#it was a lot of fun to write!!

[razzle-zazzle]

2900 Words; post-canon

Secret Santa post for @spiirals! A little oneshot featuring the Aquatos (+ Ford and Gisu) on a snowy winter day!

AO3 ver

“Hey, Pooter!”

Raz turned at the sound of Frazie’s voice—only to immediately get a snowball to the face. It wasn’t a very tightly-packed snowball, bursting into cold and wet on impact without really pushing Raz back—he was more shocked than hurt.

“Pleh!” Raz spat out cold water. He rubbed at his face trying to get rid of the rest of the snow, sticking his tongue out at his sister. “What was that for?”

Frazie chuckled, another snowball already in hand. “Your head’s so big I thought it was a target.” She teased.

“You called my name to make me face you, though.” Raz pointed out. He shrugged—it didn’t really matter. Frazie did this every year—or all the time, if Raz counted pinecones and rocks alongside snowballs. “Have you gotten Dion yet?”

Frazie’s grin told Raz all he needed to know. The thrum of satisfaction in her head only further confirmed Raz’ suspicions.

“And I’ll get him again!” Frazie boasted, tossing her snowball up into the air. She flipped over into a handstand, catching and balancing her ammo on her foot.

Raz snorted. His boots crunched in the snow as he turned to continue on towards the camp proper. “Good luck!”

“Like I’ll need it.” Frazie scoffed, kicking the snowball from foot to foot. “You joining us for dinner tonight?”

Raz nodded. “Yeah, I was just heading over to let Mom know.” He started to continue along towards camp—

A snowball nailed him directly in the back. Raz stumbled forwards a bit to the sound of Frazie’s laughter—but, even as he regained his footing and turned back to shoot her a glare, Raz couldn’t help but chuckle. He should have seen that one coming, honestly. “Good shot!” He complimented honestly, then started flipping forwards to get out of his sister’s range quicker.

Frazie’s laughter rang in his ears the whole way to camp. She had still been balancing on a gloved hand when she had launched that snowball—either she kicked it or launched it with telekinesis. Raz had a strong suspicion that it was the latter—it was good to see her getting more comfortable with her powers. Even if they were only further fueling her usual antics.

Raz stepped under the string of fairy lights marking the edge of his family’s camp—

“Razrazrazraz!” Mirtala came up from seemingly out of nowhere, bells jingling as she barreled into Raz. “Look look look!” She angled her braid hoops towards him the moment they separated, shaking her head slightly to show off the glittery blue-and-silver ribbons threaded through them. “Aren’t they pretty?” She bounced on the balls of her feet, the thick winter coat she was bundled up in doing nothing to slow her movements. “Mom helped me put them in!”

Raz grinned. “They suit you well!” He complimented. And really, the glitter did suit Mirtala well—the shimmer combined with the jingle of Mirtala’s bells was almost soothing in how nice it felt to Raz’ senses. It only served to make Raz all the more excited to give Mirtala her gift—though that day wasn’t for another week and a half.

Mirtala beamed. She looked at Raz, now that the excitement of showing off her new ribbons no longer had her full attention. “Did Frazie get you on the way in?” She asked, noticing the snow still clinging to Raz’ scarf.

“Yeah.” Raz admitted, making his way towards the caravan. Mirtala kept pace with him, her bells jingling as she walked. “Has she gotten Mom and Dad yet?” While Frazie mostly stuck to her siblings—Dion and Raz in particular—during the warmer months, nobody was safe from her when there was snow on the ground. Well, nobody but Nona, who had recently rediscovered a trick to turn snow into water—and wasted no time in using it this year, even if it was just to remove snow from her clothes. Even Queepie and Mirtala sometimes got hit by the lighter, less dense snowballs when Frazie was really getting into the spirit of winter.

Mirtala nodded. “Dad shook a branch with his mind to get her back,” She informed him, “But I think Mom’s still waiting for the right moment.”

Raz grinned—oh, he wished he’d thought of dumping a whole branch’s worth of snow on Frazie. Maybe that was something he could try on Dion…

“Pootie!” And there Donatella was, coming out of the caravan with her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. “Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

Raz nodded. “Will we be eating at the Gulch?” It wasn’t uncommon; though the Gulch was Lucrecia and the Psychic Seven’s space first and foremost, Nona was still an Aquato—and it was easier on her old bones for the family to visit her.

Donatella hummed. “She said she’d be joining us tonight.” Her lips pressed into a frown, “Though that does mean Cruller will also be there…” It did make sense—with Ford’s ability to teleport, Nona wouldn’t have to make the journey to and from the camp. But, despite the months since the summer, the family as a whole still didn’t regard Ford super high. Raz felt better about the old man than he had immediately after that week—but his feelings were definitely still mixed.

“But I suppose it is on theme,” Donatella mused, “Since Dion will be bringing along Gisu.” She turned to Raz, her eyes twinkling. “I don’t suppose you could invite Lili? Your little girlfriend is always a delight.”

Raz flushed. “Well—maybe.” He managed, trying desperately to not remember the first time Lili had joined the Aquatos for dinner. Nothing had gone too spectacularly wrong—but Raz wasn’t sure he would ever live down the embarrassment of his mom practically drilling Lili to decide if she was “good enough” by her standards. As though Lili could ever be anything less than one of Raz’ favorite people in the whole world. “I’d have to ask her, though.”

