... so many. And not only that...

Jason almost laughed as he pulled out around a dozen of his old favorite granola bars.

"Jason?" Bruce called, turning towards him. He froze when he spotted the food clutched in Jason's fist. Wordlessly, Jason stuffed them back into his pockets.

"You ready to head on patrol old man? These criminals won't stop themselves." If his voice was a little shaky, no it wasn't. Bruce swallowed, but nodded, and if his eyes were a little misty, Jason didn't comment.

I like to think that Jason always has food on him, especially as a kid.

I imagine him walking around the manor with his pockets bulging.

“What do you got in your pockets, Jay?” Bruce asks the first time he sees this, out of pure curiosity.

“None of your business.” Jason snaps. “Why? Think I got jewelry or something?”

“No, not at all.” Bruce hurries to correct. If Jason were stealing from him, he’d be more worried about the implication that he was planning to run away. “Just curious.”

Jason huffs, and leaves.

It doesn’t take long for Bruce to realize that Jason is stuffing his pockets with food. And not stuff like candy or cookies like Dick used to do on patrols, but more hardy foods like granola bars.

So he starts telling Alfred to get more packaged non perishables. A variety of granola bars, cheese and crackers, even juice boxes. And he never tells Jason about this, but the food goes missing all the same.

Bruce even puts pockets in Robin’s costume, just to make sure he feels comfortable.

Jason really appreciates it, but they never talk about it.

[mrghostrat]

Though he’d promised Aziraphale his attention, his head was turned towards a screen on his right, and the angle of his camera suggested the phone was tucked at the base of his keyboard and monitor. Aziraphale was actually grateful for it; Crowley’s momentary distractedness gave him the time to recover from the sight of him dressed up so professionally. “I, er— yes. I need your help though.” Crowley turned to him suddenly, leaning in close and grinning like a shared secret. Big Name Feelings • 3. Speeding Up

i am so at peace. 5 hrs totally zenned out on these colours. i'm gonna see his face in my dreams 🥰

[puckinghischier]

I would absolutely love gameday!quinn headcannons like you did for Nico or alternatively postgame!quinn <33

postgame!quinn who has each of his teammates who get to leave before him hand you little love notes as they trickle out, ensuring you he’s going as fast as he can and he loves you

postgame!quinn who always wants a long hug, win or lose

postgame!quinn who walks in the door, dropping his bag in the small hallway before coming to find you and throwing his body on top of yours, shaking out his damp hair on you like a dog would, loving the giggles and scolding that always follow

postgame!quinn who sometimes just wants to drive around the city with you after a tough loss, turning on the playlist you made for him while holding your hand the entire time, basking in the comfort just your presence gives him

postgame!quinn who loves to surprise you with the gifts he gets during warm ups. “look, this little girl traded me this bracelet for a puck and i thought you’d like it,” as he slips it around your wrist

postgame!quinn who saves all of his excitement over goals and good plays for when he gets home to you, yapping your ear off about every good thing he did, even though you watched the whole thing

postgame!quinn who always has a certain word or phrase he has to work into his locker room interviews bc you told him it always made you laugh when he was on the road and you were missing him

postgame!quinn who always has your picture on display in his locker, and he makes sure it’s front and center anytime media is filming him in his cubby

postgame!quinn who never forgets to skate over to where you’re sitting before going to the locker room, always giving you a moment of his attention since he couldn’t during the game

postgame!quinn who’s so thankful he gets to come home to you every night. you’re his favorite person to celebrate with and his most needed comfort after hard losses

[thou-babbling-brook]

Even little revolutionaries get sleepy 🌙💤

[007reid]

coffee caramels. spencer reid

this is my submission for the cm meet cute (or not) challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins ! i did VERY loose research on the stuff spencer sprouts off on because i am not our boy genius so sorry if there are any inaccuracies ':( this is my first time writing for spencer but i literally love it so much and i'd love to write more so plz flood my inbox with requests for him plzzz 😭

pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

prompt: character sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there's a technical glitch.

warnings: slightly grumpy!reader and sunshine!spencer my fav trope <333 confident reader, reader makes the first move, spencer being a bbg and blushing a lot ;)) all the good stuff

word count: 2.7k

you arrived at the theater ten minutes early, bee-lined to the popcorn section and asked for extra butter. you loaded your oily popcorn up with coffee caramels and chocolate-covered coffee beans and bought a large coke. you walked in the theater, confident and fully armed with enough caffeine to hopefully keep you awake during the entire thing. you have tape in your bag to peel your eyes open just in case things go south, but you're confident enough to believe that it won't.

because it can't.

