#but she kind of just showed up in this WIP so i'm like 'yeah i think i can make it work'

[alteredphoenix]

A fic in which Tatsuki is invited to Ichigo and Orihime's wedding post-canon and just. Takes it all in. At what could've been, imagining herself in Ichigo's place. But such is life, and she's not going to get in the way of things. Princesses always go for the knight, never the dragon. So it goes.

After a while she leaves the venue. Chizuru's out there, and under all that clownery she can tell something's up; she's not quite the fool she paints herself out to be. They shoot the breeze as the night wheels high overhead. No one's noticed they've left. Ichigo and Orihime haven't noticed (the guys, however, might have - Chad and Keigo and Mizuiro, all quiet glances and subtle, gentle words with hidden meanings).

The night is young. There's a bar down the street that's open 24/7 that always has baseball games running on the wireless TV sets - the one with the pool tables and poker machines. The wet bar isn't anywhere near fancy as the ones the hall's serving, but they're delectable and succulent in their own way. Chizuru suggest they go there, unwind (doesn't say, merely shows in the way the streetlights glint off her glasses, it's to help Tatsuki get her mind off the wedding, and all the possibilities that could have been).

It doesn't sound like such a bad idea. Not a bad idea, at all. Tatsuki agrees and goes with her.

[effietrinket1619]

hal jordan vs brucie wayne: the tiktok war

a continuation of this. part two

hi i'm back with a little thing. i desperately needed to write something kinda lighthearted because my current WIP is really bumming me out lmao. anyway, effie-typical characterisation ahead so don't read if you don't like me portraying bruce as kind of an asshole <3

When Dick slammed his phone down, screen-first, onto the dining table, Bruce figured he'd finally had enough.

All of his children weren't behaving normally. Being shifty, being one with the shadows, that was a core part of being a Bat but this? Hiding things actively from Bruce was a step too far into territory he did not want to visit.

He sat down heavily, opposite Dick who was staring down at the table like it interested him greatly. "Phone," he growled.

"What am I? Twelve?" Dick retorted, flipping it over and unlocking it. A song started playing, a rap song Bruce was only partially familiar with and Dick didn't show Bruce immediately, staring at whatever played before sighing. "Okay. I'm gonna show you, but you have to promise to be normal about it."

"Normal?"

"Yeah." Grimacing, he added, "Just don't be...yourself, okay?"

A grumble of dissent built upon Bruce's tongue but Dick didn't let it fly. He spun the device around and Bruce got to watch one of those TikTok edits young people were obsessed with. The song he now recognised: Nasty Dog by Sir-Mix-A-Lot. Bruce figured the song choice would have offended him the most but no. He now saw exactly what Dick meant.

Because why, in the seven hells, was Hal Jordan the subject of this thirst trap?

Bruce blinked. He reached up and scrubbed his eyes before they focused again on that stupid, infuriating aviator jacket. It was--it was undoubtedly Hal's face and body there, edited by a stranger underneath a slightly cloudy filter in order to make him look as physically attractive as possible. And--

Bruce turned horrified, betrayed eyes onto Dick, his eldest and prodigal son who was currently rolling his eyes. "I told you to be normal about it."

"That's Jordan."

"Yeah."

"You are watching videos of Jordan."

"Yes."

"Why does Jordan have a TikTok account."

Dick sighed, long and hard. "He doesn't. But his teammate, Jessica Cruz has. She's been uploading videos about Hal for a couple of weeks now and they've been blowing up."

"His ident--"

"She's careful about it. No identifying questions or traits or anything like that. It's just raw and unfiltered Hal Jordan."

Staring at the edit which was still playing, Bruce blinked harder. "And people enjoy it?"

"Clearly."

"Do--" He hesitated. "Do you enjoy it?"

Glancing away, Bruce's boy muttered, "Me and others. Hal's become a hit in the hero community. And, uh, other communities."

"People are--are sexually attracted to Jordan."

Dick shoved his face into his hands and groaned. "Yes, Bruce. What about that can't you understand?" Lifting his eyes, Dick sighed harder at Bruce's expression which he was trying to maintain as total neutrality. Clearly, he was not effective. "It's not just his appearance. He's nice. He's honest. He's very out of touch with internet trends so he's funny without meaning to be. And with the Lanterns raising Keli, there's a paternal aspect people can't seem to get enough of."

"Keli?"

Sounding vaguely annoyed now, Dick said, "Yeah, Keli Quintela. Teen Lantern. Keep up Bruce."

"There's another one?"

"Ugh! Anyway, I got from Jason who talked to Kyle--"

"You talk to Jason?" Bruce asked, astonished despite himself.

Dick waved him off. "He's my little brother, of course I talk to him. Anyway, Jess is running a tight ship. She's ruthless about what they do and don't put on the internet. If the whole Green Lantern thing doesn't work out, she'd be a pretty good PR manager. Might not work for you."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "How good?"

And finally, Dick looked a little cowed. He glanced up at the clock and then the exit, as if he was planning an escape while thinking up of a sufficient lie. Bruce leaned forward and hoped the hysteria in his eyes didn't give him away too freely. "Bruce, c'mon--"

"How good?"

Looking anywhere but his father's face, Dick muttered out, "Really popular. Like, stupidly popular. Even in comparison to you."

"To me?" Bruce's voice did not crack.

Throwing his hands up into the air, Dick desperately exclaimed, "It's not my fault we're in an economic recession! Billionaires aren't really popular right now so the people are gravitating towards a ruggedly handsome everyman--"

"Ruggedly handsome?"

"--to root for! And Hal just happened to appear on TikTok at the right time. I'm pretty sure Hal barely knows what TikTok is. Kyle apparently mentioned that they're not letting him read any comments."

"I..." Bruce stood up so fast, he was dizzy for a split second. "I need to talk to Jordan."

"Great! Goodbye Father!"

When Bruce walked out of the room, Nasty Dog continued to play and did not stop for several, long minutes.

---

When Bruce got to the Tower, he was late. This was by design, of course, although when he entered the agreed upon meeting room, the darkness made him believe it was empty for a moment. Flicking the lights on, he got the shock of a lifetime.

There was Hal, slumped forward with his head resting on his arms. John sat next to him, entirely uninvited but not unwelcome. Hal groaned loudly when the LEDs blinked to life, burying his face deeper. "Turn the sun off, John," he moaned.

"They're lights, Hal."

"Even better. Turn 'em off."

"Jordan," Bruce began brusquely. "Are you hungover?"

Hal groaned pitifully. "Who the hell has time to be drunk? I was patrolling for a week straight and then I had to go straight to a PTA meeting. Fucking Micheal doesn't know how to keep his goddamn filthy hands off--"

Hal was still talking but Bruce had already thoroughly checked out, his mind still caught on that damning piece of evidence right in the middle of his rant. When he spoke next, his voice was an octave higher. "You're a member of the PTA?"

"Shut up, Bruce! You're too goddamn loud."

He fought with himself to regain his composure. Breathing out deeply, Bruce spoke again and his voice didn't waver. "I wanted to discuss with you about your online presence."

"Aw, frag, is it that TikTak shit?" Hal grumbled. Once again, Bruce found himself blinking in shock. This was the man who'd charmed the internet? "Jess's the one in charge of it so go ask her. God, I thought this was gonna be important but you dragged me up here for nothing."

"It is important," Bruce pressed. "It's a matter of security. All it would take is one slip up for our identities and lives to be compromised. What Jess is doing is putting everyone at serious ri--"

"Get to it, Bruce," Hal growled. Growled. At Bruce. "Guy's got an MRI later and I needta be awake for it."

"I just--Gardner has an MRI? What happened to him?" Bruce demanded.

Hal laughed at him. Laughed. A short bark of a chuckle that was neither soft nor actually humourous. "Don't pretend to give a shit about Guy and his extensive brain damage now, Bruce. Get. To. The. Point." He lifted his head enough for Bruce to see the deep circles underneath his eyes, the weariness that clung onto his face like a vice. Not so ruggedly handsome anymore, then.

"I think you should convince Jessica to delete the account she's made," he said succinctly. "It's far too risky and if you truly are raising a child, which I wish to talk to you about later, it is best that you keep her off the internet at all costs. There are many benefits to staying offline, in fact, and I think you would thrive in such a position, Jor--"

Hal's head slammed into the table so hard, Bruce heard an audible crack. Then, he heard a soft and firm, "No."

"No?"

"No. Jess won't delete that account if she doesn't want to. That's her decision."

"Why?" Bruce demanded. "Why would you--"

"Fuck!" Hal slipped both hands over his ears. "Volume, Bruce."

"Why," Bruce snarled, "are you opposing me on this?"

"It's makin' her happy." Hal gave an approximation of a shrug from his crumpled up position against the table. "If she's happy making content with me in it, then she's happy and I'm not gonna be an asshole and ruin that. And she's good at it too, according to your kids."

"Do you enjoy the attention, Jordan?" Bruce seethed.

"People on the internet wanna get me pregnant and they frame it like it's a threat. Keep that in mind and ask again."

"You aren't funny."

"Wasn't trying to be."

"Jordan," Bruce said, taking a step forward to tower over him. "I'm not asking you."

"'Kay."

He felt himself twitch in irritation, a full body flinch. John smiled down at Hal, idiotically fond, and rested a hand against his back. "I think we should bench this discussion for another time," he said pleasantly. "We really do have to get going. Guy might try to chicken out of the scan and we've been trying to convince him for months."

"Right." A deep breath in and out. "And about Keli Quintela--"

"No." Hal looked up again, eyes a pale, bleached green. "Nope. Nuh uh. You come at her with one of your half-baked, bullshit contingencies and I'll show you what fear is. She's eleven. She doesn't need that shit. Jess won't even let her be in the TikTaks."

"They're TikToks!" Bruce cried, a little hysterical. "Don't tell me you don't know that?"

But Hal had already dropped his head down once more and gone still. John's smile at Bruce was nothing short of victorious in his calm, quiet way.

Bruce walked out with his head high and his ego moderately bruised, the promise of vengeance settling over his heart.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: the best way to spend you Tuesdays is pissed at an old man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Time passes too quickly. The clock counts down to your fate. Again. It feels like you’ve done this already. 

You laugh even though it hurts. You try not to think of what comes next. You just stay in the moment and help Kara clean up the mess the cops made of her place. She’s in high spirits considering. A night in jail can put things in perspective. So can the prospect of life imprisonment. 

You order sushi. You figure if Andy’s paying, you’ll splurge. She doesn’t ask how you can afford it and you won’t explain. Fuck it. It’s your last hurrah. A final little spark before your flame is tamped out. 

When it’s time to say goodbye, you’re choked with tears. You fight not to show it as you hug Kara and tell her you’ll message when you’re settled in your new place. You want to cling to her forever. You sense a reluctance in her as well. 

“You okay?” She looks you over as you pick up your purse. 

“Yeah. Yeah. A lot of change. Tired.” You yawn. You really are exhausted. “I was so worried, Kar. Really. I'm so happy you’re out.” 

“Oh, tell me about it! But hey, I’m kinda a bad ass now. I got street cred.” She flexes her arms and giggles. 

You laugh too. You’re going to miss that. You will hold onto every lame joke and cherish it on those days when you can’t make yourself smile. You know with Andy, those will be far and few between. 

You leave and linger outside the door. This could be the last time your here. You won’t think that it could be the last time you see Kara. Too many ifs, and just as many scary certainties. 

You reply to Andy’s text. He’s waiting around the corner where he won’t be seen. It’s bad enough you’re lying to Kara, but her knowing the reality is worse. At least in this, he is your ally. You meet him there.  

He smiles and kisses you as you buckle your seat belt. Your disgusted by him. You say nothing. If you speak, you might just tell the truth. You lean back and close your eyes. He shifts into gear and the engine whirs softly in the night. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

He asks you that as if it should be. You turn your face to the window. 

“Tired,” your murmur. 

He steers into a lot and you look up at the bright white facade of the hotel lit by spotlights. It’s the kind of hotel you could never afford. You never stayed in one before but you expect one of those roadside motels is more your pay grade. 

It feels like another boast. Look what I’m giving you. Look what you wouldn’t have without me. Yeah, yeah. You owe him. 

He gets out and you follow. That’s how you’ll get through. Let him lead the way. He’s so much older, so much wiser, so why not? Just go along with it all. He knows what he’s doing. Exactly what he’s doing. He entrapped you. He pretended to be his own son and tricked you. 

Your angry thoughts boil over as you enter the hotel room ahead of him. He steps in close enough to brush against you. You pull away sharply and focus on untying your shoes. You drop them and stare at your hand. 

“I need the bathroom.” 

“Oh, it’s just down--” 

He points and you’re already on the move. You rush into the bathroom and lock the door. You want to scream. No, stay calm. You can’t let him get to you like that. 

You stop and lean on the counter. You look at yourself in the mirror and exhale slowly. Sleep. Don’t worry about anything else. You need rest. You can see it in your eyes. You can feel it through every part of you. You push off and go to the door. You emerge and stop short. 

One bed. Your bag is beside it already. You can tell he’s been there all day. You sit on the edge with your back to him. 

“TV has streaming. Tub has jets. Your pick.” He suggests. There’s a fragility in his throat that irks you. He’s acting like he’s afraid of you. Like you have any power in this situation. 

“I’m going to lay down.” You lower yourself to your side and curl up. 

“Shouldn’t you... you want something to change into?” 

You don’t answer. You’re empty. You don’t have anything left. You just want to lay there and never move. 

“Sweetie?” 

“Tired.” You say. 

“Right, well...” The TV flicks on and the menu clicks as he shuffles through. “I’ll put on something for white noise. I’m gonna hop in the shower. Figure I’ll do it now so we can get on the road early.” 

You grumble and shrug. You close your eyes. His presence looms before his footsteps pad away.  

He doesn’t close the door. It’s probably intentional. Does he think you’re going to go in and join him? Has he really deluded himself into thinking you want any of this? That you want him? 

The shower buzzes lightly through the wall, beneath the audio of the TV. It’s some syndicated law show your grandmother had on all the time. You roll your eyes and shift to get under the covers. You nestle in and lets your fatigue cocoon you. Even so, you’re too agitated to fall asleep. 

He emerges as you hide. You catch a glimpse past the blanket. He’s in only a towel. His thick arm is rounded with muscle and his broad chest is covered in hair. Boys your age don’t look like that. 

You shut your eyes again as you burn in shame. You’re so stupid. You remember hearing his voice and thinking it couldn’t be some scrawny kid. You knew it! You knew it and you were too shy to call it out. 

Andy gets closer to the bed. You can smell the scented soap and feel the moisture in the air. The zip and rustle of his bag stir beneath the television. The bed dips behind you and he groans. He lays down and hooks his arm around you. 

“Hey, how ya doin’?” 

“Get off,” you hiss. 

“Huh? Sweetie.” 

“I said I’m tired.” You push him away and roll off the bed. You trip as the blanket catches your ankle. You spin to face him. “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” 

“I know, honey. I just--” He sits up, leaning on his arm. He’s in only a pair of briefs. Ew. “I was checking on you.” 

“I’m trying to sleep. I don’t need you all over me.” 

You come forward and grab the pillow. He seizes your wrist and keeps you from retreating. You tug and growl between your teeth. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“Why are we going backwards? I didn’t do anything.” 

“You need--” you twist your arm in his grip. “You need to give me space, okay? Give me a chance to think. I can’t-- Andy. You knew the truth all along, I didn’t.” 

“Backwards,” he drones in an annoyed monotone. 

You drop your shoulders and huff. “Fine.” You let go of the pillow and put your knee on the bed. “Fine. I’ll come back. I’ll sleep in the bed.” 

He lets you go and you put your back to him again. He sighs and his weight shifts behind you. The tension roils over you. Let him simmer. You’re on fire in anger and shame and despair. He can handle a bit of neglect. He deserves it. 

🎮

You sleep. Not soundly. Each time you rouse, you remember where you are. Each jarring reminder adds to your struggle. You scrape together a few hours, if that. 

You crawl out of the bed as Andy’s even breaths turn stolid. You can’t bear it any longer. 

You sit in the chair and stare. You don’t bother with your phone or the TV. There’s nothing that can distract you from your life. 

When he wakes, he says good morning. You feel his gaze but you react. He asks a question but you don’t respond. You just sit and watch the wall. His shadow moves around the room, around you.  

He nudges you. You wince and surrender. You look up at him dully. 

“Hey, wanna hop in the shower before we go?” 

You shake your head. 

“Okay, well, you should probably change into some fresh clothes,” he says. He checks his watch and your eyes find the digital clock by the bed.  

You stand and grab your bag and your purse. You carry both to the door and step into your shoes, bending down the backs under your heels.  

“Sweetheart--” 

“Let’s go.” 

“You can’t go out like that--” 

“Who cares? I'll just be in a car.” You grumble. “I just want... it to be over.” 

He silently measures your words. He grabs his keys and slings his bag on his shoulder. He nears and you grab the door handle. “You’re right,” he pulls the door back as he reaches above you. “Can’t wait to be home.” 

Home. That word sinks like a boulder in water. You go out into the hallway and he points you toward the elevators. Across the lobby and outside across the lot, under the dim early morning hue. 

He puts your bag in the car for you. You let him. Then he opens the passenger door and you climb in. He gets in on the driver’s side and starts the car. He asks if he should turn the air on. You shake your head. You can’t feel much of anything. 