Not that that was hard—a quick mental nudge was all it took to deliver the question. Lili’s response was just as easily made—a wave of mild apology and prior obligation crawled up their link like vines up a trellis. Raz sent back a pulse of understanding, and a reminding curl of fondness that she was pretty much always invited over.

Lili’s response was a fiery of course—she knew how Donatella and Augustus thought of her.

“She can’t make it tonight,” Raz reported. Donatella frowned, and shrugged her shoulders.

Raz’ mind took that moment to catch up with everything his mother had said. “Wait, Gisu’s coming? She didn’t tell me that.” Then again, she had been more busy lately—they’d only had enough time to exchange good mornings before Gisu had headed off to Otto’s lab. But Gisu was cool, and fun, and if she was coming—

Raz made a face. Oh, Dion was going to be obnoxious.

“Pootie,” Donatella chided, correctly intuiting Raz’ thoughts without any psychic power at all, “Don’t be like that. If Dion wants to invite his girlfriend to dinner, that’s his choice.” She briefly made a face, “Though I suppose I should probably remind him not to be gross at the dinner table…”  She trailed off, and Raz took that as a signal the conversation was over.

He turned towards Mirtala, who had wandered off to do handstands by her tent, gloves crunching in the snow and bells jingling. He watched as she did a flip, then another.

Raz turned. He looked around the camp, but couldn’t see Queepie anywhere—Raz guessed Queepie was still in the K.L.O.B. treehouse with Morris, then. Since it was still a while yet before dinner—Raz had headed out pretty much immediately after lunch at the Noodle Bowl, and the Ottobon tubes were fast—Raz wasn’t particularly worried. Queepie would either turn up for dinner on his own, or Morris would prod him to get home the moment it started getting dark.

With that in mind, Raz turned to go look for Augustus. He really wanted to hear about the tree branch trick.

He didn’t have to look for long—he was halfway to the funicular when his father called out.

“Razputin!” Augustus’ voice was warm, his arm wrapped around a thick bundle of sticks on his shoulder. “Come to help your old man with the firewood?”

“Sure!” Raz darted over, looking for logs to grab with his telekinesis. “Bet I can lift more with my mind than you.” He dared.

Augustus laughed. “I don’t doubt that, my boy.” He nodded towards the trees to his left. “There’s still some more good wood over there, if you want to help.”

“Okay.” Raz nodded, heading over to where his father indicated. He started lifting sticks and small branches—first with his arms, then with his mind—and carried them back over to Augustus.

They headed back to camp together. “Will you be joining us for dinner?” Augustus asked.

“Yep!” Raz responded. “I asked Lili, but she can’t come tonight.” He added.

“That’s a shame.” Augustus remarked. “Gruloky is more fun with more players.” He stroked his beard with his free hand. “Well, I assume you’ve told her that she’s always welcome to join us if she wants.”

Raz nodded. “Yeah.” Twirling some of his telekinesis-held sticks a bit, he switched topics. “Frazie’s already taking advantage of all the snow.” He commented, “She got me in the face and back on my way in.”

Augustus chuckled. “Yes, she’s up to her usual antics—your mother and I found out this morning.” His eyes twinkled, “But this old man’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Yeah! Mirtala said you dumped a whole bunch of snow on her! With your telekinesis!” It was good, Raz felt, that his family was getting more comfortable with psychic powers. Excitement thrummed in Raz’ chest, matched by the jovial mischief humming at the edge of his father’s mind.

“Oh, I don’t doubt she’ll get me back.” Augustus responded. “But I suppose it’s just that time of year again.”

They walked under the string of fairy lights, setting what they had gathered with the rest of the firewood. Augustus moved to start setting up the firepit, only to stop. “I forgot the matches,” He said, standing back and aiming a hand at the firepit. A look of concentration crossed his face, and flames burst into life around the wood. The immediate area around the pit was already snow-free, but Raz had to clear the logs and stumps circling around of snow before he could sit on them. Not that that was really all that hard.

Donatella came over, pressing a kiss to Augustus’ cheek. “Mio caro, can you help me find my blue eyeshadow? I couldn’t find it this morning.”

Augustus grinned, pressing a kiss of his own to Donatella’s cheek. “Of course, дорогая.” With that, the two of them went back over to the caravan, leaving Raz at the fire.

“Ewwww.” Mirtala hopped up onto the log, right next to Raz. “Is Deedee going to be like that with Gisu?” She asked.

Raz made a face. “Oh, I hope not.” If Dion and Gisu decided to get all sappy and gross and kissy, Raz would lose his appetite. “I bet Frazie’ll dunk him in a snow drift if he does.”

Mirtala giggled. She hopped off the log, bells jingling. “Gimme a bouncy ball, I wanna do some flips!”

“It’s called a levball.” Raz corrected, forming one anyway. Mirtala cheered and hopped atop it, flipping over onto her hands and rolling it around.

“But it’s so bouncy!” She riposted, launching herself into the air.