"aelita," your professor had said on friday, "is a russian phenomenon, and it is one of my top favorite films. considering how you are all in a russian literature class, i can make the safe assumption that you are all interested in russian culture."

now, not only were you in a russian literature class as an elective like two-thirds of your class, you were also a russian literature and poetry major. how you ended with that major baffles you and there hasn't been a day where you wanted to choose another major, but there hasn't been a day where you weren't depressed about your poor decision-making either. it's a battle you fight every day.

"aelita was first screened in 1924, and this year, next week, there will be a worldwide re-screening of the film in its originality, no edits, completely authentic, except with added subtitles for those who need it, of course," this was when your professor got very stern. "i want all of you to go and watch it. if you don't want to, fine, but there will be an assessment grade on this movie. this is not optional. i believe that the content of this movie is very true to our..."

at that point you had stopped listening, because you knew what your professor wanted you to do, and you dreaded doing it.

two hours, silent, black and white, russian film with subtitles. and you have to hang onto the movie's every word.

not your ideal saturday night plans, but for your academic career, you were willing to take that leap; looking like a sore loser at the empty theater with black framed glasses on instead of getting fucked up in someone's bathtub. it's fine. the partying was all up to the business majors anyway.

when you walked into the theater, it was, understandably, vacant, save for a couple men and women with graying hair or bald scalps and bad backs. you were clearly not the target audience. none of them had snacks on them either, and you felt awkward being the one responsible for the strong aroma of butter and coffee that stuffed the place the moment you walked in. a gentleman coughed in his hanker-chief and flared his nostrils. you were intimidated already.

you tracked down your seat and decided to not let any of it distract you. you needed a good grade on this assessment. you had already bombed your previous test on the imperial era; you don't need another bad grade stacked on top of it. you're acing this test, no matter what, and you're going to absorb this movie so well that it might as well be your favorite.

as you waited for the film to start, you munched on several of the coffee caramels, the caffeine slow to kick in. you shrugged it off. there's a whole bucket of sugar to fuel you through the film.

in midst of biting into a shelf of a chocolate-covered-coffee-bean, you heard a light thud and a hiss, and the quiet muttering of "i'm good, ow." an old man by the stairs called out;

"you alright, son?"

"yes sir," the man said. despite being alright, he was limping to his seat, and you watched him attentively, for there wasn't much else for you to observe. he limped closer and closer to you by row, ticket in his hand and checking the letters on the rows. he stopped at your row, and then walked crookedly and settled down in the seat right next to you.

you chewed on your popcorn as you directed your attention somewhere else, your determination slightly deflated. the film was late into starting, but you were still going strong.

"oh wow," you heard the man mumbled next to you, and looked over to see what he was talking about, nosy. but he was looking at you.

"what?" you said indignantly, immediately dropping the oily popcorn in your hand and wiping at your mouth, feeling oddly self-conscious. but mostly irritated. you'd say you hid your whiplash pretty well when you saw how pretty the man was when you looked over at him. you were so smooth with it. "chocolate on my face?"

"what? oh, no," the man breathed out a small laugh. he's got a soft, shy voice that got your insides feeling like broken tomato bits.

"then what?" you demanded, but not too authoritatively because you didn't want to chase him away. you kept it cool and in control. totally. it was hard to find eye candy in quantico, and the last place you would expect to find someone so pretty is in the theater for a fucking silent film.

even though it was dark, you could still catch the bright blush that crept up the man's neck, but it might be because he felt hot under all those layers. seriously, he was dressed like your grandpa, sweater vest, tie, collared shirt and all, but it was tied together in some kind of way that made it work, and it was the way the man carried himself that made him look youthful in all those ancient clothing.

"nothing," he ducked his head away, "i was just talking out loud."

you didn't have to be sherlock holmes to know that he was lying. "you liar," you accused, wiping your hand even more aggressively over your face. "i do have something on my face, don't i? just tell me if i do!"