He doesn’t ask as he stops at a drive thru. He gets you both a coffee. You thank him only as you sense his eyes on you. You just have to do enough to keep him off your back. 

“Alright, let’s go,” he takes the paper bag of biscuits and bacon and hands it over. “In case you get hungry, sweetheart.” 

Another thank you. Your voice is gravelly and grim. You don’t sound like yourself. You don’t feel like yourself. The motion of the cars disorients you. You feel trapped in your body. It’s as much a prison as the house waiting for you at the end of this journey. 

The road sprawls ahead of you. Your vision glazes over. Your head lolls against the seat as NPR drones in your ears. 

Hours and hours. You eat only as he asks for some of the food. You know he’ll accuse you of being ungrateful if you waste the sausage and pastry. You chew and swallow without tasting. You wash it down with the bitter coffee and wipe your fingers on your shorts. 

“There’s napkins,” he rebukes. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Just saying...” he grips the wheel tight. “Why don’t you close your eyes? I know you didn’t get much sleep again.” 

“I’m fine,” you insist. He knows you didn't sleep. Is he so clueless as to not guess the reason?

“Mm,” he grumbles. 

You turn your head and gaze unseeing out the window. His sighs put you on edge. You twiddle your fingers. 

“You’re in yesterday’s clothes and you’re barely talking,” he insists. 

You cringe and put your head straight. You drop your chin and shrug. “I’m sorry, Andy.” 

“I’m trying to be patient,” he lowers the volume on the stereo as he speaks. “But I’m worried. What happened to the girl I know? The one I spent all night mining with? The one who would giggle at the creepers?” 

You nearly shriek. You flip your hands down and squeeze your legs. You bite your lip until you think it might split. 

“Things are...different,” you mutter. 

“I know but we can do it together. We can change each other. For the better. I just need you to meet me halfway.” 

“I’m trying,” you whisper. 

“I’m not saying you aren’t but trust me. I know that communication is the most important part of a relationship. We have to talk to each other.” He explains. “Look, I’ll be honest. I’m scared too. I’m nervous. It’s been a long time since I had someone and sweetheart, I just—I’d hate to let you down. I really would.” 

Relationship? Scared? It’s too much. It’s a bunch of lies he’s convinced himself of but you can’t believe them. You can’t make yourself, even if you know you should. 

He’s well off, he’s established, he’s older, he’s confident. He's offering you everything a woman wants; money, a home, a partner, yet you can’t accept any of it.

You didn’t choose this. You never even had a chance in your life to consider it. To imagine who you would want those things with. He’s snuffed that part of your future out along with your trust. You can at least thank him for ridding you of the last of your naivete. 

“Okay, Andy. Trying. Honest. I’m trying but... I don’t know what to say. How to say it.” You run your hands down your cheeks and exhale. “I’m still thinking.” 

That’s true. You have nothing to say. You’re lost. He might know where he’s taking you but you have no idea. It’s not about the house or the city or any of that. It’s about everything. What does he want you to be? Can he figure that out when you never even figured out that question for yourself? 

[justmeinadaze]

Created a Monster (Steddie X Kas Y/N)

Every time I hear this song this idea pops into my head but it's not what I'm used to writing per say. I wanted you guys to read like a preview and tell me if this is something you'd want more of or a one shot. Or whatever lol Just some feed back :) It's been sitting in my WIP forever but I can't stop thinking about it.

Warning: Steddie X Kas Fem Reader, mentions of grief and how much the boys miss her, I twisted some things from the show obviously. Instead of Eddie fighting, Y/N does. I also read up a bit on Kas so took some lore there. Not really expanded on in this preview but...

Word Count: 1956

Eddie and Steve stare at your gravestone as the preacher continues to spout some nonsense about young souls being angels on Earth and being called back home. No one understood what they were going through not even their friends they had fought with. You were their everything and now… you were gone. 

Steve and Robin sat in the cafeteria of the hospital picking at their food as they waited for Eddie to join them. For the past four months they had been visiting Max while continuing to be moral support for Lucas. Neither boy would let on how jealous they actually were of the former Hellfire member. At least he could still hold his girlfriend’s hand…see her face…kiss her cheek.

“The doctor’s said she’s showing improvement.”, Robin mused as she took a bite of bland rice in front of her. 

“That’s good. She’s a good kid who’s been through too much. She deserves to have a full life.”

His friend nods in understanding, scanning Steve over before reaching for his hand. 

“This is a stupid question but how are you doing?”

“I’m, um, I’m surviving. Eddie’s trying to keep it together for the guys but we’re both kind of floundering.”, he chuckles as he places his fork down and leans back. “I miss her laugh. Every time Munson would tell a joke, she would close her eyes and scrunch her nose… so cute.”

“Yeah, she was.”, his friend softly murmured. “She loved you two more than anything. Y/N would talk about you both nonstop to an annoying degree.”

When Robin playfully rolls her eyes, they both laugh almost uncontrollably until his gradually shift into sobs. Rising to her feet, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and in turn he does the same, his fingers digging almost painfully into her back. 

“I miss her so much.”

***

When both boys finally made it back home, Eddie silently flopped down on the couch as he grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. Since your passing, the metalhead had moved into the living room since their apartment only had one bedroom. Without you between them they saw no point in sharing anymore. Steve never said anything to contradict but he wished his friend had stayed. Even though they were never intimate in the dynamic, he would have rather shared a bed with his friend than be alone. It was just more of a reminder that you were gone. 

“Another group of men were found dead today outside of their homes, stabbed through the chest, and with nothing stolen or motive perceived from Hawkins PD. We reached out to reinstated Chief Hopper for comment but at this time none was given.”

“Something we should be worried about you think?”, Steve asked as he came up behind his friend to watch the tv.

“I mean, as long as they aren’t blaming me, I’d say no.”

“It doesn’t seem like Vecna either. No broken bones or eyes caved in—” Rising to his feet, Eddie hastily turned off the tv and reached for his jacket. “Eddie—”

“I agree. No Vecna. I’m, um, I’m going to go for a walk.”

“Is this how it’s always going to be?! Are we just going to be awkward around each other now? She wouldn’t have wanted that, Ed.”

A smooth, sarcastic laugh escaped the metalhead’s lips as he turned to face his friend. 

“Yeah? Well, I wanted her here and she’s fucking dead. We both don’t get what we want.”

“So, you’re just going to sully her memory like that?”

“Oh, fuck you, Harrington! She’s the one that ran off even though I told her not to move. She’s the one that decided to fight instead of listening to you and not being a hero. She’s the one who DIED IN MY FUCKING ARMS!” As his voice cracked, he paused to collect himself. “Y/N’s gone. She doesn’t get a say anymore.”

With that he turned on his heels and slammed the door. 

“He’s always been really hot headed hasn’t he?”, the vision of you giggles as you kick your feet against the counter. 

Steve never told anyone for fear of coming off as insane but this is how he processed you no longer being around; he pretended you weren’t gone.

“Yeah, just like you.”

“Excuse me! I was stubborn but not ‘hot headed’, jerk.”

His head hung at the word “was” as his bottom lip began to tremble. Jumping off the counter, you slide over till you were just inches from his side. Even though you weren’t really there, he swore he could smell you.

“Steve, baby, look at me. He’ll be ok… you both will.”

Shaking his head, he wiped the tears that had begun to fall but when he moved his hands away the image of you disappeared. 

“I love you, honey. I miss you so much.”

############

Eddie pulled his hood over his head as he powerwalked in what he thought was no particular direction. Even after being exonerated people still scowled and hurled insults his way. The ones that hurt him the most were the ones about you. 

Because they couldn’t bring your body back, it was assumed you had died with everyone else. Your family still held on to hope but in the worst way. You parents used to love him and Steve, treating them both like family but after Chrissy’s death everything shifted. They told you to stay away from him and in turn you told them to fuck off. 

Anytime they saw Eddie, they begged him to tell them where you were or where your body was so they could properly grieve. He ignored them as best he could but it killed him because he knew the truth. That’s something he and Nancy could connect on. Every time she told him about her experiences with Barb it comforted him to an extent. He hoped one day he could give them peace like her friend’s parents got. 

Stumbling over his feet, the metalhead finally took note of his surroundings realizing he had walked to Hawkins Cemetery. Sighing heavily, he gave in and let his feet continue to lead him till he was in front of your plot. 

“Y/N Y/L/N. 1986. Loving Friend, Daughter, and Girlfriend.” 

“Fucking basic shit. You were way more than that.”, he grumbled as he took a seat facing your stone. 

“I’m angry with you; so fucking angry. I told you to go up the rope but you insisted I go so I could catch you like Steve had. I should have known better. How could you do that? How could you leave us like that?!”

“I didn’t do it by choice.”, the vision of you replied in a sad but calm tone as you sat on top of your own stone. Eddie’s jaw tightened as he looked in the opposite direction. “Still ignoring me?”

“You’re not real.”

“True…but it helps Steve. At least that’s what you hope after hearing him talk out loud to me the other night. He really hates being alone, you know? He wants to talk to you but—”

“I can’t talk about you with people. Not yet.”

“Ok, then don’t talk about me. Maybe talk about D&D or Steve’s day. Anything else. Eddie, just because I’m gone doesn’t mean you two stop being friends.”

“Don’t preach to me, babe. I don’t want to hear it.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Nothing. That’s all I ever fucking hear now. I don’t hear your stories about work or your family. I don’t hear you laughing at my jokes or your sarcasm when you’re making fun of Steve for his lack of movie knowledge. I don’t hear your fucking breath in the middle of the night when you’re sleeping or see you bite your lip when you’re thinking about something complicated. I don’t feel your fingers in my hair when I’m lying on the floor listening to music or your lips against mine. Why, Y/N? Because you’re fucking DEAD!”

The vision of you watched with sympathetic eyes as his shoulders shook and he sobbed in his hands. After a few minutes, he wiped his nose on his sleeve, finding you sitting cross legged in front of him with your knees inches from his own. 

“I don’t know how to live without you, sweetheart.”

“Eddie… I never loved anyone on this planet as much as I loved you and Steve. If it meant keeping you both safe…I would die again.”

“It was our job to protect you.”

“And you did such an amazing job.”

Shaking his head, he glanced towards a tree in the distance before turning your way to find you gone. 

“I love you, baby.”

################

Steve’s eyes snap open at the sound of glass breaking before quickly grabbing his bat and slowly stalking to the kitchen. 

“Jesus Christ!”

“I just go by Eddie but…” They both exasperatedly laughed as the other boy lowered his weapon. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I just left the cemetery and I didn’t realize it was so fucking late.”

“Did, um, were you going to see her?”

He could have responded sarcastically but your words lingered in his mind. 

“Yeah… I just needed to hash some things out with her.”

“I know how you feel. Sometimes I get really angry at her to but then I get confused because I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Yeah.”, Eddie laughs as well. “Fuck, this sucks.”

As his friend nodded, a shadow on the wall caught the former jocks attention. It looked like a figure but that can’t be right because they were on the fourth floor of their complex. Just as he began to glance to find out what it was, their window shattered causing both men to fall to the ground and cover their heads. 

Steve recovered first, swiftly grabbing his bat and blocking the weapon that begun to swing down towards the metalhead. To his surprise it did stop it but as soon as he pushed the figure back, the bat cut cleanly in half. It took him a few seconds to realize the stranger in front of him was wielding a sword causing him to duck out of the way as the person continued swinging it at him. 

While trying to find something to defend himself with, he heard Eddie call his name and turned just in time to see him slide another sword his way. 

“Isn’t this fake?!”

“Please! We’re nerds! Do you think Y/N and I would buy anything fake!?”

Just as Steve unsheathed the weapon, it clinked loudly against the strangers. Both beings went toe to toe with the pretty boy surprising even himself. He got too cocky, however, lowering his guard just enough for the figure to punch his chest knocking the wind out of him as he fell to the floor. 

The armor the figure was wearing loudly tapped against each other as they stepped forwards and pointed their weapon at Steve’s throat. With wide eyes, he watched as the person took off their helmet and casually tossed it to the ground as their hair fell around their face.

“Y/N?”

The boy whined as you tilted the sharp weapon up towards his chin causing him to stretch his face out of the way. 

“My master sends his regards.”, you hiss as you step back and raise your sword. 

Before you can do anything, something hard collides with your head and you faint to the ground.

“Ok, I’m not dreaming right? Or hallucinating?”, Eddie asked as he reached for Steve’s hand to help him off the ground. 

“No, dude. At least I don’t think so…”

[letteredlettered]

Hello!! Firstly, I'd just like to say I've recently discovered your drarry work, and I have been reading your entire catalogue of it for the last week. Pulled all nighters can't stop reading it, reading it. I devoured The Boy Who Lived Twice in one sitting and I couldn't believe how well crafted it was. Blew my mind.

Now, all of this is to say, your prose has this elegant straightforwardness that is so succinct, so clear and so evocative. Your dialogue is absolute *perfection*. What are your influences? Books or authors you feel made an impression on you? I'd love to know what you read, because god I love what you write.

Thank you! I'm so glad you like my fics.

Jane Austen is a huge influence. Whenever my prose feels indistinct and overburdened, I return to her. She says things extremely sharply and cleanly.

Sarah Rees Brennan was a huge influence on me in terms of POV. I tend to write a very tight third person, so tight that the reader can generally see things the viewpoint character cannot. Check out the first book of The Demon's Lexicon series for one of the best examples of this I've read.

I spent a lot of time with Robin McKinley as a kid. I don't think that our styles match very well; she can do an ethereal, fairytale tone that I've kind of given up on. But what I loved best about her was that she could do that tone but then write something incredibly down to earth. I would check out Beauty or Deerskin for my favorite examples of this.

I actually also came into the style I write now writing for Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) fandom. While most of the stories I wrote in that fandom didn't have very sharp dialogue, I remember writing a story (a WIP still languishing on livejournal, sadly) where I realized I had "found" my voice and style. It was extremely dialogue-heavy. BtVS was famous at the time for its extremely fast-paced, idiosyncratic, snappy dialogue. The dialogue is now considered dated, and the creator is a douche, but imo it's still great writing, especially the early shows. I still go back to it sometimes to figure out a conversation with multiple people, or to work on my humor.

As for authors that have made an impression on me, I'd check out George Eliot. My favorite book is Daniel Deronda. It has wonderful dialogue, especially for an older book. Dickens, Dostoevsky, and Hugo all made pretty big impressions on me as well; I think these big, hefty books with really big ideas really influenced my language, even though I would by no means call my style 19th c.

I'd also check out Rainbow Rowell. I wouldn't say she influenced the style I write with now, because I had it before I read anything by her, but she's one of the few contemporary authors I read and think, "Yeah, I'd write it like that." I think anything by her is a great read that can give you a lot to think about in terms of style.

In my mind, Sally Rooney is a little like Rowell in terms of a cleans style that packs a sharp analysis. I'd call Rowell more comfortable, funny, and genuine, while Rooney is a bit aloof and literary. I actually don't like the stories in her books very much, but I found Conversations with Friends particularly refreshing in terms of writing style.

C.S. Pacat's Captive Prince series also left an impression on me. It has a clean, simple style, with a narrator who doesn't see everything the reader does. And I also did learn a lot from the use of the word "said," in those books--it was something I already knew! and yet.

I think some fanfic that made a big impression on me is The Paradox Series, by wordstrings (Sherlock/John, Sherlock BBC), Spice, by eimeo (Kirk/Spock, Star Trek TOS), Children, Wake Up by hollycomb (Kylo Ren/Hux, Star Wars: The Force Awakens) and Tarnished Gold, by prim_the_amazing (Shen Yuan/Luo Binghe, Scum Villain's Self-Saving System). The styles in these fics vary, but each bowled me over at different points with how beautifully something was articulated or how spectacularly a scene was crafted. I think about Spice all the time in particular.

I'd also say that if you're thinking about dialogue in particular, I also love both Oscar Wilde's and Tom Stoppard's plays.

If you are a writer, I did write a series on writing dialogue. Check out the tag "lettered writes dialogue". The first post is here.

[aimedis]

WORST KIND OF FLIRT (A TEASE) | WIP WEDNESDAY !!

vincent x lovely actors!au | happy new year everybody! i hope 2025 treats you all well. as my gift to you i shall present you with none other than the unedited version of chapter one of this idea that i talked about ages ago. i've had this chapter written for like about a month and a half but don't get your hopes up for the remaining chapters 😭 i'm gonna try but i honestly can't write for shit and i have no motivation. but if you guys like it, i'll try harder ig lmao

cw - actor au obvi, directors!angel and david, love at first sight but it's literally just lovely and vincent flirting immediately (they don't actually fall in love until later), lovely being a bit insecure, mainly lovely's pov (it switches to angel and david for a second), korean!vincent and lovely, mentions of vincent being adopted by william at ten years old for unspecified reasons, we're ignoring the drama going on between them rn okay, darlin shows up for half a second and sam for even less, says 'laughs' way too much, i know nothing about acting and auditions and whatnot okay 😭

wc - 3.6k

hope you enjoy!

“You’re going to be a star.”

Lovely’s been told that close to a billion times in their life. It used to make them really happy when they were a kid. They’d grin up at their mom when she would tell them about all the awesome movies and TV shows they would act in once they were older. They’d practice in front of a mirror for hours at a time, reciting the few lines they were expected to memorise as a little eight-year-old. Even at that age, they wanted more. More lines, more chances to prove themselves worthy of the big screen, more of the spotlight. They only wanted to shine as bright as possible, to make their family proud.

