#sometimes if i tap it it will skip tracks

[greater-than-the-sword]

people can say all they want about modern speakers but nothing will ever sound as good as the top loading cd player on a JVC boombox. To me.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part One: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin loves you so much it hurts, he just really wants to make sure your silly little girl brain doesn’t get in the way of your safety, you have a cat, Anakin is a bartender [diary entries from Ani’s perspective] MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: May 2nd

The Cerulean was filled with loud music, flashing lights, and the stench of sweaty guys and spilt beer. Over-kill perfume on the girls who so desperately wanted my attention, writing their numbers on their drink coasters after finishing their stupid little cocktail. The occasional ‘break it up guys, c’mon’ yelled out at a pair of ‘roided up college boys. Peanut shells stuck to my sneakers at the end of the night, going home and washing off the stickiness from working behind the bar.

All things I was used to.

But you… not you. Every time I caught a glimpse of you tonight it was like the first time all over again.

Pink, skirt, sneakers, crop top. Such a cute little outfit; it made you easy to spot, easy to track, easy to watch over.

I have your drink order memorized. I so hoped you’d come back for another so I could hear your voice, to see your pretty little lips move just for me again. But you didn’t. Because you’re a smart girl. You knew that without a man around to look out for you, you’d be pretty hopeless if you got too tipsy. It only made me want to protect you more. You’re too soft, too sweet, too innocent to worry about the big nasty world around you.

That’s my job now.

I’ll always keep you safe, but I also want to keep you happy. You deserve the world and more, and I’ll give it to you.

I’d destroy the earth to build it up again in your design. I’d live for you, serve you, die for you, at any moment you might ask. Just say the word and I will. I promise I will.

Note: Motion sensors

Date:

May 23rd

Anakin walked a safe distance behind you, his hands in his hoodie pocket, his hood up and head down. It was dark out, the only light was from the street lamps.

Sometimes when he walked you home he just wanted to run up and grab you by the shoulders and shake you; ask you to please for once just pay attention to your surroundings.

You walked around with your headphones in, ignoring everything and everyone. Yeah it was a straight shot to your apartment from the bar. Only having to cross the road once during the mile long journey down the sidewalk. But a mile was a good stretch of space and there were plenty of people who passed you. A handful of creepy, unlit alleyways you could be dragged into.

You were practically asking for it.

He just had to remind himself that this was just another reason you were so lucky to have him. He’d watch over you, so you didn’t have to worry your pretty little head about nothin’.

Anakin stood by the corner store dumpster and watched as you trotted up the steps and tapped the door code into the keypad of your apartment building. After the door shut behind you and he saw the keypad flash red, he knew you were safely locked inside.

It took approximately one minute and 14 seconds for you to jog up the steps to your door, depending on how tired you were he could add a few seconds and not worry. But anything over 20 seconds had him sweating in a panic.

Tonight though you were right on time, his phone pinged with an alert that your door had been opened, and successfully shut behind you. Now he could breathe a sigh of relief and make his way back to work.

His boss was kind enough to never question why he skipped out for about 20 minutes a night or two a week. Anakin smoked, it wasn’t unlikely to assume he just got a little distracted scrolling on his phone during his smoke break or maybe just needed a few minutes of peace.

Now all he had to do was suffer through three more hours of monotonous work and try not get a head start on his hearing loss from the shitty music.

Then he could go home to you.

The cloak of stress he wore when you were out of sight vanished quickly when he perched on the fire escape and peered into your living room. Poor thing. You’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

Not that he minded. It made his night that much better when he could sit closer to you. It was a pain to climb the ladder of the building next door and sit on the rooftop so he could see into your bedroom window. Very inconvenient, but worth it everytime.

He sat quietly, observing you and the way your lips twitched while you slept, as though you were having a conversation with someone in your dreams. Probably him, he thought.

“Oh, your blanket… you’re gonna be cold if you keep squirming around like that, your blanket is gonna end up in the floor.”

His fingers itched to pry open the window and tuck you back in, but he didn’t. He promised himself he wouldn’t do that. No breaking and entering.

He decided it was time to head back to his own home after that, he couldn’t stay much longer without: a) falling asleep b) forcing his way into your apartment for the sake of keeping you warm.

So he trekked to the sidewalk, wiping off the rust stains on his palms from the old metal fire escape. Shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket after blowing you a goodnight kiss.

Diary Entry: June 6th

You owe me big time young lady.

You left your door unlocked and your window cracked open. It is 3:00am, what if someone snuck in? Then what would I do?

Die probably. I’d probably die if something happened to you.

Therefore, I bit the bullet and helped you out. I’m lucky you’re a heavy sleeper and I’m not easy to startle or else we both would’ve had a big scare tonight.

I cracked open your window, slipped in quietly, lowered it behind me, locked it. Double checked it and then triple checked it just in case.

When I turned around- christ that fucking cat. I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes. Guard dog? Who needs a guard dog when you’ve got that monster running around?

A quick blur of orange and a loud *reeeareow* was the only warning before it- sorry, Boogie, climbed up my leg with her little pitchfork claws. I handled it well, you’d be proud. I picked her up by the scruff and gave her a light bop on the noggin’ just like you do when she’s in trouble; except I didn’t kiss it better afterwards, I think she would’ve eaten me if I tried that.

Any-who, I carried her with me to the kitchen and got her a little treat from the cutesy kitten jar on the countertop. Then she decided we could be friends or well… maybe or maybe not I don’t really know, I guess we’ll see.

I plucked your spare key from the top of the fridge and quietly left your apartment. I locked the door and checked it several times, just in case.

As I walked down the steps I saw that the super was kind enough to leave a reminder that the keypad code had been changed, how nice of him! You are awfully forgetful sometimes. No worries princess I took a picture for safe keeping.

I need to change the batteries on or door sensors soon anyway, those little button batteries don’t last very long you know.

It was only when I got home that I realized I still had your spare key… tsk tsk Anakin. Ah well, that just means it won’t fall into the hands of someone it shouldn’t. I’ll keep it safe.

I love you 🖤

Diary Entry: June 7th

You know, come to think of it. Now that I have a key I should get a few new items for your apartment, that way I can keep an eye on things for you while you’re away.

Note: Hd1080p microcam x4

There will be a bot to go along with this series! This is really short compared to my usual posts: I just wanted to give all my little lovelies a snippet of what’s to come.

Part Two

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @styleslytherin @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed

[ageingfangirl2]

Not Who I Was Looking For! Trafalgar Law x Reader SMUT (One Piece)

You were busy going through ship paperwork, that you didn't realise the rest of the crew had left you on the ship. Until Law walks in looking for Luffy and takes an interest in you instead. The doctor always knows what's best. Law x Reader (Female) SMUT!

You finish going over the last of the ship ledgers and scribing of The Straw Hat Pirates, cursing seeing it was dark outside when it had been light when you started. Sometimes you lost track of time, you just liked to work hard and everything had to be perfect. You should head to the kitchen to see what Sanji is cooking and catch up with the crew.

The ship was awfully quiet when usually it was so loud, where was everyone? The kitchen was dark when you entered which was also odd. Just how long had you been locked in your room? There were two notes on the counter, one from Sanji and the other from Nami.

Beautiful, I have prepared you a plate and left it in the fridge. If you're going to work hard you need a hearty meal...Sanji

We've gone into town if you want to join us. Chopper says it's not healthy to keep yourself locked up and working, so come and have some fun with us...Nami

Nami knew how to break you, use Chopper who you couldn't say no to, 'I'm not a workaholic,' you huff, 'if the crew weren't so crazy I wouldn't have to do as much work.'

You head to the fridge and open it, licking your lips at the sight of the silver lid Sanji put over the meals when you skipped eating with the crew.

'WHAT THE HELL!' you state, upon removing the lid to find an empty plate, 'LUFFY!' you growl and slam the fridge shut.

A man clears his throat behind you, 'I'd suggest keeping snacks in your room, preferably healthy ones. You're not Luffy.'

You jump not recognising the voice, and turn around to see a tall shadow looming in the doorway, 'who are you?' you ask, hoping your voice sounds strong and not scared.

The man turns on the lights and you shield your eyes, 'I heard they recruited someone new. You don't look intimidating but looks can be deceiving.'

Your eyes adjust to the light and you can't help but check out the man in front of you. Luffy had talked about a pirate with a white and black hat and covered in tattoos, 'Trafalgar Law,' you gasp.

He smirks and walks towards you, intense eyes tracking you like prey as you scurry around the counter, 'I'm flattered you know me, I came to see Luffy but you've piqued my interest.'

Before you can run his hand snakes out grabbing your arm roughly, and with little effort he tugs you towards him, pinning your back against the counter. You'd heard stories about Law and his devil fruit, and being alone with him didn't seem smart because you didn't quite know what terms he was on with the crew since you were new. But a small part of you perked up and you mentally curse Nami and Robin for getting you into romance novels.

Law's eyes trail down your body making your cheeks flush, and you shake the dirty thoughts out of your head needing to get away from him, 'I'd love to stay but I'm meeting the others in town and they'll be worried.'

Law tuts, 'I know you're lying. You were going to grab some food and go back to your room. Good girls don't lie, but maybe you're not a good girl,' he sniggers.

'You don't know anything about me Law,' you state, puffing out your chest with pride.

Moving one hand to your hip, the other comes up to your blouse which he quickly unbuttons exposing your chest, and before you can call him a pervet his tattooed hand rests over your heart which was beating erratically, 'I took a quick peak in your room, you should be more aware of your surroundings, anyone could be lurking in the shadows. You're smart, educated, and might have OCD but amongst your many books the ones with the most creased spines were tacky erotic novels.'

You gulp nervously, 'What do my reading habits have to do with this situation?'

Law taps his fingers on your chest in time with your heartbeats, 'everything actually. I'm an intellectual, you should be scared of me because I can hurt you, but your fast heartbeat, dilated pupils and clenching of your thighs indicate arousal. I've never studied the correlation between erotic fantasies of fiction and real-world applications. You fascinate me.'

You bite your lip and squirm under his hungry eyes, 'you're crazy, let me go.'

You freeze when he leans in and you feel his warm breath against your ear, 'A lot of scenes in those books involve exhibitionism, the act of being turned on imagining someone walking in on you having sex. We might be alone but your crew could come back at any minute--' he whispers, then pauses.

You jolt feeling his hand on your hip move down until it was slipping up your skirt, your body betraying you as his fingers graze your underwear, '--imagine their reaction seeing me fucking you on this counter, their good girl screaming my name. Oh, the humiliation for you, but you'd feel great.'

Law pulls his face back just enough to watch the wheels turning behind your eyes, the moan that leaves your lips as his fingers pick up the pace all the consent he needs, 'Chopper is worried about my health,' you hum.

Law's smirk reaches his ears, 'let this doctor take care of your needs. NOW GET ON THE COUNTER!' He growls, his eyes darkening.

When you don't comply, he picks you up like you weigh nothing and slams you down on the counter, ' and slides your underwear down, 'Law...' you hiss at the sudden coldness.

Law pockets your underwear and continues smirking, a nice reminder and potential blackmail material in the future.'

Everything he did had you clenching, ashamed at how turned on you were getting being used by a man you only knew the name and reputation of.

You bite down on your lip as he runs his hands down your thighs, shivering in anticipation, 'Law...' You mumble his name again.

He coos, 'relax. God your skin is so soft and unmarked.'

Your fingers dig into the counter, a whimper leaving you as his fingers slip between your slick folds, and your body instinctively moves to get more of his touch, 'please Law...don't tease me...'

'FUCK!' you yelp, hips buckling at the sound of skin on skin, eyes widening seeing Law slap your thigh.

He tuts, 'Stop moving, you'll take what I give you, God you're so wet for me.'

You pout and ready yourself for another slap, 'that wasn't intentional, you whine.'

Law laughs, 'do you like it when I spank you? imagine what I could do to your pretty ass, you wouldn't be able to sit for days.'

Before you can reply he dips two tattooed fingers inside you while another goes to your clit and starts to rub, 'Mmm...so good...' you moan, throwing your head back.

'LOOK AT ME!' he growls.

You lock eyes with his hungry ones, as his fingers pump in and out of you building a tension in your lower half. This was so much better than anything you'd read.

'LAW!' you scream, as he adds a third finger, your walls clenching around his sinful fingers.

Law sniggers, 'yes, scream my name. Maybe you do want to get caught. They'll never look at you the same way again, no more good girl but a horny slut. What are you?'

You whimper, 'I'm a horny slut...your slut...'

He leans in close to your face again and simply pecks your cheek, 'I want to do so many things to you. My good slut. Now cum for me.'

The kiss sends you over the edge and you release over his fingers and hand and probably the counter, 'YES!' you pant.

Law stands back and admires his piece of art, 'You're such a messy girl, getting off on my fingers. We're going to have a lot of fun together.'

You gasp as he pulls out his fingers coming down from your high, 'what do you mean?'

'Open your mouth, clean my fingers, this is your mess,' he orders sternly and you open your mouth, only to have his cum coated fingers thrust inside making you gag.

You suck and lick them clean, as Law cups your cheek with his other hand and lazily rubs circles on it, a usual loving gesture but he was planning something behind his eyes that wasn't so loving. The thought both scared and turned you on.

He removes his fingers from your mouth with a pop and scoops you up off the counter and into his arms, but your eyes are drawn to your juices still left on the counter, 'err I should clean that up before Sanji sees it.'

Law squeezes your ass and holds you tighter as he carries you out of the kitchen, 'let him find it and lose his mind, our dirty little secret.'

Law wasn't joking when he said he'd been in your room because he found it again without directions, 'you never answered my question Law. What do you mean by having fun together? Isn't this a one-time thing?'

He places you down on the bed and sighs, 'We're going to continue this, like I said I want to do so many things to your body. Luffy and the rest of the crew will be in the dark. You're going to say yes, because when I go you're going to be thinking about my dick inside you. Tell me I'm wrong.'

You shake your head and scrunch the bedsheets beneath your hands, 'you're now wrong Law. That was better than the books.'

He leans down and kisses the top of your head, again you're unsure if the gesture is loving or manipulating, 'Good girl, now go to sleep it's not healthy to work so hard.'

'What about you?' you motion to the bulge in his pants.

He shrugs his shoulders, 'I'll handle it before seeing Luffy. Might even ask that cook to make something in the kitchen. Good night.'

You watch him leave your room and close the door. You'd really gotten yourself into a situation, this wasn't like you, but being at sea for so long made you have needs, and it wasn't like you were going to bump into his crew that often.

[wisteria-cherry]

in which you decide to make a list of all the nicknames sirius calls you

sirius x reader, jealous sirius if you squint

although you had been friends with the marauders for quite a decent amount of time— not so much as each other, but still considerable compared to the other few people they chose to hang around— it had never really crossed your mind just how many nicknames sirius used for you. the only natural solution to this was to take a tally.

at the beginning of the day, when you were sitting in the common room waiting for the boys to arrive, sirius was last down. this wasn’t uncommon; sirius spent the most time getting ready of the four (james a close second).

“morning, dove,” sirius greeted you, stretching his arms up above his head. you smile in reply, scribbling down the name in your notebook (a muggle invention that was far more practical than keeping scrolls of parchment. lily had given it to you as a gift). “whatcha writing?”