"you don't have anything on your face!" he said, an indecisive and uncracked smile playing on his lips. you grumbled and turned back to look at the screen, still waiting for the film to start, popping candy in your mouth. in was silent for a merciful while, until the man said, "did you know that dmitri shostakovich conducted the music for this film and during its first showings in leningrad since the film was silent he came personally and played the piano whenever the soundtrack would be playing?"

you hummed. no you did not.

"i was surprised when i saw you, you don't look over sixty at all," the man continued. you didn't know how to take this piece of information as a compliment or an insult. "whenever i come to these things, it's only me who doesn't have grey hair. well, some people dye it, which looks pretty obvious because you can't really hide age, y'know?"

usually you'd be annoyed. very annoyed, in fact, you'd switch seats to be away from the guy. but this one's got a nice voice, and the moment he sat down you caught a scent to him immediately, that old cashmere and cotton scent that comes from old, thrifted clothes that you'll find dug deep somewhere in your grandmother's basement or in vintage stores, and sugar cookies and mint and coffee. it's a good smell, is all. you weren't being creepy about it.

"i'm not over sixty," you assured him. "just scraping twenty-two."

"oh! i'm twenty-two too!" the man said excitedly. he had child's glee to him, which you found more endearing than annoying. you didn't know why. you didn't know why you were still sitting with the man instead of scurrying three rows away like you would have normally the moment any stranger tried to attempt small talk with you.

maybe you were a changed woman.

"how crazy," you mused. you didn't sound half as interested or excited as the man did, but he had most definitely got your undivided attention. you nature tells you to not show it.

"how did you hear about this movie? i tried to get some of my friends to watch it with me, but none of them were too interested...except emily, she's usually more interested because she can speak russian but she got plans this weekend," his face fell into a thoughtful frown at the end, and the clockwork in your brain started to turn at the mention of 'emily.' was that his girlfriend? special lady? you shouldn't be googling, then.

"my professor created an assessment for this movie," at the man's inquiring look, you explained further, "it's for my russian lit class."

his eyes shone like a fucking diamond at that, as if russian lit was the most exciting thing he had ever heard of in his life. you could tell that you were looking at the kind of guy who would decline a party full of seniors to go read a dictionary at home. "is that like an elective you take? 'cause it's a subject that fascinates me a lot, but the demand for it is so slim that--"

he was cut off by the movie finally starting and flickering to life. you turned away immediately, eyes focused and attention zeroed onto the introduction screen. screw the pretty boy for now, you thought, you might as well pack your things and go back to your hometown if you fuck up this movie's assessment. it needed your attention.

black and white and grimy, a pretty font wrote 'aelita, adapted by alexei tolstoy.' but as soon as the film started, the picture quickly collapsed, blurring and then fading into black. with the audience being so small, there wasn't much commotion but whispers of confusion began to arise as the lights began to bleed more yellow, lighting up the theater more. it was as if the movie was over.

"sorry folks," a voice came from the grainy megaphone above all of them. "some trouble with the tape. we are trying our best, but not sure of our luck. all tickets will be refunded if bought online or you bring your ticket to us for a mark so you can present your current ticket right now at the next showing. thanks for your patience."

you looked exaggeratedly around, and the man in the sweater vest next to you looked equally as disappointed.

"my professor is not going to believe me," you muttered under your breath, but the man caught it anyway and chuckled quietly. you looked down at your still full bucket of popcorn and your large coke. you glanced over to the man next to you, not too smart things lottering around in your head. you travel through the subway, and the ride to your street is not until two hours. you weren't going to spend it morosely eating popcorn in the waiting lobby.

"is emily your girlfriend?" you asked suddenly. there was no point in being shy. the man's mouth unhinged from his jaw immediately, and you stared at him. his cheeks quickly stained an innocent pink.

"what?" he squeaked, his voice a higher pitch, caught off-guard. "no! no, she-she's my coworker!" he sounded almost offended.

this took you by surprise. you didn't know people who were close to their coworkers existed. "so you don't have a girlfriend?"

the blush on the man's face kept getting brighter and brighter. you bit your lip to keep from smiling like a fool. with how endeared you were by him, it's strange to think that you don't even know his name yet. it was rare for you to really be so mindful and think such soft things about somebody, especially to a stranger.

you were a changed woman. but maybe it's because of the coffee caramels messing with your head. sugar and caffeine tend to do that.

"no," the man said, then cleared his throat. he was fiddling with his fingers, an obvious stim. "no, i don't have a girlfriend."