“You’re a star.”

It feels egotistical to them, to say that they’re a star. But it would be completely ignorant of them to pretend they hadn’t made it far. Getting recognized every time they stepped foot outside, having people stand in line for autographs, people using their name and face for school projects, and not to mention, getting thousands of dollars just to say the name of a brand. As much as it warmed their heart, it got to be quite disorienting at times. To think that they went from being a complete nobody outside of their school plays and small commercials to being so… well known.

It was also really privacy-invading. Paparazzi was going to be the death of them.

But that’s the price I pay, Lovely muses to themselves as they try their best to breeze past the flashing lights and cameras being shoved in their face while they try to walk into the studio.

“..they could be a little less obnoxious about it though. Can’t believe this shit’s legal.”

Lovely looks up and squints to regain steady vision from nearly being blinded. Belatedly, they snort when they see Darlin glaring at the door they had just walked through.

“Yeah,” They say breathlessly, slipping their jacket off.

Darlin pats them on the head, “You need anything before they call you in? They said in about half an hour.”

Lovely leans into their hand, “‘M okay. I’ll just play games on my phone. Did Sam go in already for Daniel?”

The (slightly) taller of the two nods and gently leads Lovely over to a few seats in a slightly secluded area, “He should be done a little while though. I already went so do you want us to wait with you before you go in? We can take you home.”

Lovely was tempted to say no, say that they don’t need to look after them. They wanted to say that they weren’t a baby (even though they were significantly younger than both Darlin and Sam) who needed to be coddled.

But when Darlin guides them to sit down, fixing their hair, they only exhale softly. As long as they don’t need to call an Uber.

“Yes please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Darlin grins, “Never for you, spark.”

Lovely huffs and pouts up at them, “Don’t call me that, weirdo.”

They only laugh and sit next to Lovely, sliding their phone out of their back pocket.

They rest their head on Darlin’s shoulder, going to scroll on their own phone to kill time.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely inhales sharply when their name is called out along with someone else. They clear their throat, and stand up, “Wish me luck, I guess.”

It shouldn’t still make them so nervous to do auditions after doing so many of them in their life. And it usually doesn’t. However, not only was this film one of the bigger ones they were called in to audition for, their agent said this one was right up their alley. And after they read the summary and script, they agreed. This one was perfect for them. The character Kaia was perfect for them. They wanted this role more than they’ve wanted any role in their life.

The male lead Lucas also happened to be their ideal type but that was neither here nor there.

“Good luck,” Sam flashes them a smile, “This is easy work for you.”

Darlin nods, “Don’t stress, you’ve got this in the bag.”

But what if someone better comes around?

Lovely leaves that unsaid, now was not the time to be insecure. They needed to have confidence.

But really they couldn’t help themselves, they read a couple hate comments too. Of course, they tried to tell themselves that the positive outweighs the negative and that the good comments were always so much more detailed and substantial than just “they’re not pretty”.

They take a deep breath and nod once, hardly noticing the other actor who stood up at the same time, walking back into the audition room. They smile back at Sam and Darlin before turning around.

They’re a star.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely walks slowly into the backroom where the auditions were being held, seeing only one other person standing around the door. They were so stuck in their own head about the person they would be acting with that they failed to notice the person they would be acting with.

They’re going over their lines in their head as they step into the hallway, reminding themselves to breathe when a voice knocks them out of their train of thought.

“So, you’re my Kaia.”

Lovely’s face prematurely scrunches in disgust before they even turn to look at whoever this guy was, not registering his tone and utterly annoyed they had to act with one of those guys. Again. They’ve worked with people like him before, revolting middle-aged men who only looked younger and thought it was okay to touch and sleazily flirt with their young co-star because they played love interests. Every other film they’ve acted in since they were 18. They were sick and tired and really wanted to enjoy this one so they turned to face this supposed middle-aged man so they could tell him off and set some boundaries.

However, they were met with the most handsome face they’ve ever seen in their life. He was smiling, not smirking, at them, his eyes shimmered even in the bright fluorescent lights, and his face looked sculpted by the gods. Lovely couldn’t help but let their eyes trail further down, scanning his body that they could somehow tell was just perfect underneath his hoodie and baggy jeans.

He laughs and—holy shit, Lovely thinks they’ve died and gone to heaven, he was so beautiful. Lovely snaps out of their little trance and meets his eyes properly, his beautiful brown eyes, when it clicks.

Oh my god, this is Vincent Solaire.

They also hadn’t known him personally, they acted in very different genres. They hadn’t even been a fan, per say. But he was just as well-known as they were. William Solaire, his father and agent, was a director they had worked under and that was one of their favourites.

Lovely inhales when Vincent brushes his hair out of his face.

“I would say you match Kaia’s description perfectly but.. I think you’re better.”

“Oh yeah?” Lovely laughs breathily, “Do you flatter all of your co-stars like this, or am I special?”

Vincent looks them up and down slightly and Lovely swears he looks at their lips, “You’re definitely.. special, Lovely was it?”

They nod, “Vincent?”

“In the flesh,” He grins.

Lovely smiles back, not having it in them to feel ashamed at the blush spreading across their face, only because he was blushing too.

“You don’t usually act in rom-coms,” Lovely hums, leaning back against the wall, “Why this one?”

Vincent’s grin widens, “You keep tabs on what I act in?”

Lovely shrugs, “I mean you’re not a nobody, I’ve seen you around. And where you are, Sam is. Gotta support my best friend’s man, you know?”

Vincent breathes a laugh, “Ah, that’s right. You’re Darlin’s twin flame.”

“In the flesh,” They repeat with a matching smile.

Vincent scoffs playfully, “Copy cat.”

Lovely snorts.

“Well,” Vincent continues, “I just wanted to try something new, you know? You can only act in thrillers and shit like that for so long before you need to switch it up to something more lighthearted.” He says, still smiling.

Lovely senses that wasn’t the whole truth but they nod, “I see. I’ve only acted in a handful of horror movies but I get it. They’re a little draining.”

“Oh yeah, you were in Locked Down.” He recalls, “I love that movie, you were phenomenal in it. Your acting was so realistic.”

Lovely smiles slightly, they always got a little sheepish whenever they got praised for their acting or any skill at all. You’d think they’d be used to it by now.

“Yeah well,” They clear their throat, “Screaming so much made my head hurt for days so I would hope it was good.”

Vincent laughs a bit hesitantly, “I’d say it paid off.”

Lovely laughs as well, going to say something else but the door in front of them swings open a little. They glance over only to freeze at the familiar face of Angel Shaw themselves standing in front of them.

Not familiar on a personal level, of course not. Lovely had never met them personally, but they and their husband were some of the most famous actors turned directors in North America. Lovely grew up watching Angel on TV and they were part of the reason Lovely even wanted to act in the first place. But even as they rose in popularity, Lovely always admired Angel and David and any film they directed. It was another recent dream of theirs to act under them, and this was their chance.

Angel looks at the two actors standing around the door and they smile, stepping out to show their full body, “Good morning, you two! Good to see you again, Vincent. We’ll be right with you both in a moment.” They turn to look at Lovely specifically, “Hi, there. I know we talked over the phone once and I’ve spoken with your agent but it’s nice to see you in person.”

You wouldn’t believe how happy I am right now, Lovely cried internally, trying to hide the star struck look on their face.

They clear their throat, “I-It’s nice to see you too. I’m a really big fan of your and David’s work.”

Angel laughs softly, “Why, thank you! That means a lot. We also enjoy watching you act, it’s truly beautiful.”

Lovely nearly died on the spot and they prayed to whatever god was listening that it didn’t show on their face. They barely squeak out a ‘thank you’ before Angel settles back into their professionalism.

They look at their clipboard, “So, you’ve both been called in to play the main characters and love interests Kaia and Lucas obviously. This “audition” is mainly just to see how well you two act together. Your chemistry, if you will. You’ll have like five-ish minutes to talk with each other and introduce yourselves and then we’ll start, okay?”

They both nod and Angel looks back up.

“Okay!” They smile and peer back into the room, “David? Are we good to go?”

“Yeah, send ‘em in.”

Angel nods towards the inside of the room, “Come on in then.”

Lovely dazedly steps into the room.

The room was bigger than it looked from the outside. There was a long table with six seats, four of which were occupied, the one to the right of David Shaw was empty, Lovely assumes that’s Angel's seat.

Angel points to the small table, “You guys can sit over there and get to know each other a little better and we’ll call you over, alright?”

Lovely and Vincent both nod and step in sync over to the corner. They both sit down and smile at each other.

“So Vincent, where are you from?” Lovely asks.

Vincent grins, “Well, I think it’s common knowledge that I was adopted by William when I was 10. But my birth parents were Korean and so were most of my foster parents until William adopted me.”

Lovely’s eyes light up, “Oh same!” They pause with a small laugh, “Not that- not that I was adopted but my parents are both Korean immigrants.”

Vincent laughs as well, “Really? Do you speak Korean then?”

Lovely’s nose scrunches, “I’m like- fairly fluent. I’m not as well-spoken as I am in English. My dad dogs on me for it all the time. You?”

“God, I have the speaking ability of a fourth grader.” Vincent scoffs, “Obviously, since I was adopted at 10 by a non-Korean man, my Korean just stopped ageing with me once I stopped putting in effort.”

They nod with a smile, “I get it. Have you tried learning more now that you’re an adult?”

“Not really? I think I tried a couple times when I turned 21 but I got impatient. But hey, maybe you could teach me,” Vincent tilts his head to the side, smiling at them.

Lovely stops breathing as they glance down at his lips.

“Yeah… I could.”

They blink when Vincent laughs, focusing back on his eyes.

“Mesmerized, Lovely?” He hums, beaming from ear to ear.

Lovely scoffs playfully, “You wish, pretty boy.”

“Think I’m pretty, huh?”

“Yeah well,” They smile a little more shyly, “I’m not blind.”

They delight in seeing the slight pink tint that spreads across Vincent’s cheeks.

He grins slightly, returning the small glance down at Lovely’s lips, “Yeah? I think you’re pretty too. Gorgeous, even.”

Lovely breathes a short flustered laugh, “Jeez, is this a part of the script? This is a lot of flattery for getting to know my co-star for an audition.”

Vincent laughs a little louder, “I’m only getting into character, of course. My Kaia.” He reaches over to gently hold Lovely’s hand laying on the table.

And Lovely feels their entire stomach light up brighter than a Fourth of July night. They swallow, forcing themselves to keep their breathing stable. They sigh shakily, “Yeah…”

Neither of them realize how long they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes until David’s voice calls from the other side of the room.

“We’re ready to get started, you two. Are you ready?”

Neither of them flinch. Not at all.

Vincent looks away first and gently drops Lovely’s hand, nodding at the directors. The two stand and walk over to stand in front of the table.

“Alright,” Angel looks up from the papers in front of them and smiles, “You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Vincent and Lovely both nod at the directors and then at each other, settling themselves into their roles. By the light waltz music starts playing softly in the background, they are both fully immersed into another world.

Vincent smiles completely poised in a way that is unlike earlier, holding his hand out towards Lovely, “Kaia. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.”

Lovely grins back at him hesitantly, taking his hand, “That so? Lucas, is it?”

He hums as he pulls them into a slow dance of swaying back and forth, holding onto their waist loosely with his free hand, “That’s me. Prince of the House of Solaire.”

Lovely rests their right hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “Not the typical name for a royal, hm? I saw a picture of you and assumed James or Alexander.”

Vincent laughs.

✩★✩★✩

David leans over to whisper in Angel’s ear as the other casting directors spoke to the two, “They’re really good at this. I could hardly tell they were reading off a script.”

Angel snorts, tapping their pen against their paper, “Uh huh.”

He furrows his brows, “What, you don’t think they’re good?”

“No, no, not that. They’re wonderful,” Angel shakes their head with a laugh, “They’re just uhh- it feels like a little more than acting, no?”

David shrugs with a small smile, “I don’t know, Angel, maybe they’re just good at their job.”

“Right.” They roll their eyes, “And they were eye-fucking over there without the script for fun.”

“You shouldn’t speak about your actors like that, Angel.” David breathes a laugh, “And you know how insane actors are these days when it comes to getting into character. Remember Milo and the FBI Agent Incident?”

Angel stifles a louder laugh, “Oh god. They weren’t even using real guns for the shoot, he didn’t need to go to a shooting range everyday for a month.”

David bites his tongue with a grin, turning back to the two once Babe had finished speaking. He writes something down on his sheet of paper, “That was great guys, thank you so much. That’ll be it. We’ll get back to you in the next week.”

Angel bids the two goodbye and rests their head on David’s shoulder once they’re out of the room, looking down at his papers and snorting, “Didn’t need any time to think about it, huh?

David shakes his head, “God, no. They’ve had the job since they walked in here.”

✩★✩★✩

Vincent holds the door open for Lovely as they leave, to which they snort.

“Thanks, prince charming.” They pat his shoulder playfully.

He laughs and closes it behind him. Lovely jerks their head to the side to indicate Vincent follow them back to the main part of the building with a confidence they did not feel.

Vincent sticks his hands in his pockets, “Not to sound too proud, but I think we nailed that.”

“Obviously,” Lovely nods with a smile,”You could have looked at my lips a little less though.”

His eyes scrunch up into those little half-moons again to emphasize his amusement, “Well, who could blame me? They’re very nice to look at.”

Lovely raises an eyebrow, stopping once they reach the end-of-hallway door, “Only to look at?”

Vincent, once again, glances down at their lips as they spin around to face him whilst leaning against the door. He breathes a barely there ghost of a laugh, “Maybe more. Who knows?”

Lovely can’t contain the wide smile that overtakes their features, squeezing a fist behind their back to attempt to contain their excitement. Vincent looks back up at their eyes after a moment, shifting back into focus.

His head tilts slightly and he smiles sincerely, “You have beautiful eyes, Lovely.”

How they didn’t collapse right then and there, they’ll never know. Feeling crimson creeping onto their cheeks, Lovely laughs lightly and scratches their nose.

They had never been able to take praise of any kind without feeling like their entire body was on fire. They always laughed the compliment off or redirected it out of pure embarrassment. Recently, that is. Being in the spotlight so often since the age of 17 had indirectly forced them to be better at accepting the praise. Being ‘The Star of the Big Screen’ meant being continuously lauded all over the internet and often to their face during interviews or fan-meetings. They had spent so many hours in their bedroom, in cars, or in hotel rooms practicing their “poker face” and willing themself to never show a single person outside of their close circle how much a little praise flustered them.

The way Vincent spoke to them undid all of that. The tone of his voice, his gaze, his fucking confidence. If their body was on fire when it came to anyone else, he made them feel like they had just been thrown into a volcano.

And they could only thank whoever was listening that their days of tripping over their feet, choking, or sometimes straight up running away were over. The only thing that would be more humiliating than being complimented by the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen would be fumbling themself in front of him.

Shaking off their inner-monologue, they grin at him again, “Thank you. All the compliments today, are you sure this is still ‘getting into character’?”

“Of course, I have to really step into Lucas’ shoes.”

“Uh huh,” Lovely shakes their head with a laugh, “Sure.”

“Really! In fact, I’ll do the most Lucas thing ever and ask for your number!” He grins again, reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

They stare at him with barely concealed mirth, “The most Lucas thing ever? Really?”

“Nah,” He snorts, unlocking his phone, “It’s a Vincent thing for sure.”

Lovely doesn’t think their heart is supposed to skip that many beats but they chuckle and accept the phone offered to them, typing in their number quickly.

“Thank you kindly,” Vincent says, taking his phone back. Lovely hums and leans off the door, swinging it open and stepping in time with Vincent back to the entrance.

They both wave to Sam and Darlin’ still sitting there in the corner. Sam stops talking when he sees the two of them, waving back and the two stand up.

“Hey.” Darlin says, stretching their arms, “How’d it go?”

Lovely and Vincent exchange a short look.

“Good,” They both say at the same time, sharing a smile.

Sam raises an intrigued eyebrow but he smiles back, “That’s good. Do you know when you’ll get the call back?”

“Ah, David said within the next week,” Vincent says.

The two in front of them nod and Sam glances to the door.

“Is William picking you up, Vincent?”

Vincent nods and takes a look at his phone, “And he’s already here.” He looks up with a little smile that was mostly directed at Lovely, “Bye, guys. See you later.”

Lovely waves back at him, letting their gaze linger a little longer than normal until Darlin’ clears their throat.

And whatever confidence Lovely had vanished the second they were alone with Darlin’ and Sam.

────────

so uh, i meant to post this before 12am where i am buttttttt.... it's surely still january 1st somewhere 😄

[the-inkwell-variable]

author ask tag

thank you so much for the tag, @the-golden-comet! ooh this is gonna be fun!

i'm going to focus on my current wip, Why Should I Be Careful? I'm Going To Die Anyway! because it's still very much in the planning stages (despite how much I'm writing for it) and I have Thoughts

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

I'll be honest, I haven't really thought that far ahead. I suppose, if there is a lesson to take from WSIBC?IGTDA!, it might be that you should always chase your goals and desires, and screw what other people think. Maybe put a little more thought and planning into yours than Aura does hers, though. I mean, she almost dies due to her recklessness. Don't be like Aura.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

Well, it's a zombie book - I love zombies, in case you can't tell - so the world is an amalgamation of zombie stuff I love. The zombies are based off of the Train to Busan zombies. This is a self-insert mess, so I'm using the town and people I know in the town as location and characters. Little tropes here and there that I love in movies and books alike. It's just a big chimera of stuff that I grab from stuff I remember and shove into it. It definitely needs polish when it's done, but I'm having a blast so far, so I'm'a keep doing it :3

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

Uhhhhhh this is a tough question. Right now, Aura is trying to make it to Roger's Grocery Mart to save her girlfriend, but most of the time, she's just trying to have a good time in the zombie apocalypse and hopefully not die. She does eventually grow into a character that (mostly) thinks things through and takes other people's situations into account, so I suppose the lesson is "the world doesn't revolve around you - be kind and helpful to others"?