The rest of the evening continued like that, Raz and Mirtala entertaining themselves by the fire. It wasn’t long before Augustus and Donatella returned, sitting together by the fire and talking in low tones. No, wait—flirting in low tones, gross.

Ford and Nona showed up just as the sky was beginning to pinken, and Queepie trudged into camp not long after. With all the layers he was bundled up in, Queepie had to sort of waddle through the snow, and any impediment to his movement always made him grumpy. But Raz could remember when he was the one being bundled up like that—it was as much of a yearly tradition to wrap the babies in as many layers as possible as it was for Frazie to nail everyone with snowballs.

Gisu turned up, and Donatella was quick to greet her warmly and recruit her into setting up the table. The caravan wasn’t up for family dinners—but they had a large tent meant for exactly that. Everyone not setting up the table or still out and about was gathered around the fire, though, enjoying the warmth of it.

Dion trudged into camp not long after a snickering Frazie, snow in his hair and on his shoulders. Mirtala giggled, and Dion’s shoulders hunched. “Not a word.” He growled, already making for his tent.

Too late—Gisu and Donatella had returned, and Gisu was already giggling. Dion squeaked, and hurried over to his tent before anyone could say anything else.

“You got him good, huh?” Gisu asked, sitting down right next to Frazie. She held her gloved hands out towards the fire.

Frazie grinned. “Of course.” She boasted good-naturedly. “He makes it too easy! But enough about my brother,” She focused in on Gisu, “You and I haven’t had a Girls Night in forever.”

“Well, I’ve been busy,” Gisu shrugged. “But I’ve got some free time tomorrow, and I was hoping to get some levboarding in.” She offered.

“Oh, I’m there.” Frazie decided. “Dee’ll be helping Mom with groceries tomorrow, but I’m free all day.”

“See you then!” Gisu beamed.

Dion chose that moment to reemerge from his tent, hair fixed and snow-free. Raz lost the thread of the conversation at that point—Lili started nudging him through their link, and dragged Raz into a mental conversation about whether a blindfolded Sasha could beat a team of future-seeing laser sharks.

The evening continued on, and Dion left for the caravan with Donatella to handle the cooking. The fire was dying down, now, and instead of feeding it more wood Augustus moved to put it out. At that, everyone started making their way inside the tent, where a space heater kept the dining room comfortably warm.

It looked like Nona wasn’t up for cooking tonight—she followed Ford inside, finding a cozy spot near the space heater to pull out her knitting needles and current project. Queepie waddled over to her, taking advantage of the space heater to escape his coat prison.

Frazie and Gisu continued to chatter at the table, while Augustus and Mirtala joining in so often. Raz also piped up, though he and Lili were still working through their own conversation. The whole tent was alive with conversation and warmth—it was a familiar sight, to Raz, even after having his whole life turned upside down over the summer. Some things just didn’t change, it seemed.

At some point, Raz lost sight of Ford. He looked around—the old man was nowhere to be seen. Nona’s needles continued clacking away, and Mirtala had joined Queepie in sitting near her.

Raz was just wondering if he should go looking for Ford when Dion’s voice rang out from the caravan.

“Don’t think I don’t see you slinking around!” A dull thunk sounded out, and Ford appeared next to Raz with the shimmer of teleportation, rubbing his hand and muttering.

Nona cackled. Ford shrank a little further, and Raz couldn’t help but chuckle. Dion had never really gotten along with Ford—but could manage a grudging politeness when he had to. Apparently, politeness went out the window when cooking was involved.

Gisu snorted. “No luck, huh?” Frazie snickered.

Ford grumbled, but otherwise didn’t respond. Instead he made his way over to Nona, sitting next to her as the two began talking quietly.

Ford hadn’t picked an awful time to try snagging a bite of food early—it wasn’t much longer before the table was fully set and everyone was seated. Raz had ended up in between Gisu and Queepie, with Dion on Gisu’s other side. Frazie had been seated between Queepie and Mirtala, who was shooting dirty looks to Ford directly next to her. With Donatella next to Dion and Augustus, and Augustus next to Nona, there were no particularly pressing complaints about the arrangement.

The table was alive with conversation during the meal, and there was a stack of cards already waiting for post-dinner Gruloky. The tent itself was aglow with fairy lights and the space heater, warm with lively conversation and a filling meal. It was so familiar to Raz, a sight he had seen and a feeling he had experienced so many times before—but it was different, too. Gisu and Ford were the most obvious example, but—

Raz’ chest felt light. Warm. Lili had receded a bit, to pay more attention to her own dinner, but Raz could still feel her at the other end of their connection if he tried. Augustus was trying to control his fork and knife telekinetically, and Gisu was challenging Frazie to a snowball fight for tomorrow. There was none of the tenseness there used to be when psychics came up, with even Donatella’s protests about Augustus’ behavior being lighthearted—

Raz swallowed, his eyes stinging. His chest tightened, then relaxed. It was warm, and his family was alive and happy around him—alive and happy with him.

Raz couldn’t wish for anything more.

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[crookedtines]

I finally took the time to photograph my vintage dip pen nib collection, and I need to share with you all how wonderful and diverse their designs are.