"sweet," you grinned, "then no one would mind if i take you on a date, would they?"

he choked and got engulfed in a coughing fit, bending over in his seat. the red of his sweater vest nearly blinded you but you patted his back supportively. when his coughing ceased and he sat back up again, his eyes avoided yours for a while as he fought to keep the redness in his face down before he looked at you again.

"so?" you raised your eyebrow. "the night doesn't wait, pretty boy."

the nickname just slipped out of your mouth, and you cringed at the weight of it. how out of pocket. you were going to go home and contemplate this conversation later. but right now, you were trying to take out probably the sweetest looking boy you've ever seen, and that was a more important matter as of.

"okay," he said, and that was that.

"okay," you repeated. "let's start with finishing this, yeah?" you looked down at your bothersomely big bucket of popcorn. "we can walk to the park and eat it and feed it to the ducks."

"actually, it's not safe for ducks to consume popcorn because it causes digestive issues especially if consumed in large quantities and disrupts their natural diet," the man recited matter-of-factly, blinking at you obliviously as if he just didn't acted like a fucking android. you huffed out a laugh. handsome and smart. pretty much a package deal.

"the popcorn will be just for us then," you promised, standing up. he followed suit, as a lone line of people started to exit the theater. "i hope you aren't a serial killer in disguise," you said jokingly, but not really, because that was a genuine threat. he laughed. it was a sweet, syrupy sound that you could soak up and not get sick of for a long time.

"that's ironic," he mumbled, and it flew past your head, you being too busy maneuvering out of the rows.

"what was that?"

"nothing," he smiled, bright and easy. the initial nervousness was already beginning to melt away. when you were side by side, his hand accidentally brushed yours and when you looked up at him, he was already looking another way, pretending to be distracted by the movie posters but the red in his ears and neck gave it away. you smiled to yourself and grabbed his hand, holding your bucket of popcorn in the other.

"i forgot," you said, suddenly. his head whipped around to face you, but not before lingering his gaze at your intertwined hands. "i didn't get your name."

it was a foolish thing to say, you were holding a man's hand and you were pressed up side-by-side against him and you don't even know his name. he smiled softly, though, like he didn't mind. "i'm spencer reid."

"i'm y/n y/l/n."

"hi y/n," spencer said. you exited the theater and he started slightly swinging your joined hands. you laughed, the popcorn and candy in the bucket rattling and threatening to spill but you didn't care. "i'm a little disappointed," he said, pouting a little bit, bottom lip jutting out. "i was excited for the movie."

you breathed out an incredulous laugh. what a guy.

"i wasn't," you said, honestly. yours and spencer's arms were still swinging, and you resisted the uncharacteristic giggle bubbling at your throat. "rather be doing this instead." unexpected date at the park with a pretty boy in a red sweater vest or a boring silent film? the answer sounded pretty obvious to you.

"hm," spencer hummed, amused. "i guess i can catch the movie some other time."

"you can catch it with me," you blurted, and it sounded too early to say. you haven't had a proper conversation with the guy yet, you didn't know what he does and how he is, you didn't know whether or not he has a cat or a dog or a parrot or a ferret or if his room is kept tidy or messy, and you didn't know how much you were going to like him once the night is over. asking for a second date when the first one hadn't even started felt like too much, but it also felt like the right thing to say.

and if it's right, it's good enough for you.

spencer smiled shyly. when you turned right on the street, he pulled you back by your hand and redirected you left. "let's go the scenic route," he said, casually, and you could tell by the magenta tinge in his cheeks and the way he was firmly looking forward, avoiding your eyes that he wasn't feeling as casual as he sounded.

"want some of my popcorn?" you offered, feeling the large bucket was burdening you.

"oh, no thanks," spencer said. "i'm sure the pigeons will appreciate it more than me."

"does popcorn ruin their digestive system and disrupt their natural diet, too?"

spencer popped a large grin. it sat beautiful on his pretty face. "you listened," he said happily, and it felt like a large airbag had just inflated in your lungs. "no, i think pigeons are too used to picking our food, especially those in the city," a long pause, and "in fact, pigeons have a stronger digestive system than most birds due to adaptation, but the strongest out of all of them are vultures, whose stomach acid are so strong it doesn't get sick e eating rotten and bacteria-infested meats."

you hummed. you wished you had paid closer attention to what he said, but instead you paid attention to the smooth sound of his voice and how nice it sounded. well. you'll get there one day.