As for what I'm trying to achieve... mostly, to be honest, I just want people to pick up my book and have a good time reading it. I want to write a zombie book because it's my passion and because there aren't enough zombie books out there. I guess I'm trying to inspire others? To show them that you can survive an impossible situation if you work hard and think things through?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

The only time I've written a full-length book (sorry, the only two times, forgot about Zero: ALPHA), it had about twenty-odd chapters. Z:A had...uh...thirty? That was a long time ago and I sadly no longer have that draft. This one is going to go until it's done. Hopefully more than thirty though!

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original content! I have no idea where I'm going to post it. I'm torn between Draft2Digital (originally Smashwords) or Substack. Thing is, I'm really bad at marketing and keywords and all that technical stuff that goes into publicizing, so I'm really hesitant to share it at all. I'm the type of person that gets absolutely morally devastated if my own self-inflicted goals aren't met, and I'm not sure if I can handle that kind of crushing heartbreak with this one lol

So yeah. Might publish, might not. Unsure right now.

When did you start writing?

My dad set up a Windows 95 computer for me in his office, his old one, and taught me the basics of using it. I was five, about to turn six. I immediately sat down and wrote a story about unicorns. I've been writing ever since.

I didn't start writing fanfiction until I was thirteen and had just binge-watched Lord of the Rings for the first time. We don't talk about those works. They were awful.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

Write it. Oh it's cringe? Who cares? Write it. Oh, it's a rare pair? Write it. You're worried people will hate it? Fuck the haters. Write it. Writing is about having fun. Writing is about pouring your soul onto the page. Writing is about getting those ideas out of your head so they don't drive you insane. It's about reaching that one person that finds your work and loves it. Even if no one reads it - you still accomplished something. You still wrote it. And no one can take that from you.

I have so many writers in my follow list. Uhh. I have no idea how many are still active, so I'm just going to tag who I know and hope for the best lol

@idyllicocean, @keeping-writing-frosty, @bloodtiesnovel, @asher-writes, @kitswrite, @theink-stainedfolk, @karkkidoeswriting, @lavender-gloom, @orphanheirs, @aquixoticwrites, @alinacapellabooks, @marlowethelibrarian, @flock-from-the-void, @dyrewrites, @storycraftcafe, @writer-imagination, @toragay-writing, @inseasofgreen, @stephtuckerauthor, @thatndginger, @finickyfelix, @eternalwritingstudent, @drchenquill, @paeliae-occasionally, @the-golden-comet, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @watermeezer, @goldfinchwrites, @winterandwords, @badscientist, @clairelsonao3, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @leahpardo-pa-potato, @mjparkerwriting, @rowanwriting, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @emelkae, @rita-rae-siller, @rebelxwriter, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @stesierra, @francineiswriting, @sunset-a-story, @chauceryfairytales, @hollyannewrites, @jaydenswaywrites, @captain-kraken, @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @romy-thewriter, @pure-solomon, @writingmaidenwarrior, @koiwrites

go, go follow them. they're all so good and make my timeline glow.

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 7

Hello! It's Tuesday and that means more Steve and Eddie. And it's looking like the story will end in chapter 12. It might take one more than that, but it's definitely almost done.

So what will that mean? Well, I'll start working on working on another story to bring it back up to two, but will still only work on the others on WIP Wednesday because I'm trying to get down the amount of WIPs I have running. I have far too many.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Day two of the Fair. Will sees Steve and Steve reveals a little trick. And Steve has to be stern mom again.

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

****

Steve picked up his usual set and went to the Renaissance Fair. This time they were the first to arrive and they stood there waiting for the rest of them to show up.

He had left the spirit gum with Mrs Sinclair and she was able to do an even better job then he had yesterday putting the ears back on.

The bow and quiver had been left behind today because sadly the poor bow had been a mangled, tangled mess by the time they left the fair yesterday.

Max and Robin’s cutlasses had fared better because they never left their sides, but even slung over Lucas’s shoulder, the poor aluminum just couldn’t bare the brunt of the crowds. And today was going to be even busier.

Steve looked at his watch and then back at the growing crowd waiting in line.

He tapped his foot nervously when he saw the familiar van pull into the lot. And the merry band of fellows hopped out, wearing the outfits they had yesterday. The ones that made Steve green with envy on how well they were put together.

It was like they had just walked off the set of a Hollywood movie.

He was good with a needle and thread, but whoever made their costumes should be making money off it, they were that talented.

Jeff came around to the other side of the van where Steve could see him and his ears looked great too.

“Looking good, Lawrence,” Steve whistled. “The ears are vastly improved.”

Jeff bowed dramatically. “Why thank you, my liege! I had my sister help me pick out the right color and type I needed and then I did it myself.”

Gareth snorted. “After practicing all night.”

Brian elbowed their youngest member. “It’s just like trying to get a beat right, you have to practice. Don’t give him shit for that.”

Gareth grumbled, but muttered a half-hearted apology to Jeff. The older teen just grinned at his friend.

Which after how crazy yesterday was, Steve wasn’t looking forward to a repeat if Jeff took offense to Gareth’s comment.

Eddie had been unusually quiet during this conversation, so while they milled around waiting for the remaining third of their group, Steve came up to him.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, leaning down and forward to get a better look at the metalhead.

Eddie pursed his lips, but he nodded.

“You know, I have been dying to ask...”

Eddie smiled softly. “Who’s my tailor?”

Steve cackled. “Yeah, that. God, I would gleefully sacrifice one of the teenagers for the material alone, let alone the thread.”

“Which one?” Eddie asked, coming a little bit more out of his shell.

Steve reared back his head. “What?”

“Which one of the teenagers you would sacrifice?” Eddie asked again.

“Dustin,” Steve said without hesitation. “I figure virgin,” he counted on his fingers, “check, most annoying, check, and the one who would be the biggest... ‘value’ as it were, double check.”

Eddie laughed outright. “You don’t have to sacrifice any of them. Brian’s sister works at a big theater, the kind that do plays, as their costumer.”

Steve sighed and rubbed a bit of the black velvet between his thumb and forefinger. “You guys are so lucky.”

Eddie laughed again. “Trust me, even Bri had to pay for the privilege.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Oh?”

“Yup!” Eddie said, rocking back on his heels. “We had to pay for all the material and patterns ourselves, plus at least twenty-five percent of labor. These duds may be pretty, but lo they be also pricey.”

“Well, it was certainly worth it,” Steve murmured. “You guys look fantastic.”

Eddie’s cheeks colored a pretty pink. “Thanks. Um...mine is actually based on a character from a short story. Brian’s mom is Polish, but she loves sc-fi and fantasy so she gets this magazine, right?” Steve nodded. “So, anyway she’ll translate into English for Brian to read. It’s about this male witch and he has this minstrel friend named Jeskier...” he pronounced it strange, like yes-keer. “I’m probably pronouncing it wrong. But he’s so cool.”

“So you’re this minstrel guy?” Steve asked, suddenly understanding.

Eddie hummed excitedly. “Brian even went as one of the male witches. Not the main one though. But it’s still fun, you know?”

Steve smiled back. “Yeah. I never would have thought about going as a specific character before. Maybe we can plan something for next year.”

Whatever cloud leftover that was lingering over Eddie vanished in the light of Steve’s bright smile.

Eddie bumped his shoulder into Steve’s. “What’s on the docket today, pretty boy?”

Steve blushed bright red, but before he could answer, Claudia’s station wagon pulled up next to them. The four kids piled out, happily chatting and laughing. Well all but Mike.

Mike had always been a reserved kid, but as he got older, the more withdrawn he seemed to get. Will seemed to do the opposite. The kid was really coming out of his shell and into himself. And maybe that was the reason for Mike’s shrinking back.

Steve just shook his head and turned to Will. “Still no Jonathan?” he teased.

Will rolled his eyes. “He said and I quote ‘I’ll see about maybe Saturday’.”

Steve winced. He couldn’t make Jonathan come, but he could see how much Jonathan coming would mean so much to Will and it made his heart hurt just a little.

“Can’t force someone to have fun,” he said with a shrug. “It really is his loss.”

Will nodded sagely, like the mature person he was forced to become far too soon. “But! He did give me the ten dollars I needed for the staff to make up for it.”

Steve smiled. All right, maybe Steve didn’t have to stop by and give the elder Byers boy a piece of his mind.

He turned to Eddie. “Hey, you want to traverse the fields of commerce with me and Will to go get his staff?”

Eddie grinned. “Hell yeah! I didn’t get to go yesterday.”

Will grinned back. He turned to El and Mike. “You going to come with me. right?”

Mike shook his head. “El wanted to see the weavers this morning, but no one else wanted to go with her and with Steve’s dumb rule...”

“It’s not dumb,” Steve said. “Just because the Upside Down is gone, doesn’t mean there aren’t things that can hurt you.”

“We’re fifteen,” Mike protested. “I think that’s old enough to go by ourselves.”

Steve looked around at the other kids and they were all looking everywhere but at him. “May I remind you that we are literally standing on the ground where human monsters were trying to open a gate? Bad guys come in all shapes and sizes and even if you think you’re safe, is El? Or Will?”

The kids looked down at their feet and mumbled their apologies.

“I just want everyone safe and having a good time,” Steve finished. “You guys can do whatever you want, but do you know who your parents would blame if something happened to you?”

Dustin raised his head sharply. “But there are other adults here, why would they blame you?”

Steve barked out a bitter laugh. “Because I’m the fucking babysitter.” He walked off to get in line and everyone just followed behind quietly, suddenly somber.

Robin fell in step next to Steve and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Hey, dingus.”

Steve just ducked his head.

“It’s just a tricky age. You remember what it was like at their age,” she murmured.

“I was getting drunk every weekend, smoking, and having sex,” Steve grumbled. “I don’t want that for them.”

Robin kissed his cheek. “You’re sweet. But they’re going to have to figure it out on their own.”

Steve’s shoulders rounded. “I just want to them to have fun and we keep having knock out drag out fights before we go in and I–” he left out a deep sigh.

“You can’t be held responsible for what they do,” she said.

He snorted. “Tell that to Joyce or Claudia. Just because I’m the oldest.”

She hugged him tightly. “You’re not anymore and you know Eddie would do anything for those kids, too. Plus, this is exactly why you told them to find any adult. Let all of us help shoulder the load, too.”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “I’ll try. I just keep butting heads with Mike. Always Mike. And I don’t know what to do, he’s just so prickly and even outright hostile.”

“So don’t do anything,” Robin suggested.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Let Eddie handle it,” she said. “He did a fine job yesterday. So let him do it again.”

Steve pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Okay.”

She kissed his cheek again and went back to talk to Eddie. Steve paid again for the tickets. Well, not all of them. Thankfully Eddie and his friends were paying their own way.

He turned to Will. “You ready to go get your staff?” He smiled broadly to hide the hurt of Mike’s rebellion.

Will smiled back. “Hell yeah!”

Eddie came bounding up to them. “I’ll meet you at the shop, there’s something I need to do really quick about tomorrow. They’ve messed up the schedule and me and Jeff have to go see someone about it.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, just ask Jeff where the shop is, he should remember which one.”

Eddie smiled again. “You betcha, big boy.” He flounced back to Jeff and Steve watched him walk away.

When he turned back to Will, the young man was looking at him with curiosity.

“What’s up?”

Will furrowed his brows. “I’m trying to decide if you know about...” he pursed his lips trying to find a way to say what he meant without outing Steve in public. “What you feel about a certain someone?”

Steve looked back at where Eddie had melted into the crowd and then back at this all too perceptive boy. He put his arm around Will and started them walking toward the shop.

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking,” Steve started slowly, “I’ve known I like both for awhile now. It was just easier to focus on the one. The one that was socially acceptable, you know?”

Will nodded. “I can see that. And then he came barreling into our lives and a good kind of upside down happened?”

Steve smiled fondly. “Yeah. He is so sweet. He’s everything I thought I wanted in Nancy.”

Will grinned. “You do have a type.”

He scuffed Will’s hair a bit. “Yeah, yeah.”

They walked in silence for awhile before Steve spoke up again.

“I feel I should give you a heads up before we get to the shop,” he said with a wince.

Will looked over at him in confusion.

“I may have talked the merchant in to holding it for you by giving them a ten dollar deposit to hold it.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “You can do that?”

Steve laughed. “No, not really. By I can be persuasive and he was willing to do me the favor.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Will murmured. “You’ve done so much for us, I think we take you for granted sometimes.”

Steve half shrugged. “My parents suck and while some of you have actually decent parents and older siblings, I don’t mind being the babysitter the one you guys look up to and come to for advice.”

Will smiled. “Any tips on how to tell your best friend you have a crush on them?”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “Look, the one time I did that I was drugged up on truth serum and literally couldn’t lie. I don’t think that’s going to help you.”

“Too bad Robin bats for the other team,” he said with a smile.

Steve smiled back. “Nah, I think her telling me that is what made it easier for me to realize that having those feelings can’t make you a bad person. Not when she was so amazing.”

Will cocked his head to the side. “That’s fair.”

“Come on you,” Steve said, “let’s go get you this wizard staff.”

Will stopped in his tracks. “You said it right. You never say the DnD terms right.”

Steve raised a finger up to his lips and winked. “I do it because it drives Dustin up the wall and Eddie just loves explaining it to me, so I kill two birds with one stone.”

Will laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

As they wove their way through the crowd, Will smiled to himself. Steve and Eddie both liked boys, knew they liked boys, and were still unapologetically themselves. And maybe he could be too.

But first, he was going to get that wicked staff he saw yesterday because he had two brothers looking out for him. His biological one and Steve. Someone who cared so deeply that even when he should have walked away, he stayed.

And Will always could use more people that just...stayed.

****

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

For those that don't know "The Witcher" was an original short story in a Polish sci-fi/magazine in 1985. I couldn't figure out if Jeskier was in the original tale, so shush if he isn't.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot

[queenie-ofthe-void]

S2.5 AU || ~2k words || rating: teen || cws: mentions of past homophobic slurs, childhood neglect

AU where Max and her Mom move to the trailer park immediately following the events of S2. It's part of a long-term WIP, but this chapter got off course so I'm posting it as a stand-alone for now.

“Fucking, Christ,” Eddie mumbles as he drags himself from his warm bed. It’s almost four in the morning, much too early on a Saturday for someone to be bothering him. Yet the knocking’s persistent, the noise growing louder and impatient as he throws a sweatshirt on. Wayne had warned him it’d be a cold night– because yeah Wayne, it’s December– but not a goddamned ice age. The space heaters are barely cutting it. He can’t imagine anyone being out in this weather unless they didn’t have a choice.

Eddie yanks the door open to find the Mayfield girl, fist hitting him in the stomach mid-knock. It doesn’t hurt but he still makes a show of it. He’s nothing if not a patron saint of the arts. “Oof Little Red, I think you left a bruise,” he grunts as he crumples forward onto the door frame. 

“Right, sure,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes. Now that Eddie’s closer, he can see the pale tint to her skin and the red flush on her nose and cheeks. She’s layered in multiple sweatshirts with a Hawkins Middle knit cap covering her ears, grey Hawkins Tigersharks sweatpants, and a stuffed backpack slung over one shoulder. Red doesn’t really look like the school-spirit kind of kid. But she does look cold.

“Want to come in?” Eddie asks. She’s barreling past him before he can finish, plopping herself down on the living room floor in front of the space heater. He moves to take the chair next to her before reconsidering. Instead, Eddie sits on the floor too, leaning up against the couch opposite her.

“The power’s out– heat too,” Red mumbles. 

“Yeah, windows are pretty shit in the trailers. It’s why we got space heaters this year.”

“Must be nice, being able to afford space heaters,” she says with a smirk, taking her mittens off and rubbing her hands back and forth in front of the heater. Eddie’s more than familiar with the self-deprecating poor jokes, so it’s no sweat off his back. “I’m Max, by the way. Not Little Red.”

“Well when newbies move into the lot across the way and don’t introduce themselves, you’ve left me no choice but to resort to outlandish nicknames.” A ghost of a smile passes her features before it’s lost to a full-body shiver. Eddie realizes that this is their first-ever conversation, despite her living in the Park for almost four weeks now. “Mama Red and Little Red: The unfriendly neighbors across the way,” he finishes the dramatics with a wide smile.

Max scoffs out a laugh “well you haven’t been exactly friendly either.” And well, she’s got him there. He’s not exactly baking cookies as a neighborly welcome.

He decides he likes her. She seems witty, quick to defend herself, and bold enough to call out bullshit. Eddie’s always been a sucker for lost sheep and Little Red is quite literally a shivering child huddled up to his hearth with no parent in sight. Like sees like and he’s almost desperate to help her.

“You know, I know the heaters are shit in the trailers-”

“That’s an understatement,” Max interrupts with another huff.

