#and my mom threatened me that if I didn’t get this haircut she would not help me with college advice

[herawell]

.

[nofingjustaninchident]

ᯓ★ i hate you more.

summary jason and y/n finally got to the camp. but at what cost?

warnings third person writing, drew tanaka, not proofread

word count 3k

now listening to you get me so high by the neighbourhood

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

As the chariot soared through the sky, off to who-knows-where with a potentially homicidal blonde girl and an overly buff guy who looked like he could easily throw Y/n off the chariot if he was so inclined, she decided she liked flying with Jason better. 

But, as quickly as that thought came up, she pushed it away. How could she even think about liking flying with Jason? She didn’t know him. She knew she hated him, but she didn’t know him.  

Standing beside her, he gazed out at the horizon, his troubled expression mirroring her own confusion. She took a moment to study his face while he was distracted, absorbing the familiar features she couldn't recall encountering before waking up on the bus. It was a frustrating sensation, feeling so certain of knowing him yet unable to find any trace of him in her memories. 

Or rather, not having any memories to search through in the first place. 

He was handsome, but Y/n had known that from the moment she first saw him that afternoon, holding her hand as she slept on the bus. A few strands of his blond hair grazed his forehead, suggesting it had been a while since his last haircut, though she couldn't pinpoint why she thought so. His eyes resembled the clear blue sky on a sunny day, a stark contrast to the gray clouds they were currently navigating through. Her gaze caught a small scar on his upper lip, prompting her to wonder if he had ever shared the story behind it, if such knowledge remained locked away within the rest of her memories. 

Jason pulled his eyes away from the horizon, meeting her gaze. His lips tilted downward in a small, nervous frown, and she couldn't really point why that felt so...  hurtful, to say the least.  

"This is so cool!" Leo yelled. He spit a Pegasus feather out of his mouth, sputtering for a moment. "Where are we going?" 

"A safe place," Annabeth answered. She'd been quiet since they took off, and there was something sad in her eyes as they looked out at the horizon. "The only safe place for kids like us. Camp Half-Blood." 

"Half-blood?" Piper crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes hard as she scowled at Annabeth. "Is that some kind of bad joke?" 

"She means we're demigods," Jason said. "Half god, half mortal." 

Annabeth glanced back at him. "You seem to know a lot, Jason," she said, her tone suspicious. "But yes, demigods. My mom is Athena, goddess of wisdom. Butch here is the son of Iris, the rainbow goddess." 

Leo choked on a laugh he tried to suppress. "Your mom is a rainbow goddess?" 

"Got a problem with that?" Butch said. 

"No, no," Leo said. "Rainbows. Very macho." 

"Butch is our best equestrian," Annabeth told them. "He gets along great with the pegasi." 

"Rainbows, ponies," Leo muttered. Y/n couldn’t hold back the laugh that threatened to escape with each of Leo’s remarks.  

"I'm going to toss you off this chariot," Butch warned.  

"Demigods," Piper said. "You mean you think you're... you think we're—" 

Lightning flashed through the sky. The chariot shuddered and Jason yelled, "Left wheel's on fire!" 

Y/n looked over and sure enough, it was burning, white flames beginning to lick up the side of the chariot. The wind roared around them with a vengeance. She glanced behind them and saw dark shapes forming in the clouds - more venti spiraling toward the chariot, though these looked more like horses than angels. 

She started praying, or at least what she thought was a prayer, to any god that would care to hear her. She really didn’t want to die that way.  

Piper started to say, "Why are they-?" 

"Anemoi come in different shapes," Annabeth explained. "Sometimes human, sometimes stallions, depending on how chaotic they are. Hold on. This is going to get rough." 

Going to get?!, Y/n thought. It already is!  

Butch flicked the reins. The pegasi sped forward and the chariot blurred. Y/n held Jason's hand in a vise grip, her vision going black for a moment. When it went back to normal, they were somewhere entirely new. 

An ocean stretched out to their left. Snow-covered fields, roads, and forests spread out on the right. 

Directly below them was a green valley, like a lonely island of spring surrounded by snowy hills on three sides and water to the north. She saw a cluster of buildings that didn't look like they belonged in the twenty-first century, ball courts, a lake, and a climbing wall that looked like it was on fire. 

Then the chariot's wheels came off, and they dropped out of the sky. 

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Y/n let out the curses, still holding tightly to Jason’s hand. She felt like he was the only person close enough that she wouldn’t have to walk to reach out.  

Annabeth and Butch tried to maintain control, but the pegasi seemed exhausted, and bearing the weight of the chariot and six people was clearly too much for them. 

"The lake!" Annabeth yelled. "Aim for the lake!" 

They plummeted like a torpedo into the water. 

The lake was freezing. She'd already been shivering on the chariot, what with the wind and the high altitude and her damp clothes from the rain at the Grand Canyon, but now she was submerged in freezing cold water to boot. 

After falling into the Grand Canyon and fighting off evil wind spirits, she was going to die of hypothermia. Or drowned. Probably drowned.  

How nice. 

But suddenly, the whole freezing part was over. She couldn’t feel the freezing water, just... nothing. She looked at her front and saw a figure. She could swear she heard the thing telling her to breathe, but she was probably just hallucinating. Luckily.  

She broke into the surface soon, trying to float. She discovered that there was something in her eyes, and she couldn’t open them to discover where the shore was. Suddenly, she felt hands under her arms, and someone pulled her. She didn’t know who it was, but considering the muscles on the person’s arms, she figured it’d be Butch.  

Y/n and the person got to the shore, and she let out a long, contented sigh. Piper and Leo ran over to her with a towel, which she used to take the thing off her eyes, and Y/n realized Jason was the one who'd pulled her back to the surface. It was the second time he'd saved her life that day.  

Jesus, he's like a blond Superman. 

Life's a bitch.  

Once she was pretty sure she'd taken the thing off her eye, she forced herself to straighten. 

"Are you okay?" Piper asked, her voice high-pitched and terrified. But before Y/n could answer, Annabeth spoke up, her face dark and curious at the same time. 

“You’re dry.” 

Y/n grimaced. “I’m- wait, what?” she asked, and looked down at her body. Outside her damp clothes, her hair and skin were completely dry. “Oh, my fucking god, what the hell?” She asked, her own voice high-pitched and desperate. 

“How’s that even possible? You’re not that warm.” Leo muttered. 

“That... that just happened before with, uh... one person.” Annabeth said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. The girl was wringing her wet hair out, studying y/n with a furrowed brow. "If you and Percy have this in common, then... no, it can’t be." She said, her tone uncertain, but there was a lingering suspicion in it. 

"Great," y/n grumbled. "I love being the exception." 

A detail of campers ran up with big, bronze-colored leaf blowers and blasted the soaking wet demigods with hot air. In a few seconds, y/n was dry and far warmer than she had been just a few moments ago. 

Thank fuck. 

A blond-haired guy (what is it with y/n and blond dudes?) with a bow and quiver strapped to his back pushed through the crowd of orange-shirted people, pulling a small bottle of some kind of amber liquid out of a fanny pack. He handed it to y/n, who just stared at it questioningly until he explained, 

"Nectar. It'll make sure your lungs are clear and prevent dry drowning. Drink." 

y/n didn't know how she felt taking orders from someone who looked younger than her, but when Annabeth nodded along to his explanation, she decided to trust the blonde girl. As scary as she was, she had helped Jason save her from drowning. 

y/n downed the mini-bottle, but she didn’t feel any different than she already was. 

The young blond guy turned to Annabeth. "And you! I said you could borrow the chariot, not destroy it!" 

"Will, I'm sorry," Annabeth sighed. "I'll get it fixed, I promise." 

Will scowled at the remains of his broken chariot. 

Then he sized up y/n, Jason, Piper, and Leo. 

"These are the ones? Way older than thirteen. Why haven't they been claimed already?" 

"Claimed?" Leo questioned. 

Before Annabeth could explain, Will asked, "Any sign of Percy?" 

"No," Annabeth admitted. 

The campers around them muttered. Whoever Percy was, his disappearance seemed to be a big deal. 

Another girl stepped forward. She glanced at the four newcomers, her eyes moving over Leo and y/n with a bored expression before she fixed her eyes on Jason like he might be worthy of her attention. The girl then glanced at Piper, her lip curling in a vague look of disgust. "Well," she said, "I hope they were worth the trouble." 

y/n scowled at her, taking offense. She had a gut feeling that this girl would be nothing more than a pain in the ass.  

Leo snorted. "Gee, thanks. What are we, your new pets?" 

"No kidding," Jason said. "How about some answers before you start judging us - like, what is this place, why are we here, how long do we have to stay?" 

“Why did your lake people just talked to me?” y/n tacked on silently. 

"Jason," Annabeth said, her tone placating, "I promise we'll answer your questions. And Drew," - she frowned at the rude girl -"all demigods are worth saving. But I'll admit, the trip didn't accomplish what I hoped." 

"Hey," Piper said, "we didn't ask to be brought here." 

Drew sniffed. "And nobody wants you, hon. Does your hair always look like a dead badger?" 

y/n and Piper moved at the same time. Jason reached for y/n’s hand again, a pleading look in his eyes as if he was saying please don't. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand from his, but didn’t really move. Annabeth stopped Piper, who y/n was pretty sure only backed down because of how intimidating Annabeth looked at the moment. 

Or at any moment, really. 

"We need to make our new arrivals feel welcome," Annabeth said, shooting Drew another pointed look. "We'll assign them each a guide, give them a tour of camp. Hopefully by the campfire tonight, they'll be claimed." 

"Would somebody tell me what claimed means?" Piper asked. 

There was a collective gasp. The campers backed away, a faint orange glow encompassing the crowd. y/n frowned, following everyone's gazes to Leo. Floating above his head was a blazing holographic image - a hammer engulfed in flames. 

"That," Annabeth said, "is claiming." 

“Holy shit...” y/n and Jason muttered at the same time, quickly exchanging an annoyed look. 

Leo reacted as if his hair was on fire, swatting at the air in panic. 

"This can't be good," Butch muttered. "The curse-" 

"Butch, shut up," Annabeth said. "Leo, you've just been claimed-" 

"By a god," Jason interrupted. "That's the symbol of Vulcan, isn't it?" 

Everyone's eyes turned to him. 

"Jason," Annabeth said carefully, "how did you know that?" 

"I'm not sure," Jason admitted. 

"Vulcan?" Leo demanded. "I don't even like Star Trek! What are you talking about?" 

"Vulcan is the Roman name for Hephaestus," Annabeth said, "the god of blacksmiths and fire." 

The image above Leo's head faded, but he kept swatting the air as if it might still be following him. 

"The god of what? Who?" 

Annabeth turned to Will. "Would you take Leo, give him a tour? Introduce him to his bunk-mates in Cabin Nine." 

He nodded. "Sure, Annabeth." 

Will led Leo away and Annabeth turned her attention back to Jason and y/n. She studied the two of them like there were two variables in a complicated math problem. Finally, she said, "Jason, hold out your arm." 

y/n frowned; she wasn’t quite sure what Annabeth was looking at. She followed the blonde's gaze to his forearm. He'd taken his windbreaker off, leaving his arms exposed, and on the inside of his right forearm was a tattoo. The letters SPQR were etched into his skin, with a dark silhouette of an eagle above it and a dozen straight lines below it. 

"Do you have one, too?" Annabeth asked, looking at y/n. 

y/n rolled up the sleeve of her - Jason's – sweatshirt (she still had to take it off, but she was way too comfy to do so), exposing her right arm. Just like Jason, she had a tattoo on the inside of her forearm, though hers looked a bit different. 

Unlike Jason, she didn't have an eagle above the SPQR on her skin - instead, she had two symbols, one beside the other. It had a trident, in a style that she was sure she didn’t do the tattoo willingly. Kinda entangled with it, there was a lyre. Under the SPQR, there were ten lines, just a few less than Jason.  

y/n brushed her fingertips over the tattoo. She couldn't remember getting it, but she had the faint feeling it had hurt, and she had a suspicion it wasn't made with ink. 

"I've never seen marks like these," Annabeth said. "Where did you two get them?" 

Jason shook his head. "I'm getting really tired of saying this, but I don't know." 

When Annabeth looked at y/n, she shrugged. "Nah, no clue." 

"They look burned into your skin," Annabeth noticed. 

"They were," y/n said, wincing as she tried to recall a specific memory. It made her head hurt even more than it already did. "I... I think they were, anyway. I can't remember." 

Everyone looked to Annabeth. It was clear she was something of a leader in the camp, and they were all waiting to hear her verdict. "You two need to go straight to Chiron," Annabeth decided. "Drew, would you—" 

"Absolutely." Drew sauntered forward, lacing her arm through Jason's. y/n scowled at the sight, her scowl deepening when Drew pulled him away, resulting in his warmth being pulled away from hers. 

Not that she minded. y/n was hoping for Drew to get him far, far away from her. 

"This way, sweetie. I'll-" 

"y/n needs to see him, too, Drew," Annabeth reminded her, giving y/n a look that she suspected was a silent apology for Drew's behavior. 

Drew rolled her eyes, but didn't object as y/n joined her and Jason. She kept talking as if y/n wasn't even there. "I'll introduce you to our director. He's... an interesting guy." 

They walked toward the big blue mansion y/n had seen just before their chariot plummeted into the lake. 

A heavy sense of dread filled y/n’s stomach as they made it to the house. If the way Jason tensed at the sight of the house was any indication, he shared her anxiety. 

She was suddenly struck by how grateful she was that she wasn't the only person who seemed to have lost her mind along with her memories. Sure, it wasn’t the greatest thing in the world to only remember the person who she seemed to hate the most, but it was still better than having absolutely no one. She wondered if that was the only thing linking the two of them together. 

His name was the only concrete memory she'd woken with. That had to mean something, right? 

"Here we are!" Drew said cheerfully. "The Big House, camp headquarters." 

The Big House didn't look threatening, not at first glance, but that didn't stop y/n from feeling like she was on the border of enemy territory. She touched the small lump in her pocket, feeling the key. 

At least she wasn't defenseless. 

"We are not supposed to be here," Jason said, voicing y/n’s exact feelings. The girl looked at him with a questioning look. Perhaps, besides being extremely handsome and skilled with a sword, he was also a mind reader.  

Is always an option, right? 

Drew circled her arm through his. "Oh, please. You're perfect here, sweetie. Believe me, I've seen a lot of heroes." She glanced at y/n like she was a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "You, I'm not so sure about." 

y/n touched the key in her pocket and almost flipped her off. "Wanna test that theory?" she said. "I have a sword with your name on it, princess." 

"So testy," Drew said, rolling her eyes. "What, are you two together or something?" 

Jason and y/n’s eyes met, neither of them quite sure how to answer. Before either of them could say anything, though, the sound of footsteps sounded from the front porch. 

No, not footsteps - it sounded like hooves. 

"Chiron!" Drew called. "This is Jason. He's totally awesome." She side-eyed y/n. "And y/n." 

y/n made a face at Drew and rolled her eyes.  

Jason backed up so fast he almost tripped, his arm reaching out to pull y/n back with him as if to pull her away from danger. She looked down at Jason’s muscular arm around her torso and pulled away from him, the nagging feeling that they hated each other poking the depths of her mind. The girl watched as a man on horseback rounded the corner of the porch.  

No, he wasn't on horseback - his lower half was a horse. 

It's official, I've lost what was left of my sanity.  

Chiron started to smile at y/n and Jason, but the color drained from his face as he looked at Jason. 

"You..." The centaur's eyes flared like a cornered animal's. "You should be dead." 

TAGLIST @maybxlle @sunshine-of-ur-life @liviessun @bellamysnatblida @mp-littlebit @cinemaconrad

[might-be-max]

Entry 1 [The Page, pt1]

I’m sure everyone can remember their retail days. The periods of our lives when we worked long hours for shit pay and at the mercy of every dickhead who felt a soy sauce shortage was a legitimate reason to ruin someone’s shift. I’m still unfortunately eyeballs deep in that phase of my life. I sure wish that soccer moms with bad haircuts or thumb-shaped juice heads with little-man syndrome were the biggest of my problems. We all make jokes about working retail being Hell, some even compare it to purgatory. A between space where time passes at a painstaking crawl. It’s nothing compared to this. 

I had my back pressed against a cold refrigerator in the appliance showroom. I was starting to get the hang of this disturbing version of hide and seek, but I was getting pretty tired of being the one hiding all the time.

I could hear the subtle, deep-throated clicking of the creature as it made its slow pursuit up the aisles, meticulously searching. It knew I was here, they always did. I could see the arch of its back over high shelves and its gangly limbs clinging to beams to keep its balance.

I held my hands over my mouth and tried to steady my breath as the creature made its clumsy advanced. A viscous sludge oozed from its skin sounding like tar when it dripped to the floor. The sludge, eating away at everything it touched like corrosive Piranha Solution. It smelled of hot Florida dumpster. Like burnt tire rubber, warm beer and melted plastic with the nose-curling sourness of spoiled food. I could feel the muscles in my gut sizing, threatening to eject the dry cereal I shoveled into my mouth this morning. 

The refrigerators rattled as I saw a meaty clawed hand the size of a large dog cling to their tops followed by the sound of ragged breath. The smell grew heavier as the hand slapped from one fridge to another until it settled atop of mine. It sat there just long enough to wonder if I’d been found before it, along with the smell, vanished entirely.

*Oh thank God…*

I waited for my heart to move from hammering in my throat to back in my chest. I peek my head out from behind the fridge to see no one. I was alone again. 

“Management nearly got you this time, man.”

Or at least I thought I was. I about pissed myself and quickly turned around to find a mannequin standing within shoe throwing distance in an ugly sweater and pair of fitted khakis. 

“FRED! Jesus Christ! I told you to start announcing yourself!” 

“I mean, I could have. But then you would have ended up as Sheryl’s lunch.”

I know what everyone would be thinking right about now. “This guy is hiding from monsters and talking to mannequins, he’s probably nuts,” and yeah… you’d probably be right. But consider this first— I work retail. I deserve to be crazy, so reserve all judgments for now. 

The mannequin, Fred, swung his body from side to side, stiffly waddling over to me.

“What’d you do to make her mad this time? Breath too loud? Sit too long?”

I stood up and dusted the lint bunnies from my pants. “Fidgeting with a sign stickytab…” I said.

“Yeah, that’ll do it. She got Juan earlier, poor bastard didn’t even see her coming.” 

Fred looked like a life-sized Ken Doll and spoke with a New York accent. His mouth never moved though. It was permanently fixed into a smile, filled with a row of perfectly straight, white painted teeth. But his eyes… those moved. They seemed to follow you. It was like one of those spooky old paintings where the eyes seemed to track you around the room, no matter where you went. It was a little creepy.

“Donkey tattoo Juan? I liked him. He didn’t give me as many stink-eyes as the others.”

“Well, he’s got no eyes to stink with anymore. Squashed like a watermelon, KER-SPLAT. Sheryl didn’t even stop to lookit’em.”

“Yeesh…”

“Better him than us.”

“Us? It won’t eat you. It'd be like eating a plastic bead,” I said as I began to re-face the water filters again. 

“I mean. Yeah, but I’d give her indigestion for you if she ever does!” Fred made an attempt at putting his hands on his hips with an awkward, rubbery squeak.

“How noble of you.”

If Fred had been endowed with the gift face muscles, he’d probably be wearing a shit-eating grin.

“It ain't easy being a Hero!”

I listened again to see if Sheryl was still around. Can never be too careful with Manager “Five Ears To The Ground” Sheryl. The screams in the distance told me it was somewhere in Household Chemicals which meant there was around six miles of store between us.

 The hellscape where I work is called Thetamart. It was supposed to be like a super shopping center, best described as if a mall and Costco had a baby. But this baby was unfortunately disfigured so horribly it broke and disregarded the laws of the reality we live in. All that to say, ThetaMart is like a retail affair baby if H.P. Lovecraft was the mistress. It’s full of impossible creatures, monsters and products an insane person couldn’t even conjure in their strangest fever dreams. 

Everything inside of ThetaMart is white— a stark, sterile white from floor to ceiling, with shelves that stand several tall men high. There’s the lingering smell of cheap plastic in here, and the only thing piercing the constant mind-numbing silence is the distant sound of tinny elevator music that seemingly comes from everywhere and nowhere. The tune feels so familiar, just not enough to place or follow. If that wasn’t chilling enough, the screams that abruptly break the silent hours when management is close by is frightening enough to start the heart of a dead man. 

Which is why it was so strange when first, a momentary blanket of silence fell over the store, like what they do for memorials. It was an oppressive, drawn out stillness before being broken by a voice erupting from the invisible speakers. 