“yeah, what is that, huh?” james looked over your shoulder curiously.

“nothing.” you wave dismissively, standing up as you shut the notebook to properly greet the boys. “hurry up, we’ll be late.”

“yes, mum.” sirius groaned dramatically (as always).

your first class was history of magic— which was unfortunate, really, because the tiring class did nothing to help your already tired state. sirius and remus were on either side of you, and you were sitting with your head resting in your arms.

“tired, darling?” sirius whispered, snickering under his breath.

“who wouldn’t be?” you mumble, adjusting your arms on your desk. ah, that’s right. you made a mental note to add “darling” to the list.

“go ahead and sleep.” remus mumbled as he scribbled down notes. “you can copy my notes later.”

“this is why you’re my favorite, rem,” you bury your head deeper in your arms, letting your heavy eyelids finally close.

“excuse me, love,” sirius whispered indignantly, poking your bicep. “i’m hurt.”

“you, too, sirius, i guess.” you groan indifferently. you hear sirius exhale, satisfied with your answer, before feeling the weight of what must have been his robe across your shoulders. your shoulders relaxed as you felt his hand following, scratching gentle circles on your back.

“that’s what i like to hear, hm?”

sirius woke you up seconds before the end of class. you weren’t sure how he kept track so well— he probably only did it so he could count down the minutes til he was free (at least until his next class)— but you found it useful, as you were more so the type to cope until class ended as a pleasant surprise.

“wake up, love, class is nearly over.” sirius poked your head, maybe a little too hard, before brushing the hair out of your face carefully, probably to compensate. “oi.”

“m’up, black.” you lift your face slightly to eye professor binns finally wrapping up the lecture. “merlin, already?”

“yeah, already.” sirius hummed.

“where’s moony?” you tiredly look to sirius before looking the other way to see if remus was there.

“finishing your notes for you.” remus replied, eyes glued to the board as he scribbled down dates from it. remus set his pencil down with a satisfied tap and rolled up the parchment just as professor binns dismissed the class. you stood up and stretched before gratefully taking remus’ notes to copy down later.

“thanks, rem. this is why you’re my favorite.” you exhale.

“oi, i thought i was your favorite!” sirius protested. you cast him an amused glance.

“you didn’t copy notes down for me.”

“i would’ve given you mine if you asked.”

“your handwriting is horrid.”

“come on now, you don’t really mean that, don’t you, pretty?” sirius slung an arm over your shoulders as you roll your eyes.

“yes, i do. come on now, i’ve got to get to class.” you tell him, following as remus began to walk out.

“you should skip.”

“and do what?”

“hang out, obviously, sweetheart!” sirius groaned. “merlin, you’re dense sometimes.”

“i’ll keep that in mind.” you raise an eyebrow.

as soon as you sit down in your next class (sirius and remus had indeed skipped, much to remus’ annoyance, as he had charms, which he quite liked. you and sirius had potions, so you couldn’t blame him for skipping), you whipped out your notebook, scribbling down the names before you forgot.

darling, love, pretty, sweetheart.

you hummed contentedly. a considerable list. you decided not to add mum. you look up from your notebook as professor slughorn studied the room.

“(l/n), child, where is mr. black?” the pudgy professor frowned.

“erm,” you hesitate, startled by the sudden question. “in— in the library, sir.”

“do fetch him, won’t you?” slughorn tutted. “such a rebel. but i do enjoy him; his family are fine people.” you sigh. sirius was one of slughorn’s favorites, even though sirius wanted nothing to do with him, as a conversation with slughorn meant talking about his family.

“yes, sir,” you stand up, leaving the room as your classmates stared after you.

you found sirius in the library with the other marauders. you had been expecting this; you knew that remus’ condition for skipping classes would be that they go to the library. sirius was slumped dramatically over the table.

“moony, this is horrible! what’s the point of skipping class if we’re just going to go to the library?” sirius was whining as he caught sight of you. he brightened immediately, and, upon seeing sirius’ face light up, the other three boys looked up as well.

“finally decided to join us, eh?” james grinned.

“in your dreams.” you roll your eyes. “i’ve come for black. professor slughorn wants his star student back.”

“i’m failing potions on purpose, i’m not his star student!” sirius groaned.

“that’d be lily.” james nodded solemnly.

“pushover.” remus snorted quietly. james punched remus’ shoulder.

“his words, not mine.” you shrug. you watch as sirius packs up his things for a moment before turning to leave, assuming sirius would follow after.

“aw, come on, pads, stay!” james protested.

“yeah, you don’t really wanna go to potions, do you?” peter added insistently.

“nope. gotta go, the missus calls.” sirius said, popping the ‘p’ as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “so long, mates.” remus waved goodbye politely as the other two continued to protest, until madam pince gave them the same withering glare that they had found you also had sometimes— the one that shut them up.

“the missus?” you raise an eyebrow as sirius falls into step with you (somewhat, as his long strides were no match for your short, quick steps).

“yeah, the missus.” sirius hummed, looking ahead as he answered. he seemed to sense through your silence that you wanted clarification. “what about it?”

“that’s new.” you shrug. sirius only grins, slinging his arm over your shoulder.

“well, i had to start getting creative since you’re writing them all down.” he says smugly.

“wh-“ you sputter, stepping out of his grip to look at him in shock. “you knew?”

“you’re not very discreet, lovely.” sirius snickered. you sighed. this was true.

“fine.” you groan, reluctantly allowing sirius’ arm to snake around your waist as you continued to walk.

“y’know what else i reckon you ought to add to that list?”

“what?” you ask halfheartedly, knowing full well it’d be a foolish answer.

“mine.”

“sirius.”

“i’m all yours.”

“quit it, black.”

“as you wish, darling.”

[antebunny]

IRONY

(Or: my take on a post Red Robin Dick & Tim reconciliation. Because they love each other so much, and that's why it hurts).

-

Tim can admit, once an alert pops up on his computer and he immediately opens up the live feed of Dick’s kitchen, that there’s some cruel, bitter irony in what he’s doing. Also quite a few broken laws, and bent morals, and some icky stuff which he would not like Dick to find out about. Inserting surveillance cameras and trackers all over your loved one’s property, after all, is Bad Sibling Behavior. After so long spent trying to be a good sibling, Tim is hardly going to admit what he’s doing to anyone else.

Because he’s stalking Dick. 

Like a creepy little obsessed fan. Or a creepy villain-adjacent stalker. Like a ten-year-old Timmy Drake. He never thought he’d be doing it again as eighteen-year-old Tim Drake. Nonetheless, he stalks and tracks and surveils Dick from afar without ever talking to him. It’s like old times. Jason is even alive again. Except that instead of Tim stalking the Bats because he was a lonely little ten-year-old left to rot in a huge mansion with no concept of privacy or boundaries, he’s a less-lonely eighteen-year-old who knows far too much about Dick Grayson. Too much because far too much has gone down between them for Tim to just…talk to the guy. It’s impossible. Definitely impossible. 

Tim misses the days of late night ice creams, arms resting on his head or slung over his back, trading skateboard tricks for tumbling tricks. He aches for those days with a hunger he didn’t know was possible after a childhood spent starving for affection. 

But they can never go back.

Which is why Tim learns that Dick isn’t taking his meds because his surveillance equipment detected a change in behavior. Dick usually goes to his kitchen, breaks out orange juice or soda or some energy drink from the fridge, and takes his meds. Tonight he did not. Tim doesn’t know what the meds are for, he’s not that much of an invasive creep. It’s enough to know that Dick is getting treatment. And Tim doesn’t have to talk to Dick to find out how he’s doing. It’s enough to stalk him from afar to check on his well-being. 

Now the question is: what can Tim do about it? He can’t ask Dick himself. That’s obviously out of the question. Dick would listen to Damian, but the brat resents Tim’s very existence, so best not try that route. Dick would listen to Jason, but Red Hood barely tolerates Tim nowadays, and Tim isn’t interested in owing him a huge favor for something he really should do himself, so not him either. Dick would maybe, maybe listen to Bruce, but that’s hit-or-miss. 

Tim calls Barbara. 

“I need a favor,” he says as soon as she picks up. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Barbara replies, immediately business-like. “What’s up?”

Tim spins around in his swivel chair. Best purchase for his lair by far. “Not cape stuff, sort of, or imminently pressing, well, it’s pressing, I just needed to make sure no one’s listening in.”

“As sure as I can ever be,” Barbara confirms dryly. Answer: there’s always a chance, in the Bats’ paranoid minds, that someone is eavesdropping. But according to Oracle, she’s in the clear, and it really doesn’t get better than that.

“So, don’t ask me how I know this,” Tim prefaces, knowing she’s about to find out about his surveillance cameras in Dick’s apartment (if she hasn’t already), “but Dick didn’t take his meds last night. I don’t know what they are, so I dunno how bad it is that he skipped, and I don’t wanna pry into your, uh, relationship with him but–”

“Dick and I aren’t talking right now,” Barbara says flatly.

So, they’re in the off-again part of their on-again, off-again relationship. Most of the time Tim is rooting for them. Sometimes he thinks they should do what he and Steph did and settle into a best friends for life relationship. 

“Right.” On his next rotation, Tim catches himself on the edge of his table. He taps one hand on the clear surface and thinks of possibilities. “Do you think he would listen to B–”

“No.”

“Right.” Tim tries not to sigh and fails. “Okay, uh. Jason?”

“Jason can’t keep a secret.”

Which is sort of unfair to Jason, but keeping a secret is relative. Compared to Barbara and Tim, Jason can’t keep a secret. And Tim is not one to argue if someone’s making fun of Jason.

“Cass? No. Same problem.” 

It’s against her very nature to lie. If Cass does hold a secret, it is by accident. Tim doesn’t want to leave this up to chance. This was easier when they had Alfred to mediate. 

Tim starts spinning in his chair again. His room whirls past. “What about his friends? Kori or Wally or…literally any of them?”

“I don’t see,” Barbara says, “why you’re avoiding the obvious solution of asking him yourself. He’d listen to you.”

He’ll listen to you. What a heavy, crushing promise to make. You have the trust of Nightwing. Nightwing, admired by the entire superhero community. It’s true, maybe, probably. That Dick will listen to Tim. He’s mostly sure of that now, after everything. That’s the problem, really. The “after everything” part of Tim’s confidence. Their trust is not from years of steady partnership, or slowly developed siblinghood. The trust Tim has in Dick originates from months of silence, of terribly intimate understanding, of shared grief and one horrible, nausea-inducing day. 

Dick hates when people leave him and when people fall and he can’t catch them. People don’t usually leave Dick Grayson, but Tim left and then he fell and Dick caught him. So Dick will listen, probably, maybe, if only because he doesn’t want Tim to leave. And Tim can’t ask, knowing that they don’t have the nice, easy brotherhood they ought to, the companionship siblings should have. Knowing Dick is only listening because he wants to keep Tim around. That’s the sort of fake compassion Tim spent his life running from. It’s not empathy, it’s sympathy. 

A vicious little voice that sounds like Janet Drake tells Tim that he should shut up and suck it up and accept whatever Dick gives him, because he’ll never be worthy of anything more. Tim slams his head into walls to shut that voice up. He won’t accept it. He cannot. He must not. 

“You’re not talking to him, are you.” Barbara’s voice has a tinge of that shaking-your-head condescension that drives Tim up the walls. The tone that carries that undercurrent of, why are you making this so hard, Tim? As if it’s so easy. As if everything that fractured Tim and Dick’s relationship is so easily repairable. 

Of course, Tim can’t explain that to Barbara. It sounds pathetic, even to himself.

“Bold words, coming from you,” Tim retorts.

Barbara sighs. “Look. At this point Damian has the best communication with Dick. And unless you have a way of tricking Damian into–huh.”

Tim, whose manipulative, stalkery little brain went in the exact same direction as hers, echoes her exclamation. “Oh. Yeah. Hm. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Unfortunately,” Barbara says, voice dry as the desert Tim was reborn in, “yes.”

The Belfry, a secret headquarters perfectly unobtrusive in Gotham’s old gothic and industrial skyline, was built by Tim and Barbara shortly after Bruce’s return. Since it’s so much newer than the Clock Tower, its inhabitants are not yet established. Where the Clock Tower houses the Birds of Prey, and Barbara’s friends in general, the Belfry sees a small but wide-ranging group of heroes coming in and out. Dick, Cass and Steph are the only other Bats to be allowed in.

Tonight, a little eleven-year-old boy crouches in the welcome darkness of one of the many nooks and crannies, dagger in his hands, and pretends with all his might that he belongs. 

“…at least wrap it,” Barbara is saying as she disengages the many, many security systems and enters the many passwords to get into the Belfry. 

“What’s the point?” Tim argues. “It’s not like–”

Both he and Barbara freeze. Tim raises a hand slowly to his belt. Barbara fingers one of the many buttons on her wheelchair. He gestures her to the left. They’re caught in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. With ceilings as high as a warehouse (it’s a bell tower, after all), those windows are high indeed. 

And then–

“Oracle. Red.” Damian emerges from the darkness like the little gremlin that he is, chin held high in his Robin uniform while he omits the Robin part of Tim’s new superhero name. “I have been here long enough that I could’ve killed both of you. How careless of you to not notice.”

Translation: Damian had been hoping to go unnoticed for longer.

“Here, where you most definitely do not have access,” Barbara points out. She wheels closer now that they know it’s just Robin.

Tim, while Damian is distracted with Barbara, sidles over to a table as stealthily as he knows how and sets down his package. 

“Clearly, your security standards are in need of upgrading,” Damian sniffs. Then his eyes narrow as he notices what Tim is doing. “Drake. What is that package.”

“None of your business,” Tim snaps back immediately. He moves to cover it with his back. “Get out of here. Invites only, you weren’t invited, you know how it is.”

Damian folds his hands behind his back and raises his nose. “It is for Grayson.”

“For Christ’s–how did you know?” Barbara demands.

“You just confirmed it,” Damian replies smugly.

Barbara rolls her eyes. “Okay. Fine. It’s for Dick. Happy now?”

“No.” Damian marches up to Tim, then folds his arms, dagger and all, over his chest when Tim blocks his path to the package. “Tell me what you are giving to Grayson.”

Tim leans back against the table and folds his own arms over his chest, affecting a casual state of relaxation he absolutely does not feel. “I said, none of your business.” 

In truth, there’s something so heart-breakingly ten-years-old about Damian’s behavior. His cool older brother is part of a cool group of friends with a secret hideout that Damian is not allowed into. Of course he broke into it. Damian, under all his bluster and bravado, wants to be a part of it all. He’s only human. He’s only eleven years old.

“You may be poisoning him,” Damian insists.

Tim laughs. “That’s more your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

Seems like Damian hasn’t yet heard the saying your wheelhouse, because he scowls but doesn’t respond. Oddly enough, Tim feels worse about that than he does about the actual insult. Kids are not their parents or the secret assassin society they come from, he knows, he knows this. Yet this intellectual knowledge always flies out the window in favor of emotional responses when it comes to Damian. 

“It’s not,” Barbara interrupts, before they can come to blows. “It’s just something to make him feel better, since he stopped taking his meds. Now will you leave?”