[starrystevie]

experiment on me | written by rogersharringtons on ao3

eddie's been an experiment before. too many times to count, if he’s being honest. he’s been the secret, the thing that goes bump in the night in a stuffed full closet when the parents came home. he’s been the drunken night, the fumbling hands in a bathroom stall that only give and never get anything in return. he’s been the split lip, torn up knees, bruised ribs in an alleyway getting insults thrown at him when he wanted more. needed more. needed hands out in public and lips cherry red from soft kisses and meeting the parents over goddamn pork chops in the dining room. so when steve comes to him in that same way the other guys before him did with ducked heads and flushed cheeks, toes pointed together like they’re shy, it’s easy to say no.

explicit | 3.9k

tags: au - modern, au - college/university, original male character, top steve harrington, phone sex, video sex, oral sex, anal sex, one night stands, getting together

[dotsunflowers]

trying something a little softer | ID in alt; description also available below the cut

[Image ID: Digital fanart of TK and Carlos from 911 Lone Star. Drawn in a soft sketchy style, with fuzzy edges and no hard lines save for a detail outlined here and there, TK and Carlos are pictured lying down together. Their eyes are closed and they are possibly asleep. Carlos' head is rested against TK's chest, and TK has an arm around Carlos. /end ID.]

[simpingresponsibly]

Yess!!! Cowboy dream would be great

We need cowboy dream

I did actually write a Rivals duo cavalry fic that's admittedly a couple years old at this point but does involve Dream and horses <3 I just think it's neat,,

all cowboy Dreams are good cowboy Dreams!!!! here's a snippet that got out of hand for you. because I am who I am it's a bit of a blend between ccDream team and cDream team

--

Dream's used to being on the road. He likes it. Gives him space to think, to plan, to explore. He loves riding horseback, coaxing his girl to go just a bit faster, a bit longer, with an apple from his pack and a pat on the neck. It's a bit lonely, sometimes, but Dream's used to being alone. Even when he was back east, he used to travel long distances between towns to visit his then-girlfriend. He learned to love the ride, even if he doesn't think of her often anymore.

When they told him to go west, young man, he wasn't sure what he would find. It's lonely and big but the sky is there and the stars are close when he sleeps under them at night. Sometimes that's all you need.

Nobody knows who he is when he rolls into town. The bandana covering most of his face, to protect from the dust and the sun, probably helps with that. He's looking for a better life, but all of the grifters who roll through probably are.

He wants to build a homestead, a real community house, to shelter people like him. And against all odds, he manages to scrape up enough money and support to start building it. It's mostly legitimate jobs at first, but anyone who wanders these parts knows that Colonel Beast offers the best wages for the most detestable work.

Rather than help the ex-Confederate maintain his empire, Dream prefers cutting at the flesh of the great beast where it will make him bleed. Because cash seems to run through his veins, it drips straight into Dream's pockets.

Dream's perfected the art of dropping down silently onto the top of passing trains from nearby cliffs and robbing them for all they're worth. Often railway bonds, sometimes weapon stores, sometimes cold hard cash. Sometimes people are the cargo, and he's been known to set free a chain gang or two.

That's how he first meets George; covered in soot and up to his elbows in engine grease on one of the Colonel's steam locomotives. The protective goggles he wore reflected Dream's own masked face back at him as he pointed the barrel of the gun.

Don't want no trouble. Dream had assured him. Just stop this here train so I can alight, you won't ever have to see me again.

That's too bad. George had grinned. I could go for a bit of trouble.

There was room enough on the horse for two, and covered in coal like he was, George blended easily into the night with him. They slept under the rock formations that night, around a low fire. Dream was only mildly surprised that George hadn't decided to rob him blind when he woke.

Sapnap was a surprise: The son of a sheriff with too much to prove and a chip on his shoulder. On his lapel the star still gleamed with polish, glinting in the light. He rode after Dream and George, Wanted poster gripped tightly in one hand.

The sheriff's boy was a fine rider and they were slower on his girl's back with two. Deaf to George's protests, Dream dismounted and sent them on ahead with a slap to the horse's behind, to hide in the skeleton bones of the house they were building.