“Max, there is a call waiting for you on—” The page was followed by a shrill garble that sounded like Jabba The Hutt was choking on rocks before it went silent again. 

I looked at Fred. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“You got a page man, you gotta answer it.”

“How? There’s no phone in this department.”

The nearest working phone that I knew of was in electronics which was about six or so miles away. I'd just cut my losses and throw myself from the highest shelf. There was no way I'd make it without being maimed or eaten before getting there. As absurd as this place is, I don't think trekking over Toys and finding a Playskool Elmo & Friends Smartphone would cut it either. 

“Well it won’t stop paging you till you answer it, and trust me. You’re gonna wanna answer it.”

“What… What happens if I don't?”

He doesn’t respond and instead stares silently for a moment. 

“…Hello?”

He lunged forward and snatched my phone.

“Hey!” 

I swiped to get it back but Fred was quick for a guy with limited mobility.

“Sorry pal, you’ll thank me later!” 

He began to speed-waddle away. I actually had to run after him just to keep up, which was impressive considering his legs only moved in two directions. 

“Fred! Fred! I can’t— I can’t leave without my—“ 

He disappeared, heading deeper into the store. 

“Aw man…”

Considering the short time I’ve been here I’ve learned a lot about this place and how it operates, sort of. In the grand scheme of it all, I probably know absolutely dip-squat. But because of these dubious guidelines, I’ve made it far enough to share this. 

1. Stay away from the other associates. They may look like people or potential survival partners. Perhaps the last anchor you could hold steadfast to sanity with. But they are absolutely, definitely not. Far from it. Avoid them at all costs. They might have been human once, but they certainly aren’t anymore. 

2. The areas that turn yellow, or the zones of the store that are more decrepit than the other areas and are more prone to Management activity. That’s what Sheryl is. The denizens of this place are known as Management. The higher the status, the nastier they are.

3. Be sure to follow the first two rules no matter what. It will make life a lot easier.

Funnily enough, Fred actually bestowed upon me a lot of the knowledge I’ve accumulated about this place. Which pissed me off even more when I had to actively choose to break all three rules.

“Fred! This isn’t funny! I don’t have time for your crap!”

I continued walking at a brisk pace, following the distant taps of hollow dress shoes. All around me the fluorescent lights became yellower, more tarnished. They flicker and hum overhead and some blown out completely. 

There are pillows and overturned furniture, soggy boxes, and broken glass strewn about the linoleum. The smell of stale old couch stuffing and mildew penetrated the air and hung like a wet blanket making it slightly uncomfortable to breathe.

I walk beneath the hanging sign saying in bold blue letters, *Home and Decor*. 

Oh crap. I found myself reconsidering how important my phone really was. I could just buy a new one. Sure, the other one isn’t even paid off yet. But is it really worth being eaten or squashed or… whatever it is monsters do to people? A scrawny college student sustained purely off of ramen and espresso can’t taste that good, right? Just when I talked myself into abandoning my phone with every puppy pic of my dog I had ever taken, I felt eyes fixed on me. I had been spotted.

“Maxwell…” *Shit*. 

I very slowly turn around to find looming over me, was Nosferatu. 

Well, he’s not actually Nosferatu, but he could have had me fooled if this were a Spirit Halloween. 

“Ralph. You look uh… alive, today.”

Ralph’s skin clung to his skeletal frame like wet toilet paper. The white of his eyes were as sunken and yellow as the lights around us, and his apron identical to mine covered in various stains of several concerning colors. I tried my best not to stare at them as he leaned down and hovered closer to my face. 

His irises glistened a gross, milky white with something swirling behind their film. 

“Why aren’t you in your department, Maxwell?”

Now would’ve been an amazing time to be great at lying, but I wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times.

“Uh…I was getting…” 

My eyes began to frantically dart around for a sign or—

“Milk!”

“…milk?”

“Yeah, milk! Can’t have my bones breaking on the job right?” 

I made an attempt at a playful punch, but Ralph was *so* much squishier than he should have been. I felt my stomach lurch when my fist sunk through his arm and into his torso like a damn slime-filled stress ball. Accept instead of alleviating stress he makes it so, so much worse.

He stared at me for a moment in unimpressed silence. Ralph was a supervisor. Not only that, but I managed to piss him off twice in my first week. Needless to say, he’s far from my biggest fan. He also makes me really uncomfortable.

“You are heading in the wrong direction…”

“O-oh really? Sheesh, I’m still getting turned around. Three weeks and I still have no sense of direction. Typical Max!” 

I took a step back. 

“Well I better be on my way now. Looks like I’ve got a ways to walk.” 

“I’ll call for assistance.”

“NO–“ *Lying isn't working, try being honest-*

“Why is that…”

“You’re gross—” *Too Honest!*

He said nothing.

“I mean, grossly understaffed! You look like you are barely holding on with these dang staff shortages right? I don’t want to impose!” *Nailed it.* 

He continued to eyeball me for a tiny eternity. All I could do was stand there and sweat. *Maybe if I don’t move he will leave… like a T-Rex*. Unfortunately, Ralph didn't follow predatory chicken rules. He took a step back and very, very slowly started opening his mouth. It stretched and cracked like the Conjuring House with osteoporosis. His teeth were rotting and twisted, and his tongue was a sickly purple color. If I wasn’t running on three hours of sleep and two RedBulls, I probably would have started screaming like a kid in a haunted Chuck E. Cheese. Just as Ralph took in an impressively deep breath to shriek or howl or whatever awful sound the supervisors make to summon managers, I saw my phone fly out of seemingly nowhere with the momentum of a bullet. It twirled wildly like an IOS throwing star and very effectively caved in the right side of Ralph's face. 

He fell to the floor with a tragic plopping sound that reminded me of a soggy banana peel landing in a puddle.

“BOOYAH!”

Fred sprung out from behind a loveseat and started doing an awkward victory dance.

“Shoulda tried out for the Yankees!”

“Hopefully you have some reflexes to go with that throwing arm! You’re lucky I don’t do the same to you for running off with my phone!” 

“Aww come on Maxy, I had to get you moving somehow.” 

I didn’t respond. Instead, I leaned down and plucked my phone from Ralph’s caved-in dome. It came free with a moist snick. Thankfully there was no grey matter or blood, just a gross and slightly greasy film where his skin and my phone made contact. 

“If I have to touch one more bodily secretion that isn’t mine one more time this week….”

Fred slowly stuck his foot into Ralph’s side and laughed when the old man made a sound like a deflating sponge cake. 

“Eh, you get used to it. Now let’s get this show back on the road.” 

“Uh, no. I need to go back to appliances where it's safe. I haven't even been over here for five minutes and Ralph was ready to hand me a pink-slip from life.”

Fred somehow managed to blow a raspberry without his lips moving and pat my shoulder.

“He wishes he had the clearance to do that. All he can do is hoop and holler. Ain't that right, Ralphy?” 

Ralph, now drooling, said nothing and only continued to make more squishy deflating noises.

“Is he ok?”

“Oh yeah, I saw him get crushed by a shelf once. He’s even been sat on by Bonnie and still got up. He was totally fine too. I’m sure he enjoyed getting sat on more though, sly dog.”

“Wow–”

“I know right? He’s all about that bass. I respect that.”

“Ew, n-no I mean does he just not die or… does he not have bones?”

He looked back down at Ralph, then back at me. 

“Well he's got somethin’.” 

“How the heck did he get a squash-proof card?”

“Ha! What, you want one too? Trust me, you don’t want what he’s got. Shit’s probably terminal.”

“What’s that mean?”

Fred did something that looked like he was trying to shrug. Trying and failing. He also had the nerve to take another swipe at me in an attempt to grab my phone again. 

I jerked it away just in time and slapped his plastic hand away. 

“If you don’t cut it out!- Why did you bring me here anyway!? You hate Home and Decor.” 

Fred looked like he was about to say something, seemed to buffer then looked back down at Ralph one last time. 

“Well, my original plan was to ask Grandpa Pudding here if he still happened to have a phone but I’d doubt he’d tell us now. Guess we go with plan B.” 

“What’s plan B?” I asked. Fred answered this by taking another swipe at my phone. I stuck it in the air as high as I could manage. 

“HEY! God you’re worse than a three-year-old today! What the hell man?!” 

I’ve seen Fred do some pretty weird stuff, aside from the living mannequin thing. All it took was the fraction of a second for me to blink for Fred to be gone with my fucking phone again. I looked at my empty hand, then over my shoulder at him booking it down the aisles. Before I could sputter the creative string of swears I had threaded together just for Fred’s ears the store was plunged into silence again.

“Uh-oh.” It lasted a few seconds longer than before.

“Max there is a call waiting for you on—”

The horrible sound it made was louder. So much louder this time. 

I slapped my hands over my ears and could feel the sound vibrating in my chest. It only lasted for a moment, but that's all it took to leave me with an annoying ring in my ears. *So that's what he meant.* 

Now begrudgingly coming to terms that this shift was going to be a probably very dangerous trek across the store, I looked back at the now deflated Ralph. Within moments of being clocked with my phone, he looked like a snake was running around in a human suit and shed him at some point. I almost wanted to feel bad, but he was a dick and I thought better of it. I instead opted to start going through his pockets. 

"Let’s see… food tokens, a box cutter, and some new blades. I’m sure those will come in handy." 

I had made the mistake of losing my pocket knife on my first day to the disembodied appendages that live under the shelves in aisles 12 and 16. Don’t ask— that’s a story for another time. I clicked up the blade and the thing extended to almost four inches long. 

“How many newbies like me have you used this thing on, Ralph? Cause I certainly haven’t seen you open any boxes.” 

I stood, gave him one last squishy nudge with my foot, and went to go find that stupid mannequin…

The Home and Decor department almost reminded me a bit of a decrepit thrift store. The musty smell of old, used things and old, used people. Ralph fit in perfectly with the washed-out background that was bathed in piss yellow. But I also couldn’t help but wonder, why did this side of the store look as awful as it did? There were even water stains on the fiberglass ceiling tiles way up above. Everything I’ve seen of the store looked awful in some capacity, but the level of awfulness here was borderline ridiculous. 

My job here had me stuck in a different department every shift, something referred to as a *Floater*. Basically, I was being trained in a bit of everything. The one who hired me told me that I would have this position until I found my place. I thought that statement was strange, because I was only supposed to be here for about four months. At one point I was certain I would stay longer. Twenty dollars an hour for a retail gig sounded like cake, but now I find myself wondering if I’ll even last that long. 

“You’ve been standing there for an awfully long time, Maxwell.” 

The sound of a woman’s voice hung itself in the air and arrested my attention, it was enough to snap me back into the moment so hard I nearly got whiplash. Wet and broken glass crunched under my feet as I spun. I pull out my new box cutter, holding it out in front of me like I could actually fight something if I needed to. 

“It’s Max. And a guy can’t take a second to collect his thoughts?”

“Sure you can, but standing in the middle of an aisle muttering to yourself might be considered a little…crazy, wouldn’t you say?” 

A massive spider, as big as a Volkswagen Beetle slowly peered over the shelves that had been covered in ugly pillows and rested atop of it. She had a shiny black body and long, sharp legs that still shimmered like obsidian spears in the low light and easily extended around 17 feet. Her eight eyes were a deep red, and her front two legs ending in unmistakably human hands with painted, manicured nails. Janis, from what I understand, is one of the vendors. She’s also one of the few creatures in here I don’t find myself running and screaming from, shockingly. She’s just kind of a bitch.

“Considering the things that go on here I’m not exactly concerned with what uh… people think of me,” I say slowly aiming the box cutter away. The giant arachnid almost seemed to smile smugly at me from her perch, her mandibles moving and twitching as she spoke. 

“Oh, not enjoying your position? You seemed so enthusiastic a few weeks ago.”

“Why in God’s name do you think I would be enjoying this place? I just had a run-in with Ralph I’ll be trying to scrub from my mind for the next three weeks! And I had no idea the shit I’d have to deal with a few weeks ago! This is entrapment! It’s illegal! ”

Janis tapped her perfectly polished claws against the metal shelf like an irritated Disney villain, making annoying tink sounds.

“Still on that are we? Not the brightest color in the box. But a busted-broke college student down on his luck with $5 to his name… people like you thrive in extreme situations. You adapt. Not because you want to, but because you are in the unique position of not having any other choice.”

“I don’t want to adapt or change or anything! I just wanted a job!! Not to end up with a new list of phobias or nearly be killed every time I clock in! Twenty bucks an hour isn’t worth dying for!”

“Well seeing as how you were hired here, no one will miss you if did bite the dust. So make the best of the situation, learn. Maybe bitch less, it will make you more likable.”

“... Ouch.”

“It’s true.”

“I know…I know it’s true. But you didn’t have to say it.”

“ThetaMart, as well as being a space between, has the ability to bring out something in people they would rather not look at. It changes them into something more—” She looked at a moldy pillow sitting beside her on the shelf, she huffed while pushing it away and it went tumbling to the floor with a wet plop. 

“More compelling, I'd say. You get to break the monotony and forget how small you are.”

“I am perfectly comfortable with how small I am, thanks.”

“What a winner. I’m sure your girlfriend shares the same sentiment.”

“Was there a point to you Grudge-crawling up there, or are you just here to harass me?”

“I like having the high ground, and I wanted to give you a bit of friendly advice.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense Obi-Wan.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s— …never mind. What is it?”

She sighed and slowly lowered herself down the shelf, creaking under her weight as she did so she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“You know how they tell you to stop and smell the roses?.”

“Yeah?”

She reached her hand down into my apron pocket and took out one of the food tokens I had lifted from Ralph. They were made of tarnished brass. 

“You may want to skip it this time where you’re going. As for these…” She examined one of them closely.

“Heads or tails, little bug?” 

“Uh…t-tails.” I said. She hummed and flicked the coin into the air, I watched the coin owl-eyed as it hovered above us for just a moment before she snatched it and slapped it down on the outer side of her hand. I shuttered reflexively at the quick motion, then felt embarrassed for doing so. Janis seemed to grin in amusement, peeked under her hand at the coin then extended it to me. 

“Tails. Luck sways in your favor today. Use it wisely and you might see the end of your shift.” she said.   

“You can’t really determine that with a coin. Luck isn’t real.” 

“You are really going to look a giant talking spider in her face and say–” she lowered her voice a few octaves and said in the universal guy voice, you know the one “Luck isn’t real.” She did have a point. But to accept luck was real, was to accept my luck up until this point was actually kind of shit and I had no idea why or if I had any way to change it.

“Well if luck is real…it’d be nice to catch a break. But I’m not saying it is.”

“Whatever you say, Floater.”

She sighed and rubbed all eight of her eyes. 

“That mannequin wanted me to pass this on to you…” She pulled out a pair of pink flower clippers from seemingly nowhere.

“Go to Garden & Live Goods. He’s waiting for you there. Like I said, avoid smelling the roses.”

She handed the clippers to me and tisked.

“Dumbass.”

“Like, roses specifically or–.”

“Get to steppin’ I have work to do.”

 I eyed the clippers. They made a satisfying snipping sound when I pulled the handles.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.” 

In typical spider fashion, she crept back up the shelf and disappeared over the other side. If every spider is as rude as she is I don’t know if I feel quite as bad as I used to when I would bring a shoe down on them. 

I stuck the clippers in my apron, and began to head in the direction I was pretty sure was garden.

[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

if you’re going my way, i’ll go with you - chapter 5

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, character!Thomas, minor/background OCs Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Parental Virgil & Roman, Analogical, platonic ThVi Warnings: Language, implied/suspected child abuse, vaguely suggestive flirting, fantasy setting/wish-fulfillment take on medical transition Word count: 5333

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Chapter 5

Three episodes of She-Ra later—and holy crap, this show was very adorable and gay, how come there had never been stuff like this when Virgil was a kid?—Virgil reached over and switched off the TV.

“Noo, you didn’t even get to see—” R began to protest.

“Buddy, it’s one in the morning. We already did a whole extra episode. You’re exhausted, you’ve got to sleep soon,” Virgil said firmly. When the boy made a wobbly pout that threatened tears, Virgil added, “You can show me some other time, mmkay?”

R blinked. “Really?” He sounded startled by the idea and somewhat skeptical.

“For sure. Anytime you want,” Virgil promised easily.

“You’re not gonna make me go back?” R inquired, still disbelieving.

Ah. Shit. Virgil hesitated. That was a much bigger question than he had been prepared for. And he had no idea how to answer it. “We—” He cleared his throat. “We can talk about that later, okay?” He paused again, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to tell the boy. “But I’m not going to make you do anything,” he said at last. “You’re a person, learning to make your own choices is an important thing for you to practice.”

R stared at him for a long moment. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re weird.”

“Thank you. I think.”

R blinked several times, and Virgil couldn’t quite tell if it was from confusion or if the boy was simply tired out. “If you want me to sleep, don’t you have to send me back, though?” he asked after a minute.

Virgil could think of two answers to this. One was the rational one that he probably should give. One was the one he wanted to give.

Oh, fuck it. He was a supervillain, what was the point in worrying about what he should do?

Virgil went with his gut. “Nah, I have a guest room. You can use that if you want.”

There was a soft gasp. “Can I?”

Virgil, who was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he would do just about anything to keep this kid safe and happy, nodded. “Yeah, for sure. We’d better get you some fresh pajamas first, though. Let me just….” Virgil glanced at his phone to see a text from Thomas, sent three minutes ago—omw back, eta 10 minutes! :)

Well. That gave him some time to kill before he could get R to bed. And while he’d been watching the show with R (and Logan, though he hadn’t been as interested and had excused himself after the first episode), Virgil had been thinking hard. Thinking about R and the all-too-familiar way he had winced and curled in on himself after catching a glimpse of himself in the window’s reflection.

“Hey,” Virgil said, breaking the brief silence. “Princey. R.”

The boy blinked sleepily up at him. “Hm?”

“Looks like it’s going to be a couple of minutes. While we’re waiting, do you want a haircut, by any chance?”

“Mom and Dad say I’m not allowed,” R responded automatically, looking away, face falling.

“Right. Right.” Virgil steepled his fingers under his chin, leaning forward. “See, the thing is,” he said in his best conspiratorial tone, “I’m a supervillain, which means I’m allowed to ignore smart advice like obeying your parents. And which means I can—and will—make sure they don’t get you back for it. So I actually don’t care what they say. I just care what you want.”

R processed this for a minute, his eyes going round as quarters and glistening with growing excitement. “I—I want boy hair,” he managed at last, clearly trying to conceal his enthusiasm but doing a poor job of it.

“Your hair is always going to be boy hair, that’s how a boy having hair works. But sure, let’s get you a haircut.” Virgil patted R’s head. “Hey, babe?” he called over his shoulder towards the kitchen, where Logan was rummaging in Virgil’s fridge.

“Yes, dear?”

“R wants a haircut, is he good to move around yet?”

“Slowly, and with caution, but yes. Tomorrow he will be able to move much more freely—I placed his bandages with the activity levels of a child in mind, drawing on somewhat limited data from our previous meetings for his personal habits and supplementing with knowledge of my nephew’s behaviors, since they are about the same age. Do you mind if I make myself a sandwich?” He held up a package of sliced cheese, a clearly already half-assembled sandwich sitting on the counter before him.

“Yeah, of course, use whatever you want,” Virgil said. “I just—” He paused, processing. “Uh, did you just say you have a nephew?”

Logan blinked. “Oh, did I say that?” He hesitated. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he said quietly, smiling to himself.

“…Babe, you don’t have any siblings,” Virgil said, more confused than before.

Logan nodded. “That is correct.” He did not elaborate.

Virgil flung his hands in the air. “Well, then, how do you have a nephew? And why have I never heard about him before?”

Logan hesitated again. “He is my nephew… by… association.”

Virgil let this sink in for a few seconds to see if it would start making any more sense. It did not. “…What does that mean?”

“He calls me Uncle.” Logan bit back a smile. “And… that is right.” He took in Virgil’s still-confused expression and sighed. “I’m sorry, dear, but I do not have the authority to share any more details about him with you at this time.”

“But—wh—babe—”

“You were saying something about a haircut for the boy?” Logan inquired, nodding over at R on the couch.

Virgil crossed his arms and pouted overdramatically. “You’re trying to distract me from the nephew thing.”

“Yes,” Logan said evenly as he sliced his sandwich into two large triangles, “and you’re going to allow me to do so, because this conversation is not mine or yours to draw boundaries around, and I intend to respect the wishes of the child’s mother with regards to his privacy even if I do not personally agree with all of them.” He placed the knife neatly in the sink. “You had better hurry, now, before R falls asleep on his feet.”