“– but if you or your mom ever need help with anything, Wayne and I are always happy to come over to check on stuff for you,” he offers. 

He watches the offer die in the air between them. Her face shutters back to the cold neutrality he’s used to seeing her wear and she moves to stand.

“Yeah, of course,” she says. There’s no warmth or meaning behind the words. Just typical middle America niceties. “Speaking of help, can I use your phone?”

Eddie nods, leading her to the kitchen. He can’t help but replay the moment over in his head, regretting that his mistake was so painfully obvious in hindsight. Offering kids like Gareth and Jeff help meant soft smiles and adoration. For a kid like Max– a kid like him– an offer of help only reminds them they’re a burden. Help is just a way of reminding them that they can’t take care of themselves. Help means weak.

How could it have been so long that he’s forgotten? He supposes he has Wayne to thank for that newfound privilege.

“Hey it’s me,” Max says in hushed tones over the receiver. She looks at Eddie and turns her back to him. He meanders over to the other side of the counter, pretending not to listen.

“Can you come pick me up?” she asks. Eddie can’t hear the response on the other end, but Max exasperatedly sighs. 

“Yes I’m fine. No, it’s not Billy, it’s just the heater.” 

She pauses, shoulders hunched, and Eddie wonders who Billy could be. The only Billy he knows is Hargrove, and he’s never seen him around here before. Thank fuck for that.

“No she’s not home. No, jeez will you listen I just need– yeah I’ve got a bag. Ten minutes? Ok yeah I’ll– wait no. I’m not home.”

She turns to glance at Eddie, and he’s too slow to look nonchalant if her scowl means something. 

“I’m at the Munson’s. Yeah– no, it’s just Eddie. Umm,” she hesitates, scanning him up and down before responding, “no he’s good. Yeah I’ll wait here.”

She hangs the phone back on the wall, crossing her arms as she looks anywhere but Eddie’s direction. He knows he fucked up, knows where he went wrong, but doesn’t know how to fix it. He isn’t Wayne. 

“My ride will be here soon,” she says to her shoes.

“Ok yeah, no big deal,” Eddie replies. “We can wait in the living room?”

Little Red shrugs, but heads back to sit in front of the space heater. It’s silent and awkward, neither of them knowing how to move past the tension. Eddie laments himself again at losing a lost sheep. Although if she has a ride, maybe she isn’t as lost as he thought.

Ten minutes feels like an eternity, but eventually headlights flash through the front windows. Max practically tips over from the weight of her backpack with how quickly she’s scrambling toward the door. And yeah, Eddie thinks she must’ve felt the same about the wait.

“Uhh, hey, thanks,” Max says, her hand already on the door handle. “You know, for letting me use the phone.”

He can fix this. He can recover. Eddie doesn’t want to acknowledge why it’s so important that Little Red feels safe here, but he’s desperate for her to know. That he’s ok and he gets it. He gets her and she isn’t alone here, like Eddie was before Wayne. He wants to help. 

What would he have wanted to hear?

“Whelp,” he says loudly, standing up from the floor, “you’re always welcome to come over and entertain me with more scintillating conversations. Perchance, on our next meeting, we could engage in the classic game of Go Fish?” He plasters on a too-wide grin, removing an imaginary top-hat and falls forward into a deep bow. An actual offer of help disguised as his own boredom, wrapped in a thick layer of sarcasm and extravagance. He’s really pulling out all the stops here.

And it works, mostly. Her mouth ticks up at the ends, matching the little spark that’s returned to her eyes. Eddie thinks that maybe for Little Red, a smirk and an eye roll is as good as it gets. He’ll take it as a win.

“Oh my god,” she laments, yet the smirk is still there. “You sound just as dorky as the boys.”

She opens the door and Eddie stands behind her, holding it open as she makes her way out. He’s not sure why he’s surprised– knows he really, really shouldn’t be at this point– to see the maroon beemer parked in front of his trailer. But here he is, standing in front of the King himself, wearing Wayne’s black and tattered Johnny Cash sweatshirt, blue buffalo check wool pajama bottoms, and his red and green Christmas fuzzy socks. He feels too visible, the headlights shining on all of Eddie’s insecurities.

But before his hackles come out, Harrington jumps out of his car and half jogs up to the front step. He takes Max’s backpack and ruffles the pom on her knit hat before she’s bounding to the car, saying something under her breath which sounds a little like “ok mom” if Eddie’s not mistaken.

“Hey Munson,” Harrington says. He’s standing at the bottom of the front porch, looking up at Eddie through the glow of the headlights. And Eddie’s pretty sure the only plebeians who have ever seen the King look this disgruntled are his many midnight conquests. Harrington’s still got a thick, red sleep indent across his left cheek. His normally styled hair is pointing in all directions, standing completely vertical on the same side as the indent. He must’ve left in a hurry too, only clad in grey Hawkins Tigershark sweatpants– same as Red, though his fit him properly– and an oversized green crewneck sweatshirt.

And no, Eddie thinks, maybe even Harrington’s midnight conquests haven’t seen him like this. The King looks less like royalty and more like the normal boy Eddie supposes he really is, underneath the All-American highschool bully varnish he must slather himself in every morning. Or at least did, before Byers and Wheeler and Hargrove got to him. 

He realizes too late that he’s been staring, caught up in the softness of a pretty face. Harrington’s shuffling his feet, blowing on his hands as he rubs them together fiercely. There’s a strong red tinge to his cheeks, almost like a blush. Almost.

“I uhh,” Harrington stutters, looking up at Eddie. “I just wanted to say thank you, for letting her hang here until I could get here.”

“It’s no problem, man,” Eddie says, “don’t worry about it.” Eddie means to sound casual, he does. Because he’s seen Harrington around. Watched him help move boxes into Red’s trailer. Watched him pick her up and drop her off everyday of the week, including most weekends. Hell, sometimes Eddie’s even witnessed an entire gaggle of children spill from the luxury car’s back seats, the lot of them yelling while Harrington tries to herd them around like an exhausted sheep dog. 

But Harrington is still The Hair, The King of Hawkins High, even if it’s not the same as it used to be. So Eddie’s voice sounds more cold and hollow than casual. Harrington might not have ever shoved him into lockers, but he brandished sharp names like weapons against kids like Eddie. He’s a freak. A fag and a queer. A loser.

Harrington cringes, almost like he can hear Eddie’s thoughts. Eddie steps back to close the door, but Harrington calls out.

“If you ever need help with anything,” Harrington calls out, “or if Max is here and needs something, just like, ask me. Call me, you can get my number from Max.” 

Help. 

Eddie bites back his instinctual reaction to tell Harrington to fuck off. Of course some hoity-toity rich prick thinks someone like Eddie needs help. 

Hypocrite he lambashes himself, before taking a slow breath in and out.

He stiffly nods, unable to actually respond without worry of snapping. 

Harrington seems to understand, nodding in return, jogging back to the car and sending a small, awkward wave from behind the steering wheel as he and Red pull out of the drive. 

Eddie crawls back into the warmth of his bed, blankets pulled tight around him. He thinks he recovered with Red rather well, in the end. Like he hasn’t lost her faith completely, which is all he could hope for. And even though he doesn’t like Harrington, he also can’t help but wonder how different his own childhood would’ve been if he’d had someone like Steve, who would’ve picked him up at a moment’s notice at four a.m. on the coldest day of winter. 

He might not have adopted a new sheep into his growing flock, but he can sleep a little better knowing she isn’t alone. Knowing Steve Harrington, of all people, seems more than willing to go out of his way for her. Almost as desperate to help a lost kid as Eddie feels, and isn’t that a thought. The Freak and the King might have something in common after all.  

[hobipobi]

HOLDING OUT TO YOU

Sano Shinichiro x Male!reader Hello everyone! First time (not really..?) writer here... this is just a wip of a story I'll hopefully write in the future, so eat up the crumbs if you like it ahahah. It'll probably be uploaded on Ao3, but for now i don't know if I have time to continue this... Just a heads up, English is not my first language so beware of any grammatical or sentence errors! Still, I hope you'll enjoy it :) Warnings: slow burn, fluff, angst, mild violence, slightly spicy in some scenes..? "speech", 'thoughts', normal. Words: 6.498

You first met Shinichiro when you were ten years old.

One sunny afternoon, you were at the park, completely absorbed in building a sandcastle in the pit, your hands working tirelessly as you shaped towers and walls. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a ball came flying toward you, hitting you squarely on the head and sending you crashing face-first into the sand. (Rest in peace, dignity 😔)

"Oh! Sorry about that! Are you okay?" A voice called out, breaking through the haze of embarrassment.

You looked up to see a boy standing there, his hand outstretched toward you. 'Wow, he's pretty,' you thought to yourself as you took in his features. He had messy black hair that framed his face, and his eyes sparkled with a bright, almost mischievous glint. He wasn’t tall—probably just because of his age—but his presence was enough to make him stand out.

"Yeah... I'm fine," you mumbled, though you were definitely not fine. Your head was throbbing, and your nose felt funny.

Despite your bruised pride, you grabbed his hand. He helped you up with surprising gentleness, and then, without missing a beat, he offered you a handkerchief.

"The ball must’ve hit you really hard," he said, his eyes scanning your face with concern. "Your nose is bleeding."

You blinked, finally realizing the blood trickling down your nose. You’d been so distracted by him that you hadn’t even noticed.

"Oh, uh, thank you..." You fumbled for words, still a little dazed by the situation. "Wait, did you say your name? I don't think I caught it."

He smiled, a wide and genuine grin that made his eyes twinkle. "I'm Shinichiro! And you are?"

"M/n," you replied with a smile of your own, feeling strangely flustered. "Nice to meet you, Shinichiro-san."

Just as Shinichiro was about to say something else, your mom’s voice rang out from the other side of the playground, calling you to come home.

"Aww, man," Shinichiro groaned, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You have to go already?"

"It seems so," you said with a small chuckle, brushing the sand off your hands. "But I'll probably be back tomorrow evening. Wanna play with the ball together?"

"Really?!" His face lit up, and without another word, he was already running off. "I’ll see you tomorrow! Bye-bye!"

"Bye..." you muttered softly, watching him go.

And then you realized—he had left the ball behind.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Shinichiro was really stupid. Cute, but stupid.

He was always getting into fights, even though he was terrible at them. Every time, he'd come back with new bruises, complaining about how he had gotten hurt. It became a kind of routine, and you couldn't help but shake your head every time he showed up, banged up and grinning like he had just won a battle.

A few years passed, and you two became inseparable—best friends. Shinichiro introduced you to his friend Takeomi and his family, and in turn, you introduced him to yours. It didn’t take long for your parents to hit it off, which made it easier for you two to spend more time together.

You were there with him when his little brother was born, witnessing the joy in his eyes. And you were there, too, when his mother passed away—a blow that hit you just as hard as it did him, because she had always treated you like her own son. It was a loss that never really healed, and it left a mark on both of you.

Now, in high school, Shinichiro had decided that he was going to create his own gang. He talked about it like it was his big plan for the future—something to change the lives of delinquents and give them a sense of purpose.

"You're really serious about this, huh, Shin?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I am!" He was practically bouncing with excitement. "You know that when I set my mind to something, I always do everything I can to make it happen."

You sighed, trying to process the absurdity of it all. "I know. But if you want to start a gang, I’ll help, but you do know you're terrible at fighting, right?"

He threw his head back and laughed, that familiar, carefree laugh that always made you smile. "Don't worry about it! After all, I have you by my side! You can take down anyone with just a punch."

You deadpanned. ‘I only do that because I want to protect you’. He grinned at you, oblivious to your frustration. "Idiot."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You were out shopping for your mother when you spotted Shinichiro. He had his back turned to you, so you couldn’t really see what he was up to, but it seemed like he was talking to someone. Curiosity got the better of you, and you walked toward him, eager to find out who he was chatting with.

When you finally got a clear view of the people he was with, your entire body froze in shock.

Keizo Arashi. Wakasa Imaushi.

The two damn leaders of Ragnarok and Kodo Rengo. What the actual fuck...?

"Shin... what the hell are you doing with them?" you demanded, your voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

Shinichiro spun around, clearly caught off guard by your sudden appearance. "Oh, M/n! Ehm... you see... they're joining the gang. :D"

You blinked, your mind struggling to process what he’d just said. "THEY'RE WHAT?!"

.

.

.

Black Dragon leader: Sano Shinichiro Vice-leader 1: M/n Vice-leader 2: Akashi Takeomi Guard unit captain: Keizo Arashi Special Attack Unit captain: Wakasa Imaushi

Why Shinichiro didn’t tell you he was planning to recruit those two into the gang was still a mystery. You'd always been a part of his plans—hell, you were vice-leader. But Keizo and Wakasa? That was a whole other level of trouble.

As long as they didn’t cause problems, though, you figured it was fine. Still, you couldn’t shake the unease you felt about them. You were cautious at first—hell, you were ready to keep a close eye on them—but over time, as you spent more time together, something unexpected happened.

You started to get along with them. Slowly, the tension faded, and they became more like... friends.

Keizo’s sarcastic humor and laid-back attitude somehow grew on you, and Wakasa’s strange mix of calm and intensity wasn’t as off-putting as it once was. They weren’t that bad, you supposed.

But still, you had to remind yourself—don’t let your guard down just yet.

Although, spending more time together meant that the others started to pick up on certain things. Like how you and Shinichiro always greeted each other first, no matter who else was around. Or how, during meetings, your eyes would always flicker toward him, and vice versa.

At first, they didn't think much of it. After all, you two had known each other for ages. It made sense, right? But as time passed, they couldn’t help but notice the little things—the way you both seemed to gravitate toward each other, the subtle touches, the way your proximity was always just a bit too intimate for mere friends.

Then came the skinship. At first, it was just a casual touch on the arm, or a hand resting on the other’s back. But as it progressed, those touches became more frequent, more familiar.

And that’s when the doubts started to creep in.

"They’re definitely gay," Keizo said casually, nodding as he watched the two of you play a game together.

"Yep." Wakasa chimed in, his usual bored expression barely changing.

"Huh huh." Takeomi added, leaning against the wall, his tone flat, but still amused by the whole thing.

You and Shinichiro were sitting on the bed, completely absorbed in the game. You were sitting at the end of the bed with Shinichiro positioned between your legs, his back to you. Your arms were resting on his head, and your head was lazily placed on top of them. You were so focused on the game that you didn’t even notice the three of them whispering behind you.

"You think they’ve realized yet how everyone seems to be third-wheeling when they’re together?" Wakasa muttered, sounding almost uninterested, but there was a trace of curiosity behind his words. He didn’t particularly want to be there at the moment.

"Probably not," Takeomi responded, exhaling a puff of smoke from the cigarette he had lit. "But I don’t think they’d care if they knew."

"This is really frustrating to watch," Keizo complained, crossing his arms and looking at the two of you. "When are they getting together?"

Wakasa raised an eyebrow. "I hope soon. I can’t stand seeing them so obviously in love with each other and still acting clueless."

"Agreed," Takeomi muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the scene in front of him. "It’s like they both want it, but they’re too dumb to admit it."

"We can set 'em up to speed up the process," Wakasa said with a sly grin, pulling out his phone. He turned the screen around to show the others a poster for a local festival.

The three exchanged knowing looks, their smirks widening as the plan clicked into place.

It was going to work. And no one—especially you two—would see it coming.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You and Shinichiro stood waiting at the meeting spot Keizo, Wakasa, and Takeomi had told you about. The only problem? They were nowhere to be found. Minutes ticked by, but still, no sign of them.

"You think they forgot?" you asked, glancing around.

"No, that's not possible," Shinichiro replied, shaking his head. "They don’t forget stuff like this."

As you two continued talking, your phone buzzed. You checked the message that had just come through: 'Have fun ;)'.

At that moment, realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You couldn’t help but feel a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. So, this was their plan?

You weren’t as oblivious about your feelings for Shinichiro as they thought. Sure, you were good at hiding them, or at least you thought you were. But maybe you’d been a little too obvious. And now, here was your chance—an opportunity to make a move.

"Was that one of the guys? What did they say?" Shinichiro asked, looking at you curiously.

You cleared your throat, trying to act casual. "Ah… they said something came up, and they can’t make it. Really a pity." You maybe said it a bit too eagerly, but Shinichiro didn’t seem to notice. "Do you want to look around since we're already here?"

"Too bad they can't come," Shinichiro said with a shrug. "We would've had fun. Whatever, we can still have fun just us two." ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips as you both began to walk around the festival. You stopped at food stalls, played games, and laughed at how Shinichiro tried to win at everything, only to fail miserably. But you didn’t mind—it gave you a chance to step in and win him the prizes he wanted. A little practice for when you were in a relationship, right?

As the night went on, you overheard talk of fireworks being launched at the end of the festival. What a perfect time to confess, you thought. You were certain it would be magical.

That was, until it started to rain.

Why rain? Why do this to me? You couldn’t help but pout, feeling the weight of your disappointment. You were now back at your house, which was the closest place to hide from the downpour.

"Hey, can I stay here tonight?" Shinichiro asked, looking out the window at the rain. "I came with my bike, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon."

Maybe... I can still try. Hope began to spark in your chest.

"Yeah, no problem," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’ll lend you some clothes."

"Thanks!" Shinichiro said with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. Was he… happy about staying here tonight? You couldn’t help but think how pretty he looked when he smiled.

Before you could stop yourself, the words just spilled out.

"Hey, Shin... I have to tell you something."