After he was taken into the jailhouse, Dream saw his opportunity. Whispers exchanged through the bars of a cell door, talking to Sapnap about all the cowardly things in this world and how he didn't have to be one of them. Telling him of adventure and riches and houses with enough beds for three.

When George blew a hole clean through the side of the jail that day, Dream pulled Sapnap along behind him.

Two horses between three of them and home on their minds, they rode out into that blazing sunset. If you were to see them again, well, you'd probably wish you hadn't.

[paninicupcakke]

I made some more medic & scout loadouts / oc’s for fun :3 I’ll definitely make more of them eventually now that my work week is finally almost over

Tattoo artist! Scout - Freddie (25)

Mourning! Medic - Conrad (32)

(cw: grief, death) Here’s some lore about them:

Conrad recently lost an elderly friend in his life and goes to Freddie for a tattoo. Freddie is a freehand artist who has done a few of his own tattoos, as well as other clients. (Including other mercs even) Tattooing is his main side gig other than being a merc. Meanwhile, this is Conrad’s first ever tattoo. The German is hesitant and anxious at first but truly wants something to remember his beloved friend by. The elderly deceased woman, Rose was a friend Conrad had met on the bus to work one day. He would frequently wait by the bus stop and ride along with her to various places. Both would regularly go shopping and get coffee together. Considering Conrad’s mother had passed away many years ago, Rose was the only nurturing, motherly figure he had left in his life. Her death has caused him to become very reclusive from his colleagues. However, Freddie’s boyish charm and funny demeanor keeps Conrad’s spirits lifted slightly. The two become closer friends and Conrad inevitably decides to trust the scout with giving him his first ever tattoo. During the process of planning for his tattoo, Conrad ends up becoming infatuated with Freddie. Causing him to feel immense shame and guilt paired along with his deep sorrow. Freddie notices how distraught and scattered brained the doctor has become lately and decides to truly get to know his colleague. Once finding out the real reason for getting his tattoo, Freddie embraces the doctor for the first time. Conrad holds on tight and breaks down crying in his arms. Freddie comforts the doctor the best way he knows how, by offering to get him greasy bucket of chicken.

That’s all for now :3 there’s not enough wholesome mediscout content out there so I made some 🫡

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

pls I beg of you to drop a link to the fic you mention in the tags

https://www.tumblr.com/batfambrainrotbeloved/766250097201889280/i-have-succumb-to-the-humor-of-a-teenage-boy

Oh shit yeah one sec-

I will say this plot does revolve around a previous incident of S/A thats kind of the catalyst for Bruce BS- so be warned, but nothing explicit. Its also only avaliable to people with an AO3 account-

Which if you havent- MAKE AN ACCOUNT, and Give yourself a profile picture, doesnt matter what it is, if you comment authors will recognize you and its so fun!! Anyways-

BUT ill list the everything else

Said fucker gets murdered off the bat, WHOOO

Overprotective Batsiblings

Sad Tim tam time

Big sib Dick, Jason, AND Babs

DUKE AND CASS GET SOLO CHAPTERS

Duke and Damian dynamic?? My beloved??

Genuine processing of complicated emotions, responses to conflict, and resolutions as a family

THE CHARACTERIZATION HAS ME F E R A L

Seriously every re read I see a new detail and lose my mind.

[strangersteddierthings]

Steddie Week Day 1: Hunger / Pining / Somebody to Love by Queen @steddie-week

It's right there. It's just inches away, hanging off the edge of the popcorn bowl, like when Steve had set the bowl between them on the couch, he couldn't be bothered to fully move his hand away. Or, more likely, he was keeping a loose grip on it so that it wouldn't go flying off the couch, spilling popcorn across the floor like last time. (Eddie maintains his innocence; it's not his fault he's fidgety and nervous around Steve, so really, it was Steve's fault for, like, existing or something.)

Steve's hand is inches away and near the popcorn. He could reach out, just brush his pinky against Steve's, all nonchalant-like. If it brought about a negative reaction, he could always brush it off as reaching for the popcorn blindly and misjudging the distance.

This shouldn't be that difficult. He's held Steve's hand before! Or, well, Steve held his hand, and he didn't exactly hold back but that was on account of the three-day coma, and then later because he didn't have the strength to. Sure, once he was fully awake and aware, Steve quit holding his hand, but he knew. And by knew, he does mean he asked Dustin if he hallucinated that bit and Dustin was delighted to tell him, no, not a hallucination, Steve couldn't be pried from his hand except by a medical professional.