“I’m awake!” R protested through a yawn. “I’m so awake! I could stay up for hours and hours an’—and—” He yawned again.

“We get it, buddy,” Virgil said, holding back a smile. “Come with me, I cut my own hair sometimes, I’ve got the supplies over here.”

He soon had R seated on a tall stool in front of the bathroom mirror. “Okay. So how short are we talking here?” he asked, showing him the pair of haircutting scissors and the razor clippers.

“Um…” R bit his lip, glancing at his reflection. “Like, this long?” He drew a line along his forehead with his finger. “Is that okay?”

“It’s your hair, kid,” Virgil said. “Of course it’s okay if you want it.” He thought for a moment, then pulled up his Pinterest and went searching for a board he knew he’d created years and years ago but hadn’t touched in ages—men’s hairstyles. “Here,” he said, handing his phone to the kid. “Just so I can make sure we’re on the same page. Do any of these look like how you want it?”

R made a noise of interest and began scrolling, the phone large in his little hands. “Oh!” he exclaimed after a minute. “Um, I like this kind.” He displayed the phone to Virgil.

Virgil examined the photograph R had selected. “Cool, I think I can do that,” he said with some relief. It wasn’t a complex haircut at all; short on the sides and a little longer on top. “Ready?” he asked, picking up the comb so he could section off the boy’s hair.

R drew in a long breath, glancing at himself in the mirror. He straightened his shoulders and released the breath in a great whoosh. “Mmhm.” He kicked his feet, looking away from the mirror again. “I’m ready.”

“Alright. Do your best to try and sit still,” Virgil instructed, and ran the comb along the side of R’s head.

“I’m good at that,” R assured him—and he was, in fact, surprisingly good at it, sitting very still indeed on the stool and not making a sound.

Virgil had worried about R’s mask, which was still in place on his face, covering his eyes. But when he’d finished sectioning off the hair on the top of the boy’s head and clipping it up into place so it would stay put while he shaved the sides, he moved aside the hair covering the boy’s ears and—

“Huh,” he said aloud.

“What?” R asked, sounding worried.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Virgil assured him. “I was just worried about your mask getting caught in the clippers. But it’s not attached to your ears.”

“Oh! No. I don’t need elastics.” R looked up at Virgil, running his fingers along the edge of the sparkly red mask still secured over his eyes. “I made it, with my powers!” He beamed proudly. “Look! Like this!” He held up his hands as if to cradle something and closed his eyes; the air between his fingertips began to shimmer, and an eye mask made of red glitter, identical to the one on his face, knitted itself together in midair and dropped an inch into his waiting hands. He opened his eyes and displayed it almost shyly to Virgil, nervous hope plain to read on his face.

Virgil raised his eyebrows with a smile. “Very impressive,” he said. “Clever thinking.”

R let out a small, proud squeal of glee, the mask in his hands dissolving in a puff of glitter, his heels drumming happily on the rung of the stool. “Thanks,” he said after a minute, trying far too hard to sound nonchalant.

Virgil stifled a grin. “Sure, kid. Ready for the clippers now?”

Hardly fifteen minutes later, Virgil made a few final snips, touching up the last uneven ends. “Okay,” he said, stepping back and surveying the boy’s head critically. “Okay,” he repeated, when he’d checked from several angles and couldn’t see any uneven strands at all anymore. “How does that look?” He brushed clumps of hair off the boy’s shoulders and let them fall to join the mess on the floor; he’d clean it up later.

R swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut, and carefully turned until facing the mirror. He took another deep breath in and opened his eyes.

His eyes went big and round at once, lips parting as he stared at his reflection like he’d never seen it before. “Oh,” he managed after a minute, voice coming out all choked up. “Oh, I—” He reached for the mask on his face, and Virgil quickly turned his back.

But only a second later a small hand tugged at his elbow. “Look,” R pleaded, and even Virgil’s worries about the boy revealing his unmasked face weren’t enough to make him refuse the hope in R’s tone.

Virgil allowed R to pull him over and point at the mirror. “It’s me,” R said, voice breaking on a happy sob and tears spilling over down his cheeks.

Virgil reached for a Kleenex almost without thinking and wiped R’s face, careful not to obscure his view of the mirror. “It sure is,” he said softly, trying not to choke up himself. “You look just like yourself.”

R turned from the mirror to look up at him, brown eyes still swimming with tears. “I do,” he agreed, and lurched forward to hide his little face in Virgil’s chest, breaking down into sobs.

Virgil wrapped his arms around the child at once, almost instinctively, making a soothing noise and rubbing his back.

“There you go,” he breathed when R pulled himself together a minute or two later; he offered another kleenex, holding it to the snot threatening to drip from the boy’s nose. “Blow,” he instructed.

R blew his nose obediently. “Um—thank you,” he said, eyes going back to the mirror once more. “For the haircut. And—and everything.” When before the haircut he’d only shot quick glances at his reflection, looking away as quickly as possible, now he couldn’t seem to get enough, drinking the sight of himself in.

Virgil ruffled R’s hair, which had become fluffier, perhaps even wavy, when its length had previously dragged it straight. “You’re very welcome, R.”

R grabbed Virgil’s arm once again, searching his face for Virgil didn’t know what. Evidently he found it, though, because he clung tighter and announced, “My name is Roman.”

Alright, that was cool. That was fine. That was great. That—that was clearly a chosen name. And there was a solid chance that Virgil was one of the first—if not the first—to hear it. Virgil. Who the kid barely knew, and yet had somehow decided to trust with this information. That was fine. That was fine and great and Virgil was not tearing up at all about it. Holy crap.

Reeling from the display of trust, Virgil managed, “That’s a fantastic name, Roman.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m so proud of you.”

Roman only leaned forward on the counter, staring raptly at his reflection in the mirror and playing tentatively with his hair.

“By the way,” Virgil said, wrestling his nerves. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn the boy’s trust, but Roman deserved for it to be returned. “Seems a little weird for you to keep calling me Nightmare at this point, so uh. My name—” He bit his lip. Just like a bandaid. Rip it off. “My real name is Virgil. Virgil Nguyen. You can, uh, use it or not, I don’t care. But I figured you ought to know.”

“Virgil,” Roman repeated slowly, tilting his head to the side.

“Yup.”

“It’s funny,” Roman said.

“Wow, thanks,” Virgil said drily. “Picked it myself and everything.”

“No, I like it, I like it!” Roman waved his hands, giggling. “I like it, I promise!”

“Thanks,” Virgil repeated. He allowed himself a grin. “I picked it myself and everything.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Wait,” he said in a tone of dawning delight. “Wait, I can make that joke too now.”

Virgil chuckled. “You sure can. And let me tell you, it never gets old. Don’t listen to L when he disagrees, he’s wrong and also a hypocrite.” He ruffled the boy’s hair again. “I bet Thomas is back now with your new stuff, do you want to come pick some pajamas for the night?”

“Who’s Thomas?” Roman asked suspiciously after thinking this over for a minute. He rubbed surreptitiously at his eyes.

“He’s my henchman. Also he spies on me for the Heroes’ Guild, but we pretend like I don’t know that,” Virgil added with a wink. “He’s great, you’re going to love him. C’mon.”

He led the boy out to the living area once more, where Thomas was sitting at one of the bar stools by the counter, deep in conversation with Logan. A number of shopping bags sat on the coffee table.

Roman wrapped both his hands around Virgil’s forearm, shrinking behind him and peeking out, seeming half nervous and half curious.

“Thomas, you are an actual lifesaver,” Virgil greeted Thomas.

“Oh, hey Virge!” Thomas responded. His eyes went to Roman, curiosity and concern both well-shielded but still present on his face. “Who’s this little guy?”

Roman pressed closer to Virgil, fingers digging into Virgil’s wrist.

“It’s okay,” Virgil murmured to him. “I’m right here.”

The boy nodded. Not letting go of Virgil’s wrist, he stepped forward, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m Roman,” he announced.

Thomas took this in stride. “Nice to meet you—my name’s Thomas, I work here. I heard you were watching She-Ra?” He waited for Roman’s cautious nod, then went on, “I love that show!”

Roman’s death grip on Virgil’s arm loosened somewhat. “I like it too,” he said, voice quiet but significantly less wary than it had been a moment ago.

“Roman’s going to be spending the night,” Virgil interjected. This, admittedly, wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was the most relevant piece of information right now.

Thomas blinked a couple of times and nodded.

“And I’m a superhero!” Roman added. This was, going by his tone, a very important detail that Virgil had horribly neglected.

“You sure are, kid,” Virgil said indulgently. “And all real heroes get a full night of sleep instead of staying up late.”

“That is a falsehood,” Logan protested immediately, indignant.

“Oh, yeah, don’t think you’re off the hook either.” Virgil pointed at him. “You’re in my lair, I call the shots, I can and will force you to sleep a full eight hours for once in your go—oshdarn life. Hold you down if I have to. My most evil plot yet, or whatever.”

Logan crossed his arms. “My needs are adequately met. There are many more interesting things to do with my time than sleep.”

“Okay, so like, just so you know, I am going to be winning this one, but also, could you, like, help me set a good example, please?” Virgil said in exasperation, gesturing towards Roman, who was watching the argument with great interest. “Heroes get sleep. It’s an important part of not stunting their brain growth, right?”

“My brain is more than fine—”

“I am not talking about your brain, actually!” Virgil gestured again at Roman.

“Ah,” Logan said, finally seeming to understand. “Well. While absolutely nothing you just claimed about heroes was true in the slightest capacity, yes, you are correct that it is a good idea for Roman to sleep.”

“Thank you!” Virgil flung his hands in the air. “Thomas, can you show Roman his pajama options?”

While Roman was debating between red with a sequin star on the chest, dark blue with spaceships, and red-and-white stripes, Virgil leaned over to speak quietly in Thomas’s ear. “Would you mind sticking around for just a few more minutes before you clock off for the night? I know it’s late as—it’s late, but I want to update you really fast once we get him settled.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Thomas responded quietly.

Once Roman had made his selection—spaceships won out—Virgil showed him the guest room. “The bathroom’s over there. I usually shower after a haircut, just because it’s the easiest way to get it all off. L says a shower is fine and to just kind of leave the bandages be. Uh, here’s a toothbrush and toothpaste. I put the key and the spare key on the sidetable by the bed. Is that all cool?”

Roman, who had only gotten more sleepy by the minute, nodded through a yawn. “Mmkay,” he agreed.

“Right,” Virgil said. “Uh, goodnight, then.”

“G’night,” Roman echoed. He followed Virgil to the door and closed it behind him; as Virgil walked back down the hall towards the living room, he heard the key turn in the lock.

“So,” Thomas said as Virgil stepped into the room, “why do we have a kid now, again?”

“We don’t have a kid!” Virgil said, which, yeah, okay, did come out way too defensive to be even a little bit believable. Sue him.

“Really?” Thomas and Logan said at the same time.

Virgil crossed his arms. “Do not gang up on me like that, it’s not fair. He’s just… staying the night. It was an emergency. We don’t have a kid.”

“That sounds a lot like getting a kid, Virge,” Thomas said.

“No, it’s just an emergency situation—oh, forget it. Fine. Bully me like that. Thank you so much for getting those pajamas on such short notice, by the way.”

“Yeah, it was no problem,” Thomas said. “He seems like a sweet little guy. You said you wanted to update me?”

Virgil drew in a long breath. “Yeah.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don't know what the plan about the kid is yet, I’ll keep you posted on that. But we’re going to raid Count Ruthless’s lair tomorrow, strip him of all his ranks within the Guild, and ensure that he will never practice any level of villainy above Minion again. You’ll probably want to get some sleep pretty soon here. I imagine the amount of red tape it’ll take to deal with the fallout, especially reassigning his employees to other villains so they don’t lose their jobs, is going to be horrible for both of us.”

“Oof. Yeah. What did he do?” Thomas asked.

“Stabbed the kid,” Virgil said shortly. “No coming back from that one. I’m….” He drummed his fingers against the tabletop, shadows curling about them without his even trying to summon them. “I’m pissed about it,” he said shortly at last. “Want to make sure he regrets it. Knows exactly why I’m firing him.”

“I… see,” Thomas said carefully. He glanced at Logan.

“Dr. Logic didn’t hear a word of this,” Logan said drily. “And it isn’t the sort of thing the Heroes’ Guild would involve themselves in if we got wind of it anyway. I would not expect much detail about this incident to be included in any reports of villainous activities that might be made to, for instance, the Heroes' Guild by, for instance, certain persons under our employ as double agents. All speaking very theoretically.”

“Right.” Thomas’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay, sounds good, then.” He got to his feet and stretched.

“You heading out for the night?” Virgil asked.

“Yep!” Thomas confirmed. “See you tomorrow—what time do you think you’ll be starting the workday?”

“I—” Virgil very deliberately did not glance at Logan. “...Ten?” He considered how much he liked the rare opportunity to wake up beside his boyfriend and how reluctant he always was to get up on those days. “…Maybe eleven.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Two pm it is. Catch ya later, Virge.” He waved off Virgil’s spluttering protests with a laugh and headed for the door.

“I believe,” Logan said from the couch, “that that would be considered a roast.”

Virgil snorted. “Not that you’re wrong, but of which one of us, exactly?”

“Oh, definitely you.”

“Hey!”

Logan grinned. “Do you disagree?”

“No, but—oh, shut up.” Virgil shook his head with a smile and sat on the couch beside Logan, putting an arm around him.

Logan adjusted himself to lean against Virgil, tucking his face into the crook of Virgil’s neck. “What an evening,” he said, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a sigh.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed. He was silent for a moment. “Okay, so like, I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ about Roman, but please tell me you’d let me have it if I did.”

Logan tilted his head in a nod of acknowledgement. “I stand by my original decision not to interfere with his hero work,” he said slowly, “but… I will admit that I did not have all the facts in my possession. I might well have taken different actions if I had more information available.” He grimaced. “I imagined we were dealing with a teenager in need of a support system outside the home. Not a child.”

“Teenagers are still children,” Virgil countered. “But… I’m glad to hear that.” He pressed a kiss to Logan’s temple.

“While I do not disagree, a fifteen year old and a ten year old are still very different in terms of support needs,” Logan said. “I have cared for teenagers escaping bad home lives before and I assumed that this was a similar situation. I was incorrect. Now, I feel that ‘what happens next’ is a much better question to focus on than ‘what happened before.’”

Virgil nodded, accepting the pointed change of subject. “I don’t….” He hesitated.

“Yes, dear?”

“I really don’t want to send him home,” Virgil confessed.

Logan tensed up. “I… probably could not let that one slide, dearest. I think I would have to interfere if you did not let him—”

“No—no, hear me out. It’s not about me not letting him go back. I just don’t think—” Virgil bit his lip. “I have a feeling something’s not right.”

There was a pause. “Alright. Elaborate,” Logan said. He sat up a little straighter, giving Virgil his full and focused attention.

Virgil ticked the items off on his fingers as he listed them. “He’s clearly scared of his parents. He’s been trying to hide the fact that he’s scared of his parents. I’m pretty sure he almost started crying when he thought I was sending him home tonight. And he’s clearly been deprived of basic gender affirmation. I just—I need to find out more about his family. But I’m going to be shocked if anything I uncover makes me think it’s safe for him there.” Virgil frowned. “He was afraid they’d be angry at him for being fucking stabbed. Like, what the hell?”

“That… is not good,” Logan admitted. He hesitated, clearly at war with himself. “I suppose…” he said at last. “It's not like Dr. Logic would be expected to know about this situation.”

Virgil snickered. “Sure. Sure.” More seriously, he went on, “Thanks, babe. I’ll talk with Roman tomorrow and see if I can find out more about… everything. So I can figure out for sure what to do.”

Logan nodded. “In the meantime, I think I will send you puberty blockers that he can take if he so desires. I can get the first batch to you tomorrow after I go in to the lab, I’ll just need a couple of hours to construct the formula.”

Virgil blinked. “You can do that?”

“Absolutely. I started making my own testosterone supplements when I was fourteen. I haven’t done puberty blockers before, which is why I’ll need a few hours as opposed to minutes.”

“Fourteen? Babe!” Virgil wasn’t sure whether to be awed or concerned. “What do you—fourteen?”

“Supergenius, darling,” Logan reminded him. “My powers came in at twelve.” His brow wrinkled slightly, seeming bewildered by Virgil’s confusion. “You knew I handled my own transition.”

“Yeah, obviously”—Logan had done Virgil’s top surgery for him years ago, and Virgil had only agreed because Logan’s own DIYed gender-affirming surgeries had all gone so well—“but—jesus christ, what the hell? That’s so young to be doing that all by yourself!”

Logan shrugged. “Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “But I did not like my pediatrician and did not wish to go through her for a testosterone prescription. It was very simple to just teach myself the chemistry I needed to know to make them myself. Anyway, I’ll make some puberty blockers next time I’m in the lab and send them over to you. You can discuss it with Roman and see if he is interested or not; he is perfectly free to refuse them for any reason. But he should have the option.”

“So, hold on, we went from ‘I can’t keep him’ to ‘you’re going to make puberty blockers for him’ in, what, two minutes?” Virgil said, half laughing.

Logan frowned. “Denying a trans child the ability to transition is categorically abusive,” he said firmly. “Roman should be in control of his own gender presentation. I am doing my best to ensure that that is the case. As I said, he is more than welcome to refuse them, if he so desires.”

Virgil nodded. “Alright, babe, that sounds like a plan. I’ll talk about it with him tomorrow.”

“Good.” Logan hummed softly, nestling closer against Virgil. There was a moment or two of silence; then, in a contemplative tone, Logan said, “It is getting late.”

Virgil curled his arm a little more snugly around Logan. “That it is,” he said, voice low and soft.

“My apartment is some distance away.”

“That’s also true,” Virgil said, liking where this seemed to be going.

“I don’t have my car with me.”

“Oh no,” Virgil teased, smirking. “How awful.”

Logan fidgeted, clearly waiting. Virgil blinked at him innocently.

“Thomas has left for the night, so I cannot return home the way I arrived here,” Logan said, lips pursing in a somewhat pouty frown. So he had picked up on Virgil’s teasing.

Virgil leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Logan’s lips, which he eagerly returned. Virgil ran his thumbs back and forth along Logan’s cheekbones, feeling his boyfriend lean closer, relaxing into the kiss. He pulled back, still cradling Logan’s face in his hands, and gazed into his dark brown eyes.

Virgil leaned close and murmured in Logan’s ear, speaking in his best sultry tone. “Damn, that sucks.” He sat back slightly, letting his voice return to normal. “Good luck getting home, get out of my house now.”

“Oh, you—” Logan shoved Virgil away. “You are horrible.”

Virgil reined in his amused snickering long enough to reply, “I’m a villain, babe. It’s kind of in the job description.”

Logan huffed and crossed his arms, fighting back a smile. “Awful man. Terrible. I can’t believe this.”

Virgil grinned and held out his arms. “I’m sorry I teased, Lo. C’mere,” he coaxed. “Of course you can stay the night. C’mere, let me kiss you.”

Logan huffed again, but scooted back across the couch and wrapped his arms around Virgil’s shoulders. “Horrible,” he repeated fondly, presenting his lips.

Virgil cupped his boyfriend’s cheek in his hand and kissed him soundly, smiling all the while. “Love you,” he murmured as their lips parted.

Logan closed his eyes and leaned into Virgil’s hand, still cupping his face. “I love you, too,” he responded.

They were both quiet for a moment, Virgil simply admiring Logan’s face, with smooth dark skin and a tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth and a lovely wide nose and an utterly peaceful expression as he rested in Virgil’s arms. Virgil had, on occasion, poked fun at the idea of people calling their partner a treasure, but—looking at Logan, Virgil had to admit, he understood it.

Logan’s nose wrinkled, and he broke the silence with a small laugh.

“What?” Virgil inquired, half laughing in answer even though he didn’t know why.

“Oh. I was just thinking.” Logan opened his eyes, glancing up to meet Virgil’s, that same smile still quirking his lips. “What would Sandersville think to see us now?”

“What, the big bad supervillain in his lair seducing the city’s golden boy?” Virgil grinned, taking Logan by the chin and drawing him in until his nose brushed against Virgil’s. “I dunno, it might be too cheesy,” he breathed, his lips inches from Logan’s own. “Maybe the papers made it up.” He sealed his lips against Logan’s, kissing him slow and delicious until Logan sighed into his mouth and relaxed fully in his arms, practically melting against Virgil’s chest.

“I have missed this,” Logan breathed against his lips, and kissed him again.