Damian scowls again, this time resembling an angry kitten more than a fearsome assassin. Not that he ever has resembled a fearsome assassin, despite all the assassination attempts. For all the pent-up resentment and bitter anger Tim has about Damian, he can’t help but find the kid a little cute. 

(The thing is, back before everything, Tim really wanted a little sibling. Back before everything, Tim used to dream about Jason coming back).

(Isn’t it funny how the universe keeps giving Tim what he wants just to spite him?)

“Fine.” Damian glares at both of them in turn. “Since both of you are so incompetent in taking care of Grayson, I will do it.” 

And he sweeps out of the Belfry with all the righteous fury that an eleven-year-old can muster. 

Tim and Barbara finally make eye contact after Barbara ensures, using the Belfry’s surveillance cameras, that Damian has exited the building for good. Then they both burst into laughter. The rafters ring with the force of it, pealing like the bells on Sunday morning. Barbara slaps her knee. Tim leans back on the table, hands clasped over his stomach, and shakes.

“I can’t believe,” Barbara says, once she’s calmed down enough to get a proper sentence out, “that we just tricked a kid into doing our dirty work for us.”

“Hey, if it works,” Tim says, voice full of mirth. 

He easily identifies himself as an adult despite only recently turning eighteen. It is impossible to feel like a child, he reasons, after waking up in the desert. After running Wayne Industries, however briefly. After striking out on his own. After everything.

Perhaps that’s why he gets along so well with Barbara these days. She understands that he is not a kid anymore, even if she wasn’t there for everything. Dick, on the other hand, still sees Tim as the kid he was. (As Robin). As the Before Everything Tim Drake that the real Tim is getting so very tired of thinking about. So what if he misses all of it, the good and the ugly? That’s just the nostalgia speaking. That’s just part of growing up. Tim had to grow up fast, so he did. He did what he had to do and he won’t let himself regret it.

[fictionalmenxyn]

✫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐘/𝐥/𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡✫

Pairing: cowboy!rafe x cowgirl!reader

(Not apart of the possible fic, this is just a blurb)

Warning: language

(Outfit of reader: white baby tee, blue flared jeans and your famous brown cowboy boots.)

--᪥☆𓃗☆᪥--

It was a sunny afternoon at the ranch, sky is clear and the warmth hitting your skin.

You were sat in your ‘chill’ room that was next to the living room. You’d call it a man cave but there was no beer or sports related things. It was your record room, you may be nineteen but you know your older music well. Your parents grew you up on 70s, 80s and 90s music. So you have your range of taste.

You walked out to your turn table, pushing up the lid. You reached over one of your shelves and grabbed one of your favourite albums, Rumours by Fleetwood Mac.

Slipping the vinyl out of its case, you gently placed it down on the turn table.

You skipped to your favourite song, also the second on the track, Dreams.

The song kicked in as you turned up the volume. You feel the music in your feet and you tapped to the beat. Sitting in your armchair. Your boot tapped the wooden floorboard.

Your voice like honey, sweet and smooth. With a slightly rasp your sang “now here you go again, you say you want your freedom.” You head bops subconsciously “well who am I to keep you down…”

You snag to the song. Completely forgetting Rafe was supposed to be coming over soon to help your father with the cattle.

You continued to bop your head and tap your foot as you sang to yourself. Your eyes shut as you feel the music.

Rafe had just pulled up to the ranch, aligning his truck door shut, he made his way to the porch.

He could hear the music as he got closer. He looked in the slightly opened window, seeing you. Sat in your chair, feeling the music. He smiled at the sight. Then his eyes widened slightly as he heard you sing.

“Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision… I keep my visions to myself, it’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams…and have you any dreams you’d like to sell?…”

If his jaw could physically drop to the ground, he’d let it.

“Dreams of loneliness, like a heartbeat drives you mad… and the stillness of remembering what you had… and what you lost, and what you had, oh what you lost…”

He watched you in awe, who knew his girl had such a voice. Don’t get him wrong, he knew you could shout and had a good set of lungs on you. But to sound almost exactly like Stevie Nicks, it wowed him.

He kept watching as you sang, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Women, they will come and they will go, when the rain washes you clean you know.. oh thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing…”

He smiled to himself, he had to see this more often. Yeah, he heard you do karaoke down at the bar in town, but you were drunk.

“Say women, they will come and they will go, when rain washes you’ll clean you know.. oh thunder only happens when it’s raining… you’ll know… you’ll know, oh you’ll know…”

The song fades out and the next track of the album plays. He can see the soft smile on your face. He knew this was your favourite album, that’s why he bought it for you. Your parents had the album before, but it was lost up in the attic of your ranch. When he listened to you complaining for a solid ten minutes about it. He knew he had to get for you.

He smirked as you weren’t singing no more. “Hey, you should sing proud Mary f’me sometime.” He knew you liked Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Your eyes shot open at the sudden voice and saw Rafe. “Rafe! Jesus…”

“Nope, I’m not Jesus, you had it right the first time…”

“Oh piss off..”

“Nah, you know you can’t get rid of, besides, I’m here for your dad.”

You nodded as you got up and walked out of your record room and to the front door. You unlocked it and opened the front door then the screen door. He smiled down at you “hey baby, nice voice you got.”

You smiled as he leaned down and hugged you “hey, thank you, just don’t scare me like that next time” you both laughed.

He pulls away a little, still in each other’s embrace. He smiled then give you a soft kiss, which you returned. He looked in your bright eyes “so where’s your ol’ man?”

You nodded your head to the side “the stables, he’s checking up on Harley.” He smiled “she had her foal yet?” You shook your head “any day now, though…” he smiled and nodded. He stood up straight, but giving you one last kiss before he did.

“Alright, I’ll come back with your dad after we’re done, a’ight?” You smile and nodded “two cold beers are waiting.” He smirked “atta girl, see ya later, love ya.”

You smiled “love ya too…”

You leaned against the doorframe as you watched Rafe make his way over to the stables. You smiled as you saw him walk over to your father. You headed back inside and over to your record room.

Sitting in your chair once again.

Later that day, after they had finished working at the ranch. You placed two cold Coors cans on the outdoor glass table. Your father sat on his rocking chair, Rafe sat on the swinging bench on the back porch. You took a seat next to Rafe as both men talked. He had his arm on the back of the swinging bench. His finger tracing patterns on your shoulder, as you rest your head on his shoulder.

The sky turned into a pink and orange hue, the sun sets. Few of your dogs ran around the large open back yard. Your dad throwing a ball every so often for the dogs.

Moments like these you cherish. Even if it’s simply sitting in the back yard with your father and Rafe. Your mother and three siblings soon joined you three out the back. Your younger siblings making roasted marshmallows on the fire pit. Your youngest brother Daniel, would bring over two marshmallows and give one to both you and Rafe.

--᪥☆𓃗☆᪥--

[the-elusive-soleil]

our tracks untraceable

For @tolkienfamilyweek Day 6: Ancestors and their legacy

All quoted lyrics from "Sons and Daughters" by The Decemberists

---

"When we arrive, sons and daughters," Elros sings under his breath, "we'll make our homes on the water…"

He nearly bumps into Maedhros, who has halted in front of him as they and Elrond and Maglor make their way through the woods. It takes a moment for Maedhros to speak. "Where did you learn that song?" he asks, a little hoarsely.

Elros, confused, says, "Nana sang it to us sometimes…before."

"Ada sang it sometimes, too," Elrond adds. "But the version he knew was in Quenya."

"That makes sense," Maglor says, sounding puzzled. "If it had been passed down through Fingolfin and Turgon… But how would Elwing have known it?"

"She said it was an old family song," Elrond says, just as confused.

***

"We'll build our walls aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamon," Elwing sings. Music is supposed to be a gift of her family, but she can barely manage this song, words promising a safe and bountiful home, when what they have is this ramshackle haven at the edge of the world.

"These currents pull us 'cross the border," a deeper voice joins in from the doorway. "Steady your boats, arms to shoulder…"

Eärendil enters the twins' room, coming up behind her to slide an arm around her shoulders. "It's a good song," he says quietly, and looks at the babies sleeping in their clumsy bassinet. "Full of hope. They're going to need that."

Then, "I didn't know the Sindar knew that song, though. I thought it was only my family."

Elwing shakes her head. "No, I remember my father singing it…I think."

***

"Take up your arms, sons and daughter," Dior sings, "we will arise from the bunkers…"

He makes sure to sing quietly, not letting his clear tenor carry. These lands are no longer as safe as they were in his own childhood. But he wants to still make this trip as cheerful for his children as possible, under the circumstances.

The circumstances being his grandfather's violent death, and Dior's taking up the kingship.

"Is that one of your Nana's songs?" Elwing asks sleepily. He's carrying her, while the twins walk with Nimloth.

He holds her a little closer. "She did sing it to me, just like this," he says. "And someone else sang it to her before that. All the best songs are like that."

***

"By land, by sea, by dirigible, we'll leave our tracks untraceable now," Lúthien sings playfully, dancing her small son around to the tune and the silly words. It's a good day. Almost every day is a good day on Tol Galen. She has her husband and her son; what more could she want?

"Nana?" Dior interrupts, nose wrinkled, "what's a dirigible?"

Lúthien frowns. "You know, I don't actually know, ion-nin."

"But you know everything. Ada says so."

"Well, that's very sweet of him, but he's not quite right," Lúthien says, tapping his nose affectionately. "It's probably just a made up word. But why don't you ask your grandfather next time you see him? He's the one who taught me the song, so if anyone would know, he would."

***

"When we arrive, sons and daughters," Thingol sings under his breath, "we'll make our lives on the water…"

"What's that song about, Ada?" Lúthien pipes up from where she's skipping at his side. "It's silly. We don't live anywhere near the Sea."

Thingol pauses a moment. He hadn't meant to sing for her to listen to, exactly - it just tends to come out of him wherever he walks a noticeable distance, as they have been this afternoon. But there's no harm in telling her. He just hasn't talked about it much since meeting Melian.

"It's a song from the Journey," he says at length. "Before I met your mother, I and my brother and our people were traveling west to go over the Sea. We sang the song then about what we would find at the end."

"Your brother who went on without you?" Lúthien says inquisitively. She's been going through a phase of being curious about other people's siblings, since she has none of her own. At Thingol's nod of confirmation, she asks, "Do you still miss him?"

His throat suddenly feels thick. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Did he make up the song?"

"…No." Thingol shakes his head slowly. "It was a…a friend of mine."

***

"We'll build our walls aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamon…"

"Finwë, what in Arda is that song about?"

Finwë turns and spots his friend Elwë, and grins broadly. "It's to keep our people's spirits up as we travel," he explains. "To take their minds off the hardships of the journey and give them an idea of what awaits us."

Elwë appears to consider this for a moment. "That is all very well," he says, "but why would anyone want to fill their mouth with cinnamon? It is far too strong for such a thing, not to mention the waste."

"Of course it's ridiculous," Finwë agrees readily. "That's the point. There will be so much in Aman, and it will be so safe. It won't matter if we waste things every now and then, or use ridiculous building materials."

Elwë humphs. But he also, a few moments later, says, "Can you teach me the rest of it?"

Finwë can, and does, and soon enough the song rings through the wilderness as both Noldor and Teleri sing in chorus.

***

"When we arrive, sons and daughters…" Atya sings, and then trails off. Fëanáro frowns up at him, not understanding why his father has slowed and is no longer swinging their clasped hands to and fro, why he looks so troubled.

"Atya?" he asks. "What's the matter?"

For a long moment, Atya looks very far away. Then he shakes himself slightly, and looks down at Fëanáro with a smile.

"Nothing to worry about, yonya," he says. "I was just thinking that the song doesn't quite fit us, is all."

Well, of course it doesn't. Fëanáro doesn't have any brothers or sisters; he's Finwë's only son. But that's fine, and the song isn't supposed to be about them anyway - it's about the Great Journey.

"Does it need to?" he says. "We can make up a different one if we need one about us."

That makes Atya smile properly at last. "Maybe so, Náro. Maybe so. But we should find a spot for our picnic first."

***

"Till tides all pull our hull aground, making this cold harbor now home…"

Makalaurë frowns as his father sings under his breath. The song is familiar, but the tone doesn't seem to match it - it's meant to be a happy, excited song, but Atar's making it sound angry and vindictive.

That's pretty much been Atar's sole mood ever since the banishment was announced.

"There!" Atar calls out suddenly, breaking off the song and gesturing up ahead. "That is where we shall build our fortress, the envy of all in Tirion. Curufinwë, with me!"

He sounds more enthusiastic and less bitter than he has in weeks. Perhaps, Makalaurë dares to think as Atar and Curvo ride ahead, this can be a turning point for the better, for all of them.

***

"It's strange that your family would know the song, too," Elros ventures. Elrond knows what he means. They were told for the first six years of their lives that the Fëanorians were monsters, wholly other than them. This odd little point of commonality contrasts sharply with that.

He doesn't want to think too long on that right now, doesn't want to let it pull up all the complicated things between them.

Instead he says, "Perhaps since we do all know it, we can sing it together."

Maedhros looks hesitant. But Maglor, after a moment's hesitation, gives a small nod. "How does it go again? It has been years…we may not remember all of it."

"That's all right, it repeats a lot," Elros shrugs. "Here, I'll start--"

And they continue on through the woods, singing quietly so as not to attract unfriendly attention, but all in tune together.

"Hear all the bombs fade away, hear all the bombs fade away, hear all the bombs fade away…"

[drabblesandimagines]

Kitty (part 6)

Parts 1-5 are available via my masterlist.

Pairings: Rei x (afab) reader Fluffy fluff, some medical jargon but nothing too descriptive! --

“Oh, back already?” Kazuki calls as you step through the front door. You can hear the sounds of daytime television drifting through. He likes to watch it when he folds the laundry.

“Yeah. Why?” Rei asks, slipping his shoes off. You haven’t spoken about the hand-holding. What is there to say, really? You mutually dropped hands as the elevator door opened, like you were afraid of getting caught. You’re trying to balance taking your own trainers off when he grabs your hand – anchoring you once more.

You smile a thanks and, again, let go as you go to greet Kazuki.

“Nothing, just curious. How was Kyu?” Rei withdraws one of the envelopes and hands it over to the blonde, who nods in appreciation.

“Fine. Nosey.”

“Nosey?”

“Asking Kitty questions.” Rei drops down on the armchair with a yawn – the late night catching up on him – and removes his phone from his pocket. “Sounded suspicious.”

“Dude, that’s his whole job.”

Kazuki turns to you as you sit down next to him, realizing he’s not going to get far with Rei who’s back to his game from earlier.

“Did you like the café?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “I re-remem-remembered I like c-coffee!” It’s strange rediscovering these little things about yourself. It feels momentous, like at any moment that will be the floodgate that triggers all your memories, but, really, it’s a small piece of the jigsaw puzzle. There was coffee at the house, of course there was, you served it to him every morning but you’d never taken a sip for yourself. There was enough danger in sneaking food. Water you could take from the bathrooms, greedily guzzling from the taps.

“Did you have one of Kyu’s? They’re good, right?” You nod. “I can never get Rei to try. I don’t think he has the palate.”

“Too bitter,” he grumbles.