"Hm? What is it?"

You took a deep breath, gathering all the courage you could muster. "I actually like you. I have for some time. I don’t know if you feel the same or if you even like the same sex since you’ve always tried to hit on girls, but I hope that even with this confession we can still be friends. I just… had to get it off my chest. I’ve been trying to give you many signs over the years, but I don’t think you’ve noticed them. If you don’t feel the same way, I understand. But I’d really like it if you could give me a chance."

There. You said it. And now you were shaking from anxiety, feeling like the silence between you was deafening. Why isn’t he saying anything? I knew it. I shouldn’t have said it. I ruined everything, didn’t I?

Then, without warning, you felt arms wrap around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You gasped, feeling a shaky breath against your ear.

"You really had me worried there," Shinichiro chuckled. "I thought you didn’t want to be around me anymore."

You could feel his smile against your skin. "I’m happy to hear that my feelings are returned," he continued, his voice a mix of relief and happiness. "Those girls—" He paused, his grip tightening around you. "I only did that to try and make you jealous. I wanted to see if I was the only one with these feelings, and with the way you reacted, I almost thought it was one-sided."

You could feel his heart beat steadily against yours. "I’m really, really glad to hear that’s not true. I was prepared to bury these feelings, but you came just in time."

He pulled back slightly, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. You found yourself looking up into his eyes—those black eyes that now shimmered with the same love you felt.

His nose and cheeks were flushed, and his lips, slightly parted as he spoke, were so close you could almost taste the words.

Then, without another thought, you both closed the distance, your lips meeting in a kiss that felt like everything you had ever hoped for. The spark from your touch was nothing compared to the emotions that surged through both of you. Happiness. Love. Anxiety. And, above all, relief.

Relief that you were finally together, that you could love him openly instead of from a distance.

As you pulled apart, you both stared at each other, unable to stop the giggles that bubbled up. Neither of you knew why you were laughing, but in that moment, all that mattered was that you were together.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

A group of young boys was riding through the streets on their bikes, each of them wearing a black uniform with the words 'Tokyo Manji Gang' printed across it. They were clearly in high spirits, but still had their fair share of complaints.

"Oi Mikey, where are you taking us?" asked a boy with violet hair, trying to sound annoyed but unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

"Yeah, we've been riding for at least fifteen minutes. I'm getting hungry," added a boy with short black hair, looking a bit tired.

"Some days ago, I found a shrine," Mikey said with a grin, "and I thought it could become our new meeting spot."

"Isn't the one we have now good enough?" questioned a boy with a dragon tattoo, clearly exhausted from the unexpected trip. "It's closer, and I was in the middle of a game before you dragged me out of my house."

"Nah, this one’s cooler. Plus, it's big, so when our gang grows, it'll have plenty of space for everyone!" Mikey responded with a look of excitement.

"If you say so..." came the reluctant reply.

After some time, they finally arrived at the shrine, and it was indeed large and impressive.

"You weren’t lying about the size, Mikey," a boy with fangs said, seemingly in awe. Was he a vampire? Who knows.

"Duh, I never lie," Mikey replied confidently, earning a few side-eyes from the others. "Alright, let’s explore. Baji, you go with Kazutora; Mitsuya, go with Pah; and Ken-chin, you're with me. If you find anything, come find us."

And so their grand adventure began… even though, in reality, there was nothing at the shrine to explore. But let’s pretend they fought a dragon or something.

Eventually, they returned, defeated, having found nothing of interest.

"I actually saw a shop near here selling some charms," Mikey suggested, trying to salvage the day. "You guys want to buy one to commemorate this place?"

The group agreed and made their way to the shop. Once they arrived, they started counting their money, only to realize they didn’t have enough to buy the charms. They were, after all, really poor.

"Hey, Manjiro, Baji! What’re you doing here?" you suddenly appeared, catching them off guard. When did you become so silent?

Mikey and Baji’s faces lit up when they saw you. "M/n!" they both shouted in unison. The rest of the group looked at each other, confused.

‘Who is he?’ was the question that rang in their minds.

As if sensing their confusion, you smiled and introduced yourself. "Ah, hello there. I'm M/n. You must be Manjiro’s friends."

"M/n-nii! What are you doing here?" Baji asked eagerly, his excitement clearly evident.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m going to Shin’s shop. But anyway, I asked first."

"We were going to buy a charm to commemorate our new meeting spot, but we don’t have enough money," Mikey said, looking like a kicked puppy.

The cuteness really runs in their genes, you thought to yourself, chuckling internally.

"In that case, I can buy you one," you said, smiling. "Is that okay?"

"Really? You’re the best, M/n!" Baji exclaimed with gratitude.

The others exchanged confused looks before they all introduced themselves and thanked you.

"Ah, no problem at all," you replied, waving off their thanks casually.

After buying the charms, you said goodbye to the boys, heading toward Shin’s shop.

"So, how do you know that guy?" Kazutora asked curiously.

Mikey, who seemed to be in the know, responded with a proud grin. "Oh, right! You don’t know. He’s my brother’s boyfriend."

The group fell silent. A beat passed, then another.

Finally, someone spoke up, their voice dripping with disbelief. "Shinichiro can actually pull bitches?"

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"Hey M/n, I'm going to see Izana. You wanna come?" Shinichiro's voice broke through your thoughts as you were sorting through some random stuff in your room.

"Ohh, Izana! I haven’t seen him in so long. You think he still remembers me?" you replied, your voice filled with playful curiosity. A grin spread across your face at the thought of seeing him again.

Shinichiro, however, just stared at you, his expression completely blank. 'He saw him last month, what the hell?' he thought to himself, his patience thinning. He decided not to dignify your comment with a response and instead turned around to grab his bike. You were, without a doubt, his favorite idiot.

The two of you rode through the streets in comfortable silence. But as the wind rushed past, an idea suddenly popped into your head, sparking a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Why don’t we grab some food?" you asked, the suggestion almost too casual. "I saw this cute little café the other day, and I really wanna try it. I mean... I think they would really like the food! Yeah, it's totally for them..." you trailed off, realizing how ridiculous that sounded even to yourself.

Shinichiro's lips twitched into a tiny smirk, but he didn’t say anything. ‘Really convincing, M/n, really convincing,’ you could almost hear him think as he rolled his eyes. Still, he pulled over to the café, the idea of food too tempting to resist.

The café was quaint, decorated in soft pastel colors and smelled like heaven—freshly baked pastries and rich coffee. You dragged Shinichiro inside, practically salivating at the display of desserts. After buying a small mountain of sweets—because why would you settle for less?—Shinichiro sighed, already knowing what was going to happen.

"Alright, time to go," he grumbled as you reluctantly dragged yourself out of the café, still clutching your loot like it was treasure.

The ride to Izana’s was quick, but you couldn't contain your excitement. When you finally spotted him from a distance, your heart raced. Without hesitation, you jumped off the bike mid-motion, your shoes slapping against the pavement as you started sprinting toward him.

"Izanaaaaaa~" you shouted joyfully, your arms open wide for a bear hug.

Izana, who was minding his own business, clearly wasn’t prepared for the sudden attack. You collided with him full-force, and the two of you tumbled to the ground in a heap, much to his surprise. You were always prone to faceplanting, after all.

"M/n-nii, get off. You're too heavy. Have you been eating too many sweets?" Izana grumbled, trying to push you off, but you weren’t letting go.

"HEY! I’m not that heavy!" you protested, sticking out your tongue. "And FYI, I’m on a diet, right Shin?!" you called out over your shoulder, fully expecting a little backup.

Shinichiro, who had been walking behind you, barely glanced up. "Yeah, a diet based on sweets. M/n, if you continue like this, you’ll get diabetes," he replied flatly.

THE DISRESPECT—how dare he? You were done.

"You little shits!" you yelled, suddenly finding your second wind. "HEY, COME BACK HERE! DON'T TRY TO RUN AWAY!" you chased after both Shinichiro and Izana, who, predictably, started sprinting away in a vain attempt to escape your wrath.

What followed was chaos. You tackled them both in a fit of laughter and tickled them mercilessly. Despite their attempts to fight back, they were no match for your relentless giggling assault. You weren't just tickling them for fun, though—this was revenge. For the disrespect you had just endured.

And, of course, in the middle of all the chaos, you somehow managed to finish off every single sweet you had bought earlier. You couldn't just let them go stale, after all. It would’ve been a crime. The sugar high was real, but at least you were content.

As the three of you lay on the ground, exhausted from your "battle," Shinichiro shot you a sideways glance, half-smiling despite himself. "You’re lucky you’re cute, M/n."

Izana, still out of breath, shot you a look, his usual smug demeanor softened by a rare, amused smile. "You’re impossible, but I guess that’s why we like you."

You grinned, rolling onto your back to look up at the sky. "Yeah, I know. I’m a handful."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"What do you think I should get Manjiro for his birthday?"

"Meh, probably some food. He eats a lot now, just like you."

You threw him the stinky eye before focusing back on the journal you were reading, hearing a chuckle from him.

You had been enjoying the quiet closeness, with the two of you lounging together in the room. Shinichiro had been tinkering with some of the smaller parts of a bike, while you sat nearby, half-watching him, half-distracted by the soft glow of the shop’s lights. The air was thick with the hum of machinery and the smell of oil and metal, a scent that had come to comfort you in these moments.

The conversation had shifted to Mikey’s birthday the next day. You’d both been planning to surprise him with a special gift, and Shinichiro had been working late on a custom bike, something Mikey would never expect. The idea had been his—he’d poured all his energy into creating something special for Mikey, as a way to show how much he cared. And, of course, you were there to support him, offering moral support and keeping him company as he worked.

But then, a shift occurred. As you sat on the couch, you began to feel a different kind of tension build between you and Shinichiro. His movements had become slower, his gaze on you growing more intense. You could feel the space between you closing, the connection between you two undeniable. With a slight smirk, he stood, wiping his hands with a rag, before walking over to where you sat. The way he moved—confident, yet somehow teasing—had your heart racing.

“What are you reading?” Shinichiro asked, peering over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

You’d been so focused on your journal that you hadn’t noticed him getting so close. The journal, innocently open to an article on bodybuilding, seemed almost out of place in the atmosphere. You had to fight back a laugh at the absurdity of it.

His eyes scanned the pages, and you saw his gaze narrow, his brows furrowing. Then, a chuckle. “Didn’t think you were into this.”

His words caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, noticing the playful pout on his lips. You laughed, brushing it off. "Pfft, don’t worry, Shin. I still prefer your slim figure over all of this."

At that, you felt him come even closer, his presence almost overwhelming. He leaned in, his breath soft against your ear as he whispered, "Really?"

You couldn’t resist. His closeness was too much, the warmth of his body intoxicating. “I also prefer your short black hair, your eyes, your smell, your hands… your lips. Everything about you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

In that instant, the world seemed to fade away as he leaned in closer, almost closing the gap between your lips. The anticipation was palpable, your heart hammering in your chest. Everything was perfect. Until...

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the front of the shop, followed by the creak of the door.

Before either of you could move, the voices cut through the moment. "Ew, why every time I enter this fucking shop?" Takeomi's voice rang out, followed by Wakasa's deadpan remark, "Might as well turn this into a porn set."

You froze, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Shinichiro groaned in frustration, clearly annoyed at being interrupted once again.

You pulled away from Shinichiro, your heart still racing. "Hey, guys. What a surprise to see you all here,” you said with an awkward laugh, trying to recover from the moment that was just shattered.

“Why is it that you stop us every time?” Shinichiro said, his voice now tinged with irritation.

Wakasa shot Shinichiro an incredulous look. “Maybe because you should be doing this shit at home? If we knew you two were gonna try to fuck every time we walked in, we wouldn’t have even bothered trying to help you get together."

You could feel the awkward tension hanging in the air, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. At this point, you were more embarrassed than anything.

While the others bickered, you shifted your attention to Seishu, who had been quietly standing at the back of the group. He caught your eye and came over with a nervous smile.

"Hi, M/n-san. Sorry to disturb you," Seishu said, bowing slightly.

You couldn’t help but smile at his politeness. "Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve told you before, you can just call me ‘nii.’ Everyone else does."

"Sorry... M/n-nii," Seishu replied, the apology still lingering on his tongue as you ruffled his hair, surprised by how soft it felt between your fingers.

"Anyways, what’s up? You guys need something?" you asked, glancing back at the rest of the group.

"We came to pick up some parts," Wakasa said, his tone still tinged with annoyance but his usual calmness returning. "Takeomi’s bike needs a new tire, and I need some tweaks done to mine."

Takeomi grunted in agreement, though his eyes were still rolling from the earlier exchange. "Yeah, yeah, we don’t need to see that again. Can you finish up quickly? I have somewhere to be."

Shinichiro sighed, clearly used to the dynamic. "I’m almost done. Just give me a minute to wrap things up with the bike parts." He turned back to his work, ignoring the teasing glances and comments from his friends.

You looked at Seishu, whose wide eyes were still filled with curiosity as he scanned the shop. "You sure you’re not just here to avoid them?" you joked, nudging him lightly.

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Well... they’re kind of hard to deal with when they’re like this."

"Tell me about it," you muttered under your breath, giving him a knowing glance.

Wakasa walked over to one of the shelves, running his fingers along some bike parts, his sharp eyes still on you and Shinichiro. "So, how's everything going with you two? Not to pry, but we haven't really heard much lately... since you’re so busy with each other," he teased, his voice playful but with a hint of curiosity.

Shinichiro, who had been focused on tightening a bolt, shot him a glare. "You’re the ones who keep barging in, so don’t act like it’s our fault."

"Yeah, yeah," Wakasa waved him off, clearly unfazed by the retort. "You know you’re like a walking PDA now, right? It’s getting hard to ignore."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the counter with a smirk. "Shin’s right. If you didn’t barge in every time, maybe we’d actually get some time to ourselves."

Takeomi chuckled, walking over to the window. "Is that how it is now? So desperate for privacy?" He raised an eyebrow. "How cute."

"Shut up," you shot back, playfully rolling your eyes. "We’re not that bad."

Seishu, ever the innocent one, piped up. "I think it’s nice. You two seem really happy together." He smiled softly, his youthful enthusiasm bringing some lightness to the atmosphere.

You smiled back at him, ruffling his hair again. "Thanks, kid. You’re sweet."

Wakasa let out a low chuckle as he took a seat nearby. "Well, as long as you're both happy, I guess we can't complain." He exchanged a glance with Takeomi, and the two of them shared a silent, knowing look.

You caught the glance and raised an eyebrow. "What’s going on now?"

Takeomi shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing, just thinking. You're both lucky, you know. Not many people get to find someone they click with this well. Don’t mess it up."

The sudden seriousness of his words made you pause, and for a moment, you and Shinichiro shared a brief look—one that carried more weight than any teasing or banter. It was a moment of understanding, of silent acknowledgment of what you both had, something real and solid.

"We won’t," you replied softly, your voice genuine. "I promise."

Wakasa, sensing the shift in tone, stood up and clapped his hands together. "Alright, enough sappy stuff. We’re here for the parts, remember?" He gestured toward the counter. "Are you almost done, Shin?"

Shinichiro gave him a thumbs up. "Just about. Stop distracting me."

The atmosphere lightened again as Shinichiro finished the final adjustments on the bikes. You stood by the counter, your mind still lingering on the conversation, but you could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, comforting and grounding you.

As the last of the bikes were ready, Takeomi and Wakasa grabbed the parts they needed, exchanging some final banter with Shinichiro before heading toward the door.

Seishu waved to you as he followed them out. "Take care, M/n-nii! And Shin!" he called over his shoulder.

"Take care, kid," you replied with a grin. 

He gave a sheepish smile, nodding before disappearing out the door with the others.

Shinichiro let out a sigh of relief and turned to you, the playful edge to his voice returning. "Finally, some peace and quiet."

You laughed, walking over to him. "Yeah, you’re right. But I’m still glad they came by." You reached up to adjust the collar of his shirt, feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingers.

He grinned at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "I know. It’s just... they have a way of showing up at the worst times." He gently rests his hands on your waist, tugging you closer to his body.

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "Well, I’m just glad I have you."

Shinichiro smiled, his expression softening. "And I’m glad I have you, too."

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The night before Mikey's birthday, you and Shinichiro had decided to spend it in his shop. The small, dimly lit room had always been a cozy spot for the two of you, away from the chaos of everyday life. The night was supposed to be a peaceful one, but as always, things never went according to plan.

The room felt impossibly small once the door clicked shut behind you, but neither of you noticed as the lantern’s golden glow grew warmer, dancing across Shinichiro’s lean frame. The only sound was the soft drip of oil from the lamp, punctuated by your own racing heartbeat.

You kicked off your shoes, and Shinichiro followed suit, each discarded item a small punctuation in the quiet. He shed his jacket next, revealing the pale sweep of his collarbone, and you found your gaze lingering there a moment too long. Your jacket slipped from your shoulders, the cool air of the room sending a tiny shiver down your spine—one that the nearness of Shinichiro quickly chased away.

You both sank onto the thin futon pushed into the corner, the rough fibers creaking beneath you. He sat close, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your knee brushed his calf; he caught your eye and offered a slow, teasing smile.

Reaching out, you let your fingers trail along the curve of his arm, memorizing the faint strength there. Shinichiro’s breath hitched, and you leaned in, brushing your lips against his neck. He leaned his head back, exposing the soft hollow at the base, and you pressed a gentle kiss there, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.