Virgil pulled back slightly and glanced around the room. “Should we maybe go somewhere else? Don’t want to risk waking the kid….”

Logan ran one finger along the purple textured fabric of the supersuit covering Virgil’s shoulder, down to the large stormcloud logo on his chest. “I would not be opposed to moving to the bedroom,” he said nonchalantly, tracing along the edge of the logo.

“You like the suit?” Virgil inquired with a chuckle, leaning closer once more.

Logan met his lips with a kiss. “You wear it well,” he said, running his hands appreciatively up and down Virgil’s sides. “And I so rarely get to see it on you outside work.”

“That is literally a problem you created for yourself,” Virgil said drily. “If you think I look hot in it—” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I do not ‘think’ you look hot in it,” Logan said primly. “It is merely an objective fact.”

“—all you had to do was ask.” Virgil grinned, took his boyfriend by the hand, and tugged him in the direction of his bedroom. “C’mere, cutie.”

Logan smiled, lacing his fingers between Virgil’s to hold his hand more tightly. “I would be delighted to, my dearest.”

--

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @thepenandcoffee @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-the-lemon-berry @midnightstorm-underthe-moon @crazydemigod666 @perplexed-kale @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @virgil-is-verge @simplestoryteller @arrowthenon-binaryroyalty @oblivionartworks

[artzychic27]

Pride Month is right around the Corner! Yay! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

Marinette, Kim, and Nino- The Trio of Transcendenceness... Ness 🏳️‍⚧️

Marinette, Kim, and Nino have been best friends since birth, and do pretty much everything together

If some rando were to look at them, they’d think it’s odd that Marinette likes to wear pink and gaze starry-eyed at dresses in store windows while Kim and Nino like to play with action figures and shop for clothes in the boys’ section

And people swore they saw them get teary-eyed whenever someone said their birth names

Tom and Sabine sort of just knew that Marinette was somewhere on the trans spectrum, and let their so- daughter buy whatever outfits she wanted and grow her hair out

Marinette: I wanna be a princess when I grow up!

Rando: Don’t you mean a prince?

Marinette: No! I’m the Princess of princes!

She officially came out when she was seven

Her parents were supportive. Confused, but supportive. They even made her a three layered cake with Trans flags toppers

She named herself after a princess she read about in a book

Kim and Nino did everything they could to help their sister

Nino gave her the makeup kit he never uses and a bunch of his hair accessories

Kim gave her some clothes he doesn’t like wearing

Whenever someone asks what happened to their friend, [CENSORED]. Kim and Nino say their friend went on a long trip and is never coming back

Kim was second to come out when he was nine

He loved how carefree Marinette looked after she had what he and Nino call her “Gender Awakening”

He was confused about some things though, and asked her to explain how she came to the conclusion that she wasn’t a guy

Marinette: Well, I never liked how people kept calling me by my old name, and whenever I had to wear boy’s clothes, my skin crawled a bit.

Kim: ... I’m trans, I wear pants, deal with it!

His parents were very supportive and his mom even threw a one-woman pride parade in the backyard

Kim: Is mom okay?

Kim’s dad: She’s just happy for you. Now let’s go get you a haircut, young man before you look like a hippie.

In Vietnamese, Kim means gold/metal (A little reference to the gold medals he’s one in sports)

Marinette made him a custom binder that’s red with a gold star on the front

Nino cut his hair and is even learning how to contour so he can do Kim’s makeup to make him look more masculine

Finally, Nino came out when he was ten. He just figured it out on his own like Marinette

Nino: Your daughter’s dead, dudes. I’m taking over her room.

Chris: *Stares in awe* That is... awesome!

His parents supported him wholeheartedly

He chose his name because it’s Spanish for boy

Marinette made him a binder and she and Kim took Nino clothes shopping

Since they’re all best friends, they wanna do everything together

When they were ten, the three of them started taking their hormones

On dysphoria days, they’ll get under a big blanket and snuggle up while watching Disney movies until they fall asleep. Nino and Marinette would sandwich Kim in the middle while he wrapped his arms around them

Sometimes they wear matching hoodies that are a few sizes too big and just hide everything

On their first day of collége, all three of them were dead named in one of their classes since the school didn’t update their names

Word spread. Long story short, Kim and Nino beat up a boy who deadnamed Marinette and asked for “proof”

Their classmates were very supportive and always corrected teachers who accidentally say their dead names during role call

Many guys who had crushes on Marinette offered to beat up or threaten anyone harassing her

Nathaniel (Before meeting Marc) almost framed one of her bullies for murder

The swim team wore gender neutral swimwear so Kim wouldn’t feel like the odd one out until he got his surgery

Guys will always put emphasis on ‘Dude’ whenever talking to Nino

Students offered to stand guard whenever they used the bathroom in case anyone tried anything else

When Alya and Adrien came along, they were all so nervous. Sure, most of the school was pretty tolerant, but what if someone outs them and the new students turn out to be bullies in their own class?!

Once again, they were outed by some asshole Damocles won’t expel for some shit reason

Alya beat the asshole to a pulp (Which caused Nino’s crush on her to start) while Adrien treated his three new friends to ice cream

When they started dating and Nino was feeling dysphoric, Alya will say things like: “My boyfriend is the manliest man ever.”

... Ah, fuck it! Bring out the Miraculous!🐞🐈‍⬛🐢

Marinette is Ladybug/Nino is Carapace/Kim is Mèo đen (They all know each other’s identities because they opened the boxes together in Marinette’s room)

Thanks to a little magic, they have the bodies they’ve always dreamed of having

One Akuma they faced was some transphobic dick who they did not go easy on. Carapace and Mèo đen had to reluctantly keep Ladybug from murdering him in front of a bunch of people

Now, Lila? (I can’t go one second without Lila salt) She’s a new member of the assholes club but doesn’t know others know Marinette, Kim, and Nino are trans

She runs into class sobbing like a dumb [BLEEP] and whines about how Marinette assaulted her in the bathroom

The class was not amused and Lila never did become popular

Then the big day came. They were eighteen and they got their surgery together in the same hospital

Doctors and nurses gushed over how sweet it was three best friends were taking this huge step together

Kim and Nino’s first act was to burn their bras. Marinette even joined in even though she needed hers’

🏳️‍⚧️ Okay, onto the Pride headcanons! 🏳️‍⚧️

Some consider them Trans icons

It’s not every day a group of best friends come out as Transgender and get their surgery on the same day

They go to Pride every year, and thanks to Marinette, they’re always the best dressed

Their outfits mainly consist of sleeveless hoodies, crop tops, sandals, and bedazzled shorts and capes

Every time Marinette inhales, a terf gets punched

Every time Marinette exhales, a trans kid gets a cupcake

Mari makes pride capes, bedazzles them, and passes them out at parades

Kim is very popular with the drag Queens.

He is a lip sync god

Children love him and always ask for piggyback rides

He’s notorious for making flower crowns for the kids

Nino takes on the role of the mom friend when they got to pride

He once put Mari and Kim on those baby leashes so they wouldn’t wander off

He also supplies juice boxes and snacks

After their surgery, Nino and Kim pass out their old binders.

Kim’s would definitely look like sports jerseys

Nino’s binders are neon and one even glows in the dark

He wears hoodies no matter how hot it is

Marinette: Nino, take that off!

Nino: *Sweating more than the average person* No!

Marinette once beat up a terf who was harassing Kim and Nino for being “traitors to their sex”

The terf left with bruises and a small crush

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter five: home

pairing: jungkook/reader

word count: 2.9K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: i've never had so much anxiety posting an update. next time i decide to fly by the seat of my pants and turn a one-shot into a full chaptered fic, just punch me in the face, okay?

all kidding aside, standard smut warnings apply to this chapter and i really hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

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

“You broke into my house.”

It takes you a solid minute to find the breath to power that shaky sentence.

Your legs are already like noodles from your run and at this point they are threatening to come right out from underneath you. You reach a hand out to the wall to stop yourself from hitting the deck.

Jungkook stands slowly from where he’s seated on the couch, a careful smile on his lips.  

“You gonna call the cops?”

You stare at him.

Jungkook is in the country.  In Los Angeles. In your living room .  

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt and jeans and his hair is cut short again.  He is alive and in one piece and looks somehow even more handsome than he did the last time you saw him.  How does he do that?

You’re so distracted by Jungkook -- in your fucking house -- that you miss the look of concern that comes over him the longer you stand there without saying something.  It’s like your brain is hung up -- glitching -- trying to process the scene in front of you.

“You okay?”

“You broke into my house ,” you say again, as though that should answer his question.

“That is a matter of semantics,” Jungkook argues.  “I would say that I let myself in because I knew you wouldn’t want me just standing around outside. Aren’t you the one always telling me to keep a low profile?”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up your chest.

His sarcasm is comforting, even right now, when your heart is still racing and you can’t seem to stop sweating and you’ve just realized that you’re pretty fucking pissed that he dropped off the radar and didn’t contact you for weeks.  

“So we should probably talk, huh?”

“You think?”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. He sinks back down onto the couch and gestures for you to join him. 

You don’t.

“How the hell did you get here?” you demand.

“Same way I got out, pretty much,” he shrugs.  “Mexico. Hitched a ride to San Diego and Yoongi was able to pick me up there. Good thing I’m not from Iowa or some shit, huh?”

He aims a hopeful smile at you like he’s searching for a way to connect but you don’t return it.

A flash of disappointment crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Good thing.”

You look down to his lap.  His hands haven’t stopped moving, fingers winding together and unwinding over and over.  He’s nervous.  

Well, good.

“I’m gonna turn myself in tomorrow,” he says after a long moment.

He knocks the wind out of you with that.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Yeah.  Turns out, I’m being represented by some incredibly-connected, high-dollar attorney.”  He looks up and fixes you with those dark, hypnotic eyes. “Any idea where I could have gotten one of those?”

Seokjin, you fucking angel.

“Maybe,” you murmur.  “What did he say?”

“Well, he told me to get my happy ass back to the States.  Said the Marshals would appreciate me walking in on my own as opposed to having to drag me back.  Said I’m going to have to eat some crow if I expect them to listen to anything I have to say.”

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, against the grain of the now short hairs at his nape.

“Told me to get a haircut, too.”

That makes you smile.  Jin is nothing if not thorough.

“So what does -- “ you clear your throat, “ -- your attorney say about what happens after that?”

“No way to know for sure,” Jungkook admits.  “They could lock me up and throw away the key or they could decide on something else.  Kind of a roll of the dice at this point.”

Your chest squeezes at the thought of Jungkook walking into that Federal Building and leaving in a transport van.  You shut your eyes like that will somehow stop the mental image.

“And you’re turning yourself in anyway.”

He fidgets with his ear like an anxious kid.  

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” you say on a shaky exhale.  “Okay. Wow.”

A tense silence falls between you.

“I need you to talk to me,” Jungkook says after a moment. “I need to know where your head is at right now.”

Do you know how hard I went to bat for you? you want to scream, which is unfair, really.  He’s never asked you for your help. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done on your own. But now he’s here and in front of you and you are practically buzzing with the urge to vent your frustration at him.

“Why didn’t I hear from you?”  

You hope like hell you’re the only one who can hear the thread of insecurity in your voice.  “You had the burner number and I just -- never heard from you again. And now you’re in my house.”

“I know,” he admits.  His fingers keep lacing together, unlacing. “I know it’s really fucked up to just ambush you like this. It’s just that shit got really hairy for me in Nicaragua. These guys stole my phone.”

“But you managed to call Yoongi,” you snap.

“Well yeah,” he fires back. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.  I’ve had his number for years. I got in touch with him as soon as I could get my hands on a new burner.”

You tell yourself to relax.

You tell yourself that it’s a totally plausible explanation and put a hand to your forehead as though you expect to be able to feel your temperature coming down.  As though you’ll be able to feel the anger draining out of you until all that’s left is the relief that he’s here, that he’s okay.

You take a deep breath, release the tension that’s had you wound so tight.

“I left the bureau.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, “Did they -- Did I -- “

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,”  you cut in, rolling your eyes. “It wasn’t really about you.  Not all of it, anyway.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. There is a melancholy in his eyes that unnerves you.

You’ve seen him cocky and arrogant and unrepentant and flirtatious. But this — this hat-in-hand version of him, devoid of his trademark bravado is so disconcerting.  

He looks away from you, back down to his hands.  You wrap your arms around yourself and take a moment to just look at him, to appreciate his striking face.  You think back to the first time you saw that face, how dumbfounded you’d been by his physical appearance.

Then he opened his mouth and your fate was sealed.

One way or another this debacle ends in just a few short hours.

The rational part of you craves a conclusion to this insanity, an end to the near-constant anxiety you’ve felt for months now.  But there’s the other part of you that worries this will end with Jungkook behind bars for the rest of his life. You don’t know if you’re ready to accept that just yet.

“Can you um --“ Jungkook wets his lips, “-- can you come sit with me?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly.  

You cross the room and slide next to him on the couch.  

He reaches for your hands, but does not meet your eyes.  His fingers stroke over your wrists and not for the first time you wonder how he manages to make the most simple touches feel so good.

“You asked me one time,” he starts quietly, “about why I quit school. And I -- “

“Don’t -- ” you interrupt, “-- you don’t owe me an explanation.”

He shakes his head.

“Uh yeah,” he chuckles cynically.  “Yeah, I do. I owe you pretty much any explanation you want at this point.”

You look down at where your hands are joined, down to where Jungkook is rubbing the calloused pad of one thumb against your palm.

“My mom got sick.  And it didn’t feel right to stay in school when I could be working and helping to bring in some money.”

You remember the dig you made at him -- the way his face had shuttered -- and you feel an acute pang of guilt.

“I’m so s --”

“No, listen to me please,” he says adamantly.  “She’s doing a lot better now and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. But I need you to know that for every good thing I’ve ever done, I have done something equally as fucked up. And I just want -- “

He exhales heavily, scrubs one hand along his jaw.

“ -- I just want you to know that this shit with the money and the running is just some of me. I’ve done some really stupid shit but that’s not all I am.”  He leans closer to you, pins you with that bottomless gaze.  “I need you to understand that. Am I making any sense?”

You swear you can feel your heart squeeze in response.

“Yeah, you are,” you say softly.  He reaches one hand out to cup your cheek.

“So can I kiss you now or are you still mad at me?”

You’re tempted to tease him but he looks so unsure of himself in this moment that you resist.  You look down at yourself, remember you are still in sweaty running gear and cringe imagining what you must look like at this moment.

“I’m gross,” you protest in a whisper.

He leans closer, mouth hovering just over yours.

“Ask me if I care.”

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

Jungkook at least has the decency to let you shower before taking to you bed.

But just barely.

The second you are clean and dry he’s on you, mouth and hands everywhere at once.  Your skin -- already warm from the hot water -- heats even more under his touch.

He’s different tonight you think, as you lie back on your bed and his lips work up the column of your throat.  There’s a determination to the way he’s holding you, an urgency to the way he’s pressing his body against yours.  

You stroke your hands down his back, feel the answering ripple of muscle underneath your fingertips.  His body is leaner than it was in Puerto Rico and the realization sparks a sad throb in your chest.  

Nicaragua must have been a lot tougher than he’s letting on.

But then his lips skate across your collarbone and you force yourself to push the thought from your mind. Whatever happened to him there is over.  He’s here and he’s okay and he is literally on top of you and that’s the only thing you want to think about right now.

“I missed you,” he whispers and a shudder runs up your spine in response.  

You rake your nails against his nape, fingers teasing his freshly cut hairline and he makes a satisfied groan against your mouth, pressing his hips firmly into yours.

It’s impossible at this point to ignore the nudge of his hard cock against your stomach.  You snake a hand between your bodies to wrap warm fingers around his pulsing length and he pulls back to suck in a pained breath.

“Jungkook, I -- “ you start to speak, but an uncomfortable tickle in the back of your throat stops you.  He opens his eyes to look down at you.

“You okay?”

Hell no, you’re not okay.  

It feels like if you open your mouth to answer him, you’ll cry and you are not a crier and he’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something -- anything.

“Yeah, I just…um,” you stumble over your words and it takes a moment for that uncomfortable feeling to subside long enough for you to speak. You have to wait until your voice comes out even and controlled before you can finish.

“I missed you, too,” you say, finally.

His lips curve into a small smile.  

“I know you did.”

He drops his mouth down to pull at one soft nipple with his lips and teeth.  You sigh, arching into his touch.

The soft exhalation seems to set Jungkook off, makes the steady grind of his hips pick up in speed.  He tongues at your nipples until they are aching and hard then slips a finger into your channel to test your wetness.

He brings his mouth close to your ear, breath warm against the shell.

“I can feel just how much you missed me,” he teases in a low voice.

Arrogant bastard.  He’s right, though.  

You huff a laugh as his fingers work in and out of you slowly, drawing out your wetness. He covers your mouth with his as his thumb rubs slow circles against your clit and you moan into his kiss.

“Fuck me,” you say quietly and you feel the tremors that run down his back at your words.  “Please,” you beg, “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Jungkook kisses you again -- long and hard -- before pulling away to grab a condom from his jeans.  

You take the moment to appreciate how handsome he is, chest covered in a sheen of sweat, lean body tense with the need for release.  You watch the corded bands of his arms move as he crawls back onto the bed, sheathed and ready. He leans his weight on his forearms and the muscles in his shoulders become even more prominent as he lines his body up with yours.

You lift your head to suck at the hollow of his neck just as you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudge your entrance.  

“Do it, Jungkook,” you moan, rolling your hips against him. “ Now.”

He groans as he obliges you, pushing slowly inside and you brace your hands around the tight muscles of his arms until you can feel him anchored deep.  

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Every time it’s like I forget how good you feel.”

Strange how you were just thinking the same thing -- thinking about how no one else has ever pulled these responses out of you.  It’s like your body knows this man -- like it knew him way before your brain ever did.

He rocks into you slowly, deeply, pelvis flush with yours each time he strokes to the hilt.  His pace is languorous and it makes your entire body feel heavy with pleasure. You wrap your legs around him tight, willing him deeper even though you know that’s not possible.

The painfully unhurried rhythm is so, so good , but it’s not enough.  

Not when you can feel the threat of your release building between your legs and you need more to get you there.  You angle your hips up, trying to capture more of the friction.

Jungkook takes the hint, moving one hand to cup your ass. He pulls you into each snap of his hips, forces you to take every inch on every thrust.

“Come for me,” he pants. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

You can only whine your response, too fucked out at this point to form sentences.  It takes just a few more deep, desperate thrusts to make you start to unravel. Jungkook lets go the instant he feels you start to quiver around him and he doesn’t back off, lacing his fingers into yours and pinning you down into the mattress with the full force of his body.

Once the loud moaning and desperate movements slow to a stop, he drops his forehead down on yours.

The two of you breathe each other’s air for a while until your chests stop heaving and your hearts stop pounding.

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

“When does this all go down?” you whisper, cheek pressed to Jungkook’s chest.  

You’ve spent the last five minutes enjoying a warm, comfortable silence.

But that hasn’t stopped your mind from wandering back into worry.

Jungkook presses the length of your body into his side with one firm hand. You feel him tense when you ask the question.

“10 AM.”

“10 AM,” you echo numbly.  

“Yeah,” he whispers, stroking lazy patterns with his fingers down your back.  

“So,” he clears his throat. “Are you...ready to talk about what’s going on here?”

You’re glad that from this angle he can’t see your reaction, can’t see the flush that spreads over your face.

“No,” you mumble childishly.

“You’re such a brat,” he teases, dropping a kiss on your hair. “So fine. I’ll do the talking then.  I met someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s got her head on straight, and…” he trails off for a moment.  “...she’s got me thinking about how I can get my head on straight, too.”

You smile into his skin.

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s a lot of different things at once. Kinda feisty, super smart, very cool,” he murmurs.  “Unemployed, but hey — no one’s perfect.”

Your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Is she hot?”

“Nah,” he teases, and he jumps when you pinch his stomach.  “Way better than hot. She’s beautiful. And she’s into me.  Really, really into me.”

Your cheeks heat but you keep the tone light.

“How do you know she’s not just using you for sex?”

“Well in the beginning she was,” he chuckles. “But then she showed up for me in a big way. A really big way. So even though it’s really hard for her to come out and say how much she likes me, I already know. She’s already shown me.”

That uncomfortable itch in your throat returns when he says that. It’s so weird to be understood so thoroughly by someone you barely know.

“She sounds pretty amazing,” you say after the sensation subsides long enough for you to speak.