“Well, we can enjoy the grown-up drinks and Rei can share with Miri.” The blonde teases back. Rei slouches back further in the armchair, ignoring him.

The TV blares out an upcoming promo – something about a doctor giving advice about how to live a longer, happier life. “That reminds me. Kitty, I think you should see a doctor.”

“A d-doctor?”

“Yeah. I mean, you were in that place a while and not treated well – we probably should get you checked over. There’s a clinic we use when we can’t handle something on our own – it’s no questions asked, cash in hand, under the table type stuff, but they’re legitimate doctors. I think they’d be good to give you a once over. Only if you feel okay with that, though.”

“N-no, makes s-s-sense.”

“Great! The only thing is, it’s an after-hours sort of deal so it’ll need to be an evening trip. Rei, you’ll be okay to stay here with Miri after dinner, right?”

“I can go with her.” Rei’s bolt upright now.

“You hate the doctor. Remember when you went with me so I could get a tetanus shot?”

“You screamed. I thought you were under attack.” He replies, deadpan.

“It was a big needle! I’m not sure they’ll even allow you back in after the damage you caused.” Kazuki turns to you “Plus, you’re okay to go with me, right?”

You nod - hoping you’re not hurting Rei’s feelings. It might be better to have Kazuki there too, you reason, trying to put the pieces together of their last visit.

In the afternoon, Kazuki goes to pick up Miri and Rei’s coerced you into another go of Morio Kart. You’d say you were getting better but that’d be a lie - Miri can and will beat you in a race more often than not, so you’re not sure it’s much of a challenge for Rei. The speed boosts and the drifting is the worst, you can never time it right and end up lagging behind, sometimes by over a lap. On the left-hand side of the screen you can see Rei’s character is already over the finish line and driving automatically around the course now, whilst you’re been flying off the same bit of the track for an embarrassingly long time on lap two.

“May-maybe you sh-should j-just skip. I’m h-ho-hopeless.”

“No, you’re not.” You can see him smiling to the side of you. “Here.” He scoots closer to you, looping an arm around your waist and placing his hands around yours and guiding your fingers. “Just need practice.”

You watch what he’s doing, but the angle of which his arm is seems almost unnatural. “I-is that co-com-comfortable?"

"Mm. Not really." He pauses the game a moment. “Can you scoot forward a bit?”

You shuffle forward, nearly on the edge of the sofa and he clambers behind you within a blink of an eye. His thighs are either side of your legs, his chest pressed up firm against your back. His head is above yours but he leans slightly to the side and his breath tickles your ear.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You’re glad he can’t see your face – you’re sure it’s now as red as Kazuki’s beloved sweatshirt.

He unpauses the game and he talks you through what he’s doing but you’re not retaining one word, his fingers are still on top of yours and operating the games controller. You can feel the bass of his voice vibrate comfortingly through your back and you let out a breath, relaxing into him.

“Kitty, are you even listening?” He asks in a teasing lilt.

“N-no.” You laugh as you say it. Saying no was still a new addition to your vocabulary, but being so close to Rei in that moment made you feel so… buoyant. He finally gets your character over the finish line.

He chuckles, lightly. “That’s okay, we’ll go again.”

He sets up a race for a solo player, and takes you through another race. You try your best to listen to him this time, to take it in, but it’s hard to concentrate when he’s so close to you…

“I think I’ve lost you again in your thoughts, hmm?” He rests his head on your shoulder as he speaks.

“S-sorry.” You speak before you can think. “No, I’m n-not sorry.”

You can feel him smile into you. “It feels nice.” He mumbles.

“It does…”

The front door opens with a bang and you jump, sliding off the sofa entirely and slipping through Rei’s arms.

“Papa Rei, Kitty, I’m home!” Miri yells.

--

“Good luck,” Rei wishes the two of you as you leave, then frowns. Is that the right thing to say before a doctor’s visit? But you give him a bright smile and a thanks, which seems to reassure him. You can tell he still feels a little excluded, but someone has to stay with Miri and he has reluctantly conceded that Kazuki is less likely to be refused entry and is probably the best to handle any medical instructions given.

The drive is quiet, which is odd for Kazuki. It’s only when you get near that he speaks up.

“It’s nice to see you and Rei hang out, you know?” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I mean, Miri’s changed him a lot, but since you've been around… He seems a bit lighter.”

“I’m g-glad.”

The clinic is on the outskirts of town and the car park’s empty when you pull up. The lights are all off, but Kazuki seems confident as he leads you to a service door around the back. He knocks on it three times and it’s answered by a burly man, who appears to recognize him. He holds his hand out and Kazuki stuffs some bills into it, before he nods and opens the door wide enough for the two of you to enter. You stick close to Kazuki and come out in what appeared to be a make-shift waiting room. There’s no-one in there at the moment, but there’s dried blood smeared across the floor under one of the chairs.

Kazuki chuckles at it, directing you to a chair facing away. “Yeah, you might see some of that…”

It isn’t long before a door opens and a tall brunette woman in a white doctor’s coat stands there, looking around. She meets Kazuki’s gaze and nods, beckoning him forward. He gets to his feet and you follow the two through down the hallway into a consultation room. She gestures for the both of you to take a seat, before shutting the door behind her. She’s no name tag on, but you think that must be deliberate. “Kazuki, it’s been a while.”

“And is that not a good thing, doctor?” He winks.

“Bad for my pockets. Who’s this?” She nods her head over to you, as she takes a seat.

“Ah, well…” He begins to relay the story for you, thankfully, as the doctor nods thoughtfully. Kazuki runs through the basics.

“And you don’t remember anything?”

“L-little bits a-a-are coming b-back.” You keep your eyes focused on your lap, hoping if you don’t meet her gaze your stutter won’t increase exponentially. “N-nothing h-h-helpful.”

“Hmm. Do you often get headaches?”

“N-no.”

“Memory loss can be a symptom of post-concussion syndrome. Any recollection of black-outs after, er, injury?”

You nod. Kazuki shifts in his seat.

“It’s hard to tell what the recovery period for that can be, unfortunately. These things might just never come back.” She twirls her pen between her fingers. “But your short-term memory’s okay?”

“Y-y-yeah. I re-member m-most th-things a-about the h-house.”

“And this stutter, have you always had that?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt to talk – your jaw, or anything?”

You shake your head. “S-sometimes, I-I feel s-sick.”

“And you,” she turns to Kazuki. “have you noticed any improvements in her speech?”

“Oh, for sure. I think you’re still nervous around new people, eh, Kitty?” You nod. “But when it’s just us, it’s getting better all the time.”

“Psychological, then. To be expected.” You like her, she’s straight to the point. You don’t want sympathy - it brings too much attention. “Any chance you could be, er, pregnant?”

You shake your head firmly.

She checks your blood pressure next – noting it’s a little low – before she checks your oxygen levels and seems happy enough.

“Can I listen to your chest?” She’s already digging a stethoscope out of a drawer and directing you. “I’ll listen via your back. Just unclip your dress and lift your top up for me.” You turn to face the wall and as you do, you see Kazuki avert his eyes to the ceiling respectfully. You unclip the dungaree straps behind you, and pull up the top. The stethoscope is cold – a cliché – as she orders you to inhale and exhale out a number of times.

“All sounds okay there. You can get dressed.”

As soon as you’re resituated, she sits down and faces you both. “So, I think we should do some bloodwork. You look on the malnourished side, so I’m sure we’re going to see some pretty severe vitamin deficiencies. I can have the tests completed in under an hour if you’re okay to wait.” Kazuki nods. “I can give you something for anxiety too, it might just take the edge off any panic you feel, help you to relax a bit. It might help the speech, might not.” She taps the pen against the desk, before she leans back in her chair. “It’s up to you whether you take them, but if you do, fair warning they’ll make you feel more anxious at first but then it’ll settle.”

You nod. You’re really hoping not to have another attack like last night. She stares at you for another minute, seeming to think something over.

“I could run x-rays to check for old injuries but, to be honest, you walked in fine and, if we found anything, there’s nothing we can do here. As you’ll know,” she looks at Kazuki, “this is usually just emergency trauma, but I understand the need for discretion in this case.” She wheels over a cart, and snaps a new pair of medical gloves on. “You good with needles?”

“I… I t-think so.”

“Mm. Look at him, not at me. I’ve no time for fainters.” She states, and you follow her instructions.

An hour later you leave the clinic, a bag of vitamins and prescription drugs in your hands and instructions for Kazuki to get more meat on your bones. The car is warm on the drive home and Kazuki’s voice is comforting – he’s running through all the meals he’s gonna make, all the nutritional benefits, but it’s getting harder to keep your eyes open and the long day is catching up on you. It’ll be fine if you just close your eyes for a second…

At some unconscious level you’re aware you’re being carried but you’re somewhere in the middle between awake and asleep and you’re so, so tired. Your eyelids feel weighed down and, try as you might, you just can’t open them and all you seem to do is snuggle further into whoever’s arms to a light chuckle. You hear a door open and there’s a voice you recognize, laced with panic.

“What happened?!” Rei.

“Easy, she’s fine. Fell dead asleep on the ride home and she looked too peaceful to wake up.” Kazuki’s voice rumbles through your cheek. “Can you take her whilst I get my shoes off?”

“Mm.” You’re passed from one warm chest to another. You should really open your eyes, stop being a burden. You do try, but it’s so hard… “What did they say?”

“She’s vitamin deficient in practically all of them and needs to put some weight on, but that’s probably to be expected. Talked about the memory loss – could be something called post-concussion syndrome? Might be temporary, might be permanent. Doctor seemed to think she’s come out relatively lucky.” Kazuki yawns. “You okay with taking her up to her bed?”

“I’ve got her.” He shifts you gently, getting a better hold. You sigh, burying your head deeper into his chest. He smells nice, comforting.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Rei bristles.

“No, Rei. I mean, you like her.”

A pause. “Yes. Is… is that wrong?”

“Of course not, you idiot. It’s sweet.”

“I care for Miri but this feels… different.”

“Not a lot of dating growing up, huh?” Kazuki chuckles.

“None.” Rei grunts. “Not my style of hit.”

“I don’t mean for a mission, I mean for… for feelings.”

“Oh.” Another pause. “None.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I have a great history with the ladies.” Kazuki winks. “I think she likes you too, though, for what it’s worth.” He yawns again. “Go on, get her to bed. You can’t stand there holding her the entire night – that’s my first bit of advice.”

The next thing you know, you’re being laid upon the soft sheets of the bed and you nuzzle your head into the pillow, missing the warmth. A blanket is tucked in over you and you exhale contentedly, somewhere between the world of awake and dreaming. There’s hot breath for a second at your forehead and chapped lips press against it far too briefly.

“Goodnight, Kitty.”

-- Part 7.

[like-what-the-fuck-scoob]

I miss Eddie so much :(

Could you do Eddie x reader where the reader is in a metal band and Eddie doesn't know until he finds them practicing one day and gets all lovestruck towards reader? Fluff please. I think they would bond over it lol <3 thank you !

So Fucking Metal (Eddie Munson x Drummer!Reader)

Summary - Eddie Munson x Reader. When Eddie stumbles across you playing drums in the music room, he can't help but be intrigued.

Word Count - 839

Content Warnings - None really? Eddie is a little cocky at times. Very very brief and vague mention of reader having insecurities.

********************************

It was just another Thursday lunchtime as Eddie Munson strolled down the halls of Hawkins High, on his way to the music department.

It had become a regular ritual, for him and his band to get together and practice their songs a few times a week. In fact, for Eddie, it was one of the only things about school he actually enjoyed, one of few motivations he had to roll out of bed and jump into his van every morning. The soundproof walls and frosted glass of the music room provided an ideal, private space to rock out, and today was no exception. Skipping down the corridor, a pep in his step, the brunette anticipated business as usual; a delightful hour of rehearsal with his friends, temporarily switching off from the harsh reality of his studies as he absorbed himself in each strum of his guitar.

But today, he certainly didn't anticipate meeting you.

Abruptly spinning on his heels, Eddie stopped in his tracks as he walked past the practice room on the left, hearing what he recognised as drums being played, very impressively in fact. But they weren't just any drums, they were rock drums. And like a curious puppy, Eddie's wide eyes peeped through the glass, as he tried to identify the source of such a heavy, deep rhythm - a kindred spirit.

Meanwhile, you were certainly not blind to the presence that seemed to be lingering outside your session. At first, assuming it must have been a teacher on patrol, you carried on playing, watching and waiting for the shadow to pass by. But they never left. Whoever they were, this person was clearly listening in on your rehearsal, their form pressed against the clouded glass. Mid flow, you rolled your eyes, placing your drumsticks down with a huff, striding over to the door.

"Excuse me? Can I help y-" You paused, caught off guard as Eddie's eyes met your own. You knew Eddie. Well, you knew of Eddie, sometimes hearing his band practice as you worked on your sheet music in the adjoining classroom. He was talented, and you secretly looked forward to those days where you could tap your foot and nod your head along to his guitar, the thickness of just one wall between you.

"Ah, hi!" Eddie scratched the back of his head awkwardly, leaning his hand on the doorframe as you acknowledged him. "Sorry I um, I was just passing, but I thought you sounded great."

The compliment stunned you for a moment.

"O-Oh! Thank you, I uh, I've been practicing for my band." You explained, flicking your hair over your shoulder. It was an anxious quirk, one you'd picked up over years of insecurity, naturally plaguing you now as you struggled to digest Eddie's flattery.

"A band?" Eddie asked, his eyes wide with intrigue. How had he never met you before?

You nodded, reiterating yourself. "I play with my friends. We make metal music, like you."

He raised an eyebrow at your sentiment, his tall frame resting more comfortable now against the hard glass. "How do you know I make metal music sweetheart?" He asked with a cocky smirk.

God, he was charming.

With a nervous chuckle, you dismissed his question. "I'm sure everyone knows you, right? Corroded Coffin?"

Eddie didn't concur, instead giving a presumptuous, high pitched 'hmph' as he segwayed into his next line of thought.

"So, now that you've caught me in the act, can I come in and hear you play?" He bit his lip, eyeing your blushing cheeks with a bashful smile.

"I- yeah, I guess."

You swallowed nervously, trying to settle the lump in your throat, exhaling deeply as you followed Eddie back to your drums. Sure, you were used to playing in front of a crowd, but something about the curly haired guitarist gave you butterflies.

He took a seat on the piano stool at the far side of the room, and motioned towards you with a nod and a reassuring grin.

Clearing your throat, you picked up your drumsticks with shaky hands, and proceeded with your earlier piece, eyes glued to the white plastic of the drum for fear of faltering if you locked eyes with Eddie for even just a brief second.

As you played, the dungeon master watched you with admiration, his deep brown eyes sparkling with amazement as he concentrated on every single beat, edged forward in his seat. He found himself gazing over your delicate features, noting the way your tongue rested between your teeth in focus, and your hair bounced with every thump, ricocheting off your shoulders. He wasn't just enjoying your music, he was enjoying you.

As your rhythm came to a close, you turned apprehensively to Eddie, anxious for his reaction, whatever that may be. But he didn't cheer, he didn't scoff, he didn't mention your music at all. Instead, he asked a simple question.

"What's your name?"