He's seen Steve hold other people's hands, so he knows Steve's a hand holding kind of guy, even platonically (he does not want this to be platonically, but he'll take what he can get). Steve holds Robin's hand all the time. Most of the time it's because Robin is overthinking something and Steve is acting as an anchor to reality, but Eddie's certain the lack of hand holding outside of (minor) crises is because Robin isn't one for hand holding.

Steve's held Dustin's hand, usually when they've picked a movie that perhaps shouldn't have included the younger ones of their group. He holds El's hand all the time. She'll just walk over and grab it, linking their fingers and just stand or sit in silence by each other. Eddie doesn't ask about it, even as he's vibrating on the inside to know how that habit formed, and why.

And it's not like Steve shrinks away from touch in general. People are hanging off of him all the time, between impromptu dogpiles and piggyback rides around the pool, someone always seems to be in Steve's space, leaning on or otherwise touching him. A hand rest on his forearm while Nancy chats with him, Argyle leaning his whole body against Steve with an arm slung around him as they chat and laugh about who knows what, Max having no problems manhandling Steve to the ground so she and El can use Steve as a human pillow for a summertime nap in the shade.

Eddie, himself, has rarely dared to reach out, though. For all the bravado of that fateful spring break, with as much as Eddie leans into Steve's space, he can't bring himself to touch. Touching might destroy him. To get to reach out, to touch, even just the brush of Eddie's fingertips against Steve's arms might break him. He knows he'll crave it so much more than he does now.

And oh, does he crave to touch. Holding Steve's hand is the end goal, but he's not sure he can even work up to that if the thought of brushing his pinky against Steve's is almost working him into a panic attack. It's just him and Steve, watching Star Wars on a Friday night.

No big deal.

Except it's a huge deal.

Eddie's wanted to hold Steve's stupid hand since he first noticed him. Steve was a freshman, and Eddie a sophomore. He didn't notice him right away. It was after Christmas break. The fire alarm had gone off and everyone was gathered on the football field, awaiting the news about if it was a real fire, or someone smoking in the bathroom. Eddie was looking for George, his only friend at the time, and his eyes had landed on Steve at just the right time. Snow lightly dusted his hair, and his head was thrown back in a genuine and loud laugh, so loud and genuine that Steve ended up making a snorting noise that startled Steve and the guys around him. Eddie watched as Steve's face turned pink with embarrassment before he doubled over, laughing at himself. His friends followed suit and Eddie couldn't stop staring.

(Never mind the whole bit where Eddie's crush waned as Steve became mean, King of Hawkins High and whatnot. Also never mind how it surged back during Eddie's second senior year, Steve's only senior year, when they were in a lot more classes, and Steve wasn't friends with Tommy H and Carol anymore, and also more subdued. Not enough to forgive his past transgressions, but enough that Eddie could allow himself to think of Steve as cute again without too much shame.)

It's a miracle, Eddie's sure, that he's even on this couch with Steve at all. The journey they've been through just to get to a point where Eddie can pine from eight inches away instead of afar.

He glances down at the popcorn bowl again, finds it half empty. Watches as Steve reaches for another handful of popcorn with the hand not holding the bowl -honestly, you spill the popcorn once- and brings to up, shoving the whole handful in his mouth at once. Steve's cheeks puff out like a chipmunk's for a moment before he furiously chews and swallows, like some heathen. That was a full hand of popcorn!

Eddie's in love.

His eyes dart down to Steve's hand again. He can do this. He can. He will, in fact. See, just watch. Arm lifted. Moving sideways, it's less than four inches now. Three. Two.

Aaaaand now he's got a handful of popcorn he doesn't actually want to eat. He cradles the palmful of popcorn with the hand that betrayed him and uses his other to pick up one piece at a time and eat them slowly.

Tastes like buttery sadness.

The movie probably has twenty minutes left and Eddie has spent the movie hyping himself up for nothing. He's not brave enough to do it.

He wipes his hand on his jeans and reaches for the bowl again. He might not be brave enough to reach out and touch, but he is brave enough to hold on to the bowl, an imitation of Steve's hold. Their hands are barely an inch apart this way and Eddie supposes that will be enough for now.