“Yeah, she is,” he whispers. “So I’m gonna go to this meeting tomorrow morning and try to fix the mess I’ve made. Cause maybe now I have a reason to stop being such a reckless asshole.”

You screw your eyes shut and will the unexpected tears that spring to your eyes not to fall.

“10 AM, right?”

He drops another kiss into your hair and pulls your body in closer.

“Yeah. 10 AM.”

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

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Escape

Summary: The Red Room haunts you, from the moment you stepped foot inside to long after you’ve left. Truth is, you don’t think there is any escaping it.

Warnings: 18+ Violence, Depression, Mentions of Death, Smut

Chapter 13

******

The tool in your hand hums just barely as it melts the metals together, effectively sealing the band to the watch face. You slide it over to cool beside the others.

Across from you, Tony assembles the suits, synthesizing it with the nanotech. Schematics of Scott’s Ant-Man suit hover above the table alongside one of Rocket and Nebula’s space suits.

Just a few hours ago everyone gathered to speak with Tony and came up with an actual plan. It included gathering a team, as it usually does. 

The beginnings of the team were easy to pull together. One simple call from Natasha had Rocket and Nebula flying back to earth in a couple hours, followed by Rhodey who had to finish up some business. She couldn’t reach Carol through normal communications, instead using the advanced pager they found from Fury years ago, she’d yet to show up. 

From there, they got the run down of the plan and their current assignments. Rocket and Bruce were tasked with going to get Thor. Rhodey had also informed you and Natasha of Clint’s future whereabouts.

The man was headed to Tokyo, hunting down a prominent member of the Yakuza.

You’d been ready to go with Natasha but she told you she had to bring him in alone. Despite your worry, you trust her, and let her go get her best friend.

Steve, Scott, and Rhodey were somewhere around here, no doubt hashing out more details of the plan. And Nebula was all over, occasionally stopping by to offer help to you and Tony. You were impressed with her knowledge of the tech and listened intently to the tips she gave.

Right now though, she isn’t around. 

Led Zeppelin blares from the speakers above, setting the lab in a familiar work environment. If it weren’t Tony you’d have complained about it, with him you don’t mind. 

While the two of you chat on and off, you actively avoid speaking about the Time Heist. Focusing instead on your separate projects or your families. 

Tony rolls his eyes as he mentions Morgan still wanting to play superheroes and Pepper wanting your red velvet cupcake recipe. 

As normal as the conversation is, it makes you wonder about the outcome of this whole thing. 

You’d yet to have children with the woman you love and while she makes up your family, there’s still the want of children, which could possibly not happen. Nothing is set in stone but the fear is there.

Tony suddenly pushes himself away from the suits,“ I’m gonna need some more coffee, these four can be linked to the watches. You want some more coffee?”

Shaking your head, you watch Tony leave out, before focusing back on the work. By the time you’re finished, six of the eleven suits are ready. You make sure the nanotech is secured in the watches. 

Needing Tony to finish the last five before you can finish the watches, you leave out the lab. 

Walking through the compound, you notice the added presences. Thor who doesn’t look so well and Clint. He looks different from the pictures you’d seen. Apart from the new haircut, the exhaustion and pain is clearly written on his face. 

The God of Thunder, noticing your appearance, exclaims your name. His heavy set form staggers over to you, crumbs sit in his beard along with droplets of beer.

“Hey pal.” You reciprocate his one armed hug, making sure his mess doesn’t transfer to your body.

“Ah, it-it’s so good to see you old friend. Join me in the kitchen for a drink.” He slurs.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there buddy. Drink a water in the mean time.” You instruct.

His mumble of something Vodka related doesn’t miss you but you don’t react, instead shaking your head, and focusing on the shorter brunette man that approaches. 

Clint stops in front of you, eyes scanning your form, before settling on your eyes as he speaks,“ you must be Y/N.”

“That I am. Pleasure to meet you Clint, Tasha speaks highly of you.” He shakes the hand you’ve offered.

“Nat’s told me a bit about you as well.” There’s a brief pause,“ I’m glad she’s found someone. Thank you for making her happy.”

You smile softly, warmed at the obvious love he has for Natasha. He’s hurting but still has enough care in himself to be happy for Natasha. 

“Speaking of, you know where she disappeared to?” Eyes search the vicinity for her red hair.

“No, she didn’t say and I didn’t see her.”

With a nod, you excuse yourself and head off to find her. You check the most obvious spots: her office, the training room, and your shared room. Not finding her there, you check her room.

Quiet sniffles hit your ears on entry. Instantly going into “wife” mode, you look to comfort her. 

She’s leaning over the bathroom sink, face buried in her hands, as her shoulders shake with her cries.

“Tasha, love what’s wrong?” You ask, stopping at the bathroom doorway, noticing her freeze up.

No reply comes for a moment, only for her to move toward you and wrap her arms around you. You instantly return the embrace, holding her close in hopes of making her feel better.

Whatever she mumbles into your shoulder, you don’t hear it.

“Gonna need you to speak up baby.” You whisper quietly. 

“Don’t hate me.” She speaks up, though it’s still muffled.

“We need to go through a hell of a lot of shit before I could even consider disliking you. Hating you sounds impossible.” You reassure her.“ Why would I?”

She pulls away from you, walking around you, and back into the bedroom. E/C eyes follow her movements, taking in the nervous wring of her fingers, and her nibbling on her bottom lip.

“I should’ve told you sooner. I forgot myself.”

“I’d love to know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m pregnant.” She sighs, eyes trained on the floor.

Her words circle the room, getting louder, before entering your ears, and then settling in your brain. 

She’s pregnant.

There’s a baby inside of her.

Your wife is having a baby. 

Your baby.

By the time you’re ready to reply, tears are rolling down her face, dropping off her cheeks to the floor. 

Stepping closer to her, you gently grasp her hands in yours,“ you’re pregnant?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes when she sees the pure euphoria written in yours. She frowns,“ yes.”

“We’re gonna be parents?”

Despite her confirming it multiple times you’re still in shock.

“We are.”

A shriek leaves her lips as you pull her into another hug. Spinning her around excitedly, before setting her down, and peppering kisses all over her face and neck.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. 

“Wait, when did you find out? When did you even have the procedure? Are they healthy?”

She chuckles, still a little confused,“ I went to see the doctor before we got back. I got the procedure about two months ago. And yes, they are very healthy. She said that at nine weeks they already have little hands and little feet and they’re developing toes and fingers.”

The more she spoke about the baby the harder it was to hold back the tears. By the time she’s done, they’re cascading down your cheeks.

“You’re happy about this?” She asks after you’re brief silence.

“God, of course I am.” You pull her into a kiss, certain that your love and excitement pours through it,“ I love you so much, you are my world Tasha. How could I be anything but happy about you being pregnant with our child.”

You kiss again, initiated by her. She mumbles that she loves you over and over after each kiss. 

Before she can even allow another apology to leave, you’re kneeling in front of her. As slowly and gently as ever, you raise the bottom of her shirt.

How could you not have noticed? You’ve seen her body more times than you can count, yet you missed the slight bump growing at her abdomen. And now that you know all the signs are obvious. 

The random disappearance? She went to see Tony and the doctor for the procedure. Only eating peanut butter sandwiches and ice cream? Cravings. Sleeping longer and still being so tired along with all the mood swings? The pregnancy. 

“I can’t wait to meet you little one.” Natasha had seen how soft and loving you could be with her. This was completely new.“ I’m going to do everything that I can to make sure I’m the mom that you deserve. I’ve known about you all of five minutes and I’m so ready to give you the world.” 

You feel Natasha’s fingers comb through your hair as you press a kiss on the growing bump. 

She genuinely believed you’d be angry at her for keeping it from you. She knew the procedure worked months ago but couldn’t bring herself to tell you. Why? She was simply scared.

Despite having talked about children with you, her anxiousness of the news ate at her until she’d decided to keep quiet at the time. 

On the flight home she’d mentioned it to Clint and her best friend wasted no time in telling her she needed to confirm it and tell you. 

Looking at you now, the way happy tears fill your eyes and the way you’re smiling like she’s given you the world, she wishes she’d told you sooner. 

‘Miss Y/L/N, Mister Stark has requested your help in the lab’

You nearly groan at F.R.I.D.A.Y’s announcement in the room. 

Slowly rising to your feet, you cup Natasha’s face in your hands, and place a kiss on her soft lips.

With a promise to continue talking later, you both leave out. Natasha goes to find Clint and you head to the lab with Tony. 

Together you both finish up the suits and the watches, then go to help Bruce and Rocket finish the traveling platform. You pass by Thor who’s opening yet another can of beer and spilling it all over the floor and himself.

You hate that his depression led him to drinking but that’s something to be addressed when the fate of the Universe isn’t at precedents. 

While Tony finishes up with Rocket, you take a time suit to Scott. He’s supposed to be testing it. The suit uses the Pym Particles to shrink the user to atomic size in order to travel through the Quantum Realm, using the watch as a gps to navigate when and where to go. 

Scott steps away to put it on and you chat with Bruce about what’s about to happen.

“Are we sure we trust this imbecile to do this properly?” Nebula asks bluntly.

You laugh and shrug,“ he’s the only one that’s done this before so,” your sentence trails off.

When Scott comes back, Rhodey comes in,“ time travel suit? Not bad.” He nods approvingly.

“Hey, hey, hey!” All eyes fall to Scott whose looking at Bruce bewildered,“ easy, easy!

“I'm being very careful.” Bruce replies.

Shaking his head, Scott argues,“ no, you're being very Hulky.”

Offendedly, Bruce exclaims,“ I'm being careful.” 

“These are Pym Particles, alright?” Scott waves the red vial around,“ and ever since Hank Pym got snapped out of existence, this is it. This is what we have. We're not making any more.”

You all frown at the obviously frazzled man. Rhodey tells him to calm down.

“Sorry.” He takes a deep breath.“ We've got enough for one round trip each. That's it. No do-overs. Plus two test runs.” 

In the blink of an eye he shrinks down and then resizes,“ one test run.” 

He nods, then admitting that he isn’t ready to do this. Only for all your eyes to snap over to Clint who volunteers.

Figuring it’s better than Scott, and seeing as no one else offers, you all wait for Clint to change into the time suit.

Once he’s done Bruce explains some things to him. And Rhodey butts in, offering a plan.

“If we can do this, you know, go back in time, why don't we just find baby Thanos, you know, and-” He demonstrates choking him out.

You shrug at the suggestion. It’s not the worst idea but it wouldn’t work.

“First off that’s horrible,” Bruce starts.

Rhodey argues that it’s Thanos.

“Nice thought, but that’s not how it works. Killing Thanos in the past won’t reverse what he did to our present.” 

Bruce nods along with what you say, pointing a finger at you to make his agreement clear.

“Look, we go back, we get the stones before Thanos gets them. Thanos doesn't have the stones. Problem solved.” Scott explains as if that makes perfect sense.

“Bingo.” Clint agrees.

Nebula looks at him,“ that's not how it works.”

He frowns,“ well, that's what I heard.”

When Bruce asks by who, Scott and Rhodey list off a number of movies about time travel. 

It amazes you that these guys manage to chip away at your faith in this so easily with their lack of knowledge. Not even lack of, just misconception.

“Those are all movies. Fiction.” You roll your eyes.

Bruce shakes his head, then explaining,“ if you travel to the past, that past becomes your future. And your former present becomes the past. Which can't now be changed by your new future.”

“Right.” You say as Nebula says,“ exactly.”

Clint mumbles about it all being bullshit and you just sigh and walk away. 

Everyone is gathered around the platform, preparing for the test run. You nod to Steve and Tony, going to stand beside Natasha as the rest of the team comes out. 

Clint steps up to the middle of the platform and Bruce stands in front of the control panel.

Finally being ready, Bruce gives Clint a count down. The man shrinks away, you all wait a minute, before he comes back. 

He drops to one knee and Natasha rushes over.

They speak quietly for a second and then Clint stands.“ It worked.” He speaks louder, tossing a baseball glove to Tony.

Steve nods,“ alright everybody, we’ll reconvene later to talk about the stones.”

******

Taglist: @thelastavenger-3000 @aaron-despair @messuhp @izalesbean @bvb-bk @username23345 @sighsam @confusinggemini612 @natasha-danvers @rileigh519 @higherfurther-romanova @dynnealberto

[toggle1-mrfipp]

Fipp: This is just a crackship fic, nothing more.

Also, let's assume this takes place in an AU where things went better than they did in canon.

Schnee Sibling Brunch

Whitley has brunch with Weiss and Winter to better reconnect. Winter has a stroke. (Qrow/Willow Jaune/Winter crackship)

Among other things, Whitley had to admit that this was... nice. Yes, nice, that seemed like the proper way to refer to how the relationship between him and his sisters had developed recently. Much of the animosity had faded away and allowed them to grow a better and healthier interactions with one another, though they had yet to reach that stage and seemed to be in this awkward phases where none of them knew exactly how to talk to one another.

Or maybe it was just him. Weiss and Winter seemed to talk easily to each other well enough, and while he could have conversations with Weiss, with some struggle, talk between him and Winter was of a much more difficult manner, since neither one of them seemed to really know where to start there.

Hopefully these brunches Klein had suggested should help, having the three of them get together every once and awhile to talk about their weeks and breaks some ice between them. It could work, he thought, after all there were only three of them here, and in his experiences, more than three members of his family tended to end in arguments and yelling.

On the table, Weiss' scroll buzzed, slightly moving as it vibrated, while she gave an annoyed huff and chose to ignore it. That in itself isn't anything noteworthy, but what was that this was not the first time this had happened, and it had been going off nearly every minute since they sat down to eat.

“Aren't you going to answer that?” Winter asked, having taken a sip of her tea.

“It's only Ruby,” Weiss said with a roll of her eyes.

“Ruby? Whitley asked.

“Yes, Ruby. She's one of my teammates, you've met her before.”

Whitely tried to think of the faces of Weiss' friends, but while he knew what they looked liked, he couldn't say he ever got their names. “The one with the arm?” he tried.

“No, that's Yang. She's the one in the red hood.”

Oh yes, the one who crashed the sandwich tray last week. Wait...

“So the one named Ruby Rose is the one in the red cape?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Doesn't that seem a bit on the nose?”

Weiss Schnee picked up her snowy-colored napkin and laid it across her lap, to protect her white dress from any stains or spills. “Of course not.”

“What does she keeping texting you about?” Winter asked.

“Well...” Weiss said, only to pause, looking as though she was not certain how to explain herself. “Okay, so you two know about the recent... situation with our parents, correct?”

A heavy tension suddenly appeared over the table, and Whitley felt his appetite vanish.. Everything between his father and mother, his father in particular, filled with him complicated feeling and emotions that he didn't know how to place or work through. So the best course of actions on dealing with them was to ignore them and hope that they somehow worked themselves out when he's not paying attention to them. Yes, that seemed like a good idea.

“Well, as we both know, Mom recently took up to dating again and-”

Winter made a gagging noise.

“Could we not talk about that please?” Winter said, putting a fist to her mouth, her skin taking on a slightly green complexion to it.

“Yes, I feel like there are other things we can talk about,” Whitley added, wishing the subject could be about anything else than this. The thousands of  square miles of barren icy desert outside the city would be a more interesting thing to talk about in his opinion.

“Are you going to do that every time someone brings up Qrow?” Weiss asked, glaring at Winter. “I would think you would be a bit more mature about this, at least more so than Whitley”

Yes, Qrow. That ragged-looking man. Whitley didn't care for him.

Wait.

“What do you mean more mature than me?” Whitley asked, staring daggers at Weiss, who only seemed to grow in annoyance with her sibling.

“Okay, listen,” Winter said, interrupting anything Weiss could have said to defend herself. “I'm happy for Mom wanting to move on, I really am, and while she would have to dig through the bottom of the barrel worst than Jacques, there are still plenty of options better than Qrow Branwen!”

“You're over exaggerating,” Weiss said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“I am not! He is an uncouth, vulgar, vagabond! Every encounter I have had with the man has ended with me wanting to stab him in the throat!”

“That's a bit violent, don't you think.”

“Also! He's a drunk! That's the last thing Mom needs right now!”

“Actually, Ruby told me Qrow hasn't had a single drop since we got to Atlas, and Yang says that he wants to take her to one of the meetings he's been going to.”

“Weiss, while Winter and I have some obvious reservations about Mother and Qrow being... together.” Again, Winter gagged, harsher this time, like she was fighting to keep her food down. “Why don't you seem to bothered by this prospect?”

“Because unlike you two, I can be a mature adult when it comes to such matters.”

“Right,” Winter said, barely under her breath, like she was trying to hide her comment, but didn't want to do it very well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Weiss shot back.

“You know what.”

Whitley sighed, feeling a headache coming on. “So anyway, the texts from Ruby, what does that have to do with Mother and Qrow?” Winter heaved again.

With a sigh, Weiss picked up her scroll and began to flick her thumb across the screen. “Every since they started dating-” hruk “Ruby has gotten a bit to exuberant over the idea of them together, the point where she has completely gotten ahead of herself and wants them to get married so we can be cousins.”

Winter dropped her spoon, and with sluggish movement pushed her omelet to the center of the table. “I'm done, I can't stomach anything else right now.”

To a degree, he shared the sentiment.

Weiss continued, ignoring Winter. “For the last week she has much of sent me more than a hundred texts, about things like Cousin Activities, and Cousin Weekends, and has even gone as far as to threaten me with matching t-shirts.” With a sigh Weiss continued to scroll through the long list of messages she seemed to have been sent. “There's even something here about-wait, what?”

“Is something the matter?”

“Yeah, for some reason she's talking about Jaune being my brother-in-law? What?”

“Seriously? This again?” Winter groaned.

“Jaune?” Whitley asked.

“He's the blond guy with the sword.”

Oh yes, the one who knocked over the drink tray last week.

“The one with the bad haircut.”

“It's not a bad haircut, I rather like it.” Winter continued. “A while ago, he and I were on a team to eliminate a grimm that had been stalking an outpost in the tundra. A Krampus to be precise.”

A Krampus? Oh yes, their grandfather had first gotten his name as a Hunstman for killing a particularity dangerous one that had been known to target the children of Mantle when he was a young man.

“Well we were separated from the rest of the team and ended up fighting it on our own, and while he had several close calls in the end we managed to kill it.

“So can you summon it now?”

“No, Jaune got the killing blow on it. Anyway, the weather had gotten so bad by that point and turned into a blizzard, we were forced to take shelter in a way-station until it had subsided. We spent a couple of hours together alone and well, he's not half bad.”

“So you're dating him then?”

“I suppose,” Winter said, averting her eyes while a slight red came across her cheeks.

“Wait, you're dating someone?” Weiss asked, and Whitley could only look on in confusion why already Winter was looking frustrated.  “Since when?”

“I don't understand, what's going on?” he asked.

Winter could only groan, dragging a hand across her face before she looked Weiss hard in the eyes. “Weiss.”

“Yes?”

“Me, Winter.”

“Okay?”

“And Jaune, your friend.”

“What about him?”

“We. Are. Dating.”

For several seconds, Weiss had this odd look on her face, like she was trying to figure out a difficult puzzle that kept cheating without her knowing. “I don't understand.”

“See!” Winter cried out. “She's been like this whole time! It's like she's physically incapable of comprehending that I am dating Jaune!”

“Who is dating Jaune?” Weiss asked, clueless.

“Me! Weiss! I am dating Jaune! We have gone on three dates so far. Just last night, we spent an hour walking around the mall downtown. We had ice cream and then made out.”

“Okay, you're saying a lot of words that I individually understand, but the order you are saying them just doesn't seem right to me. Winter, are you having a stroke?”

“No I am not having a stroke!”

“Wait,” Whitley said after a thought. “You're dating? Since when do you have time for a social life?”

“Shut up,” Winter snapped. “Also, just what the hell does Ruby mean by 'brother-in-law'? We are not getting married! Marriage isn't even on the table yet!”

“Yet?”

“Shut up again!” She turned back to Weiss. “First of all, you're friend is way over the line here, and she-”

Suddenly, Winter frozen, her words and anger dying as quickly as they had come, and her expression had shifted into something akin to fear from an unwelcome realization.

“Winter?” Weiss asked, and Whitley contemplated poking her with a fork.

Winter next words came out weary, and defeated. “I just recalled some insults Qrow once threw at me regarding our mother, and it occurred to me he could actually carry some of those out.” Without explanation, not that he felt that such a thing were needed, Winter pushed her chair out and slowly made her way to the door, her forming retreating into the hallway beyond.

“Is she going to be okay?” he asked.

“Why wouldn't she be?” Weiss said, reaching forward to take Winter's small bowl of melon slices.