Dazed, you responded with furrowed brows.

"Well, Y/N." Eddie stood, walking towards you. "You're so fucking metal."

[final-girl96]

My Boyfriend's Back Chapter One

Masterlist

Sunday 10:00 PM

September 21, 1996

I was down in the basement in my little studio working on some new music. I always lost track of time when I was down here and that was almost every day. Ever since that night, the night I found my mom. I was for a while going to some kind of party or taking every free shift at the video store I could. I tried not to be home longer than I needed to. I ate and slept there, sometimes not even that. It went on for months. Stu would come to find me and take me back to his place and there was always a breakdown that happened when he did.

Then I started to pour all of that anger, guilt, sadness, every single emotion I was feeling into music. I spent more time at home either in my room reading or downstairs in the studio. I mean I did other things too. I still work at Bradley's and I spend time with Stu and my other friends. Me and Sidney haven't been on that great of terms but we're making more progress. After Cotton Weary, one most recent man our mom was seeing, was arrested for her murder Sidney and I had a huge fight.

She didn't want to believe that our mother would sleep with someone else. Sid and I had different coping mechanisms. She shut herself off from everyone, especially Billy. She wouldn't let him touch her for months. It was all because we were told that our mother wasn't just murdered, she had been raped first. Sidney locked herself up and became a prude. I mean before that her and Billy couldn't keep their hands to themselves. He was being patient with her but I could see that patience was slowly withering away.

There had always been rumors of Maureen Prescott being the town whore. But that got worse after her murder. People would come up to me and Sidney and tell us we were going to be just like her. I had one girl from school come up to me at a party and tell me I was a whore just like my mother. Let's just say her perfect little face isn't so percent anymore. She cried while I threw punches. I guess I'm lucky she said it at a party and not at school. I should be a junior this year but I studied my ass off enough that I get to skip right to being a senior. I guess taking those AP classes paid off. Sooner I can get out of this town the better.

There was a knock on the door frame since I didn't close the door. Dad didn't really care about the noise, not like mom had. I looked over to see him standing in the doorway. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, walking into the room. I set my pen down, turning around in the chair to look at him better. "Hey." I gave him a small smile. "Thought I'd come down and let you know it's ten o'clock." I turned my head to look at the clock on the desk and sure enough it said ten. "Oh, I didn't realize how late it was." He nodded his head, "You've been losing track of time when you're down here. Everything alright?" He asked. I stood up, nodding my head. "Mmhmm." After turning all the lights off we headed upstairs and went to bed.

Monday 7:00 AM

September 22, 1996

I was in my room getting ready for school when my bedroom door opened. "Good morning, gorgeous!" I rolled my eyes, "Stu, what're you doing here?" I asked. I turned back around, shoving my books in my bag. "What, I can't take my girl to school?" I felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind. His lips connected with my neck. "How'd you get in?" I asked. "Your dad let me in on his way out the door." He rested his chin on my shoulder. "You never called me last night."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was downstairs and lost track of time. My dad had to come down to get me to come up and go to bed at like ten." He hummed and kissed my temple. "Working on something new?" He asked, sitting on the bed. I nodded, "mmhmm. And no you can not hear it," I said, laughing at his pouty face. His hands went to my hips, moving me so I was standing between his legs. "You've been spending a lot of time down there lately. You doing okay up there?" He asked, tapping two fingers on the side of my head. "You having nightmares again?"

Ah yes, the nightmares. Or more like one nightmare that just comes back over and over. Me walking into the house finding my mom except in the dream she comes back, pointing a finger at me and telling me it was all my fault. "No, no. You know how I get when I'm writing a new song. I hyperfixate on it. That's all it is I promise." He nods his head, gripping my hips slightly and then smirks. "So, you think we have time for a quicky?" I hit his shoulder laughing. "Oh, my god! You're such a perv!" He pulled me down on top of him as he fell back onto the bed, "yeah, but you love me."

Eventually I was able to pull myself away from Stu and we left for school. Sidney had already taken the bus. Billy stopped picking her up after she kept declining over and over. They were on better terms and she actually allowed him to touch her now but they weren't the same as they used to be. And Billy has been a little more closed off since his mom left not long before our mom was murdered. Sidney never really tried to ask if he was okay after mom. He tried being there for her but she was never there for him.

"You going to come over for a little after school?" Sru asked, pulling into a parking spot. "Umm… I have work after school but I'll come over if you pick me up," I told him, smiling. "Deal! But if I pick up after work and bring you home with me, you're staying the night. I fucking miss you." I rolled my eyes as I got out of the car. Stu rushed around to my side taking my bookbag, putting it on one shoulder, and taking my hand with the other. "You see me, like everyday, Stu." He let go of my hand and put his arm around my shoulder to bring me closer so he could kiss my forehead. "Doesn't mean I don't miss you."

[stardust-sunset]

hi hello i am a server at a restaurant by day and a kyle fan by night so i am more than happy to supply you with some waiter!kyle headcanons! warning: very VERY long and this isn’t even all of them

he would be one of the strongest servers in the restaurant. i can see him being really organized and having a system for everything. he’d be good with the hospitality part, dude never forgets to bring your side of ranch and water glasses never go empty. it takes a lot to overwhelm him.

however…on the rare occasions he is in the weeds…he’d sass the other staff and grumble under his breath. i don’t see his tables suffering because of this, he screams in the walk in before interacting with them. if he’s got a real bitchass customer, the sass comes out again. and then he screams in the walk in and complains to all his friends about it for the next week. that being said. he has had to be held back from confronting a guest by his coworkers once or twice after being stiffed.

i was a hostess for years so many thoughts here. if he gets triple sat or triple skipped he would be so nice and forgiving to the hostesses to their FACES, but be thinking in his head “how are you this fucking dumb”. if it keeps happening though he will say something, he wouldn’t yell and be a total dick about it but he would be a little condescending. for really good hosts and bussers he likes though, he tips them out extra because he’s just that generous. he would watch out for the young hostesses and make sure the creepy old men don’t bother them. he’d see that shit and immediately direct the old fart away from the underaged girl. and we love him for that.

never lets anyone borrow his fancy pilot g2 pens (same)

always looking dapper! he gels his hair for work cus it needs to be out of the way. and that apron has been washed, steamed, and pressed by mama broflovski herself baby

has beef with the bartender because one very busy saturday night he super sassed them for taking too long to make a drink only to realize he never actually rang it in…oops. bartender never forgave that one

took forever to learn how to pull a beer from the tap and honestly is still not very good at it (me)

refuses to clean any bodily fluids in any part of the restaurant, he’d quit his job first. don’t get paid enough for that (also me and you’d be surprised how often this is a problem)

master silverwear roller like he flys through that shit. mf always leaves exactly when he’s cut bc all his sidework is done already

if the line cooks give him shit he speaks to them in jersey and they’re like oh we didn’t know you were chill like that nvm

he’d have regulars that he just loves and adores and some regulars that he hates so much that he has forbade the hosts from ever putting them in his section

oh he’s a weekend shift hog, he thinks he deserves the busy shifts because he’s simply just a better server than the others so logically why wouldn’t he? smh

he usually likes it when the guys come to eat while he’s working and they goof off a little, but if those mfs show up on a busy weekend he’s like no god please no because they are like the biggest distractions ever. i would go on about how stan, kenny, and cartman would act while kyle’s working but i fear i’ve made this ask long enough as is

the dumbass smile in my face as i saw this in my inbox, i was SO looking forward to answering this one

i fucking love these ohmygosh-he’s such a bitch but in the best ways?? like he genuinely gets me sometimes-

he gets so damn sassy when things don’t go the way he intended-he’s never really snapped at people, he just makes small bites to the neck like ‘oh i didn’t realize that you were doing my job now for me’ and he would let out the most sarcastic ass laugh istg-i feel like he would be the kind of ‘busy bee’ worker where he absolutely loses track of time and is like ‘oh my break was a half hour ago fuck’

he probably tries to take all the night shifts because that’s just how he is. he’s a night owl and likes sleeping in ‘til noon.

but YES PLEASE-I would LOVE to read more of your headcanons like this!! i really don’t mind how long it gets-the more the better imo! i love reading stuff like this!! don’t feel nervous, i would LOVE to read some more!!

(he also sneaks leftovers out for kenny. i like to think those two get closer in their teens because kyle realizes how much kenny means to them all)

one i personally have is that cartman knows kyle’s schedule like the back of his hand and follows a routine in which he knows when all kyle’s breaks are. cartman will subtly fuck with kyle and make him miss all his breaks, usually including his lunch break. (if he’s working the morning, which he usually ends up doing, unlucky) he comes back later to laugh in kyle’s face because poor boy’s hungry and tired. makes some snide ass comment about how ‘oH kYlE tHaTs So ImProFeSsIoNaL oF yOu To YaWn MiDsEnTeNcE’ or he laughs because ‘aren’t you a waiter? your job is to bring out the food, not to want it, kahl’ dunno how the rest would play out. that’s just one i have-if you wanna add on tho i’d love to hear it!! :)

anyway. i’d love to hear any other headcanons you (or anyone else for that matter) may have! ^^

[ladamedusoif]

Chimes at Midnight, or an EoY Ramble.

(divider by @saradika - thank you so much for your incredible work)

Who can cling to a ramblin’ Rose?

Good question. But cling to me for a few moments, as I ramble my way through an end of year post - of sorts. Personal shenans ahead.

I have no great wisdom to impart. No life lessons, no affirmations, just reflections and observations after a year where my entry into this fandom brought me much joy, kindness, love, and strength - and, unfortunately, some upset, hurt, and pain, too. 

But then, such is life, and while many of us use this space as an escape, the dynamics of just being human can’t help but filter through here, too.

I (and my 120k and counting words of fic - correction, my “ethical porn for nerdy types”) am here because of an alignment of events in early 2023. Here is my origin story:

I was stopped in my tracks one day by a friend’s Instagram story - or, specifically, by the twinkly-eyed, crinkly-eyed, smiley handsome man being interviewed in the video they’d shared. And something fired in my brain (bear in mind, a reaction like that is highly unusual for me).

Around the same time, my divorce process began. After a day of crying in my office and/or on the street, my sister sent me a message with some advice: You need something distracting and comforting. Watch The Mandalorian. You’ll like it.

(This is all her fault.)

I can only blame traumatised soon-to-be-divorcée brain for the fact that I didn’t quite immediately put the twinkly-eyed handsome smiling man together with the tin can dad with a voice like melted chocolate and an adorable green child that reminded me of my toddler niblings. Whoops. 

(Sorry, P. Divorcée brain!)

Long story short: it clicked, eventually, and with a hop, skip and a jump from “hey there, handsome” to “I love him a normal amount” via SNL, I ended up here. 

People often compare Tumblr and fandoms to the purest form of childhood friendship. Oh, you have a Bluey backpack? I like Bluey too. Let’s be friends? And it’s a perfect analogy. It was a joy and a comfort to realise that, after a lifetime of feeling like I had to hide and be ashamed of the things and people who made me happy, there were other people just like me who didn’t feel shame, and who helped me realise this was…normal? And good? And, though this might seem like a contradiction in terms, healthy?

I rediscovered the pure joy of shared fangirling (gn). I read other people’s beautiful fics and, overcoming my fears and anxieties, rediscovered the person I’d been until I went to college and only wrote academically/professionally - the person who always made up little stories for herself, who tapped out “novels” on her mother’s 1970s portable typewriter, who never went anywhere without a copybook for writing and drawing her stories, who dreamed of being a writer. I started to write Visiting, and people actually read it. 

And through that, and reading their words and talking/flailing in their DMs, I connected with people who in some cases became close friends. People who seemed to like me for me, for the me I was re-learning how to be after an incredibly traumatic period in my life. And that meant - and means - the world. 

(Not all of those connections or friendships were sustained, and I still don’t really understand what happened to end them - in some cases, abruptly and without explanation. All I can do is remind myself that people need different things at different times, wish them well, and allow myself to miss them.)

Gratitude sometimes gets a bad rap as a practice but it can be freeing and healing. So, putting aside the hurt and negative experiences and focusing on the good:

I am grateful for the affirming, kind, supportive relationships I’ve built through a mutual love of one (1) man. 

I am grateful for the way my presence in this community, however marginal and irrelevant I might feel, is kept going through mutual support and silliness. 

I am grateful for the opportunity to rediscover writing as creative practice and fun, rather than just something I have to do in my line of work (and which is bound up with anxiety in that respect).

I am grateful for the people who take the time not just to read but to respond to, share, and love on my work. (You’re amazing and I love you all!)

I am grateful for the people who showed and show me love even though they’ve never met me in person, and in myriad ways. (These ways include personalised birthday poems and fancams, sending me a copy of Esquire out of sheer kindness and surprising me - and my neighbour, who took in the package - with a talking Dinjamin figure. You all know who you are.)

I am grateful to my friend for her thirsty Instagram story and to my sister for her unwittingly consequential TV recommendation. 

And some general observations and reflections about my presence, experiences, and work here that I want to carry forward into 2024:

Popularity is definitely not a marker of quality.

You are entitled to have opinions and share them, even if they don’t follow the prevailing wind. Arguably, especially then.

Your feelings are valid.

Trust your gut.

It’s okay to want people to read and interact with your work, and to wonder why it doesn’t get picked up, no matter how many ‘write for you!’ posts you see from the Big Writers.

Speaking of which: if there’s room for everyone and everything, then there should be room for everyone and everything. Not just the chosen few and a handful of tropes.

Responsibility is a two-way street.

You’re worthy of love, kindness, and respect.

The love you take is equal to the love you make - or, in other words, give love and be receptive to it, whether in affirming messages, positive comments, or a simple flailing, excited reblog. 

Carry your little light, however fragile, into the new year.

With love, Rose. (And my Ben, below - print by the incredibly talented Alyssa Gonzalez)

[nbkuhn]

The Siren's Lover Ch. 1

The day Matty met his husband started like any other. He took a picture of the sunrise and sent it to Ruby, even though he knew she’d never look at it. Instead of dwelling on that, he started his lap timer and took off running. Once he came back to the same place he started, he finally glanced at his phone. He’d gotten better at drawing this out. No notifications besides a smiley face from the app tracking his workouts. His personal best time.

Matty’s hand tightened on his phone; he wanted to throw it against the ground and grind it into dust beneath his foot.

"You know, I'm starting to get curious what you see each morning," said a voice from behind him. Matty jumped.

The speaker came into view—a male siren, clad only in black trunks and a white towel draped around his neck. He was soaked, droplets of water tracing patterns down teal skin, freckled with dark blue. A swimmer's lean muscle marked every inch, and his long, fluked tail wrapped around one leg, defining the curves of his strong thigh and calf.

Matty met his eyes—pure black, like a lake without a bottom—and his heart stuttered a beat in his chest. Until this moment, he believed such a feeling was only an expression. "Sorry, what?"

The siren flashed him a cool smile, barely friendly enough to be polite, and took the towel from around his neck to wipe off his arms. As he dried himself, the gills at his neck disappeared, along with the tail and the webbing between his fingers, leaving him almost an ordinary human in teal body paint. Except he wasn't. Matty always knew another beast when he saw one.