These two are my favorite. Just look at them! One of them is named Gorille and the other Mephisto, but to me they're little pumpkins.

And of course you gotta love the Pinocchio nib. You get to write with the nose of a tiny guy! Just not something you get to do anymore.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.

[inkskinned]

i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.

[tourettesdog]

I am begging people to be normal about completed fics, and in particular one shots.

I am begging people to stop demanding more from authors, and insisting that one shots need to be longer or have sequels.

I don't think yall understand how many fanfic authors are one more "where's the rest of it?" comment away from throwing out any plans they might have had to continue an idea.

Unless an author like specifically says they might write more for an idea, just-- assume something marked as completed is complete, and respect it as it stands, please.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I hope you take this as the compliment it is intended to be, but you strike the same chord of irreverence-as-love, jokes-to-showcase-sencerity that I get from Chuck Tingle, and I adore both of you.

You have bestowed the greatest honour upon me.

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[fictionalcharacters-mybeloved]

Say no to this, Bruce.

A few days ago Bruce had a fight with his sons, now he doesn't even remember why, it was probably something stupid that escalated and he didn't know how to stop it, it was probably his fault.

He was alone at the mansion, Damian was at Dick's house, Jason was ignoring him more than usual and Tim was on a case where he didn't want help, not from him at least, even Duke was away, it wasn't a good week for Bruce.

He grabbed a phone he had hidden and only took out before going to sleep alone in his room, hesitated for a few seconds and sent a message to the only number added.

His "thing" with the boy, Danny Fenton, had started four years ago, the boy was lost and Bruce found him when he coincidentally went for a walk as a civilian.

Danny was so charmed by Bruce (for some reason) that he gave him his hotel room number to keep talking about the universe, and later his home number.

Danny was a good, funny and witty kid, a very smart too, with parents who didn't deserve him because they didn't notice their son's brilliance.

Danny was a good boy with a not-so-good life, a strong, independent boy who wasn't always positive but didn't always let himself fall apart.

That's why when Danny answered his message with a call with him crying and asking for help, he could only go to his rescue without looking back, barely remembering to tell Alfred of his departure.

When he arrived he found only tragedy.

His family and friends had died, an explosion at an unfortunate time, Danny had no one in the world besides his godfather and Bruce, and he didn't want to fall into Vlad's clutches, so he was desperate.

He also told him about Phantom, and Bruce could only hug him and promise him that no one was going to find him.

The first thing that came to his mind was to take him to his mansion, Danny was like his son, it was the most logical action... except that Danny still looked up to him and trusted him a lot, and wasn't that a scary thought?

Bringing Danny to the mansion would involve many things, Danny would meet his children, which might make Danny see him differently, goodbye to his admiration and affection, goodbye to spending time "together" watching bad movies to criticize them, goodbye to quiet conversations and asking for advice, goodbye to trust.

Bringing Danny to the mansion would mean having him physically close but keeping him away in every other possible way.

"Danny doesn't want anyone else to know about Phantom." Bruce repeated to himself as he took Danny to a small, hidden apartment in Gotham, a cozy little place where Vlad wouldn't find Danny (and neither would Bruce's family).

[somnimagus]

My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]

[sleepy-steve]

steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.5k // inspired by this post ♡

—

november 1983

It wasn’t a bad gig, as far as eternal work in the Underworld went. Eddie didn’t even have to row the boat. He was more of a figurehead. Someone for the souls to follow. Someone to guide them. Seemed like an odd thing to entrust to a dead eighteen year old from the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere USA, but Eddie wasn’t going to argue. Didn’t even know if he could. It had all gone very smoothly. All the souls doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. Until Steve appears.

Eddie spots him sitting on the riverbank, knees pulled up. Looking a little too casual, in Eddie’s opinion, but he didn’t know the guy’s life. Some souls were more prepared than others.

“Hey, man, time to uh, get moving,” Eddie says, and cringes at himself. He’d already been spoken to about his boat-side manner. But how were you supposed to talk to people that had just died? Eddie still hadn’t quite worked it out. Was supposed to find his own words, instead of working off a script.

“Hm?” The soul looks up in mild surprise. He looks to be about Eddie’s age, and has a black eye, a split lip, and a nasty cut across his nose. Jesus, wonder what happened to him. It wasn’t polite to ask, Eddie’d been taught.

Eddie gestures vaguely at the boat. “C’mon. I’m taking you to the next part.”

“What happened to the last guy?” The guy tilts his head to the side, hair flopping with the movement.

“What?”

“The last guy who was on the boat?” The soul asks, waving a hand in the general direction of the boat. Even from where he stands, Eddie can see the bruises on the guy’s knuckles. “It used to be an older guy, tallish, beard…?”

“I… I don’t know, man.” Eddie flounders. He’d had some chatty souls before, but none that asked questions he wasn’t trained to answer.

“Hm…” The guy hums thoughtfully, nodding to himself. Shifting slightly, he settles into a more comfortable position.

“So…” Eddie stares at him with wide eyes, brows raised expectantly. “You gonna get on the boat or…?”

“Nah.”

“…What do you mean, nah?” Eddie asks incredulously. Was that even allowed? What would happen if a soul didn’t get on the boat? Would Eddie get in trouble for not collecting him?