There was then a loud, and muffled scream of anguish from down the hall.

“Right...” Whitley then took the remains of Winter's omelet, knowing she would not return for it.

000

Please be well,

Mrfipp

[sepublic]

Understanding Willow!

           Big surprise- ANOTHER great episode!

           You know what, let me just try to process what happened, by going through the beginning and from there! Firstly, it’s funny that the show confirmed that Amity is only tolerating Boscha and Skara at this point (and I guess some of those other friends), and she’s making it pretty clear to them as well- At BEST, her expressions are neutral around them! Honestly, Boscha and Skara’s parents being friends with Mr. and Mrs. Blight makes sense, it’s messed up but not surprising that they’d use their kid to try to establish connections with OTHER families! I have to wonder what Boscha and Skara’s parents are like… We know Boscha’s mom is, well…

           Also, I was wondering why Dana confirmed Skara’s name, and now we know- It’s because she’s slightly plot relevant in this episode! I love the details of the literal butterflies being converted into birthday invitations, that’s always neat… Apparently Skara is also considered ‘popular’, too? Anyhow, I also noticed that the one girl in the Healing Track with glasses, who was also at Amity’s Moonlight Conjuring, got the haircut we saw Matthieu Cousin draw her with! THAT was a neat little easter egg! We also see a young Bo with Boscha at some point, and this is super-pointless… But would their ship-name be BOscha? Boschabo? Bo squared?

           Gus’ little B-plot was pretty funny, and I’m glad we’re getting more interactions between the cast now! I love the callback to Sense and Insensitivity, with Not-Dana/Tiny Nose being ‘missing’ ever since her deal with Piniet… I can only imagine what happened there! Honestly, there’s not much for the dude to squash into a cube, but you get the idea! Eda and King competing for Gus’ interview was also hilarious, and DANG IT KING, answer the question- WHEN were you born, I know a couple of people, myself included, who are VERY interested in this answer…! I suspected Hooty would be chosen and I was right, but also not surprised, when Gus quickly regretted his decision! But hey, at least Hooty is happy!

           (Also, that Eda dance.)

           Luz is such a dork as always, loudly declaring that she’ll stick her face into something random, and then just going NYOOM when Inner Willow chucks her in- I wouldn’t have her any other way, and I love that we have ANOTHER picture of her when she was younger! Season 1B just keeps giving… Although let’s be real, it’s an extension of Season 1, and THAT gave us this entire show and Luz to begin with!

           Onto the meat of this episode! First off… WILLOW’S DADS ARE GAY! Honestly didn’t see that coming, but I love it and I wish we got to see more of them! I’m also interested to see which dad (assuming it’s not both) has a Magic Staff, and if it has a Palisman, but that’s another discussion for another day! I WANT MORE WILLOW AND HER LOVING PARENTS, dang it! Parents who put her in Abominations but also still mean well and have Christmas morning with her! I want to see Willow’s house and life at home, dang it! I want to MEET her parents properly, see them react to Luz!

           YOUNG WILLOW AND AMITY! YOUNG WILLOW AND AMITY! That’s just adorable… I love their little memories together, and the egg-pit gag was hilarious! It’s also super-minor but I adore that we got a cameo from the librarian during their past memories as well!

           Inner Willow, though… At first I thought the flame-being was just, like, the incarnation of Amity’s spell. But then Eda mentioned the Inner Willow, and was like, OHHH… Oh boy. She was out for BLOOD, too! Angry Willow is pretty terrifying, but rightfully so- I’m glad the show didn’t shy over her anger and her genuine grievances with Amity! That had to have HURT, being on fire, but at the same time you can tell that Willow also genuinely wanted to burn her memories with Amity, too… Oof. How many years of pent-up rage and grief, manifesting, before spilling over at this final straw of being burnt? Amity is thematically associated with Fire, which burns plants, and her last name literally refers to a plant disease! You can tell just how BADLY Willow has been hurting on the inside, possibly even hating herself in the process, and I...!

You know, I doubt there’s any substantial connection between Willow and Belos beyond this, but I think it’s interesting to see that they BOTH have glowing green eyes- It’s interesting that such characters are shown (or at least implied) to be powerful, and now I can’t help but imagine Willow meeting Belos, and Willow going HAM for her friends… I wonder if the glowing eyes are a sign of being emotionally repressed, until it all just comes flowing outwards? Given how Belos values control, this may also apply to himself as well… Anyhow, I adore Willow’s friendship and love of Luz though, she has NOTHING against her and I love how even after almost losing her mind she still jokes with her! Willow’s got that scary side, but she’s also sweet and I love the show acknowledging how gangly Luz can be!

           Amity! Looks like her dad got to have a voice, after all! Not much to her memories (Makes sense, we’re going into Willow’s here), but we clearly had insightful character moments! I have to wonder, did Amity know about how destroying the photos would destroy the mind as well? We don’t know if she’s in Photo Class and if she knows about the Memory Tweezers, so who knows? Either way that was NOT cool…

           Honestly, I like that the show doesn’t shy away or forget what Amity did to Willow! I love Amity with all my heart, but I was definitely anxious to see how these two felt about one another- I had a feeling that Amity may not have totally gotten over her issues and still felt a little harsh towards Willow, which makes sense! She’s a flawed, messed-up character with her own problems. But speaking of problems…

           DANG, her parents really made Amity get rid of her friend, on her own BIRTHDAY?! Jeez, at least wait until tomorrow at least… And not a big fan of them apparently deciding Amity’s guest list for her, it’s like they’re using their kid as a means to heighten their social status! Not that I’m shocked, I’ve already suspected this, but c’mon. I wonder how Emira and Edric felt about the whole thing with Amity breaking ties with Willow- Were they concerned for Mittens? Did they know about the parents threatening Willow, or to them did their little sister just suddenly become so cold and distant? I can only imagine how harsh Mr. and Mrs. Blight could be to them, but the twins seem a lot more independent and self-assured; It helps that they have each other!

           ALSO, Amity is in the Owl House for the first time! She gets to see how weird the shenanigans are, and I love how she makes the choice to enter a wanted criminal’s home to fix what she did wrong! I really have to wonder what went on in her head, when she chose to burn that photo of her and Willow… SUPER MESSED UP, of course, and I love how Eda just unapologetically gives Amity flack for it! But at the same time, I wonder if that moment was Amity’s greatest regret… It’s unlikely, but perhaps there was the tiny hope in Amity’s heart that if Willow forgot (assuming that was the intention), maybe they could be friends again? Again, not likely- What is more likely though is Amity not wanting Luz to think badly of her and ‘lose’ THAT friendship, but I digress!

           Poor Willow… I can only imagine how much PAIN she was in, both beforehand and when her Inner self was on fire! It was cute seeing her young and current Inner Selves interact, but at the same time it hurts because Willow is clearly someone who is used to being quiet and not noticed, and she just bottles up her rage and wrath inside until it manifests! I wonder… Could this be related to her glowing eyes? Could this apply to Belos? I dunno.

I appreciate the detail of Willow and Amity not exactly being willing to be friends again, I half-expected it and it makes sense! Amity clearly regrets what she did, it wasn’t her choice to begin with and she partly did it to protect Willow (Seriously, Mr. and Mrs. Blight were going to abuse their power to RUIN Willow’s education, what the heck?!) but she still let Boscha and Skara bully Willow. I’m glad she apologized for it, it shows a lot of growth on her part… It’d have been easy for Amity to blame her parents for what happened (and she wouldn’t even be WRONG, either) but she still owns up to not only her mistake of burning the memories, but just in general of being apathetic to Willow’s plight!

(Unrelated but I appreciate the Azura poster in her bedroom)

Overall- A fascinating episode, as expected! I did have issues with DisneyNOW constantly cutting the episode off with its Error symbol… And recently, every time the Error thing shows up and I click back in, instead of resuming the episode as always, the website is now forcing me to watch a few ads EVERY SINGLE TIME- I had to watch, like, seven times the ads I normally would have! Near the end it got pretty bad too, although I suspect this is because a lot of people are watching the episode! And I know it only became available at 2:08 AM or so (yeah I was EARLY and checked) but let’s be real here- We’re ALL pulling all-nighters for this show!

(I mean, I didn’t, I slept and woke up at the most convenient time without meaning to, but you get the idea.)

I didn’t touch on it as much earlier, but I love Luz’s whacky antics (or should I say shenanigans?) and how Willow and Amity are just… USED to it at this point! Willow totally expects Luz to try to repair her friendship with Amity, her kindness is just so well-known at this point and she’s so unconditionally well-meaning! Luz could’ve easily relegated the task of fixing Willow’s memories to Amity, who caused the problem- But her friend was at stake! And yeah she also wanted to experience Willow’s memories too, but still.

Honestly, with how much Luz is willing to do for both of these girls, it’s no wonder they love Luz so much! And with Enchanting Grom Fright up next… Even if there is no ‘declaration’, I can see their being the beginnings of a certain crush… for Amity, Luz is an anomaly who came out of nowhere but offers her unconditional love and support and has been changing her life for the better!

[incoherentbabblings]

An Endless Hope (9/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces who seem awfully familiar along the way. 

Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

Cassandra could be just as obsessive as her brothers. She may have been a little quieter about it, but an instance where her best friend and closest brother had gone missing two months ago had lent itself very neatly to her sitting by Kane bridge all day every day, watching, waiting for them to arrive back home. Sometimes Duke would join her, when he didn’t have school or some daytime mission to attend to, and the pair would sit in silence, watching the water. The storm and its heavy snowfall had long since gone, nothing more than an interesting memory for most of the residents of the city.

It had not taken long for Batman to track down and threaten Klarion into returning Tim and Stephanie in one piece (when he was determined to find someone, he found them). But Klarion had been of no help, simply stating that both were alive, and to let them be. If disaster struck, he would be sure to inform them. It was a difficult task, certainly, but Batman should have some faith in his underlings.

Bruce had shaken Klarion until Teekl had intervened, and the pair had vanished since. Efforts with other, friendlier, magic users had not yielded any results. So, Bruce had taken his frustration out on the innocent crooks of Gotham. Being told to sit back and wait did not sit right with the family, but it seemed that was what they must do. No news was good news according to Klarion.

Bruce’s February birthday bled into Dick’s own late March birthday, which in turn became April. It was on the at 3pm on the 12th of April, a day when both Cassandra and Duke were watching the water, Cassandra up high, perched and hidden from sight on the bridge's girders, Duke, sat on the pebbly beach, that Bruce rolled up in one of his fancy cars. Cassandra stayed in place whilst Duke went to greet the billionaire.

As always it was windy down by the water, stripping away any warmth the spring had brought with it. Chewing his lip, Duke shook his head at Bruce, and saw, even if he was trying to hide it, a slight look of hope become dashed.

Bruce collapsed onto the pebbles himself, work suit and all, and Duke joined him.

“Tomorrow we are going to find Klarion again. No more games.”

Duke nodded vigorously. “Good. How many of us are coming?”

“All of you. I’m not interested in his silly nursery rhymes or his damn cat getting in the way –”

Cassandra’s wail, words stolen from her, made them both look up to her, then across to what she had seen. She leapt down several levels, creeping out further over the bay.

“Cassandra!” Duke howled, “What do you see?”

She took a moment to respond, then she looked back to Bruce, yelling, “It’s them! It’s them!”

Two heads broke the surface of the disgusting water, and even from as far away as they were, the black-haired boy and blonde girl were unmistakably Tim and Stephanie. Cassandra continued to yell towards them, trying to catch their attention. She saw and heard Tim bounce enthusiastically. He whooped, waving up and across the bay when he saw who was waiting. Stephanie meanwhile moved so she could cling to Tim’s back. Even from this distance, Cassandra could see she was tired.

Bruce’s stomach dropped in painful relief, and he shouted their names, encouraging them to come to shore. He saw them bob in the water, then slowly, steadily, begin the swim across the river.

Duke gasped and fumbled to find his phone. He strangled out,

“The others, I have to tell the others!”

Watching them swim that last mile was intolerably painful. Cassandra, nearly unable to bear waiting for them to reach land, moved back towards shore, jumping down the levels until she reached the beach and Duke and Bruce. Duke was on the phone to anyone and everyone in the know, telling them that the young pair had found their way back, and to meet at the Manor when they could. Bruce, who was in the process of ripping off his shoes and jacket, was unable to wait for his children to reach the beach themselves.

He ran out into the cold water at the same time that Tim and Stephanie managed to reach a shallow enough area to walk. Tim seemed to be holding out better than Stephanie, who struggled to get to her feet. The pair stumbled straight into Bruce’s arms, and the three collapsed back into the water, holding on tight.

“You’re both here,” Bruce gasped disbelievingly. Tim was pressed in a tight hug against his chest, Stephanie burrowed in between his shoulder and neck. He noted that, aside from Stephanie’s drastic haircut and a general air of exhaustion, the two were unharmed. Stephanie was holding very tight to Tim’s wrist, seemingly unable to let go.

Behind him, Bruce heard Cassandra and Duke running out to join them. The water was cold, as it was still only April, and filthy, but the family could not find it in them to care.

“I’m sorry Bruce…” Stephanie mumbled, sounding close to tears. “I lost your scarf.”

He would have dismissed it out of hand, but Cassandra body slamming the group and Duke splashing next to them did not allow him to reassure her.

“You’re home!” Cassandra crowed. “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home!”

Tim snickered and hugged his sister, letting go of Stephanie. Bruce did not miss her aching gasp as he did so.

“How much time did we miss?” Tim asked.

“Two months,” Duke breathed, tugging Stephanie onto her feet and out of the cold water. Stephanie immediately whirled so she could see Tim in the river with Cassandra, only half listening to Duke when he continued, “We were close to using the nuclear option. How did you get back?”

“We got to the river and jumped. Came back the way she came.” Tim went back to Bruce, shivering in the cold water. Bruce picked Tim up, and together they walked back to shore. Trying to make Bruce understand, Tim pushed, “Steph did it, Bruce. All by herself. She found me and saved me.”

“Not entirely by myself. I had a lot of help along the way.” As they trudged to shore, Stephanie wrung out her short hair. Cassandra immediately ran her hands through it, face showing blatant curiosity. Stephanie shook her head, looking like a golden retriever drying herself, then backed off so she could stand next to Tim again. “It’s a long story.”

“I need to hear all of it,” Bruce pushed.

Duke counteracted, “But let’s go home first. I’ve called everyone, they’ll be on their way to the Manor.”

Tim’s chest bloomed with warmth at the thought of Alfred and Babs and even Damian. Stephanie, red cheeked from the cold, also smiled but then it froze, and cracked.

“Home,” she agreed, looking guilt stricken. “I need to go to mom.”

“I’ll call her. I’ve been keeping her in the loop Stephanie, don’t worry about that. You did good.” Bruce’s determined and confident tone set her at ease, leading her to hugging Bruce tightly. Ruffling her wet hair, he murmured, “Not sure about the hair though.”

Despite her exhaustion, stress and general overwhelming events of the past eight weeks, Stephanie managed a bright laugh.

“We’re home!” 

Tim had not been lectured by a mother in what was probably a decade, however the rantings of a rarely worked up Crystal Brown somehow felt deeply familiar (and oddly comforting to have someone even care that much).

It must have looked a little odd to the rest of the family, Crystal Brown, pink turtleneck and white work coat on, ranting in a manner that – knowing Mrs Brown’s usually placid nature – meant she was really ticked off. Bruce was a black dressed column behind her, nodding emphatically with his arms crossed. Tim and Stephanie were sitting, still damp and smelly from the river, on some priceless loveseat, looking like a pair of drowned rats. Tim found his shoes very interesting. Stephanie was pouting at her mother as Crystal got more and more heated.

“And where did that dress come from? And your hair! Did you hack at it with a knife?”

“...Yes,” Stephanie grumbled. Crystal continued as if she had not spoken.

“...And for what? Him?” Crystal yelled as Stephanie blinked, taken a little aback by the level of ranting her mother exhibited. “Believe me when I say I understand you won’t be dissuaded Stephanie from these masks, but I am just asking that you give me warning before you disappear for two months and maybe ask yourself if – if a boy is worth all this! I am going to have a stroke one day from the stress of this you know!”

Bruce blinked, knowing better than to get involved, even if his gut instinct was to defend Tim. It wasn’t like the boy had decided to go on a life-threatening trip. Tim gulped, but Stephanie held onto Tim’s hand tightly.

“He needed help mom. End of discussion.”

Crystal snorted derogatively. “You could have given me some warning before going off on another suicide run.”

Stephanie blanched and Tim grimaced. Bruce sighed, like he was about to start speaking his piece, but Crystal was not done.

“I want you to move back home.”

Tim finally looked up at Crystal, whilst Stephanie’s mouth dropped open.

“What?”

Crystal’s voice wavered as she said, “You heard me,” and even to Stephanie she sounded unsure if it was a viable solution to her worries.

Tim felt Stephanie’s hand twitch around his own. Guilt rose, making his throat choked up. He imagined if Stephanie was standing, she would be stomping her feet.

“Mommy, I love you but no way.”

Bruce coughed awkwardly, “Perhaps if we took a day or two before –”

“Maybe you should, Steph.” Tim quietly interrupted. Stephanie whipped her head round from glaring at her mother to stare at Tim, mouth dropped open. Tim gave the weak explanation, “It’s my fault, and maybe it’d be better for you if...”

Stephanie’s nostrils flared, and she frowned. When she spoke, unlike her mother, there was no doubt in her rebuttal.

“No, it is absolutely not. You didn’t choose to be hurt like that. You didn’t choose to be taken away. It’s not your fault. I did choose to bring you home. I chose to go on that journey. I could have said no, but I didn’t. My choice, my agency. You and my mom don’t get to send me away because of misplaced guilt.”

They had a wordless conversation, Tim guilt ridden, Stephanie confident and entreating. She knew what he was doing. Thinking of himself as a burden when he was anything but. She reached over and took his other hand and Tim felt his eyes sting wet.

“Stephanie,” Crystal pushed one last time. She did not sound cruel, or unreasonable, just deeply worried. “I don’t know what I have to do to get through to you.”

Stephanie looked at her mother, mournful. Finally, she said, “I won’t move back in with you. I want to stay with Tim.”

Tim was mistaken, there was nothing comforting or familiar about the look Crystal was giving them. Like her only daughter, the daughter she had already lost once, was a ticking time bomb. And Tim was the one with the clock counting down the minutes.

Part of him wished that Stephanie had left him in the cold.

But then Crystal left, as she was unable to bear the argument anymore. To Tim’s partial shock, Bruce was not far behind her to try and say his piece, as if now was the best time to actually contribute and speak to Stephanie’s mother. A moment of silence passed after the door clicked shut, then Stephanie fell forward onto her knees, crying. Hands hovering over her shoulders, reluctant to comfort her if she did not want it, Tim gulped.

“Steph, I… I’m so–”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, no bite to her tone. Instead, all Tim heard was exhaustion. She kept her head down and, quietly sobbing to herself, said, “Don’t you dare.”

  Tim was not party to Stephanie and Crystal’s follow up conversation the next day. He felt like he did not deserve to be. However, whatever had been exchanged allowed Tim and Stephanie to return to their apartment. He contemplated speaking to Crystal himself, but a sharp look from Stephanie had killed that idea stone dead.

At least, after one week of questions, hugs, praises, warnings, and overly nervous parenting from Bruce, Tim and Stephanie were allowed to go home. Their first night back Tim had stared at the window, not out of, only looking away when a message from Duke invited them out to patrol.

Getting back to normality he supposed. Stephanie had taken one look at the message, sighed, then shook her head. She had been down in the dumps all week, and though Tim thought patrol might do her good, she refused.

“You go,” she pushed. “I need an extra day or two. Then we’ll go together?”

Tim looked back at the windowsill, an idea forming in his head, then nodded. He needed to go, to get back into the literal swing of things. He was ready. She needed just a bit more time. For once, it seemed Tim was quite willing to try and put everything behind him, but Stephanie was not. She had a lot of catching up to do as Stephanie Brown, and she didn’t have the pre-made excuse of being the somewhat flighty son of a billionaire who had a habit of disappearing for months at a time. Apparently, according to some gossip sites, her and Tim had eloped and had a two-month honeymoon in Curaçao. Stephanie very much would have preferred that lie to the truth.

An issue continued to plague her in the week that she had returned. Bruce had called it out early on, and even now she still chided herself when she was caught doing it.