He tries for 5 minutes to focus on Star Wars, but then something brushes his pinky. Unthinking, Eddie just pushes back, and that must have been all the confirmation needed, because then Steve is hooking his pinky over Eddie's.

Eddie, ever subtle, whips his head sideways to look. To confirm. Then his eyes fly up to Steve, who is looking back. For a moment Steve looks like he's been caught doing something wrong and his finger twitches in Eddie's grip, like he's going to pull back. Eddie tries to tighten his pinky with Steve's and give him a small smile.

Steve returns the smile, small and almost shy, before turning back to the TV.

Eddie does the same, even as butterflies erupt in his chest, and he feels like he's going to throw up or faint.

[jiminrings]

we r so back .

[clowningaroundmars]

e-42 prowlerbyte angst (kinda) cuz i thought it'd be funny but in like a sad way

margo actually hating the prowler and thinking anyone with masks and weapons are terrible ppl just bc of how bad things are on earth-42

every time miles and his uncle show up on tv news channels she talks shit abt them not knowing she's talkin about her bf and his uncle

miles is oddly defensive every time, just sayin stuff like "margo you literally have never seen these two hurt civilians or anyone else but cops for that matter"

margo argues back "they obviously steal stuff and use bombs that could hurt someone tho. and nobody who's up to any good is swingin around wearing stuff like THAT"

miles rolls his eyes and pouts a lil bit about it but is genuinely distressed that his own gf can't see the good that the prowler does on a near daily basis so that pushes him to actually help more civvies whenever possible.

it kinda annoys aaron but he understands. eventually aaron lets him go off and do his own thing occasionally, stopping bank robbers from shooting unarmed bystanders and whatnot

the word spreads relatively quickly and soon prowler gains a "vigilante" label on the streets. a couple of his saves end up on the news, too

cue miles smirking at margo one day as they're sat in miles' living room with the tv on.

"...so. looks like prowler's moving different lately, just like i said he would. not lookin too bad there, is he?"

margo scoffs and shakes her head. "i mean... it's cool that he's saving ppl now i guess. doesnt mean hes a good guy exactly but we'll take what we can get!"

this definitely doesnt help miles' paranoia at all tho. he's even more adamant with his uncle that margo cannot know abt their prowler business now more than ever.

[vivitalks]

“Parker,” Eliot hisses at the ceiling vent, “what the fuck?" Aw, shit. “Aw, shit.” Hardison grimaces, rubbing his head. In the…excitement of the night, he completely forgot about Parker. “Parker, why are you in the ceiling?” There's a long pause. “I don't understand the question,” Parker says.

eliot/hardison/parker rights

[absent-enigma]

Some Mothman Horror x reader fic HCs

-the moment you agree to let him groom your hair, he’s commited to doing this every single day, at any given time. You’re within his arm-range and he’s not groomed your hair for you? You’re getting cuddled by one pair of arms while the other goes through your hair meticulously; short, long or inbetween, Horror will be thorough and spend an equal amount of time grooming no matter the hair length.

-Range of vocalizations, most nonverbal like purring, crooning, etc. but when he speaks it’s deep and reverberating; falling asleep curled up on his chest with your face buried in his neck floof has this man become a purring machine as he cradles you with his arms to ensure you have the best sleep you can. He’s aware his mainly made of thick bones, so he makes sure there’s a blanket to tuck under if you if need be.

-if you dig your hands through Horror’s fur at his shoulders and upper chest, he will melt onto onto the floor and cover you with his wings to make it cozy as you pet him. Bonus points if you find the bones the fur is connected to via magic; Horror lets out a deep, slow breath and becomes one with the floor. You have found the off switch. He is now going to lie there and nothing with move him for a time. He has become a sofa, albeit one with four arms that will lazily drag you to back to him if you stop petting him.

-Horror’s antenna will go still if he is deeply concentrating on something. They wiggle when he is happy and twitch when he is alerted to something. One of his favorite things to do is flutter them over your face, enjoying your reaction to their touch, and if he gets a pet to his tattered left antenna he twitched it away since it’s sensitive. But he wants to let you know it’s okay so he just rests his giant skull on your lap, to contentedly enjoy your presence, one pair of arms around your lower back, the other just lying limply on the floor.

[im-not-batman]

Anyone wanna send me some spideypool oneshot requests/ideas?