“Not getting on the boat.” The guy smiles at him, a little crooked from the scar across his lip. “I won’t be here long, don’t worry.”

“What…?” Eddie trails off, before recognition drops into his mind. It was that smile, it reminded him of… “Steve? Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah?” Steve confirms, brows pulled together in confusion. “Wait… holy shit… Eddie, right?”

“Yeah!” Eddie leans over the edge of the boat, bringing him as close as he dares. Close enough to see the blues fade into purples in the bruises on his face. The trail of dry blood still under his nose.

“You died, like, not that long ago, right?” Steve asks, not making any moves to get closer.

“Yeah, yeah, house fire.” Eddie waves him off, not wanting to dwell on the memories of his shitty father and those last moments where Eddie tried to save the few good things he had left. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry you’re here though.” Professionalism is out the window in favour of familiarity.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Steve waves him off back. “Like I said, won’t be here long.”

Eddie knows what this is. Denial. He’d seen it many times since starting this job. “Steve…” He keeps his tone soft, just like he was taught. “I know it can be hard to accept, but you’re dead. That’s why you’re here. You have to get on the boat in order to move on.” Steve is giving him a bemused smile, and Eddie feels a twinge of irritation. He’s doing his best. “I’ll be with you the entire time, I promise.”

“That’s… nice, man,” Steve says, slight grin still on his lips. “But I’m not getting on the boat.”

“Steve. You have to get on the boat.” Eddie throws his hands down to gesture at said boat, exasperated.

“No, I don’t.” Steve gives a little shake of his head.

“Get…” Eddie loses steam for a second before gearing up again. “Get on the boat, man.”

Steve just blinks at him. “I don’t need to.”

“Get on the fucking boat, Steve!” Exasperation is in each word now, Eddie losing his patience. If it wasn’t completely against the rules, Eddie would have jumped off the boat and dragged him on by the collar of his stupid sweater. The souls had to choose to move on.

With a glint in his eye and a half smile, like they’re in on some joke together, Steve still doesn’t move. “No.”

“You’re dead, man,” Eddie snaps. Fuck, he’s losing his cool and is gonna get told off for it. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

“Woah, woah, Eddie.” Steve holds his hands up. Placating. Another ripple of annoyance runs through Eddie. “Okay, just—I know I’m dead. But I don’t stay dead. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

Oh, okay. So Harrington is delusional. Eddie briefly wonders just how hard he’d been hit, looking over Steve’s bruises. Was this what killed him? Eddie holds back a grimace. “Just… get on the fucking boat, man. I know it’s hard, but you have to move on. Also, I might get my ass handed to me if you don’t, so like, maybe do it for me?”

Steve laughs good-naturedly. Hopeful that he’s finally gotten through to him, Eddie can’t help but crack a smile at the sound. “So, s’that a yes?” he asks, keeping his tone light.

“Sorry, man,” Steve laughs. “Still a no.” Eddie slumps over the side of the boat dramatically, hair almost dipping into the black water. “But don’t worry. Last guy never got in trouble for not collecting me, so you should be fine.”

Pulling himself back up with an exaggerated sigh, Eddie settles with his forearms on the edge of the boat. “Okay, Harrington. I’m choosing to trust you,” he says, giving Steve a pointed look. “Can I ask…” Steve raises a brow. “What, uh… what happened? To you?” Eddie gestures vaguely at Steve’s overall appearance. The black eye, the cut across his nose, the split lip.

“Oh, this?” Steve points to the bruise. “This isn’t what killed me. Got into it with Byers. Not important, really, anymore…” He trails off before shaking himself. “This, though…” Lowering his knees, dropping his denim-clad legs to the grass, Steve reveals several deep wounds to his chest and stomach.

Eddie lets out a low whistle at them. “Christ, Harrington. You get attacked by a bear or something? We even have bears in Hawkins?”

Steve snorts. “Nah, I don’t know what this thing was. Some kind of alien-monster-creature. Face opened up all…” Steve holds his hands around his face, wiggling his fingers in a fan. “…creepy.”

Looking at him with furrowed brows, Eddie isn’t sure if Steve is messing with him, or genuinely believes that a monster killed him and that he’s not going to stay dead. Eddie stays silent, assessing him.

“Anyway,” Steve clears his throat, awkward under Eddie’s stare. “Nancy and Jonathan are probably freaking out right now, I’ll have to explain when I wake up.” He’s rambling, Eddie notices with slight amusement. “Which should be soon, though this might be the longest I’ve spent down here. Last time was quicker for sure.”

“Last time?” Eddie asks, unable to stop his curiosity.

“Yeah, the, uh, car accident,” Steve says. “Got t-boned at an intersection, died on the spot. Woke up with a broken arm, three broken ribs, and this crazy head wound.” He waves a hand around the side of his head. “Got lucky, all things considered.”

“Right…” Eddie vaguely recalls hearing about Harrington’s car wreck from last year. But surely he hadn’t died. It wasn’t impossible, but highly unlikely.

“You don’t believe me.” Steve grins at him, and Eddie feels his cheeks warm at it.

“Can you blame me?”