She couldn’t bear for Tim not to be in her line of sight. She was petrified that the minute she turned away, the moment he shut the door behind him, he would be stolen away once more. Tim knew that she was struggling a little, but he felt no overwhelming need for space. But how to prove he would not be taken or leave again? Especially as the first time wasn’t exactly planned. They could only take things one day at a time, and her encouraging him to go on patrol without her was a massive show of faith. Tim hoped she knew how much he appreciated it.

Tim lingered around her a little anxiously before he left that night. Not being subtle at all, he watched her comb her hair, finding the static cloud of blonde a little amusing, then he watched her brush her teeth and wash her face. In a deliberate effort to cheer her up, he insisted she wear his sweater to bed.

“It’ll make me happy,” he said.

Steph knew what he was trying to do, but she nodded. Tim smelled like comfort, and it would do until the real him was home. He kissed her very sweetly, then promised he would be back.

Stephanie smiled, but in the back of her head she could not shake the feeling that once he was out of her sight again, he would not come back. Tim tried to ignore how washed out she looked. He tried to ignore how guilty he felt.

He carefully shut the bedroom door behind him, heading down to the Nest, and Stephanie lay in silence. Eventually exhaustion won out over anxiety and she fell asleep before Tim came back home.

She would not wake until ten the next morning. When she did, she found Tim resting a hand on her cheek. His fingers were warm, and she sighed sharply, almost like a cry. Her heartbeat settled. He’d returned to her.

She understood somewhere at the back of her mind that this anxiety would not leave so easily. It would take some time before she would feel comfortable letting Tim out of her sight for long, but she had to do it. It wasn’t like she could shackle him to her leg. She felt Tim shift on the bed sheets next to her, as if he had been watching her sleep and now recognized she was awake.

“Morning,” she croaked.

“Morning. Come on,” he replied, hand moving up to her hair. He stroked it in a calming motion for a moment or two, until he spoke again, voice quiet. “I’ve got something to show you.”

She could practically hear the smile in his voice. She would have happily gotten up, but found she was still too tired, like her five hours of sleep was restless. When she sighed and raised her arms like a child, Tim scooped her up from her warm cocoon and carried her down the stairs to the living room. Setting her down near the lounge window, he waited for her drowsiness to dissipate and for her to realise what was on the windowsill.

He snorted a laugh at the sight of her, frizzy hair defying gravity, in thick cotton shorts and his fading black sweater. Her cheeks were flushed pink and he caught glimpses of sleep that she scrubbed away as she yawned.

She blinked, rubbing her eyes once more, then did a double take.

“Our flowers!”

There, sat in two separate boxes, were her lilac roses and Tim’s red. Tim smiled, a little smug, and she tottered over to them. The red, which had been struggling when she had given them up, were thriving in their home. Stroking the petals, she looked back to Tim. Her eyes were damp, but she was smiling,

“How’d you convince Ivy?”

Tim shrugged, playing the humble boyfriend. “Wasn’t too hard actually,” he explained. “I went as Tim, not Red Robin. She knew who you were, who I was, what we were to each other. I guess she thought I had nerve and thought it was funny.”

Stephanie went back to Tim and pressed his cheeks tightly, making his lips pouty.

“She wouldn’t give up plants for a joke.”

“No.” Tim wrapped one arm around her waist, the other sneaking down her arm to hold her hand. Stephanie welcomed the grip and yawned at the comforting feeling of his solid build around her. Hands slipping back with her elbows resting on his shoulders, she shut her eyes, content, as Tim continued, “But I think she believed me when I said I owed you big time. Understatement maybe but I… Steph. It’s the least I could do. They belong to us. They’re our flowers. You gave them up to find me. You found me, so I took them back. Simple as that.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim did not share her happy tone, murmuring sadly, “You’re welcome. Thank you for coming for me. Even if I think I didn’t deserve it.”

“That’s such a terrible, awful, rotten lie you tell yourself.”

“The flowers aren’t enough though,” he said bitterly. Stephanie’s sad sigh did nothing to deter him, and he rocked them in their embrace from side to side. “You went through hell to find me,” Tim whispered.

She kept her eyes closed. “I hear remorse.”

“Maybe.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“But I didn’t.”

Stephanie opened her eyes finally when Tim let her go. Wringing his hands, Tim looked guilt ridden. “When you… When Leslie took you away. I accepted what I was told. You were gone, one way or another.”

“I don’t really think the two events are comparable.” Gently, put with enough force to make Tim huff, Stephanie punched his gut, trying to smack some perspective into him. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me my mother of all people is making you --”

“I won’t leave you,” he interrupted firmly. “I... not willingly. I won’t ever be that cruel. I won’t put you through hell. Not for nothing.”

Stephanie frowned, and not for the first time Tim ran his hand through her short hair. He made a little bit of a face when his fingers reached the ends of the strands so quickly. It was enough for Stephanie to tilt her head and give him a look of warning.

“I thought the flowers might help,” he concluded. “You’ll know when something has really gone wrong between us when they wither up and die or something.”

“Like in a fairy-tale.”

“Like in a fairy-tale,” Tim confirmed.

Stephanie glanced back at the pair of boxes of flowers soaking up the dim Gotham sun, then looked back to Tim. She smiled, and in the morning light Tim vaguely thought she looked like she was glowing. Unable to help himself, he kissed her. Even in his misery, Tim knew he wasn’t strong enough to let her go. She made him so happy. Even if he hated what he put her through, she had a staunch desire to stay and he was too selfish to want any other kind of relationship with her. It was her choice, Stephanie said. Their relationship, her love for him, her journey to bring him home. Her choices mattered.

What she saw in him...

The kiss ended too soon for Tim, and when he went forward to try to kiss her again, she leaned away, pressing her fingertips to his lips. Her face had grown solemn.

“Any luck finding Klarion?”

“Huh?”

“His magic is still in – on – me. I don’t think it’s good for me to have an anxiety attack every time you go to the bathroom.”

She was joking, only slightly, but the look in her eye contained a warning. Her fright of being separated from Tim was not going to go away on its own, not so long as that homing beacon of a spell Klarion had cast lingered in her chest.

“You’re frightened it’ll get worse?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me it wouldn’t be just our luck for me to keel over from a heart attack or something because of a stupid spell.” Pressing a hand to his sternum, Stephanie simultaneously stared at his heart whilst also looking right through him. Almost as if speaking to herself, she whispered, “Why is it never easy, Steph?”

Something about her haunted look frightened Tim into action. He pulled her into an embrace, then dragged her over to the sofa to properly hold her. Playing with her fingers, he mused what he could do for her. Determination settled in his mind.

“I can do it. I’ll find him and fix it. My turn to look after you.”

She snorted softly, nuzzling his chest. “Your turn? It doesn’t work like that.”

“Maybe. But you remember what we talked about, back when we were at the garden centre?”

Stephanie frowned absentmindedly, “Disneyland?”

“Kind of. What makes an adult an adult?”

“Oh.” She reached up and returned her hand to the centre of his chest, feeling the solid thump thump under her fingertips. “You have an answer?”

“You first. I wanna see if they match up.”

Stephanie thought about her journey, about who she met and the help and hindrance she endured. She thought about the old woman by the river, and the old woman in the snow. She thought about the lonely little boy and the proud princess. She thought about the self-absorbed witch.

“When you’re a kid, the centre of the world is you. Everything you do is determined by how it will affect yourself. And not even in a selfish way, it’s just you’re not capable of self-sufficiency, so you look to others to help you, to make all the hard decisions for you. Growing up… it’s learning to put others first, right? Or at least… counting yourself as just as important as others? It’s about being able to make those choices to care and carry them through. Does—does that make sense?”

Tim sounded proud when he replied, “Right. It’s why people with bad childhoods have such weird understandings of their place in the world, y’know? So, you take care of me, and I take care of you. We’re not fourteen anymore Steph.”

“No.”

He kissed her forehead. “I promise not to break your heart. I’ll do one better and fix it.”

Scoffing, she pressed her lips to his neck as they embraced. “You don’t half make it skip a beat, Tim.”

He pulled her down, so they were laying on the sofa. Again, he resumed playing with her hair. Regardless of length, that had not changed. Looking to her lips, he kissed her gently, enjoying the puff of her she released when they pecked.

“We’re nearly there,” he whispered.

“Where’s there?” Stephanie grumbled, pulling him back for another smooch. He broke away, a little amused, a little embarrassed.

“Our happily ever after,” he said, cheeks pink. “Isn’t that how it goes?”

Stephanie laughed, loudly and brightly and beautifully. Cradling Tim’s jaw, she rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs. Pressing a slow kiss to his forehead, she whispered, “Sure thing my Prince Charming. We can only hope.”

[elisaphoenix13]

Before The Dawn (Ch.4)

"...what is this?"

Tony had woken Cassie early that morning so she could keep an ear out for Diana while he ran errands. She had no idea where he needed to go so early in the morning but when he got home, everything explained itself. Cassie was in the middle of eating her cereal after making sure the baby was taken care of when Tony nearly burst through the door. After shoveling the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, and Tony got Dia out of her high chair, he herded them out front just in time to see a trailer driving away. Just as Cassie was about to ask what it was for, Tony led them around the corner where she found an alpaca happily grazing on bits of grass.

"Your pet alpaca!" Tony says with a grin and Cassie looks up at him before sighing. "What? What's with that look?"

"You're so extra." She tells him flatly as Diana pries herself away from Cassie's leg to waddle over to the alpaca.

Tony snorts. "Then I wouldn't be Tony Stark."

"I meant a puppy or a kitten. Or even a fish!" Cassie says with some exaggeration. "You went with an alpaca!"

"Don't sass me."

Cassie rolls her eyes and watches Diana pet the alpaca in the way only babies can, glad that it didn't seem bothered with her. She really didn't want to be spit on if it felt threatened. She knew that because she did a lot of reading about animals on the tablet Tony gave her. At least it was another...what did Peter call Tibbs?

A chill animal.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Cassie asks Tony.

"Boy. You going to name him?"

"Uhh...I can't think of anything." She looks at the alpaca that happens to be staring back at her while munching lazily on grass.

"Alright then. We'll call him Gerald." Tony claps his hands together and then rubs them."Let's get him settled in his new home."

Cassie gives him another look. "He's not going to sleep in the house is he?"

"What? Pfft. No. I had a little stable built for him."

Cassie picks up Diana while Tony leads Gerald to the small stable behind the house, and they watch as he gives the alpaca a large pile of hay. She knew that this would likely turn into one of her daily chores, but she was okay with it because she expected it. There was just one thing she refused to do.

"I'm not picking up his poop." Cassie says as she turns to take Diana back inside.

"What?! You wanted a pet!"

"You wanted to be extra so you have to pay the consequences!" She calls back.

"Do you take after your mother or was your dad a secret sass monster?"

"My dad!" She replies and closes the back door when she gets back inside. "I hope you take after your mommy." She mumbles to Diana.

=======

A few years passed similarly, and as Cassie got older, she took on more of the household responsibilities. She cooked more, cleaned, took care of Diana and Tony, and took care of Gerald too. For the most part, Tony did clean up after the alpaca but every once in a while she would have to do it. Potty training Diana was actually pretty easy. She was ready to learn by the time she was running and she wasn't even two years old yet.

The biggest thing that happened was when...puberty hit Cassie. Fortunately she had an idea of what was going on, but neither of her parents had been able to give her the talk before the snap. Tony...bless his heart...gave her the talk even though she knew he was wildly uncomfortable about it. He hid it well, but it wasn't that the subject made him squeamish, but the fact that he had to be the one to talk to her. He felt he wasn't the right person to answer all of her questions, so he told her what he could and then did the smart thing by calling Pepper.

To Cassie's amusement, Tony had no problem buying her sanitary products when she needed them. When they were at the store and Cassie told him that she needed to restock, Tony nodded and took her down the feminine hygiene aisle.

"You're not embarrassed?"

"Nope. It's a part of life and one day Diana will need them too."

Tony sighed after he said that and it made Cassie laugh because she knew it was because he was faced with the reality that his little girl would one day grow up. She smiled when she was done laughing and pat his arm before picking out what she needed and adding it to the cart.

Now, at fifteen, she was currently stuck in the bathroom after looking under the sink and finding that she hadn't put her new box of tampons under it after their shopping trip yesterday. Cassie groans and reaches for the door and cracks it open.

"Dia!" She calls loudly.

"Yeah?" The five year old replies from downstairs.

"Can you get my box of tampons from the bag on the table and bring them up to me?"

"Kay!"

There was crinkling of the grocery bag a couple moments later, thumping on the stairs, and then the bathroom door swung wide open. Cassie's eyes widen and she scrambles to at least get Diana in the bathroom so she can close the door, and the little girl puts the box on the sink. The teen was used to Dia barging in on her whether it was in the bathroom or her bedroom, and was working on privacy with her.

"Dia! I talked to you about this!" Cassie sighs and grabs the box.

"Daddy is in the garage." She says.

"Okay, well, that's not the point. You knock and crack the door open just enough to come in if I'm in the bathroom or changing in my room." Cassie points to the door. "Practice that while leaving and close the door behind you, okay?"

"Can we make cookies?"

"Diana."

The little girl sighs dramatically and leaves the bathroom just like Cassie taught her to, and when she closes the door behind her, the teen finishes up. After storing the box under the sink and washing her hands, she goes downstairs and shakes her head with an amused smile when she finds Diana pulling out all of the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Just this once she would go with Dia's decision since cookies did sound good, and it would probably lure Tony out of the garage for the day.

"I guess I better go put my hair up." Cassie says and turns back toward the stairs.

"Oh! Me too!" Diana says and follows after her after carefully putting the sugar on the counter.

It was a bonding technique they enjoyed together. Every morning, or after a bath, Diana would go into Cassie's room with a brush and the teen would turn on the TV so Diana could watch it while Cassie brushed her hair. Now, while Diana crawled onto Cassie's bed when they got to the teen's room, Cassie grabs her brush and a couple of hair ties and smiles when she sits on the bed behind the little girl. This time, Diana was content to read one of her picture books while Cassie brushed her hair, and the older girl took a little longer than usual to put Dia's hair up in a small ponytail.

"Will my hair get as long as yours, Sissy?"

"Sure it will."

"Daddy keeps telling the haircut lady to cut it short like this." Diana pouts and Cassie laughs as she ties her hair.

"That's because he doesn't want to hurt you if he ends up having to brush your hair."

"But you almost always brush my hair."

"Almost. Just be patient. Your hair grows fast and soon you won't need his help."

Cassie smiles and gets back up to look in her mirror and brush her hair back into a ponytail, and Diana patiently reads her book while she waits. A few of her things ended up finding a semi-permanent home in the teen's room since she spent so much time with Cassie, and there were times she ended up falling asleep with her. Cassie didn't mind it since it didn't happen all the time, and she even enjoyed the company. There were just some things only another girl would understand that Tony wouldn't. Or maybe he would understand but Cassie didn't feel like torturing him.

"Would Mommy have brushed my hair?" Diana asks quietly and Cassie sets her hairbrush down when she finishes.

"Maybe. He would have at least tried."

"Because of his hands?"

"Mmhmm." Cassie holds out her hand and helps Dia off the bed when she takes it.

"How come Daddy doesn't talk about him or Peter or Harley?"

Cassie stops and kneels down in front of Diana. The little girl knew about the snap even if she didn't fully understand what happened. She knew that her mom and brothers were taken away because of it and Cassie's dad as well, but she didn't know that Tony watched it happen. He asked Cassie not to tell Diana that bit of detail and she promised she wouldn't, only telling Dia what she could to help her understand.

"Because it still hurts him Dia." Cassie says softly.

"Does thinking about your daddy still hurt you too?" Diana asks.

"Yeah...not as much as it used to but...the reasons are different. That's all I can say."

"... okay."

Poor Diana knew when a subject should be left alone, and unfortunately the taboo was about her deceased family. She just wanted to know about them and the majority of the task landed on Cassie's shoulders. Sometimes the other Avengers would visit and tell stories that Diana drank in like a sponge, but for the most part it was Cassie telling her the stories and whatever Tony let slip. The older girl often caught Diana looking through Peter's photo album before bed and would tell her a couple of stories before having her go to sleep. Cassie never begrudged Tony for it though. He watched Stephen and Peter (and the other people he allied with) turn to dust. Cassie was fortunate enough not to actually see anyone get dusted. Especially her father. If she did, she had a feeling she would be hurting just as much as Tony.

"Let's go make those cookies now. Maybe we can make some with butterscotch chips for your dad."

"He likes milk with his cookies too!"

"He does. I think we'll all have milk and cookies."

Diana smiles and races down to the kitchen to pull out the rest of the ingredients, and Cassie turns on the oven when she finally makes it down as well. After checking that Diana got everything they needed, they started to pour everything into the mixer. As they were pouring the flour mixture in with the wet ingredients, the mixer was going too fast for the amount poured in and the flour blew up in their faces. The two cough and wipe their faces free of it before finishing, and Tony walks in just after they put the first two sheets in.

He promptly started laughing.

"You making flour bombs in here or cookies?" He chuckles.

"Guess you'll have to find out." Cassie answers as she wipes the rest of the flour off of Diana.

"Having fun piccola?" He asks Diana.

"Uh-huh! We made some cookies with butter...umm…" she furrows her brows together in thought and then smiles. "Butterscotch! Just for you!"

"Oh yeah? I'm looking forward to them. You two always make the best cookies." Tony smiles as he sneaks behind them to grab the bag of coffee beans from the cupboard.

Cassie promptly smacked his hand though and took them to put them back.

"No! Breakfast only and two cups maximum!" She scolds as Tony shakes his hand.

"I feel like I'm losing my authority in my own house." He gripes half-heartedly.

"Don't be so overdramatic about coffee. Just wait a few minutes and you can have milk with cookies like we're going to." Cassie huffs.

"Alright, alright. I'll go watch tv in the living room." Tony says. "No more flour bombs."

Cassie grabs a cleanish measuring spoon and chucks it at his head.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, a-wolf-and-his-boy!

For @a-wolf-and-his-boy. I hope you enjoy this work, I had fun writing it.

Read On AO3

*****

A Summer Night's Ball

Chapter 1 - The Ball and Garden

“Come on, Stiles. Everybody is going to be there and who knows, you might run into your mate!” Scott said. He was (unsuccessfully) trying to tug Stiles from his bed without ripping any blankets. “Sitting in a ball of misery isn’t going to help things. So Lydia isn’t the one for you, so what? You’ll find someone just as good.”

Stiles poked his head out of the cocoon of blankets he’d made to say, “Scott, there’s not going to be anyone as good as Lydia and I’m probably doomed to be alone for the rest of my very short life. Just because you met your mate at the masquerade ball doesn’t mean I’ll meet mine. Why is that even still a thing? There are better ways to meet people than dancing with a bunch of masked strangers that you’ll never see again.”

Scott made a grab for Stiles’ head, getting a handful of hair before Stiles could retreat back into his cocoon. “It’s the biggest event in the country and plenty of people go to see if they might find their mate.” Scott grew claws on the hand not holding Stiles and slowly brought it closer to the chunk of hair in his grasp. “So get out of bed or you’ll be getting a new haircut this minute.”

“Don’t mess with the hair, dude!” Stiles tried to toss the covers off, knocking Scott off-balance who ended up falling on top of him.

“No crushing the Stiles either. Get off of me.” Stiles shoved Scott to the side, who ended up on the floor given how small the bed was. Stiles got up and reached for his closet doors only for Scott to stop him.

“Dude, my mom and your dad got something for you to wear to it so go to the bathroom and change into the clothes hanging in there and then we can go.” Scott turned Stiles around and shoved him out of his bedroom. Stiles mumbled as he walked to the bathroom about the traitor keeping him out of his own kingdom, got in and saw a full suit hanging. Never had Stiles felt so betrayed since that time in school when Scott refused to watch Star Wars with him, only to end up watching it with Allison later that year. After changing into the uncomfortable outfit, Stiles got out and saw Scott in a similar suit, though thankfully not matching like a couple. Both of them were wearing half-masks covering only the upper half of their faces, one of the more traditional choices. The bright red mask Stiles wore was slightly less traditional but he’d already given in to wearing appropriate clothes, he wasn’t going to wear a boring white mask too. He’d worn it to every ball and he wasn’t going to break that streak for anyone, luckily it looked like their parents knew that since the mask matched with his suit.

“Well, let’s get going. Sooner I’m done with this, sooner I can go back to my den of despair, misery and hopeless pining.” Stiles said.

“That’s the spirit! Who knows, I still think you might meet someone.” Scott said.