"I'm sorry—I shouldn't have startled you.” The siren’s voice was deep, low and resonant in his chest. “I've seen you run this way every day for a week. Every time you finish, you take out your phone and stare like it's breaking your heart. I don't believe it's your mile time, since you keep speeding up. I barely had time to get in the water before you came by this morning."

Chewing on his lower lip, Matty slipped his phone into the back pocket of his running shorts. "It's not my mile time.”

"Mm, I didn't really think so. Unless you were trying to slow down. Now there would be a story I'd like to hear." He laid a finger alongside his nose. "Not that you'd probably tell me, considering we're strangers. But sometimes I find anonymity appealing. We’ll likely never see each other again, so you can say anything you want, and I could do the same.”

Had his alarm had gone off this morning, or was he having a very strange dream?

Yet he wasn't walking away, and not because he was wiped out. The siren had a point. This wasn't Lugosi Falls, where everyone and their mother had known him since he was a chick fresh from the nest. He could be anyone he wanted. Maybe somebody who wasn't so bogged down in bullshit. Or somebody who took weird questions at face value instead of walking off. "Well, what would you tell me? You first."

The siren slid his finger down to tap the side of his cheek. "Excellent answer. Let me see." Matty found himself staring at his own reflection in those fathomless eyes. "Ah. How about my worst quality? If we remain strangers, I can be unburdened of my guilt, and if we don't, you'll already know the most terrible thing about me."

Matty had twined his own tail around his leg; he made himself relax. Why was a simple conversation leaving him so on edge? Sure, the siren was—intense, to put it lightly, but Matty was trying to learn to chill the fuck out around new people. Even hot ones. Though he wasn’t sure he had ever met a hot person who skipped so quickly to the weird shit. "Sure. And I'll tell you what's pissing me off."

"Come sit, then. There's a bench over here with the most glorious view of the sunrise." The siren led him down a path to the edge of the beach. Here, they had a perfect view of the ocean, and this early in the morning, no one else was around. The waves crashing against the beach, gleaming gold and red in the early morning sunshine, drowned every other sound.

The siren sat down on one side of the bench, and Matty took the other.

"See, look there." The siren pointed to the first true rays of dawn poking over the waves. More beauty than Matty had seen lately, but the light creeping into the sky was not what held his eyes. The faint lines of pink light shimmered over the siren’s skin, highlighting his dark freckles.

"Anyway." The siren put his backpack on his lap and laced his fingers over top of it. "I could tell you what others believe my worst quality is, but I would be cheating. Here's what I know about myself. I like the work I do better than the people I love."

Matty blinked, but the siren was still watching the sunrise, his expression unreadable. "That was... heavy.”

“I told you it was the worst thing about me.”

“Where do you work?"

"I'm the artist in residence at the local university.” Now the siren glanced at him, his regard a physical weight on Matty’s shoulders, making him want to cringe away. Or maybe stare back with equal intensity. “I've believe I’ve seen you around campus. Not a lot of beasts in a small town like this. Especially not a griffin running around in his human skin.”

Matty's tail twitched. He tucked it behind him where it wouldn't cause any trouble. Technically, he could disguise nearly all his unique parts. After moving to a city full of humans instead of beasts, he'd done that for a while, when he was still trying to know what was and wasn't safe, but it was worse than holding his breath, since he would never get to inhale again. And his eyes, the bright gold of a new wedding ring, always told on him anyway. "My dad would say I’m a human who puts on a griffin skin, but yeah, I'm a grad student. Physical therapy."

"Ah. Hence the running."

Matty nodded, still chewing over what the siren had said. He soaked in the cold salt air and the sound of the tide advancing and retreating, and the words slipped out: "Is liking your work so much really a bad thing?"

The siren blinked once, both regular eyelids and the nictitating membrane. As if Matty had said something interesting instead of blurting the first thing that came to mind. He cupped his chin in one hand. "Another new one for me, though I've never told anyone that particular detail. What makes you say so?"

Matty bit back a comment about the professor voice the siren had suddenly slipped into. He’d never told anyone this before; the answer was too personal.

Then again, sometimes it felt like he could scream at the top of his lungs and no one in his life would ever hear. In that case, why not talk to a stranger?

"Well... I don't do art for a living, but I play music in my off time. My dad used to get on my case about it, ask me why I spent so much time messing around with a guitar when I couldn’t make a living that way. The answer is I never wanted to. My music is for me. If somebody else likes it, fine, but I need that time for myself, or I’d go even crazier than I already am." His mouth twisted down. "Some people might think it's selfish, but... I don't think being selfish is a bad thing, not all the time. Not about protecting something important to you."

He cut himself off before more nonsense came out, but the siren turned sideways, resting his elbow on the bench, the better to study him.

No one ever looked at him with such fascination when he went and blurted out an essay. (Well. One person. But he wasn't thinking about her.) For a second, Matty saw himself the way this siren might see him—someone cool, mysterious, athletic, not a nervous bundle of feathers only running because flying would get him in trouble. Someone who sat on park benches and watched the sunrise over the ocean and had deep conversations with complete strangers.

The siren's lips curled in a more personable smile. He had dark blue freckles, six on each cheek.

Matty's heart stuttered in his chest again. He must have pushed himself too hard running this morning.

"Well. I'll have to think on your thesis. I don't know if I agree or if I'm simply looking for an excuse to dismiss my own faults." The siren propped his cheek on his hand. "Your turn." He spoke with so much emphasis, like he had considered each word for hours.

Matty found himself staring at the siren's mouth and quickly looked back at the sunrise. "My turn—my phone." He rubbed his jaw, the frown creeping back onto his face.

When had it even disappeared? Sometime during this talk, he'd calmed down, maybe because this was so fucking weird. Now his shoulders tensed up again, right at the place where his wings would sprout if he could wear them out.

Then again, showing off his wings would mean prancing around shirtless in front of this handsome stranger. Oof.

"It's my best friend." He resisted the urge to glance back at the siren. "Are you one of those people who say women and men can't be friends without sexual tension? Because I don't want to tell you what's going on and then get the same shit I've been hearing since I hit puberty."

The siren tilted his head. "My species is ninety-nine percent female. If I didn't think women and men could be friends, I'd either have very few friends or be attracted to a lot of people." He paused. "The last part is true anyway, but it has nothing to do with friendship."

Matty's stomach lurched, as if his wings had given out on him halfway through a dive. "Sorry. I knew that about sirens. Bad question."

"Bad questions don't exist. I strongly dislike it when anyone says otherwise in front of me. Now, you were saying?"

Usually, that phrase was a cliché, but the siren's tone was so firm even Matty couldn't argue. "Uh. Well. My best friend is a woman—a human. I don't know if that's relevant, but everyone around here assumes I've never met one before."

The siren's lips quirked with familiarity, both reassuring and deeply annoying. Matty could shrug off those little irritations; he didn’t like to think of the siren dealing with the same bullshit. "Or that you know every beast in existence?"

Matty nodded. "I don't know which I hate more. Anyway, we've been best friends since we were kids—our parents went to college together." He rubbed the small white tuft of fur on the end of his tail, but this time, he couldn't make himself stop. Even the echo of the waves didn’t help him calm down. "I moved out here for graduate school last semester. And ever since then, she's been—ignoring me."

"Do you text her every day?" From someone else, that would have been judgmental, the response Matty was expecting. But the siren’s tone was totally neutral.

Matty's hand tightened on his tail, hard enough to hurt. He unclenched, slowly, and rested his palm flat on his thigh. "Yes. She's—she's in a really bad relationship, and a lot of our other friends have... stopped talking to her. Because they don't like her girlfriend."

He never knew how to explain exactly how much life Ruby’s girlfriend Tansy had robbed from her without sounding like he was jealous. He was, but only because Tansy was hoarding Ruby for herself. "I don't want Ruby to think I'm going to give up on her too. But she never answers. She probably deletes them—her girlfriend hates me."

"That does sound difficult." Matty hated to hear that from his friends or his dad. The phrase only meant they hadn’t been listening, or that he hadn't managed to make himself clear.

The siren’s voice, though, was so heavy and sad Matty couldn’t help but trust his sympathy. "All the same, I think it's good of you to keep reaching out to her. Even when a decision is clearly the right path, you cannot force another person to choose it. You must simply make it known you will be waiting when they do."

Matty's heart stuttered a third time—now not because the siren was disarming or handsome or even because of his deep voice, raising goose bumps on Matty's skin, but because...

He swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. "Thanks. I—I think I really needed somebody to say it's okay to keep giving a shit. Everybody else in my life is waiting for me to move on. But she never gave up on me, and I'm not giving up on her. A text is the least I can do."

The siren nodded, considering this. "I don't think it's ever wrong to care, or to show someone that caring," he said, after so long a pause Matty's knee joggled from nerves, from the intensity of his dark, reflective eyes, shining with the arc of the rising sun. Here he hadn’t thought anything could possibly make a sunrise more beautiful. "As long as it’s truly a free choice, I would rather lose myself trying to do good than live forever doing nothing. I think it can be powerful, to know love has teeth and place yourself willingly into its jaws all the same."

"Do you always talk like that?" Matty blurted.

The siren's hand came up to cover his mouth, eyes crinkled in a smile. He didn't appear embarrassed, exactly, but his tone turned less serious. "I'm sorry. It is very early in the morning, and I sleep little when I'm in the middle of a project. I'm probably speaking complete nonsense."

"No, I didn't mean—" Matty shook his head. "I like it. I was trying to ask—do you read random people for filth every day of your life?"

At this, the siren actually laughed, and Matty felt a strong, surprising surge of pride for breaking his grave demeanor. "No, absolutely not. I far prefer to listen. But there's something about you."

He propped his cheek on his hand again, dropping his voice to a low murmur like he was whispering in Matty's ear. (Matty thought of lush teal lips hovering near his cheek, soft breath ruffling his hair, and bit back a shiver.) "This is the part where I admit I've been watching you run for, oh, a week at least? You always take the path past my favorite area for a morning swim."

"I mean, I'm the one who runs in public, so..." He shrugged, the movement of his shoulders reminding him of his wings hiding beneath his skin. It felt like an inadequate answer, but he could hardly say, I don't mind the idea of you watching me do anything.

A small smile crossed the siren's face. Matty desperately wanted to be let in on the secret hiding behind those lips. "So forgiving. How kind of you. Nevertheless."

He straightened. Now the secret hid in his eyes instead of behind his lips, even more enticing. "I've been watching you for a week, and we have both shared something complicated and troubling. I believe we should be introduced, don't you?"

He held out his hand, each finger topped with short black nails carefully ground down from sharp points. "Land dwellers can't pronounce my name, but you can call me Finch."

Matty opened his mouth to give his nickname—but did he really want this handsome stranger to call him that? Someone who took him seriously, someone who asked him difficult questions and listened when he responded?

"Matthias." He took the offered hand. Finch's palms were cool, smooth and lineless. "Matthias Beckett."

"Well. I am glad to finally meet you properly, Matthias Beckett." Finch withdrew his hand. Matty had to flex his before he put it back on his thigh, the texture of Finch’s skin lingering. "I'm not certain this was what I was expecting, but you won't find me complaining."

"What were you expecting?"

"You to ignore me, not play along. I did ask a complete stranger a personal question in the strangest way possible. Though even when I try to make small talk, land dwellers find me off-putting. I may as well lean into it instead of away. I'm an artist. I'm not supposed to be easily understood."

"If it works for you, it works." Matty glanced at his watch and swore. "Shit, I've got to get back to my place so I can change." He jerked to his feet, then hesitated. "Uh—"

But Finch only stretched his arms out on the back of the bench, his lips curved in another enigmatic smile. "Well. I'll be here tomorrow."

"Same." For once, Matty didn't regret spitting out the first thing on his mind. "See you around, I guess." He jogged off before he could blurt out something stupider. As he ran, Finch started whistling a tune Matty didn’t recognize.

Usually, meeting new people left him feeling flat-footed. He wasn't cool and collected like Ruby or commanding and sure of himself like his father. But with Finch’s tune echoing in his ears, he didn't feel bad at all. He felt like someone else, but in a good way.

Matthias, not Matty.

The song Finch had been humming followed Matty his whole walk home, echoing in his head like the crash of the waves against the beach. Even that small snippet intoxicated him as much as Finch’s dark, gleaming eyes. He needed to get it down on paper.

Trying desperately not to forget the notes, Matty didn't think anything of walking into his apartment and barged in on his roommates having breakfast. He had three: all white, all brunet, all human, and, most importantly, all named Josh. They weren't related, but they were best friends.

Medium Josh looked up from his eggs. "Oh, hey, Matt."

Matty froze for a couple reasons. Hearing Matt after Matthias was disconcerting, especially since nobody ever called him Matt at home. It was always Matty with a Y, the same way it was always Matty and Ruby.

For another, part of him wasn't here in the room—he was flipping through his sheet music, trying to think of anything even vaguely like Finch's song.

And also he'd forgotten his roommates would still be home. After his run, he usually headed straight to campus.

If Medium Josh noticed his awkwardness, he was nice enough not to show it. He was chill, one of the reasons Matty moved in with a strange group of humans he'd never met. (His dad was less okay with this idea, but his dad didn't get to drive his life anymore.) "You want some eggs? I can make more."

Matty's tail twitched as he consulted his careful tally of how many times he said no to social events. He always accepted study groups so he could always turn down nights at the bar or clubs. Where did breakfast fall on that scale? He wasn’t looking for friends, but he also couldn’t offend people he would be seeing in class for the next few years.

But if he said yes, he would forget the song. The idea of letting anything from his morning with Finch slip through his fingers decided him. "No, that's okay. Thanks, though."

"You sure? I know these two chuckleheads finished everything off, but we've still got two hours before class. I can make you more." He gestured at the other Joshes, who had both politely been pretending their eggs were the most interesting things in the world. Small and Tall Josh both seemed a little more unsure about Matty, both as a stranger and a beast, so he hadn't tried to push it with them.

"Nah, I had trouble sleeping last night, so I want to crash while I can." He ducked in his room before Medium Josh could keep going. His roommate would gladly talk until the four lords of fairy returned from wherever they’d gone.

Once his bedroom door was safely closed behind him, Matty rushed to plug in his headphones and his guitar, sketching out the basic notes on paper, then trying them on the strings.

Matty brought his guitars with him out of habit more than anything; he hadn't touched them since high school, not with any real intent. The feeling of his fingers moving across the frets was too tied to other memories: Ruby's hand on top of his, correcting his form. Her singing voice, low and rich like honey made thick by the cold. Her laughter, raspy and raucous as the caw of a crow.

He wanted to hate those memories. They should have upset him. But instead of frustrating him the way they would have even this morning, he heard Finch's voice instead, his gentle admonition to care. And then he remembered the song again, and he was back to the loop, the burning need for his guitar.

He worked until Medium Josh banged on his door, reminding him they all had class to walk to. When he picked up his phone, he realized he hadn’t checked it in hours.

Chapter two?

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Little Thieves

First posted: August 1, 2018

Focuses on: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, and Cassandra Cain

Tier: In the bottom half, for sure. I'd say bottom fourth, but it's been around long enough that's it's gathered at least some hits and kudos.