A low exhale escaped him—half laughter, half surprise—and he tilted his head so you could meet his gaze. His dark eyes glimmered in the lantern light, full of something you’d never dared hope to see so clearly. You traced your thumb along his jawline, each subtle touch sending a spark of warmth through your chest.

He closed the distance, not rushing, but with intent, pressing his lips to yours. The first brush was featherlight, tentative; then, as you wrapped an arm around his neck, it deepened, soft and insistent. Your other hand slipped to the small of his back, pulling him flush against you. You could feel the subtle press of his body—flat planes and gentle curves—meld against your own.

Your breath mingled, quick and shallow, and your lips parted to welcome his tongue in the softest of explorations. Shinichiro’s hand slid from your back to your hair, threading through the strands as if anchoring himself to the moment. You trembled against him, a delicious tension coiling in your belly as your bodies fit together so naturally, so perfectly.

He broke the kiss, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed. The world beyond those four walls—bikes, tools, the late hour—fell away until only the two of you remained, wrapped in the lantern’s glow. Every inhale brought his scent: faint sandalwood, a hint of engine oil, and something uniquely, achingly him.

You let out a soft laugh of contentment, and he smiled against your lips, pressing a tender kiss there. The space between you was charged, quiet but alive with unspoken promises. Outside, in the shop below, a loose floorboard creaked—an ordinary sound that jolted you both back to reality. Shinichiro’s grip on your hand tightened, and you exchanged a look full of equal parts exhilaration and alertness.

He sat up, already reaching for his jeans. You followed suit, quickly tugging your shirt back on and slipping on your shoes. Neither of you said a word as you grabbed the closest tools—a wrench each—and made your way quietly downstairs, footsteps barely creaking over the old wooden floor.

From the shadows of the back hallway, you both peered into the shop.

Two figures moved under the low lighting—Kazutora and Baji. They were trying to stay quiet as they rolled a sleek black CB250T across the floor. You blinked in disbelief. That was the bike. The one Shinichiro had spent the last month fixing up, repainting, and tuning. The one he was going to give Mikey for his birthday tomorrow.

Your blood ran cold.

“What the hell are they doing?” you whispered, heart pounding.

Shinichiro didn’t answer. He stepped out from the shadows, wrench hanging loosely from his hand.

“What do you think you're doing?” he said, voice firm, calm.

Kazutora froze mid-step. Baji turned sharply, eyes wide.

“Shin—?” Baji's voice cracked.

Kazutora straightened, brows furrowing. “We’re taking this for Mikey. It’s his birthday tomorrow.”

Shinichiro’s grip on the wrench tightened. “You don’t even know what you’re doing… That bike was my gift for him.”

“Then he’ll still get it,” Kazutora said, smile stretched unnaturally on his face. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you’re stealing from me, Kazutora.”

You stepped closer beside Shinichiro, wrench raised just in case. “This is wrong. You both need to leave.”

Baji hesitated, clearly nervous, glancing between the two of you and the bike. “Kazutora, let’s just go. We didn’t know—”

“We can’t go back now!” Kazutora barked, sudden rage twisting his features. “If we leave now, this all means nothing!”

He snapped. You didn’t see it coming.

In one swift movement, Kazutora grabbed a heavy iron pipe from the floor nearby and lunged forward. The first blow came fast—metal cracking against Shinichiro’s skull. You screamed.

“Shin!” You dropped down beside him as he collapsed to the floor, wrench slipping from his fingers. His body hit with a sickening thud. Blood was already staining the floorboards.

You barely had time to process what had just happened when Kazutora turned to you, pipe still raised.

“Don’t!” you shouted, trying to raise your own wrench—

But you were too slow.

The pipe connected with the side of your head. Blinding pain surged through your skull before your vision blurred, your legs giving out beneath you.

The last thing you heard before darkness swallowed you was Baji’s horrified voice:

“Kazutora… what the fuck did you just do?!”

And then everything went still.

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[fractualized]

Alright. Let's break down this "oh" of an ending. NEGATIVE NANCY, COMING THROUGH

Spoilers, ho!

Ending a story is hard, if they're long or short. Whether you wrap up key threads or leave them open, you want some kind of takeaway that puts a period on things. Even in comics, where we know these characters will go on and on, ideally a story will end in a way that just... fits. Even amateur fic writers have loads of WIPs just sitting there because exactly how to end this damn thing eludes them.

I don't know if Rosenberg had an ending in mind when he started The Man Who Stopped Laughing. I don't know if he decided he'd figure it out by the end of it's year-long run. I don't know if DC Editorial lets people do that; it sounds insane, but if you've been paying attention to their current level of editorial "oversight," which I imagine is supposed to make concurrent titles mesh together reasonably well, I wouldn't be shocked if they let people wing it. Or, more likely, perhaps DC Editorial swooped in and made Rosenberg change the ending he had planned and that's why the result falls flat.

In any case, after 11 issues of enjoying myself, I'm left feeling deflated.

But let's start where #12 does, with the Joker who's been told he's John Keyser, a toxin'd henchmen that the real Joker made into a doppelganger for funsies. He approaches a hotdog vendor.

I'm stuck on "Hello. I've been looking for you"?? I didn't catch that on my first read. Joker has a favorite hotdog vendor? lol

Shut up, Waffles!! All we have is your word for it!!

In any case, hey, Keyser Joker has already been Jokering this long, so yeah, why not keep going? And why not with help from poor woobie Jason, fresh from nearly getting himself killed in Gotham War?

Bruce did not fix Jason at the end of Gotham War, so his adrenaline is still triggering fear in his brain. But Keyser Joker has a solution for that!

It's a tiny dose of Joker toxin to take the edge off of Bruce's programming. Joker makes a point of saying that the effects are only temporary, though. (And like, I assume this is just the quick-fix solution Rosenberg came up with to pull off his own ending when told Bruce's plans for Jason over in the other titles.) Jason is skeptical of this "help," naturally, but Keyser Joker brings up their matching interest: getting rid of the other Joker.

Jason, why you gotta ruin Albert's good time? 🙄

Cut to Red Hood dragging a clown henchman through the streets of Gotham.

But "his" face being blacked out and some of the dialogue clue the reader in: things aren't what they seem.

DERAIL TIME: what is up with this batmobile?

Like from some other angles, it looks sportier, but in most of the panels it looks like an old Buick? lol ANYWAY.

With the flaily way this person jumps off the bike and runs, I was sure that this was Keyser Joker and we might see Batman interact with him. Alas.

It's Ravager, who survived last issue's explosion. She's helping Jason 1) distract Batman and 2) get Albert out of harm's way, far from Keyser Joker's plan.

Naturally Keyser Joker is planning something more destructive than he's led Jason to believe. Also like…

The idea that Keyser Joker really is this John guy, not the real deal, is still not sitting fucking right with me. Seeing him here in another costume, with a goofy death train with mismatched eyes just like his, it feels like a signal that he actually is Joker and Waffles is either lying or mistaken somehow. Like compared to the other Joker, who we haven't seen in a costume? Who left Gotham for weird reasons? I really thought there was going to be a reverse reveal.

And since it doesn't come, I guess it's a good time to mention that! There is no reverse reveal of who the real Joker is. Things get a little muddy later, but…. hrm. HRM.

That said, the other Joker does something pretty dang Jokery: he shows up in a dirigible with his face on it.

Killer Moth and a bunch of clown goons (that aren't supposed to be available because of Gotham War but WHATEVER) attach the dirigible to the train and it's pretty chaotic!

I love when villains are like, "Look I may kill people, but an endangered gorilla?! Get outta here!" 😂

Jason also arrives in style.

I guess he was observing Ravager's distraction?? Which feels like it defeats part of the purpose of having her do the distraction. But then he couldn't have this cool entrance in which he bludgeons people with a motorcycle. Trade offs!

Meanwhile, Real Joker makes it to the front of the train to confront Keyser Joker. One of Real's goons offers to shoot Keyser, but Real Joker wants to make this personal and kills the poor hench so he can do it himself.

Jason coming in like YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH 😎

Then he gets the bad news.

Keyser is as casually suicidal as your average Joker! Also "Real" Joker never acknowledges Red Hood's identity, afaik. It's always Keyser Joker. Details like this got me thinking that reverse reveal was coming, AND YET.

That aside, next comes a fun comedy beat.

Real Joker going right for the hair!

Jason isn't going to let this be the end of it, of course, and once again Killer Moth must suffer at his hands.

Jason shoots so many clowns. Just never the one he wants. 😞

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaait wait wait. You're telling me that Bruce knew about the imminent TWO JOKERS situation. But he decided to prioritize a report of Red Hood dragging a clown through the streets. When in the same breath he's saying there are other people coming to the scene with him, so he obviously could've sent someone else? On the same day Batman #139 is like "oooh Bruce is totally onto Joker now"? This is what you're telling me?? Augh.

Well, we can't rely on Batman right now, clearly, so it's up to Jason.

Meanwhile, Keyser Joker has told the other one that he actually does have a secret way off the runaway train safely. After they fight some more, the tune starts to change.

Alright so, this "deal," which would sort of start them back at square one, doesn't bother me because obviously it's on shaky-ass ground and one of them is definitely killing the other before this issue is over. What does bug me is the "franchising" line, for two reasons:

1) Is this supposed to imply that Real Joker is the one who was behind Joker Incorporated in the Batman Incorporated issues, not a third one?

2) I was just SO SURE it was another indication we were getting a reverse reveal. Joker absolutely does not love the franchising idea. That's kind of been the point of this whole series. The genuine Joker in Keyser Joker's hallucination/memory said that having two Jokers around is stupid. HRRRRMMM.

Anyhow, they leave the train together, though the escape plan is literally just jumping off, which has more issues than they bargained for.

So do you think, assuming the Gotham War writers actually communicated at least a little, that Zdarsky asked Rosenberg what he needed Jason for at the end of TMWSL, and Rosenberg was like, "oh I need him to heroically crash a toxic blimp and almost die?" And then Zdarsky was like, "er, I need him to heroically fly a plane into a magic meteor and almost die?" And then they just shrugged and closed the Zoom?

But yeah, the blimp crashes, and I'm sort of confused because I thought that earlier Bruce was saying that even if the toxin gets into the water, it'll still make it's way to the city. So for one thing, it's still exploding in the air and it's still gonna drift. And the parts that dissolve in water are still gonna drift. There's a part to the equation missing here.

But these two are just thrilled at the excitement.

Until the sudden yet inevitable betrayal.

BUT WHO WAS JOKE

Shortly after this, Ravager shows up with Manhunter, who also survived last issue's explosion. (It just doesn't come up at all. Like it doesn't have to, I guess, but it's just weird that there's not a word or wound about it.) Ravager dives into the water looking for Jason, because she instinctually knows he did something grand and dumb. She finds him among the clown bodies and brings him to shore.

Nothing can kill this man! He came back from the dead with nine lives! And also maybe that Lazarus resin from TFZ is still helping, I dunno.

Elsewhere along the shore, what's left of both Jokers' crews find themselves waiting in the same spot for the Joker they expect to be triumphant.

You know what. I'm soured on Waffles now. Leave him.

And then, from the water…

And that's it. That's how it ends. With a sort of snide cop-out?

Like, it's Joker's POV, so yeah, you could say the dickish tone is just him. But following this story for a year, and then seeing it end with simply the old "you'll never know which Joker prevailed," it doesn't feel clever or whatever this is going for. It just feels obnoxious.

Honestly, it feels like the same takeaway as freaking Three Jokers. 😐 That it doesn't matter who Joker is. All the lead-up to this, where maybe we get a tiny bit of depth and development, even if just in this story, eh. Doesn't matter! We're ending this with blah payoff.

On the other hand, the part of about about there being more questions, about this ending not being tidy, makes me think that this is leaving open the possibility that Keyser Joker actually was the real one. After all, we don't get a flashback to the actual events. The events we see are part of a hallucination, and Keyser never said he had clear memories of being the real or the fake one. He just went from assuming he was the real one to taking Waffles' word for it that he was the henchman.

Also, Keyser Joker was always the Joker giving narration. And the narration boxes for the Final Joker at the end remain in his style. So it seems like we actually have a huge indication of which Joker prevailed-- unless we're meant to assume that if the other Joker prevailed, he merely took over the narration.

I mean, this is what we have. So if I can just choose what I want to believe, I'm going to believe both that Keyser was actually the real guy and that he won. But it puts a real sour taste in my mouth to be super engaged with a story and wanting an ending that says something about Joker's character… and the ending is just that one murders the other and you don't know who, neener neener. It's anticlimactic. It's a predictable direction that I thought SURELY Rosenberg wouldn't go in. It feels like a dick move.

And... what else is there to say? So ends my year of consistently buying a comic, I guess. Nothing else has really grabbed me like TMWSL did, though City of Madness looks promising. After the multiverse and Gotham War stuff, I'm not about to start picking up Zdarsky's Batman. #139 had plenty I should enjoy, but it's soured by Zdarsky deciding to bring a canonical take to the three Jokers concept for some ungodly reason.

A new three Jokers take feels extra stupid after a year of a story about two Jokers. And the second Joker in TMWSL isn't even taken into account in Zdarsky's story. Based off that #135 scene, it really looks like he's going to say that Darwin Halliday accidentally copied TKJ Joker somehow. lmao Why. Why do we have to do this. Why can't this just be one of the things that gets retconned away. I just want my murderclown to be fun.

I need to get back to my list of unread older comics. Or read One Operation Joker! I didn't think I was interested, but I think a random goofy premise is actually just what I need.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 21

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: have a wonderful day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gate bell buzzes and you rush from the kitchen to answer, the porcelain clinking as you leave it in the sink. You flit into the hall and to the entryway. As you pull the door open, you sense a shadow and turn to see Laufeyson at the top of the stairs. He watches but does not speak. You waver before you find the strength to continue on.

You shut the door gently and try to breathe through your rattling nerves. You don't understand what's going on. The words Laufeyson said still don't make sense to you. He can't mean what you think. You have to be overthinking. Yet the tickle of his touch remains on your skin and fuels your doubts.

How can you say no to him? If you do, he might say the same...

You repress a shudder as you reach the gate and hold the button to roll it back. Ronan steers through in his truck, pulling in just behind Laufeyson's flashy ivory car. You let the gate close and approach the truck bed as the carpenter climbs out.

"Miss," he opens the rear door to grab his bag, "you look nice, special occasion?"

You look down at yourself and wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. It's sunny but it isn't the weather that has you fired up. You force a smile that makes your cheeks twitch.

"Uh, no, they're just...new," you sway as you push your hands behind you, "erm, so I guess... you should get started."

"I should," he checks his watch, a thick leather band with a tarnish face, "I hate to get in the way of your work. Or ruin your fancy clothes."

"Oh, uh, it's not... I'll bring you some water," you offer.

"Hmm," he hums as he shuts the door, "you're too kind for your own good. Nice to see you doing something for yourself for a change."

"I..." you swallow the truth. "Thanks."

"Not that you didn't look good before," he insists.

"Well, I..." you murmur, looking away bashfully.

"I'm talking a lot," he chuckles, "you know where I'll be."

He turns and stalks off towards the house. You blow out a breath as your eyes are drawn to the front door. Mr. Laufeyson stands in the frame, again observing you, his gaze narrowed to slits. He reminds you of a snake in coil about to strike.

The door shuts before you can reach it. You enter and he's gone. It's like some game. You return to the kitchen to finish tidying up the porcelain from tea. You set it away in the glass cabinet and fill a fresh jug of water. As you place it on the patio, Frigga pops her head up from the roses, a healthy bouquet in hand as she snips the stems with a pair of cutters.

"These will be nice in the dining room," she suggests as she shows the white petals, "Maybe a few for the study?"

"Uh, yeah," you plunk down the pitcher and glass. "Did you need any water? This is for the carpenter."

"Oh, he's here?" She says, "I didn't see him. Perhaps I can ask him about the flower boxes."

"Yeah, uh, maybe," you agree, "I'll be, er, upstairs working. Got a lot to catch up on from yesterday."

"No worries at all, darling," she assures you.

You retreat and stumble to get your shoes off once more, mindful of the rules. That's the problem. Everyone is forgetting the rules. Ronan does the gazebo not the flower boxes, you don't wear your shoes in the house, and Loki-- Mr. Laufeyson is just your boss.

You rush up the stairs, nearly too at a time, and reach the top out of breath. You hurry into the library and close yourself up inside. It's just you. It strikes you how much you missed being alone. These last few weeks have felt so crowded. Constricted even.

You finally make yourself sit still. You find it hard not to wriggle in the seat as you watch the laptop screen load. It feels so long ago that you did this. It's all backwards and you don't like it. You like clear lines. You are separate from Mr. Laufeyson. You are below. You have your tasks and he has more important concerns.

You focus on balancing his bills. There are a lot of outstanding invoices. You're still learning how to keep it all organized. You feel a bit out of your depth with all the numbers but you excelled at math all those years before.

A subtle click barely registers but nestles in your ear. You squint at the screen as you watch a tutorial on Excel functions. You're still figuring that out too.

"The carpenter has been dealt with?" Mr. Laufeyson states as much as he asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you confirm and pause the video. You glance behind him at the open door to his study.

"Very good," he says, "he will work faster without distraction."

You nod. You take his point. He is right. It might be better that the project is finished sooner than later. There's a big enough mess, the type you don't know how to clean up.