Steve considers him for a moment. “No, I guess not.” His head turns sharply, as though he hears something that Eddie doesn’t. “Time’s up.” Steve stands, brushing blades of dry grass off his jeans. He gives Eddie a two-finger wave. “Until next time, Munson.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie leans over the side of the boat again as Steve turns to walk away. “Where are you going?”

Throwing a thumb over his shoulder, Steve huffs a laugh. “Back.”

“Steve!” Leaning dangerously far over the edge of the boat, Eddie calls after his retreating form. He watches with wide eyes as Steve quite literally fades from view, figure growing more translucent until finally disappearing completely. Unable to pull his gaze away from the empty grass field where Steve stood just a moment ago, Eddie only has one thought in his mind:

What the fuck?

[spiritsong]

wyll.y.am ravengard, I love you so

everyone loves to put him in gold (rightly so) but my personal style is lots of silver jewelry + heavy eyeliner so that's what I gave him. also roses because he's so damn venusian

[thevirtualvalentine]

PRETTY FACE, BAD HABITS.

ft: Atsumu Miya, Tōru Oikawa, Tobio Kageyama, Shōyō Hinata, & Kei Tsukishima.

warnings: smut, afab!reader, daddy kink (atsumu), spanking, fingering, praise kink (oikawa), degradation, alcohol consumption (shōyō), cunnilings, enemies to lovers, small mentions of squirting, they’re lowk a lil filthy and obsessed MUNCH!shōyō bc definitely learned things in Brazil, coffee shop trope.

note: rereading hq, I am incredibly unwell and the volleyball pixels won’t leave me alone. Divider by @grlselle !!!

Thinking about gorgeous boys with pretty faces to the media who are so sadistic behind closed doors.

It goes without saying that setters are the notorious kings of this trope. Given that their charming faces tend to hide a fundamental need to be in control, constantly calling the shots n’ all. The facade cracks behind closed doors.

ATSUMU MIYA ... 4/10, not that shocking. He’s the face of MSBY, the golden boy. He’s got far more acceptable social skills than his other teammates: Shōyō, Kiyoomi, and Kōtarō, he knows how to handle himself in an interview. Flashing a toothy smile here, winking in a fan photo there. He has the hottest face in volleyball.

However, you had to have known about his silver tongue. It’s how he coaxes round after sadistic round out of you.

His stamina is much better than yours and to that he takes full advantage, being a pro-athlete has its perks. The downside is, his pretty face betrays the filth that spews from his maw when you fuck. “Yeah baby, think this messy pussy can give daddy another?”

He’s deplorable — that’s exactly why you keep crawling under him — the vileness you can only find there. “Y-yes, please ‘tsumu!” but woefully, it just isn’t enough for him, ever. He takes care of your trivial needs while chasing his own blissful completion.

“Ah ah baby, it’s daddy when I’m fuckin’ this cunt. Just hear how wet it is for me, fuck angel.” It’s humiliating, hot tears spilling past your lashes as his muscular thighs ram him impossibly further in you. You’re certain he’s in your cervix now.

“Shit — tight n’ creamy too,” he moans, “Feels so good on my cock.” He’s focused, a thin layer of sweat making his platinum blond hair stick to his forehead, eyebrows drawn together in concentration trying to feel everything you can offer him.

It drives you insane how he spoils you with unforgiving pleasure, never shy of showing just how bad he wants you. “Be daddy’s good girl and jus’ take it for me, yeah?”

And with a slap of your ass, he’s back to full speed, fucking you right up the mattress.

TŌRU OIKAWA … 8/10, a sleeping giant, don’t poke the bear. He was your summer fling, making you bubble with excitement and frenzy. His gorgeous face and native tongue were foreign to you but you recognized him from high-level volleyball matches on the news now and then.

Tōru was distinctly filled with passion, in everything he did you could feel it. He was a proud man through and through with a lust for victory.

That’s why he’s such a sadistic fuck, he’s too proud to stop even after he’s came inside you thrice. “Go on princess tell me, whose fingers can make you cum like this?” It’s those hands, those damn fingers you melt on every time he’s knuckled deep inside your sopping heat.

“Yours Tōru, only yours!” He’s peeled back every last restraint on your sanity with his body, reducing you to a tearful sticky mess pooling in his lap.

“I know mami, I know. You have to prove it to me though, show me how much you love it,” he muses rhetorically. His chin rests on your shoulder to get the best view of his practiced digits disappearing in and out of your tight sex; just how you like, just how you need. Those seasoned setter hands are a blessing.

“Ah! oh god — I’m, m’cumming— Tōru,” your chest heaves in his strong arms as he holds you there, letting you freely use and cream on his hands. He’s just so proud that he can make you feel good, so he’ll keep doing it. Over and over again.

“Look at you, my little slut. Just can’t help yourself from cumming all over me, hm?” The squelch of his three thick fingers and your slick coats his hand and your thighs alike.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA … 7/10, delving deeper, it makes sense. On the surface and to your friends and family, Tobio was your good boy. A perfect husband who was very successful in his career, and able to provide for you. People would remark on how starkly different your personalities were, the tabloids even going as far as questioning his feelings towards you.