This is my "behind the scenes" series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Another BatFam Week entry. I don't remember if this one had a specific origin, beyond a general melange of other fics that dabbled in AUs and/or Jason and Cass being twinsies.

The first time Bruce saw the little thief, the brat was three tires into the Batmobile and working on the fourth.

Piqued Bruce is always funny to me. Outwardly he's stoic, inwardly he's an emoji factory.

As always (for me), the logistics were the tricky part—thinking through how Bruce could have met Jason without Cass first, how they could've followed their original path to a point before it needed to deviate sharply but still make sense. I don't like fics that don't make sense.

He turned toward the door and spoke as he stepped out into the hall, “Turn right out of the door, take the first staircase you see, and then turn left through the swinging door. Dining room’s right there, can’t miss it. See you in fifteen, Jason.”

I had to sit and mentally walk through how I "saw" the Manor in my head. Do you know how much I hate doing that? Spaces are my bane. Don't describe spaces to me, I won't picture them.

When Bruce checked on Jason in the night and found the window open and the guest room empty, he was only a little surprised. He was more surprised by the thanks carefully printed on the paper left in the center of the bed atop a neatly folded pile of clothes.

You know what I love, though? Baby Jason. He's a hypervigilant and traumatized kid, but he's got manners! He knew Bruce didn't mean him any harm and didn't have to give him dinner but did anyways.

“That’s not food. That’s packing peanuts and caulk disguised as food.” Sometimes the line between Bruce and Batman was thinner than even Bruce himself realized.

Bruce and Batman... Bruce and Alfred...

And that was when the absent tire iron came whistling through the dark and struck Bruce in the back of the knees.

Cassandra Cain in any universe is a ballsy little firecracker.

What Bruce saw next was a head of short, spiky black hair, its face turned away from him.

Figuring out what Cass might look like in this universe was fun. Keeping feminine hair, even in a chin-length bob, didn't seem practical for multiple reasons. But a boyish hack job, maybe done by Jason? That made sense.

It felt like a track skipping in Bruce’s head. One second he was lurking in a dark bathroom; the next, he was in a fluorescent-lit exam room, looming over Jason’s prone body.

Sometimes my vision physically judders when I'm mad enough. I figured seeing a child—one he knows—beat to a pulp would do that for Bruce, but worse.

Bruce took another step forward, then stopped as his armor tapped against the knife leveled at his abdomen. He looked down. The other child stood between him and Jason, a serrated blade the length of their hand lifted to block his path. Their eyes locked on Bruce’s, dark and determined. The left half of their face was speckled with a fine mist of blood, the color counterbalancing the angry bruise on the opposite cheek bone.

Cassandra Cain. Ballsy. As. Heck. no matter the universe. She absolutely would have gone for Bruce's face if he'd pushed it.

“And that one,” Leslie continued, pointing at the silent one, “dove in to the scrum and pulled him out.”

I love the way I wrote them. It's very Kaz and Inej but with sibling loyalty and without the emotional constipation.

“Can she hear me?” Bruce asked, when Jason didn’t answer. Jason nodded. “She’s not deaf. She just doesn’t talk.”

That, though, that's Angels in the Outfield. Wonderful movie.

“Are you sure this is a wise idea, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked as they watched Leslie’s headlights pull up the long driveway. “No. But I’m sure it’ll be fine, Alfred. What could happen?”

I literally had A Plan. I knew how I wanted to deal with their arrival, with them figuring out Bruce was Batman, Dick, their teen years, "Death in the Family", all of it. Alas.

[vic394]

Who wants to live forever --- Steddie

It’s already dark outside when Steve makes his way back to his house after dropping Robin home. Just another day at Family Video.

The rain taps lightly on the windshield and the radio cracks away tune after tune that Steve is not paying attention to. It hasn’t been a bad day, but then again lately it’s been difficult for Steve to remember what a good day feels like.

He makes his way through the ghost town that is Hawkins, when the radio host says something that catches his attention, presenting the newest hit from Queen.

Steve’s heart skips a bit when the first notes start playing.

There's no time for us

There's no place for us

What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff” Eddie smirks as his van’s radio blasts Bohemian Rhapsody on full volume.

It took a whole lot of discussions and a long process of trial and error, a bunch of “this is way too loud” and “but this is way too lame” “stop mocking me, Eds” “oh, Harrington, I could never” before they settled on common ground between heavy metal and pop and compromised on what music to listen to when they were together.

Halfway happy, as El would say. And Queen did the job perfectly. And so that’s what they listen to over their long drives, that’s what they dance to in Steve’s kitchen at 3am, when they should be asleep but they’re too afraid to miss out on a single second with each other.

That’s what they sing along to until their voices give out, one mixtape after the other.

Steve could take that ‘halfway’ out of the picture entirely. He’s as happy as he could be.

He takes a look at Eddie’s face, perfectly framed by long, curly hair, the moonlight hitting him in a way that makes him look like he’s some ethereal being, out of this world. He’s an angel in devil’s clothing. An angel Steve so desperately wants to kiss.

So he does just that, leaning over until their lips touch and Eddie sighs in abandonment, his hand clutching the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. They kiss until their lungs are burning, bodies aching with heat and desire and so much love, until Steve has to pull away for air, forcing himself to break contact before he jumps that flushed mess that is Eddie, right then and there.

“That is the stuff.” He echoes as he winks and takes a puff of the joint Eddie offers him.

Nights like this are so beautiful, only the two of them, Eddie’s van parked in front of Lover’s Lake, a couple bottles of beer and their fingers linked over the stick shift.

And if it depended on Steve, he would never let go.

Who wants to live forever

Who wants to live forever

Steve’s iron grip on the steering wheel makes his knuckles go white.

He hasn’t been listening to Queen in a while. Not since…

A fox runs across the road and Steve almost runs it over, hitting the brakes at the very last minute with all the force he has. The fox stops dead in its tracks, takes a long, terrified look at the car, then quickly scoots back into the woods.

Steve takes a few deep breaths and slowly parks the car at the side of the empty road. He turns the headlight off, the rhythm of the rain on the roof keeping him company alongside the music.

And all he can do is remember.

There's no chance for us

It's all decided for us

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Steve tries to pay attention to the movie, he really does, but it’s so difficult with the feeling of Eddie wrapped around him as he is. It drives him insane.

He cuddles into Eddie more, getting as close as he can.

Under the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne, there’s something that is so uniquely Eddie. Something that tells him, after all the pain and the searching, he’s finally home. Steve pushes his face deeper into Eddie’s chest, letting the warmth embrace him.

Eddie kisses his forehead, his hand mindlessly caressing Steve’s back, sometimes moving down to Steve’s arms, and then finally sliding underneath Steve’s shirt, coming to rest on his hip.

It’s the nights like this that they both live for, only them and cheap takeout and talks about anything and everything, until the first lights of dawn break in through the curtains in Eddie’s trailer. The tv in front of them keeps them company, playing whatever flick Steve had rented out from Family Video.

Eddie’s hand spreads a burning sensation through Steve’s whole body, convincing him that he might just burst into flames right then and there if he’s not careful. Part of him hopes Eddie’s hand would wonder further down still, but he’s happy with the beauty that is just feeling each other’s presence.

It doesn’t take long, however, for Steve to be straddling Eddie’s lap as he pulls him in for a kiss that is deep, almost desperate in its desire.

All that happens next is hot and it’s sweet and it’s them merging into one as they whisper nonsense in the dark, all the I love yous and You’re so perfect and every other thing in between that they wouldn’t be able to put into words because God, no word is tender enough and no phrase can convey enough love, enough adoration.

By the time they separate again, panting and sweaty and spent, the end credits of the movie are rolling and Steve can’t help but laugh.

He’s rented Top Gun four times by now, and he still doesn’t know how it ends.

He doesn’t particularly care to find out, either.

Who wants to live forever

Who wants to live forever

Steve is not sure if it’s rain or tears that blurry his vision as he feels a cold shiver run down his spine. He doesn’t know if it’s to defend himself from the cold of the September night or the cold in his own heart, when he grabs his jacket from the passenger seat and wears it over his jumper.

It's worn, soft leather, one size too big for him, and Steve wraps himself in it and takes a deep breath that almost breaks him.

It doesn’t smell like Eddie anymore.

Who dares to love forever

They’re walking out of the record store and making their way to Steve’s car when it happens. Steve is holding the bag with the tapes: Iron Maiden, Whitney Huston and, of course, Queen.

Coming from the opposite way there’s this couple. It’s people he doesn’t know, he can’t hear what they’re talking about, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the way they’re holding hands, out in the open and unafraid, that makes Steve’s heart clench. It’s envy, he knows it, the burning desire of doing the same and knowing that he can’t, that slowly gnaws away at him.

He can’t help the heavy sigh that escapes his lips. Of course, Eddie notices, as attentive as ever to Steve’s every movement, every expression of joy, anger or sadness.

“Come on now, you can buy that new ABBA album next time” he says, casually patting Steve on the back and gently squeezing his shoulder for just one more second to make him understand that he gets it, that he feels the same. A pat on the back, as friends would do, that’s the best they can manage in public. As if they’ve never shared more than that. As if they’ve never been holding hands themselves, or hugged each other until they suffocated, touched each other everywhere so many times that Steve could draw Eddie’s body while blindfolded. So many times, that Eddie could list every single constellation he can draw when connecting Steve’s moles together.

It's not fair.

All Steve has ever wanted is marriage, a family, and it kills him to know he can’t possibly have that, that the purest form of love he’s ever experienced must remain a secret for the world. That the person he wants to call his can only be such in the dark.

The drive to the trailer park is silent aside from Freddie Mercury giving his all on the radio, Somebody to Love playing at a low volume while Steve and Eddie are both lost in their own thoughts. As always, Steve’s hand finds its place on Eddie’s thigh whenever he’s not switching gears. A small reminder that here, where no one can see them, they can still be themselves.

It's not long before Steve pulls up in front of Eddie’s trailer, ready for goodbye, his heart still heavy.

Eddie doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around, keeps staring in front of himself at nothing in particular.

“Eds? Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice has Eddie jerk back to reality with a small wince that would make Steve smile if he wasn’t so concerned.

“I’m okay” Eddie replies, grinning at him.

“Actually, more than okay.”

What he does next hits Steve like a train. He watches silently as the world stills, as Eddie reaches out and removes the ring he wears on his right hand.

It’s Steve’s favorite, simple compared to the other ones Eddie likes to wear, no skulls or crosses but a plain, silver band with a black stone encased on top of it.

Steve is so distracted by the action that he almost tunes out Eddie’s next words, about wanting the same thing, a loving family, and how he wants to build it together, the two of them fighting side by side for things to get better. Because things will get better for them, Eddie can feel it, and he wants to be there to enjoy every bit of it.

Eddie’s face becomes serious as he fully turns to Steve with an expression that suggests a thousand thoughts running behind it.

“Look, I know it’s not much, it’s not fancy or anything” he starts, fumbling with the ring, emotion making him trip over his words.

“But it’s a promise, Harrington. I need you to know… I’m in it for the long run.”

It’s all Steve can do to not have a stroke on the spot, really. His eyes keep going back and forth between the ring and Eddie’s hopeful gaze.

And it pans out so neatly, a future with the man he loves more than anything. A kinder time, when they’ll both be wearing matching gold bands on their fingers, renewing this same promise in front of God and their loved ones, and then a lifetime of keeping it faithfully, until they become old and crinkled but still hopelessly in love with one another, day after day.

A solitary tear rolls down Steve’s cheek as he lets Eddie slide the ring on his finger. It fits like it’s been made to be there.

“I love you so much, Munson.” He brings himself to say before his lips collide with Eddie’s. He can taste the salt of Eddie’s own tears, so full of joy and excitement.

Yes, it will take time, and it will take effort, but Eddie is right: they’re here for the long run.

Oh, when love must die

Steve wears Eddie’s ring underneath his shirt, on a chain around his neck. It burns a hole right next to his heart with the scorching heat of a broken promise.

Robin used to tease him for it, back in the day, and Steve would blush and playfully brush her off without being able to hide his own smile at her jokes. And then he’d simply strike back, mocking the way she’d blabber whenever Vickie came into the store.

But that was before Vecna.

Now, all that Robin does when she sees Steve fidget with the ring is send him a nostalgic look, unable to fully comfort him. He still spends time with her, keeps joking around with her, picks her up for work and takes her back home as he’s always done. But he knows it’s not the same. He’s not the same.

Steve knows that she misses him, that warmer, careless, kinder version of himself. He wishes he could go back to how their friendship was, open himself to her, but he can’t find it in him to do it.

He wonders if he ever will.

Steve clutches Eddie’s ring in his hands, tears shamelessly rolling down his cheeks. The electric guitar lulls him as the song progresses, tearing him apart piece by piece. It’s soft, a similar kind of melody that Eddie would play on his own guitar on a lazy afternoon.

For Steve and Steve only.

But touch my tears with your lips

Touch my world with your fingertips

Steve’s jolts awake and he can’t make out the outline of his own bedroom, or the sound of the wind shaking the trees outside. The only thing he can see is the metal walls of his cell, the only sounds are coming from Russian guards and his own screams. And at first, he jerks away when he feels a pair of hands clutching his wrists, he doesn’t recognize the voice calling to him, “Steve it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here, it was just a bad dream, Steve you need to breathe-”.

It's only after a few seconds that he registers it’s not the Russians, it’s not a cell, that he’s home and he’s not in danger and it’s Eddie trying to bring him back to reality.

And as quickly as that happens, he deflates, letting Eddie finally envelope him in a bear hug.

Eddie keeps caressing his hair and kissing the top of his head, whispering gentle words to him, his steady heartbeat pounding into Steve’s ears louder than words, to a melody that Steve loves more than any song ever written. Neither of them pulls away until he’s fully calmed down.

As far as Eddie knows, Steve was closely involved in the Starcourt fire. And that is the end of it. There’s a silent agreement between them: Steve doesn’t talk about it and Eddie doesn’t ask. Steve feels guilty for not sharing this darker part of himself with Eddie, the part that fought Demogorgons and the Mind Flayer and everything in between, but then again how could he explain the bat he keeps hidden under a blanket in the trunk of his car, the bruises and the nightmares that won’t leave him alone. Maybe it’s better this way, to let Eddie believe the scariest things he’s ever seen are the monsters in horror movies. To shield him from all this crap Steve had to deal with and the destruction it left in its wake.

And there Eddie is, comforting him with the reminder that before bursting into flames, at least the Starcourt gave them the time to meet.

Steve remembers it as if it happened yesterday, Eddie walking into Scoops-Ahoy for the first time, making him feel like the ground had given way under his feet. A vision in dark clothes and, Steve knows how cliché that sounded, a smile that lit up the whole room. And Steve himself, trying with all his might to look cool in that ridiculous sailor outfit, only to end up stuttering and blushing like a thirteen-year-old on his first crush, much to Robin’s amusement. It really was a miracle to see Eddie come back the day after, and every single day after that, ordering the same ice cream without fail and taking his time to chat about anything until the next customers would call out for Steve’s attention with impatient huffs.

It felt like an even bigger miracle when Eddie had actually called him after Steve hurriedly scribbled his number on a napkin, before serving him the usual chocolate and hazelnut ice cream. And that was how they started talking outside Scoops-Ahoy, away from the mall, going on for hours and becoming the terror of their families’ phone bills, until Eddie worked up the courage to tell Steve that hey, maybe we could hang out sometimes.