He strides around the library, perusing the shelves as if they are new to him. He feels along the spines of books and drags his fingers along the wood. You watch him, waiting. For what, you don't know.

"Don't let me distract you," he says without looking at you as he slides out a volume. "As you were."

Your eyes flick down obediently. You try to refocus but forget where you were. You open the ledger to make notes as you restart the video. You can sense him lurking around the room, closer and closer as his silhouette blurs the edge of your vision.

The narrator continues their instruction as you open the transcript to follow along. Mr. Laufeyson inches closer and closer, walking just behind your laptop, then around one side of your desk before doubling back. Again, he looms behind the screen and strolls along the other side. And at once, he's behind you.

You tense as you feel him watching over your head. You keep your hand moving as you take notes, writing down words you don't process. Your pulse thrums in your temples as you feel him leaning over you. His hands rest on your shoulders and he kneads them as you sit frozen.

He bends further and further until you feel his breath on your crown. He nuzzles your hair as his hands trail slowly across your shoulders. They close loosely around your neck as he exhales with a groan. Just like the one you heard earlier.

You gulp against his grip as your pen stills and you stare blankly at the screen, the narrator hazing to a drone and the colours fogging together. You drop the pen and drag your hand up to touch his. He tuts as he lowers his head next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks.

"I didn't say stop," he slithers as heat scalds over you.

You shiver and remove your hand from his, reaching for the pen instead. You pick it up, trembling as you try to read your own writing, your chin pressing to his knuckle as he tightens his hold on you. It's just scribbles, broken lines and squiggled waves.

"Notice too, you did not either," he whispers against the shell of your ear and draws away, all once releasing you. 

You gasp as he swiftly side steps and strides across the room. He retrieves the volume from the shelf and reclines across the chaise, lazily opening the pages with a sigh. You stare at him as he lingers, engrossing himself in the book as you forget all about the spreadsheets and negative balances.

👠

Mr. Laufeyson leaves without a word. A taunt in its own right. He’s toying with you impeccably. His every move, his every glance, even something as careless as breathing is a statement. He’s watching. He’s waiting. For something…

Your frustration boils over and you snap shut the lid of the laptop. You haven’t been able to focus since his intrusion. The weight of his hands on your throat remains even with him gone. At moments, it feels as if you are truly being strangled.

You get up and resign yourself to something less complicated. You near the door and stop to peek at the one attached to the study. It’s open still but you wouldn’t think to peer through it. Is he there still? Listening? Expecting something?

You go into the hall and descend, each step expecting Laufeyson to call you back, to reproach you for straying. You reach the bottom without obstacle and exhale. You hear noise in the kitchen and follow it.

Frigga is there, placing a rectangle tray on the counter. She is comfortable as she moves around lightly. She knows where everything is as she arranges her ingredients and tools. You admire her. You wish you had that confidence, especially now as you drown in uncertainty.

“Oh, darling, wonderful timing,” she praises as she looks up, “I thought to do some cooking before I go. I’m sure you know Loki is rather avoidant of doing so himself. Why don’t you join, hm?”

You blink and hesitate, glancing over your shoulder. It isn’t exactly work. 

“Don’t you fret for him, if he has issue, I will take it up with him,” she dismisses your unspoken doubts. “Come, come, I want to share with you my best recipes.”

“Okay,” you cross to her. She is undeniable, besides, you don’t think Laufeyson would be pleased to hear if you were to reject his mother. 

“Beer-marinated pork,” she announces, “roasted turnip and some hand-made bread, of course.”

You nod and twiddle your fingers. You’ve never had beer-marinated anything. Well, your culinary experience is lacking.

“Family recipes,” she explains, “adapted over the years. There was a time the bread was baked on rocks and the turnip would be roasted over embers. Imagine.”

She trills and spins around, gathering more supplies for her growing array. As she faces the counter again, she sighs.

“I much rather prefer the modern methods, of course. Not so tedious and Loki has ensured the best,” she goes to the stacked ovens embedded in the wall and sets the temperature, leaving the upper one to preheat. “A pity, such a nice kitchen and it’s barely used. That cook of his… she doesn’t know our recipes.”

You listen, too anxious to summon any sort of comment. She doesn’t seem to notice as she carries the conversation smoothly. 

“Do you cook? You must,” she answers her own question, “we will make enough for you to take home for your father. If he can’t stomach beer, I can make a sauce.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s okay–”

“I insist,” she overrides you, “it’s a labour of love for me. I love cooking. That is the one thing Sif– his ex-wife wasn’t fond of. She was always at the stable.”

You nod, trying to unravel the story from the stray threads. Little by little, you learn more of the woman who used to live here. In your head, she is sophisticated and splendid. And the way the speak of her, they seem to mourn her as much as you do your own mother.

“We will need onion and some spices, we’ll mix it in with the beer for our marinade,” she instructs, “a bowl…” she turns to take a silver bowl from the nested stack.

She puts it before you and directs you. She stands back as she lets you do it yourself. It’s nice to have the simple tasks set out one by one, even if it feels as if she’s judging your every move. You submerge the pork chops to marinate and she turns your attention to the turnip.

“Be careful chopping, turnips can be difficult,” she girds.

You shy away from the large knife and the hard rutabaga. It’s not easy to saw through as you rock the knife this way and that. You only get halfway through before the blade sticks immovably.

“Allow me,” she takes over and with a jerk, finishes the chop. The turnip splits in two as the knife meets the thick cutting board. “A bit of elbow grease…”

“Mother, what are you up to?” Laufeyson enters with a hand in one pocket.

“Oh, you know, dear, I can’t leave you without dinner.”

“I have a cook,” he counters.

“Mmm, yes, but nothing like a homemade meal,” she tisks.

He looks at you as he nears. You wipe your hands on a dish cloth and wring it tight. Frigga continues on unbothered, turning one half of the turnip on its flat side and chopping it into chunks.

“She’s helping,” she says, “please don’t take her from me.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he shrugs, his lips slightly curving.

“You were thinking it,” she huffs, “she can take some time to cook. Perhaps, she should do so regularly. It would save you money.” 

“But not time. She has other tasks.”

“You being the most onerous,” Frigga chirps as she transfers the chunks into the pan.

“Perhaps,” he does not look away from you as you twist the dish cloth to its limit. He slips his hand from his pocket and lets it brush up his shirt, “I am what you raised me to be.”

“I was saying to the darling earlier,” she ignores his snipe, “the next time you visit, you might bring her along.”

“Eh, next time…” Laufeyson swallows as his lips fall straight, “maybe…”

“You are going to visit, aren’t you?” Frigga whines, “you and your father, I don’t know why you just can’t get along.”

“I tried, mother, I did. You saw–” he stops himself, “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Very much. You’re family.”

“Are we? He’s disowned me more than he’s ever claimed me.”

“You’re too much alike, that’s your problem,” she chides, “and you’re both too stubborn to see it.”

“We will discuss this another time,” he says as he peeks at you again, “in private.”

“Should I…” you begin.

“Stay,” Frigga and her son command at the same time.

“I’m not sending her home empty-handed,” Frigga says, “so you will drive her home, yes? It will be too much to take on the bus.”

“Why, of course,” he accepts, “it would be my pleasure.”

“Mm, and the carpenter, he fixed the flower boxes already. A few loose nails,” she grins, “nice man, that one. I might recommend him to your father.”

Laufeyson pokes his tongue out as he squints. He turns his gaze back on you. You miss when he barely looked at you, when he hardly even acknowledged your existence. And yet, you're just the same. You can't say a word.

“I haven’t dealt with him much,” he says pointedly, “that is the house manager’s concern.”

“Probably better off,” Frigga snickers, “she won’t drive him away.”

[hello-gloomy]

'What was your nen again?'

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Phantom troupe x Gen!reader

Description: The troupe finally had some free time so you decided to meet up with them again, you happen to bring up something none of them mentioned to you which brings up a question.

Warnings: Crack taken seriously. I don't think there's any use of Y/N aside from that pretty tame some of them might be OOC it's my first time writing for so many characters.

A/N: Just something short (Maybe) to tide us all over till the first two polls are done or till I finish my other WIPs. (I should be doing work rn but I'm not.) :^

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"You need to work on your sleeping habits."

"...What..?"

"You didn't go to sleep till 2 yesterday." Shalnark looked mildly unnerved at your claims, which made you feel slightly bad for the unconscious snooping you do through everyone's memories. But you couldn't help but bring it up, how is he supposed to commit crimes on three hours of sleep all the time. Bound to make mistakes like that.

"I never told you that..." This gains the attention of Pakunoda who happens to be close by she gets up from where she was sitting in the large dining hall you and the group were staying at for their temporary break.

"Told them what?"

"What time he went to sleep." Her brows furrowed for a second while she glanced at a shocked Shalnark.

"Lucky guess?" She pondered out loud, He grimaced at that while you giggled at his facial expression.

"I peeked at his memories."

"Brother eugh." You full-on belly laughed at that attracting some more of the others to get closer.

"What's going on now?"

"Shal didn't go to sleep till two."

"Explains eyebag."

"I DO NOT HAVE EYEBAGS."

Feitan moved closer to your left side while Shalnark opened up the camera on his phone to look at his eyes to prove his point.

"How see memory?"

"With my Nen." Everyone stopped and looked at you.

"You have Nen?"

"Mmm...Yeah..?"

"So your Nen is similar to mine then?"

"Kind of, just without the gun. I could project other people's memories too."

"Show Shalnark memory."

"Do not."

With that, you summon your nen and a small eyeglass appears you scope out an open wall and find one large enough by Uvo and Nobunaga. You motion for the others to follow behind you while Shalnark whines for you not to embarrass him. Walking past the other pair they take notice and ask Paku what's happening she gives a brief explanation. You engage Gyo and through your eye, you show the memory of Shalnark on his computer and after a bit of fast forwarding through the memory, you show him passed out at the desk. The projection comes to an end and you turn around to find Machi and Korotopi have joined you as well. Pakunoda turns to Shalnark to scold him first.

"they're right you do need to work on your sleeping habits." She held her hand on the side of her face. Shalnark turned a bit pink at her remark while Uvo and Nobunaga started laughing at him.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were the two of you considering how reckless you were being last week." They stopped immediately, and Machi's eyes were practically excited, begging you to show their embarrassing moments. You let out a quiet huff and turned around to project another moment. Showing the two men almost getting blown up on the task Chrollo had previously sent them on.

"Nice job."

"Shut up Machi!"

"Why don't you show one of her embarrassing moments!!"

"And get strung up hard pass. I like living unlike you two obviously." That had everyone laughing again. Chrollo had magically materialized and joined the theatrics of the group you had all made now.

"How far back can you go with individual memories?"

"From the instant their brain forms." "But I usually don't snoop back that far without explicit permission."

"If you'd prefer I can show memories from when you were younger?" You hold eye contact with Chrollo while the rest watch on. You get a bit nervous and start to doubt the previous forwardness you had getting ready to retract your question, Chrollo interrupts yours and everyone's thoughts.

"Just don't go back too far."

Carefully you picked a memory that you found lovely, one between The boss and Pakunoda. Everyone hushed when the light from your eye displayed upon the wall, you all heard the tune before you saw anyone, piles upon piles of trash a few giggles in between notes of the crackling song and soon enough two small figures came into view a young Chrollo and Paku holding hands arms enveloped around the waist of the other. They were beaming at one another you let it play a bit longer before it cut out. Turning around everyone was looking between Paku and Dancho. Pakunoda wiped her eyes before she looked over to a smiling Chrollo.

"That was a good choice."

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Marina; obligatory sugar baby Kon. ( + non-chrono link for mobile. )

“Um . . . right,” Suzie says quietly, and . . . well, he just thought it: she's a secret herself. 

Tim definitely needs to just take over whatever neighborhood he buys Kon a cul-de-sac in. Or maybe just, like, the entire tri-state area. Get Suzie a little place of her own, maybe, with an actual living space in it. She doesn't have physical needs like the rest of them do, no, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't have anything. Like–he doesn't know, whatever girls like. Stuffed animals and her own TV and a place to keep, uh . . . okay, Suzie doesn't need batarangs or a place to store smoke pellets and caltrops or grappling lines or work on her equipment or anything like that, but still. It's, he doesn't know–the principle of the thing, or something. 

He's gonna have to work on his trust fund budget a little, maybe. Ridiculous as it is, buying an entire tri-state area would definitely put a significant dent in it. 

“Suzie,” he says. “Are you . . . alright here? When the rest of us aren't around?” 

“Yes?” Suzie says, looking confused again. That was probably an unfair question on his part, Tim thinks. It's not like she really knows what he means by “alright”.  

Kon didn't either, after all. 

“I mean–it's not too lonely?” he asks. 

“Oh,” Suzie says, then bites her lip. “Um . . . I mean . . . I'm fine, yes! You don't need to worry about me!” 

Maybe this is a Bat thing, but absolutely nothing has ever worried Tim more than hearing “you don't need to worry about me” from someone. 

“Okay,” he lies, and smiles at her. “But you know you can call us if you want to make plans sometime, right? You don't always have to just wait for us to show up.” 

Suzie looks at him for a long moment, then–well, she doesn't turn pink, exactly, since that would require blood and veins and actual skin instead of smoke, smoke, and more smoke, but he's pretty sure she blushes all the same. 

“Oh,” she says. “Um–right! Yes. Yeah. Yes.” 

Tim smiles at her again, trying to be–he doesn’t know, reassuring, maybe. Something to the effect, at least. 

“Good,” he says. “It’s good for the team to spend time together outside of emergency situations, anyway. We can’t only hang out during crisises and expect to work well together, you know? So it’d be helpful to have an extra excuse to, really.” 

“Right!” Suzie says, beaming at him, which hopefully means that implying she’d be doing something good for the team by asking for attention when she feels isolated or lonely worked. 

Tim really doesn’t know why he didn’t think more about her living situation before this, but to be fair, he also thought about literally no one’s living situation before Kon just casually announced that he lived in an ethically-dubious cloning lab that wasn’t paying him, so . . . yeah.

Definite oversight. Definitely a thing to pay more attention to in the future. Just–definitely. 

Several kinds of definitely.

[dootznbootz]

You know what? Here's a sneak peek at my wip that's distracted me from other Wips lol

ever since the wisdom saga came out and most people were only having Odysseus show Telemachus to Athena, as though he was the only parent, and also seeing some shit on Penelope apparently being neglectful and a "bad mom" because she "let Antinous hit Telemachus", I've been working on this on the side from my other wips.

wanted to have fun with Penelope and Athena's relationship while still having motherhood sprinkled in there. Penelope's her own wonderful and silly person but she loves her baby very very much. You know how mama cats will pick up their babies and then place them in front of you like "Look what I did!". That's what I'm kind of going for.

It's not done and still needs more editing and I'll probably change some bits but... yeah. I love Penelope. And there's so much to explore with her, without Odysseus being in the room.

These snippets still aren't the most Penelope centered but I hope to reveal that more in the actual posted fic.

This part will be rewritten (same vibes just feels clunky to me) but I need people to know I was imagining this seal when writing it lol

she's a lil embarrassed. Telemachus sleeps a lot and she's a bit antsy to show him off. she has yet to show him to the River naiads.

[snowivyimconfusi]

Okay well apparently we're talking about Zelena tonight and I have Thoughts ™

First of all I LOVE Regina and Zelena's fucked up relationship (WickedQueen shippers I see you,) but I think it should've been MORE fucked up. Because what do you mean Zelena gets herself pregnant with Regina's soulmate's kid (by tricking him,) and she just...forgives her? Like yeah it takes a while but girly didn't even apologize.

And oh my, when Zelena gives birth and says "who's jealous now?" As Regina looks down at baby Robin? My god I think *I* would've murdered that woman. The cruelty. (Delicious.)

Then ofc, there's Zelena's relationship with her mother, which is all kinds of fucked up, and which Zelena just gets over because Cora shows her a cute memory? Which, btw, that memory was of Cora finding Zelena, kidnapping her, and forcing her to heal her better daughter. Shouldn't that have made Zelena angrier? MORE jealous of Regina? But no. She forgives both of them. (Ofc Regina had nothing to do with any of it, but their masters at blaming the wrong person in that family.)

Then, finally, when Hades kills Robin. I don't know, I think Regina should've been angrier. This is what I'm most stuck on, yeah I understand Zelena kills Hades to save Regina's life but...it's still kind of her fault Robin is dead. And, at the funeral, she tells Snow and Charming she'll be taking care of Regina which...where were you? While Snow and David were forgiving her and standing by her side, you were off having sex with her boyfriend...idk I feel like that was a missed opportunity to have Regina once again reject Zelena (that's her throughline isn't it? She gets rejected. First by her mother (and, in-utero, by her father AND Leopold) , then by Rumple, then by the...what's her name? Good witch of the south? And finally she gives up on trying to be accepted and decides to take Regina's life instead.) wouldn't it have been delicious to see Regina get angry at her? The one person she wants to be close to, to impress, she hurt beyond redemption (or maybe not beyond redemption, but Regina can hold a grudge.)

And why didn't they consider that with the split-evil queen? Why wasn't SHE mad at Zelena? Why bring it back to Snow again? (I mean, that was fun, but they could've given her some more people to hate.)

(I'm supposed to be working on my WIPs. Rip.)

I apologize if any of this is incorrect, I'm slightly less obsessed with Zelena, so I remember less lore off the top of my head. Except the "who's jealous now?" That line is tattooed on my brain.