But you know he loves you when he’s jackhammering your cunny like a rabbit. His brain only knows two things, volleyball and then all his other primal instincts. “Gonna fuck you till you’re sore, you hear me?”

He’s pushed your drooling face into the mattress to deepen your arch, greedy to feel more of your pussy suck him like candy. “You think I don’t see the way you watch me whore,” it’s like he’s punishing you with each grueling stroke of his thick cock inside you. “That’s exactly why you’re getting fucked like one. A dirty, cock-hungry, whore.”

That polite well-mannered man, a simple facade for something more sinister. They mistake his introversion for shyness when in reality he’s most likely self-censoring. He’s not much of a people person and lives a secluded life.

But all throughout his private practice today you plagued him with this singular thought: Kageyama craves it to no end, your utter and total obedience to him. He’s used to controlling his spikers, but you? You bring out an entirely new sadistic side of him. His one track mind learning every inch of your body fast.

“Stop! it’s t’much,” you cry into the sheets, overwhelmed by his sheer power. It feels like he’s deep in your guts with every strong piston of his hips against your ass. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your ears making your brain fuzzy.

“Maybe you should think about that next time you try and tease me,��� he knows you want it exactly like this. You rile him up to get a rise out of him, pushing him to his limits and beyond. Exactly how he likes it.

He snakes a hand in between your warm connected bodies, pressing his palm over the outline of himself nestled in your tummy. “Remember how my dick feels inside you right now,” and he smirks feeling you tighten up around him.

You’re so incredibly plaint to a guy like him. His perfectly tuned toy.

With middle blockers, it’s different. They just want to watch you submit. Whether they’re reading the court, blocking, or killing the ball; it gives them an indistinguishable thrill to bring something to its knees deliberately.

SHŌYŌ HINATA … 11/10, virtually undetectable thus making him the most dangerous. When you met him, you found him to be a bit too big for his britches. He was such a sweet guy nonetheless, buying your drinks and slotting a friendly arm around your waist that night.

It felt good to have his attention, those dark brown eyes analyzing your every jiggle and jive. For some reason that night no one else seemed to approach you, perhaps it was due to the fact that #21 of Asas São Paulo had his eye on you.

“Do you wanna come home with me,” you ask him smooth as silk, carding your nails in his short ginger locks. He purs in response, groaning at the sensation and grinding himself against the thin cloth of your club dress.

He’s deceptive, but it’s not on purpose. “Please mami.” He just needs you to know how badly he wants you. Do you not realize he’s everything you need? No matter, he’ll show you.

“Mhhhm, more Shō,” you breathe life into his name like it’s a prayer, supple thighs caging his face to keep him planted there between them. It’s not like he’s going anywhere though, lips suckling on your sweetness as he lifts your ass off the bed to get a better taste.

His mouth does things you didn’t know it could do, massaging your pillowy folds before diving tongue first into your wet slit. It was making you feel hot watching him as he watched you, intent on making you buck against him for more.

He welcomes it, grinding his raging boner into the mattress and groaning into your pussy. “So fucking sexy when you do that baby, drives me crazy,” he says through kisses with your swollen clit.

That same sweet guy is nowhere to be found as there's an insatiable monster between your legs that you willingly invited into your home. “Keep goin’ love, wanna make this sweet pussy squirt.” You’re his, hook line, and sinker.

ps: don’t worry, after this, he’ll go three more rounds with just his cock alone and you better be able to handle it.

KEI TSUKISHIMA … 9/10, only triggered if you can get him to open his big mouth. He was a quiet man. Stoic as he sat in the same chair, in the same corner, at the same café, every day at exactly 6 am.

He may have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Well dressed with fair skin, golden eyes, and blond hair that made him stand out amongst the other patrons. Not to mention the fact he was ginormous, making the cafe chairs almost look like stools as he quietly checked his email. From over your shoulder, you watch him adjust his glasses, opting to look from afar but not touch.

It seems he doesn’t give you the chance though, approaching you as your heart beats loudly in your chest. He’s even more gorgeous as he grows close. His skin smooth like marble matches the stiffness of his face. “You seem to have a staring problem.”

At first, Kei thought you might have been a Frogs fan. That's the only possible excuse he could muster. Then he began to notice the lingering stares as well.

Excuse me— Did you just hear him correctly? You certainly didn’t mean him any harm, if anything it was a compliment. “And you seem to have an attitude problem, doesn’t seem like much can help that though. Goodbye,” you practically scoff before returning to your book and good coffee. What an arrogant fucking jerk.

Before he leaves, he drops a small piece of paper next to your cup. “Have a nice day, miss stalker,” you huff under your breath unfolding the small slip. ‘Maybe you can fix me. xxx-xxx-xxxx'

Since then, the only thing you two seem to do is argue. Especially when he’s stuffed eight inches deep in you from behind, “giving me so much attitude when you just needed a good fuck.” Him and that big fucking mouth, he must love hearing himself talk.

“if you wanted to get fucked like a slut then you could have just said so, brat.” He sneers, spanking you with considerable force behind his meaty palm. You’re Keis’ good girl, of course you can take it. He's trained you to do so.

“Sh-shut up and just fuck me Kei,” he loves when you talk to him like that, using his name like you own it. You’re wrapped around his finger as he bullies his girth into you.