And if “hanging out” meant a steamy make out session in the back of Eddie’s van, well, that was nobody’s business.

The memory makes Steve giddy, filling him to the brim with happiness, the nightmares long forgotten; all that matters is Eddie’s loving arms around him.

And there’s nothing left for them to do but go back to sleep, Steve sprawled on top of Eddie, lazy kisses exchanged in between goodnights.

Steve sighs, his head resting on Eddie’s chest.

He’s finally safe.

And we can have forever

And we can love forever

Forever is our today

So, yeah… Eddie had eventually found out about Steve’s “side hustle” as a part-time Hawkins hero. And he’d found that out in the worst possible way; Steve will forever kick himself at the memory of Eddie’s eyes, full of horror after Chrissy’s death, completely unprepared and scared as he had to go into hiding to escape the mob that was after him.

The only thing Steve had ever wanted was for Eddie to be safe, and instead he had only put him in danger by keeping the truth from him.

After the rocky start, Eddie had taken the whole Upside Down situation pretty well, given the circumstances. He did spend a full afternoon being extremely pissed at Steve for never telling him anything, but that anger had dissipated when Dustin had managed to calm him down enough to make him understand that he probably would have done the same, had their roles been reversed: try to protect Steve.

Plus, Steve’s signature puppy eyes had the power to make Eddie forgive him just about anything. No reason for interdimensional killer monsters to be an exception.

And it’s against these monsters that they set out to fight, Steve going after Vecna while Eddie stays behind to provide a distraction.

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve barely has the time to turn around as Eddie pulls him into a kiss that sets him on fire.

Now, pressed against Eddie, he knows that he’s going to make it. He’s going to come back for more.

Eddie finally lets him go and gazes into Steve’s eyes.

“Make him pay.”

-

The world around them is silent when they make their way back to Eddie’s trailer, Robin and Nancy walking alongside Steve in the darkness of the Upside Down, still careful not to step on the vines and wary of any danger that might pop out from the shadows.

They might not have won the war, but they won the battle all right. Steve carries himself forward, his body dirty and sore from the fight, making his way towards Eddie and Dustin and towards a well-deserved shower.

They’re still far when he sees the slouched frame of Dustin, surrounded by dead demobats. A shiver runs down his neck carrying the sensation that something is terribly wrong.

And that’s when he sees Eddie, lying on the concrete.

He forces his muscles to make one last effort as he breaks into a run, leaving the girls behind.

Eddie is obviously hurt, and there’s no other thought in Steve’s mind except that he has to be with him, carry him away from all this, nurse him back to health.

Dustin lifts his head and on his face there’s enough grief to almost stop Steve dead in his tracks.

No.

He finally reaches them and there’s Eddie, impossibly still, eyes fixed on the dark sky above them. Steve frantically kneels next to him and refuses to fully take in the lack of expression on Eddie’s face, covered in blood. He starts to shake him to wake up, wake up Eddie, it’s over, we won, we have to go back, please Eds, please, you have to get up, Eddie please, and it’s desperate words that merge into sobs when despite Steve’s best efforts Eddie doesn’t move, when his eyes remain empty and he feels cold to the touch, so cold, and Steve can’t stop shaking him, because he can’t leave him here-

It takes the brute force of Dustin, Robin and Nancy combined to tear Steve away from Eddie’s body, their words muffled by Steve’s screams as he blindly claws at them to break free. To touch Eddie again.

It flashes in front of him with a clarity that takes him aback, all the kisses and the touches and the words that they’ve ever exchanged, and that’s when it hits Steve. His world crumbles as if it’s nothing, all the fight leaving him for good. It takes another minute for the guys to finally let him go, still on edge, afraid of what he might do next.

Steve approaches Eddie again, slowly this time, as if he might break him. He takes in every single one of Eddie’s injuries, every last drop of dried blood, every wound he can’t mend.

He delicately takes Eddie's cold hand in his, desperate to feel it return the hold and realizing it’s not going to happen. Steve feels his own body freezing over as he takes one last look at Eddie’s eyes, those chocolate brown eyes that could look at him with an intensity that would make his knees go weak. He closes them gently, caressing Eddie’s face, not even noticing the blood that stains his hand in the process. He takes off Eddie’s bandana and runs his fingers through his soft hair.

Finally, vision blurry with tears and body stiffened by a pain that lacerates his very soul, Steve leaves one last, delicate kiss on Eddie’s still lips. His voice is a broken whisper when he speaks his last I love you.

This time, when the guys help him up, it’s only because there’s no energy left in Steve to make it on his own.

He doesn’t look at any of them when he walks away, Eddie’s bandana clutched in his fist. He doesn’t look back at the only person he’d want to comfort him. Because he knows that if he does, he’d never leave.

Eventually, Steve makes his way back from the Upside Down.

His heart doesn’t.

Who wants to live forever

Who wants to live forever

Steve cries until there’s no tears left in him, until it’s only his body shuddering with dry sobs. If only he could turn back time, if only Eddie could be here one last time to hold him. There’s nothing Steve wouldn’t give to have him back.

He still visits Wayne every week. Having to explain everything to him had been one of the hardest thing Steve has ever done, but Wayne deserved to know the truth; that Eddie was never a criminal, that he died a hero, that he was one of the most loving people who ever graced the earth and that he was deeply loved in return, until the very end. They’re mostly silent, Wayne and him, keeping each other company while the coffees between them get cold.

But they talk too, sometimes, about their jobs and what goes on in their lives. It’s been difficult to get used to each other without Eddie carrying every conversation as he used to, but when Steve decides to try and apply for community college again, try and make something of himself, Wayne is the first person to know and he shows nothing but support.

On the better days, they talk about Eddie. They hold each other while they cry.

It's hard and it’s painful, but Steve would go out of his way to be there anytime Wayne needs him.

Forever is our today

Steve takes a series of deep breaths as he flips opens the car visor, revealing a polaroid of him and Eddie taken a hundred years ago, back when the world was still bright and Steve’s smiles were sincere, back when everything still had a meaning.

Eddie is making a funny face, his tongue sticking out. Steve is looking at him as he holds the camera, the image capturing him mid-laughter. At the bottom, there’s Eddie’s messy writing. I love you, big boy.

Steve carefully traces the black sharpie with his fingertips, and he seems to hear Eddie’s voice saying it again.

It brings him to a time when he was completely and undeniably happy.

A time that is no more.

With one final sigh, he puts the polaroid back into place. Leaving it, for the moment, in the past where it belongs.

Hands still somewhat shaky, Steve composes himself enough to get the car back into motion and drive away into the evening, the last notes of the song fading away on the radio.

Eddie would have loved to hear it.

Who waits forever anyway?

---------

A/N: Okay so this was a very short blurb that got wildly out of hand. I don't regret it at all, I loved writing it even if it made me cry a lot. Who Wants to Live Forever is one of my favorite songs from Queen and it breaks my heart in the most beautiful way possible. Also guess when it first came out. '86, baby.

Also I needed Steve and Eddie to be together from at least season 3 because the thought of S3! Steve meeting Eddie at Scoops Ahoy gets me out of bed in the morning.

Thanks to @supernoisygoblin because my bae here kept supporting me even tho I was bringing the big sads to the table and we both knew it. But I hope you enjoyed the fluff!

[kuchipark]

South Park Main Four Dancing HC’s below the cut

(Head Canons By Someone Who Can’t Dance For Shit)

[This was supposed to just be about dancing but I got a tad side tracked, so there is some bits about their music taste in there, too. Enjoy!! (ʃƪ ˘ ³˘)♡]

Main four + Butters bonus

Kenny McCormick:

- Unintentionally good.

- The way he dances is slightly feminine but not at all girly. (just smoother, more control over his hips, his limbs move in a satisfying, flowy way, less stiff, etc.)

- He takes the male role when slow dancing/waltzing/grinding, etc.(had to add the last one because he TOTALLY is the type to be shamelessly grinding on the dance floor) but with salsa dancing he sometimes likes to take the feminine role, just because he thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

- Finds a way to dance to any song. Like Peruvian pan flute music.

- Dances when he’s happy

- Confident Dancer

- Really satisfying to look at

- Isn’t aware that he’s good at dancing, because he doesn’t really think dancing is something you can be “good” or “bad” at, it’s just shaking your body in all directions and not giving a fuck about what anyone thinks

- Would never judge someone for how they dance

- “Twerks” (just throws his back back, and calls it twerking)

- Dances with friends to cheer them up (like in that one Harry Potter scene, where Harry dances with Hermione to cheer her up (fuck JK Rowling but that scene is adorable))

- Often dances with Karen, free and fun entertainment

- he still listens to CD’s/cassette tapes, because he can’t afford an Apple Music/Spotify/SoundCloud subscription and he had some old CD/cassette players laying around that he fixed up. Cartman rips on him for this, telling him to “get with the times”, but he doesn’t care.

- He doesn’t have spotify because he can’t skip songs, which is super annoying because he throws every song he likes into one big playlist. So when he’s listening to relaxing songs, he wants to be able to skip the heavy metal Slipknot song that comes on right after. He does have Soundcloud because there are less ads than Spotify, and he can skip songs, but he honestly prefers CDs and cassettes at this point.

- Drags people to the dance floor at parties

- Likes songs with dirty or doltish/childish lyrics

- Dabbles in some country

- Is 100% a juggalo

Stan Marsh:

- Stan dances like a mom;,.. Or a wine-drunk Randy

- At times Horribly offbeat

- Can’t tell if he got his moves from Randy or Sharon

- A bit of a stiff dancer

- Bad but in a charming way, that’s fun to look at

- Knows he sucks, but doesn’t care

- He has potential but he lacks a sense of rhythm and all his moves are at least 20 years old

- The confidence he oozes makes his uncool moves not seem awkward but more endearing

- Still does stuff like that one scuba dance move, or the thing with the peace signs over the eyes

- Loves playing Just Dance with Kenny. Kenny just does it as a stress reliever but Stan tryhards, determined to beat Kenny’s ass at least once.

- He and Kenny usually dance together at parties, leaving Kyle to look for Stan everywhere (because he never announces where he’s going, he just sees Kenny on the dance floor and beelines in his direction.

- When Stan & Kenny are REAAALLy drunk, the dancing gets weirdly sensual (like Stan holding Kenny’s hips from behind, or vise versa) just because they think it’s fucking hilarious. There isn’t any actual sexual tension, just friends goofing around. sometimes they accumulate a little (mostly female) audience when they do this. The girls wolf whistle and yell shit like “Yeah, baby! shake that! (Which—let’s face it—are usually Bebe/Red or Heather) Nichole and Wendy usually just stands there, amused, trying to suppress laughs, cheering them on.

- Sometimes, (If Stan & Wendy aren’t fighting/broken up) Wendy will tap Kenny’s shoulder and ask if she can steal his Date from him. Kenny very politely backs off, but not before giving Stan a big, sloppy kiss on the hand/cheek and mouthing stuff like “call me” (with the accompanied hand sign, ofc) while getting dragged off by Bebe.

- The one thing he is actually good at is slow dancing, he spent hours upon hours practicing with Kyle because he was scared he’d step on Wendy’s feet (and he had good reason, Kyle’s toes suffered more than one could count) He could’ve asked Kenny for help, but dancing like that in a serious way—not just fucking around—while sober was way too vulnerable (Plus, he would rather slow dance with Kyle).

- Stan begs Kyle to dance with him all the time but Kyle isn’t that big on dancing, at least not in public

- Stan also listens to CD’s and cassettes, but he likes it for the “aesthetic”. He and Kenny exchange CD’s and cassettes every few weeks so that they can listen to each others recommendations. Kenny likes literally almost any genre, so he almost always digs the music Stan picks for him. But Stan has a more particular music taste and has gotten back to Kenny with a “Dude, wtf was that” more than a few times. Kenny has gotten really good and guessing what Stan will, and won’t like, though. So that rarely ever happens anymore.

- Very passionate about music

- Metalhead (duhhh)

- Aggressively sings along to songs

Kyle Broflovski:

- Also aggressively sings along to songs (He can’t sing)

- Not good but not bad

- Also a bit stiff

- Usually just nods along to the music

- Doesn’t hate dancing but just doesn’t do it as often as Stan & Kenny

- Prefers dancing alone in his room, or with Stan rather than out in public

- Not a big fan of the dance floor, but after a drink or two he can be persuaded

- A good slow dancer, taught by Sheila… against his will

- Likes watching Kenny and Stan dance. Specifically Stan, something about the way he dances so confidently uncool and manages not to look awkward mesmerizes him. Kenny just moved like a flowy piece of fabric, anyone would find it satisfying to look at.

- While teaching Stan how to slow dance, Stan would sometimes twirl him (that’s not a part of slow dancing, but Stan just thinks it’s more fun that way) and he’d sometimes twirl Stan too, but he couldn’t do it more than twice in a row before Stan would get nauseous and almost throw up (either from the twirling or from something else? ;))

- Usually watches on the couch while Kenny and Stan play just dance, and usually getting successfully coaxed into playing with them for just oneeee song

- Likes the cure (END OF DISCUSSION, THIS IS NOT EVEN A HC, IT’S CANON)

- Likes rock and jazz

- When he does dance it’s usually kind of laid back (Unlike Stan and Kenny who throw their entire soul into it) Because he’s a but more conscious of all the eyes around them. But he can definitely let loose when you mix the right amount of booze… or when he’s tryharding Just Dance

- On the rare occasion that he can actually find them, he’ll cheer on Stan and Kenny, too

- Kyle usually gets the aux, Kenny used to get a chance but after he put on “No Cock Like Horse Cock” by Pepper Coyote for the third time, they made an unanimous decision to put him on timeout

- Still uses the same ipod he’s been using since 2013 to listen to music

Eric Cartman:

- Does not dance

- Refuses to dance

- He just stands there with his arms crossed, tapping his foot at most

- Except when lady gaga comes on, he’ll give a whole performance

- Most definitely dances when no one is watching

- Likes hiphop/pop

- Definitely thinks he can rap

- Blares along to every song

- Out of breath after the most minimal of dancemoves

- Gets his panties in a twist when Stan and Kenny “fag it up” at parties

(Bonus)Butters:

- Somehow even more off beat than Stan, in an awkward way

- Too shy to dance at first, but once he starts there is no holding him back

- Seriously, what the fuck is this guy doing?

- Flaps around his arms and calls it a dance move

- Really fun to dance with

- plays christmas music in July

- one word: Gangnam Style and Baby Shark

- Those are five words

- But seriously, never let this guy do the music, you’ll regret it immediately

All:

- I saw this in a fanfic once, but it’s perfect. They definitely all sing along to The Bad Touch by Bloodhound Gang. I will stand by this till I die!

That was it!! (for now), I spent waaaaay too long doing this and as you can probably tell I got lazy towards the end. (But tbh I didn’t rlly have any ideas for Cartman/Kyle, like I feel like they could go a lot of ways.)

I hope it wasn’t too long,, or too short. Let me know some of your HC’s if you feel like it, I love reading them!

Is anyone gonna read this ya think?