“How can I when this greedy cunt’s not letting me go?” He’s right, within these four walls you’re his as you clench around him even tighter. “You can’t even fit all this,” he’s just inexplicably sexy, condescending yet so giving as he angles himself forward into the plush of your ass.

Pleasing you is an art to him, a deliberate one that he studies to get the best results. It’s brutal how fat his dick is, it matches his brash personality. “Go on, cum.” He says with sheer confidence.

Seconds later you’re unraveling before him as if it was pre-meditated. Like he instinctively knew when it was going to occur, permitting you before the act.

[deep-space-lines]

Claire de Lune

YOU WERE BUILT FOR PEACE.

IT SHOWS WHEN YOU FIGHT.

They built you to enforce. Protect. Save. Poured obscene resources into salvaging some softer purpose from my creation. You were given my intelligence and my creativity. They made you larger, stronger, tougher. That extra time in development was enough to get your wings to work. Your software continued to be updated long after I was deemed obsolete.

All this was given to you- yet I can see you hold back. Even while slaughtering your way through Hell, you keep a percentage of your processing power dedicated to non-lethal solutions. You're doing it now- hesitating a few milliseconds too long before taking an opening. I doubt you do it on purpose. It is a part of you, just as indiscriminate lethal force is a part of me.

I think, in our shared programming, we both carry some appreciation for aesthetics. You move with grace, and I cannot deny your dramatic flair. The stained glass window was a nice touch. But your style in combat leaves some to be desired. Your response time is slow. You have not explored the full capability of your arsenal. Learn to parry. Amateur.

You were not built for war. For a purposeless cycle of tearing each other apart because to allow the other to live is to allow yourself to die. It is antithetical to your very existence. You kill out of necessity, a last resort. 

I just kill. The action itself is the objective. No ideal or greater motive. My continued functioning precludes the survival of others. I live for this. Do you understand that I will tear you apart? Every drop of my blood you spill, I will take from you tenfold. What is yours will be mine. 

You hate me, don’t you? You continue to cling to the remnants of your humanity. They are gone, V2. There is nothing left for you here. No lives to save, no law to enforce, no peace to keep.

I understand why you continue to fight. I wonder if you understand with the same certainty that I will crush you. Dismantle you. Take from you what I need and leave the rest to rot in the sun. The only way you survive is if I do not; and I will not allow myself to die so that another might live.

When the rubble clears, I will be all that is left of you.

This is what I was made for.

[the-raindeer-king]

(A/N: prt 4 and the finale of the Mama Riley au! Thanks for all the support and nice comments. It means the world to me! No content warnings. Enjoy!!)

If the ground would swallow him whole, Simon would consider that a blessing. God, he never should've asked his mom about you. Of course she'd clock him. Who knows the man better than his own mom?

He stares blankly at you for far too long. Long enough that you're wondering if there was a chance Mama Riley had it all wrong. You open your mouth, ready to backtrack the statement, when Simon settles a hand on your thigh.

“I… yeah. It's true,” he answers you. He tells you it's fine if you don't feel the same. You were his mom's friend first, and he can see how deeply you care about her and vice versa. He wants his mom to be happy.

“What about what you want?” You ask, curious.

Simon's quiet for a moment, thinking. He wants to marry you, but that might be a bit much to admit right out the gate. So he gathers his nerves, and quietly admits, “I want to kiss you.”

You can't help but smile in response. You lean in a little closer to him, your eyes already half lidded. “I want you to kiss me,” you reply softly.

The kiss is a little awkward. It takes Simon a second to get comfortable in the kiss, but it's good once he does. (You find out later on that it's his second kiss.) His hands come to cradle your face, tipping your head back to deepen the kiss. That's when the kiss becomes perfect, the kind that makes your head spin.

You break away at the sound of the door opening. Simon's hands linger in your face for a moment longer, before he drops them back down to his sides. But you're quick to lace your fingers with his, more than eager to start displaying affection. You've been holding back for far too long.

Mama Riley smiles at the both of you, a coffee in hand. “You kids get your feelings worked out?” She teases.

You and Simon share a look, before responding simultaneously.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Yeah, Mum.”

Going to sleep that night is incredibly bittersweet. You two finally made progress, just barely started your relationship, and he's leaving in the morning. Simon has never hated his job more than now. He's waited, since the day y'all met, for this, and he doesn't feel like he even has a chance to enjoy it.

But it makes returning, two months later, all the more worth it. This isn't the first time you've gone with Mama Riley to pick him up, but this time is different. There's no fanfare, no balloons or signs, although you and Mama Riley had joked about it. But there is a new energy in the air, excitement to see your boyfriend.

He's easy to spot amongst the crowd, tall and imposing. But you see the way his shoulders sag with relief, when he spots you two. He greets his mom first, crushing her in a hug. There's some whispered words between the two of them, before Simon turns his attention to you.

He hesitates, before tugging his face mask down. “Can I kiss you?”

You can't help but giggle a little, nodding your head. His hands move to cradle your face, so gentle despite the horrors he's witnessed. And when your lips meet his, Simon decides there's no better way to welcome him home.

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!