“And that’s why I have you, a ball of infinite optimism and sunshine.” Stiles said. The pair got into Stiles’ old beaten jeep and went to the old castle near the center of Beacon Hills. The country’s royal family lived elsewhere (nobody sure where the Hales currently lived after their last home burned down. Luckily, none of them were hurt.) but the castle itself was still used for major events like the Annual Ball that happened in the summer on the solstice. Being a spark, Stiles knew it was one of the major days of performing magic and the ball was originally a ritualistic event performed by the community to shelter them from anything evil. Nowadays, there were quicker, easier and safer methods so the ritual itself had stopped but the gatherings took on a new purpose. They were a chance for people to get together and possibly meet their mate or let people gossip about the latest incident or talk business. It was a day devoted to love according to the romantics like Scott or business to the less romantic like Stiles.

They pulled into the designated parking lot, almost full because it had taken Scott a long time to drag Stiles out so the pair were late since it started at six pm and it was close to eight and sunset. Stiles was feeling a little jitterier than normal, his spark was acting up a little but he put it down to what always happened at this event. It wasn’t like that last year when part of the Hale family didn’t show up but that was a coincidence as far as Stiles was concerned. After walking past the security, they entered the crowded ballroom.

“I’m supposed to meet Allison near the refreshments table so I’ll be heading on over. Go socialize a little, maybe dance a bit. My mom should be floating around if you are really bored but I think she finally got your dad off for one of these things and invited him.” Scott said.

“Dude, you should’ve told me that earlier and I would’ve come without a fight!” Stiles said. He gestured a little too strongly and almost hit a woman next to the pair. She glared at him and walked away so he turned back to Scott. “We’ve been trying to get them together for ages now, I thought it was agreed we tell each other any developments pronto.”

“I thought you already knew! You always seem to know everything before I find out so I thought you knew about them coming together too. Look on the bright side, we might be brothers soon!” Scott held his hand out with Stiles giving him a high five. Scott turned and his face took on a dopey grin.

“Guess I can’t bother Melissa then. She’d kill me if I ruined her chance.” Stiles noticed Scott was no longer paying attention to him. He shoved Scott and said, “Go on, I know where your mind is.”

“Thanks, Stiles. I’ll see you in a couple hours. My mom said we could be out as late as we want so don’t expect me to ride back with you.” Scott blurted out and then took off running, knocking a couple people over in his rush to get to his mate. Stiles shook his head and walked the opposite direction, the band switching over from the high-paced song they had been playing when the pair walked in to something slower. Stiles spotted his dad and Scott’s mom on the dance floor, swaying to the song, his dad in a similar suit to him and Scott while Melissa was in a matching dress. It was obvious they have been planning this for some time now and Stiles was pretty disappointed he hadn’t seen this before Scott.

The area near the dance floor was crowded as can be, a mix of people leaving the floor and trying to get on causing a traffic jam with no end in sight so Stiles gave up on dancing after trying for a few minutes. Spotting an exit nearby, Stiles took it to get some fresh air and maybe see what else he could see in the castle. While it was generally open to the public, there were still some parts that were off limits that he might be able to see this time around, even though he’d tried last year and failed so badly his dad had to bail him out. The exit he took led to a hallway he’d been in before, with less guards around to block him from snooping luckily. He peaked in a few doors only to see empty rooms with no furniture. Some had obvious cobwebs in the doorways and dust stir after he opened the door so that was a major disappointment for Stiles. He’d been hoping for something interesting given he was never allowed in but the rooms were filled with nothing after nothing after nothing.

His last hope for anything of interest was the last door at the end of the hall. With a quick charm, he was able to unlock the door and exit into what must have been a garden. He hung his jacket from a nearby tree branch and placed his mask on top of it, glad for some cool air after being inside the hot room. Most of the gardens were open to the public so he figured he’d probably seen this place before during daytime. He turned to leave until he noticed the large white wolf statue in the center straight ahead on the path from the door. That was something he had never seen before. Stiles approached the statue, noticing that the fur was extremely detailed, every strand was lovingly carved. The wolf was posed as if to threaten any intruders, teeth bared as if in anger.

He was almost to the statue when he heard a growl which he jumped and thought came from the statue itself until he heard it again. Turning around, he saw a large black wolf, eyes glowing a haunting yellow, staring right at him and felt a shock at the sight from his spark. He froze and saw the wolf do the same before it took a deep breath and softly whined at him. Stiles had no clue what to do about the obvious werewolf and stood still, slightly trembling. The wolf crouched down and approached him, Stiles wanted to back away but doing that now would be a giant mistake. He had to hope that the wolf wouldn’t do anything to him for obviously trespassing on Hale property.

“Nice sourwolf. No need to get violent. I can go back to the party and we can forget I ever did something this stupid, okay?” Stiles held his hands up in surrender. The wolf was almost to him, still taking what he thought looked like a submissive stance, before it reached him and shoved its nose up against him and loudly breathed in. “Whoa there, don’t you think that’s a little too personal? Buy a guy lunch before you start sniffing him like that at least.”

The wolf rolled its eyes before it gently grabbed his vest and tugged him away from the statue and away from the door he had come from. He followed along since he didn’t have much choice, ending up approaching a small bench that was hidden further into the garden. He saw a basket full of clothes next to a small bump on that side of the bench but ignored it as the wolf shoved him at the bench. He flailed for a moment before landing on the bench, mostly upright. “Hey, be gentle! You could have nudged me and I’d have sat down.” The wolf turned, grabbed the basket by the handle with its mouth and walked behind a bush. “Oh, so that’s for you to change back. Might actually get to talk to the man behind the wolf, huh? Don’t take too long.”

A couple branches shifted and one cracked loudly while he waited, probably the wolf turning back into human form while crouched down, Stiles guessed. A hoarse masculine voice said, “You aren’t in trouble for coming back here. I didn’t expect to find my mate here but I’m glad to see the white wolf is still looking out for my family.”

The man came out fully only in a shirt and jeans, eyes no longer glowing a bright gold. It was hard to tell what his looks were from how late it was getting until the man walked right by Stiles and pressed something on the other side of the bench and lights sprang to life in the garden. The gentle glow illuminated all the flowers, breathtaking in how they were arranged like rays of the sun coming from the center where the wolf statue was vaguely seen from where they were.

Stiles looked the man over, his shirt was tight against muscles he’d love to see, stubble he’d love to rub his face against but the eyes were the man’s best feature. They sparkled in the light, flecks of gold and possibly other colors glittering within. His admiration of the man’s perfect body halted when he registered what he said. “What do you mean, mate?”

“Can’t you feel the bond? I knew from your scent you were my mate. I have been catching your scent at these things for years, today was the first time I’ve seen you. I never expected my mate to be the local sheriff’s son.”

“And who are you? You’re obviously a werewolf, you are allowed back here and are an unmated man so you have to be a Hale but there are a couple it could be.”

“Derek Hale.” Derek stepped forward, hand out for Stiles to grab. “Grab my hand and you should recognize the pull if you haven’t already.

Stiles looked at him, eyes slightly squinted, before grabbing Derek’s hand and felt his spark leap out of his skin, reaching deep inside the werewolf to embrace Derek, both man and wolf. Stiles lost his footing but Derek pulled him close, holding him steady against his chest.

“Now do you feel it?” Derek said.

“Yeah.” Stiles breathed out. It took a couple moments for him to steady himself but he didn’t leave Derek’s embrace. “So what do we do next?”

“I was hoping you can come meet my family, they’ll be thrilled to see I’ve found my mate. It will have to be after the ball ends, could I convince you to stay until then?”

“I think that can be arranged.” Stiles said, pulling Derek down to sit next to him on the bench. “Why don’t we sit here and get to know each other a little before you drag me in front of your family.”

“Deal.” Derek said. “But can I have a kiss first so we can seal the deal? I’d rather do that here under the stars, in the garden, with nobody around to see.”

“Fine with me, dude.” Stiles said.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek said.

“I’ll call you dude if I want, sourwolf. Guess you’ll have to shut me-” Stiles said before Derek interrupted by kissing him, slightly too forceful and at an awkward angle that soon changed to something much more enjoyable.

Derek pulled away and said, “Good to know that works.” He kissed Stiles again, the garden hiding the pair from other eyes while they found ways to entertain themselves while waiting for the party to end.

TBC On AO3!

[creative-type]

Tangled Mess

They could treat wounds. They could buy clothes. But there was no one in the Sun Pirates that knew how to fix a little girl’s hair. 

“You do it,” Macro told Arlong, trying to shove him forward without much success. “You have a baby sister, don’t you? I bet you had to fix her hair once or twice.”

Arlong pushed him away so hard he fell to the ground. “You leave Shyarly out of this,” he growled. “I won’t touch it. The disgusting little monster probably has lice.”

The Sun Pirates took a collective step backward. They knew of lice under the sea, where humans brought the bloodsucking little insects from the surface to spread among their terrorized victims down below. Fisher Tiger looked askance at Aladdin, and the doctor rubbed his chin. 

“It would probably be best to shave it,” he said regretfully. Bending down, he pinched a lock of matted hair between two fingers, tugging on it to try and separate it from the rest. The girl-child’s grin never faded, even as it tightened around the edges. Pain. The hair on her head was causing her pain. 

Hatchi shifted from foot to foot, six arms fidgeting at the thought of shaving Koala’s hair. It didn’t seem right after everything else to make the girl go around bald, even if it was only temporary. Hatchi was inordinately fond of his hair—he couldn’t imagine what it would mean for a little girl to not have any at all. 

“So we’re not even gonna try?” he asked.

“There’s nothing too try,” Jinbe said, his voice tight with impatience. “Arlong’s right, it’s a health hazard.”

“It would take a great deal of time to undo,” Aladdin murmured. 

Arlong sneered down at the girl. “I don’t see why you don’t just throw her overboard. We’re not even getting a ransom to send her back, what’s the point of keeping it around?”

A dozen voices roared with outrage. The girl (Koala. She had a name, Hatchi had to remember that) shrank back, making herself so small she threatened to disappear. Hatchi was the only one who noticed, because even if he thought Arlong was wrong that didn’t mean he was going to speak out against his best friend. 

Instead he knelt down and put on his biggest smile, hoping it distracted from the pitched argument behind him. “Hi!”

“Um, hello?” Koala said. 

“No one’s asked you yet,” Hatchi noted, wagging three of his hands at her. “Do you want us to shave your head?”

The smile wavered, her eyes unsure and afraid. Koala pressed her forefingers together in a nervous gesture, ducking her head to stare down at her ragged trousers. “I...”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Hatchi said, hoping that was true. 

Koala’s head snapped back up, eyes glittering like the sapphires they’d pillaged from a merchant ship the week before. Hatchi felt his smile get a little big warmer, a little more genuine. Even with her hair all in tangles, he had to admit she was kinda cute, in a weird, human sort of way. 

“My mom likes my hair,” she said, each word hanging a a tiny puff of air so quiet it almost didn’t reach Hatchi’s ears. 

“I like your hair, too,” Hatchi said, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s see if you can keep it.”

Xxx

“I hope this works.”

Aladdin set out a series of brushes and combs commandeered from the various members of the Sun Pirates. Koala sat still as a stone statue in the middle of the infirmary. For the last half hour her hair had been soaked in all the coconut oil that could be found aboard the ship in hopes of loosening the worst of the knots.

“It will work,” Hatchi said firmly. He’d never been to a proper barber shop, but he’d seen pictures, and knew how to wrap towels around her neck to catch the hair that came loose. He caught Koala’s eye and flashed the okay sign, and her smile softened, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Ready?” he asked.

Koala nodded solemnly. “Ready.”

Three hands began working her scalp, Hatchi picking through the worst of the tangles as best he could without hurting her. The oil greased his hands, already clumsy with inexperience. The girl bore the treatment stoically, but he couldn’t help but pull and tug at mats of hair so thick they were almost felt. 

“Gentle, Hatchi...” Aladdin murmured. 

“I’m trying!”

And while Hatchi worked, Aladdin talked about everything and nothing, keeping Koala engaged on anything else but the tortures Hatchi was putting upon her scalp. It took almost an hour before Aladdin gave him permission to even think about using a wide-tooth comb, the process no less laborious than using his fingers. Slowly Hatchi fell into rhythm, alternating combs and hands with brisk efficiency. It was kind of like wielding his swords in a way, except the only thing he was attacking was the evidence of a small child’s mistreatment. 

There were lice, or fleas, or some other kind of infestation crawling all over her scalp. Breaking open the matted sheets released a horrendous stench made Hatchi want to gag. But still he persisted on. 

He made her bleed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself for making her bleed. 

After awhile he switched places with Aladdin, who swapped the wide-tooth comb and heavy brushes with one with tiny teeth. Inch by inch he cleared her head of nits and their eggs, while Hatchi entertained Koala with slight of hand and stories of Fishman Island. 

It distracted him, too, from the clumps of dead hair that fell to the ground as the doctor worked. So much that he was afraid that they wouldn’t have to use a razor to make her go bald. 

It took hours, but when they finally washed out the last of the oil and the blood, her hair laid flat and straight down her back, longer than Hatchi ever would have thought possible.

“She’ll need a proper haircut,” Aladdin said ruefully, examining the ragged ends. 

“And new clothes?” Hatchi said hopefully. 

“And new clothes,” Aladdin agreed. “Would you like that?” he asked, looking down at Koala.

The girl didn’t seem to hear. She was staring wondrously into the mirror Hatchi was holding, running her hands over the top of her head over and over again, the biggest smile Hatchi had ever seen stretching across her face. 

Xxx

It was late when Hatchi scrounged the courage to face her. Arlong had forbidden anyone from entering the cartography room, but he was off dealing with some rioting village or other, and Hatchi couldn’t bear the thought of Nami going hungry. 

There were no guards outside her door, because no one except for him was stupid enough to try to help her. Hatchi raised two hands to knock, then paused. Why would he knock at a prisoner’s door?

Nami was working by candlelight, the light of a full moon washing over her, dulling the bright copper of her hair to match the unhappiness in her eyes. She flinched as he entered, instinctively guarding her injured arm. It was her left. Even in a rage, Arlong wouldn’t do anything that might hinder his prized map-maker’s productivity. 

“I brought food,” Hatchi said. 

“Don’t want it,” Nami replied, although it was clear that she wanted it very much. “Stupid tricks won’t work on me. I know what Arlong said: No supper until I finish.”

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and Hatchi saw that her fingers were bandaged and bleeding. The fingers on her right hand, which must have meant she’d gotten blisters again from overwork. The rest of her was a mess: clothes rumpled, hair tangled, dark circles under her eyes. 

Even if Arlong allowed, it Hatchi thought she probably hurt too much to sleep.

“Arlong didn’t say anything about drink.” Hatchi said. He crossed through the cramped room in three long strides and set a jug on her desk. Nami shrieked in alarm, pulling her precious maps out of reach. 

“Put it on the floor, idiot! You’ll get watermarks on my paper!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Hatchi said, scrambling to do as he was told. “I was just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help,” Nami snapped. “Now go away, and let me work!”

She was so close Hatchi could touch her. He longed to brush his fingers through her hair, to help rid of the knots like he had all those years ago. 

But he couldn’t. 

So he didn’t.

And he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for making her bleed.

[scullyy]

A Quiet Moment

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: During her monthly hair cut, Clem and Louis both confide in each other about their deepest feelings.

A/N: I started this at around 12:50 am and finished it at 4 am (the power of a can of coke before lmao) buutttt it’s all for @castle-javier HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAISY!!!!!!! YOU’RE ALWAYS LISTENING TO MY RAMBLES AND DUMB HEADCANONS GO WISH HER THE BESTEST BIRTHDAY <3<3<3 I LUV YOU 

-

"Oh Looouis," That devilish yet melodic tune meant only one thing and both of them knew it. Louis glanced up from his book, raising a brow at this rare case of forwardness from her. "I need your help." There it was. Clementine knew when to turn on the charm and how to talk in such a delicate way that turned Louis into mush.

He closed the novel he was reading, wasn't captivating to begin with. He had read over the same page three times now, always losing himself to a stray thought. Besides, a task with Clementine is a more fruitful way to spend the day. "Anything for you my darling. What is it?"

Clem slowly unveiled her hands, revealing a tarnished pair of scissors. "Could you please cut my hair?" Her teeth were bared in the widest grin he had seen to date, puppy dog eyes in full effect.

"You know I can't say no to a face like that." And what a task this was! Clem usually cut her own hair, swearing every few minutes when she cut a piece too short, yet somehow she always came out of the bathroom looking as adorable as ever.

She tossed him the scissors before retreating back to the bathroom, immediately going back to inspecting her hair in the mirror, pulling at a stray curl. Clem didn't even want to consider how long it had been since she had last used shampoo and conditioner. Too long that was certain. Dirty hair was the norm. And it still smelled after all these years. Whoopee.

Louis interrupted the rare vanity he witnessed, leaning against the door in his typical nonchalant manner. Function over fashion for Clem, that was always the way. Seeing her fiddle with flat curls and knots pulled at his heart. At the end of the day she was still a young girl who wanted a decent haircut. "You ready for this?"

Clementines' hand clenched unknowingly, her teeth near the point of grinding. "Just...be careful. The last person who cut my hair fucked it up." She sat down on the rickety toilet seat, eyes focused on the mirror and definitely not on how Louis was wildly swinging the scissors around his finger.

"I'm a natural, been doing my own since I was a kid!" Louis ran his free hand through his dreads, even Clem had to admit they looked good and somewhat healthy. "Now trust the process. You asked me for help, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't cut it too short, okay? I like tying it up." Clementine pulled out her hair tie, wincing at the unevenness of it all. Goddamnit Javi. The curls on the longer side were near untameable, reminding her of how she once looked. Smiling ever so faintly at the memory, looking like a boy was now the least of her concerns.

Louis bit his tongue in an attempt to not laugh at her scrunched face. "Pinky promise, you'll still be able to use your hair...thingy."

"You mean hair tie?"

Louis eventually took the plunge and snipped off the first tattered curl, watching it fall to the ground. No going back now. "Yeah that. I use to have one but it snapped, guess it couldn't contain my luscious locks."

A shiver ran across the back of her neck as the cold metal glided against her skin. "Yeah, I'm sure that was it. I have a spare you can borrow," She dug around her jacket pocket for the mangy thing, soon finding it hiding beneath a flower she had plucked earlier that day. "Here, still pretty stretchy after all these years."

Louis held his hand out steady as she slid it over his wrist, the once purple dye now tarnished by specks of blood, dirt and other substances Louis didn't want to know of. "Damn, you've had this for a long time."

"I got them right as everything started."

Louis eventually found his groove with the scissors, secretly wondering if Clem would stab him if he gave her a mohawk. Perhaps Farrah Fawcett hair? "Who gave them to you?"

Her delayed answer nudged at his sympathy, a clear cut sign that Clementine had fallen back into old memories. "Lilly did. She said they would help keep my hair out of my face while I slept."

Louis had stopped mid-cut, letting the answer sink in as his own tormented memories of that woman came at full speed. "Oh. You don't really talk about her."

"There's not much to talk about." She chose to focus on the rapidly growing pile of hair on the floor, gliding it around the smooth tiles with the tip of her boot. It would be a bitch to tidy later, but that was a future Clem problem.

They continued in silence, the only sound being the sharp cut of the scissors every few seconds as Louis took his time, choosing to focus on the task at hand rather than the shared trauma both had been dealt by Lilly. "Sometimes I wonder what she was like, before the child kidnapping thing. Was she always a sociopath?"

Clem let out a laugh that Louis knew was fake. "No, she was normal. I guess a little angry, but who wasn't? Her dad certainly didn't help."

"Her dad? What was he like?"

"We were all hiding in this drugstore and her dad, like the grade-A asshole he was, threatened a kid."

"Yikes." Seems like hurting kids ran in the family.

Her shoulders fell deeply, snippets of hair sliding off her shirt. "Yup, he thought the kid was bit. He wasn't, just scared, like everyone else. I miss him sometimes."

"Who? The dad?"

"Fuck no, the kid. We called him Duck, he was the only other kid I had to talk to." Even if all he talked about was dinosaurs and comic books, it was a nice distraction from the world outside the motor inn. Before everything began to crumble.

"Was he cool?" Louis dared to question further, treading carefully on what he knew were sacred memories. Stories Clem had never shared with him, or anyone. The only glimpses he had seen were the aftermaths of her nightmares, the faces of past ghosts coming back to haunt her.

She hummed over her answer. "I suppose, kinda annoying and loud. Very loud. I put a bug in his pillow."

Louis couldn't help but chuckle. "You did what now?"

"I put a bug in his pillow, just a little spider. I don't know why I did that."

"You would have been the perfect candidate for a troubled youth school."

She lightly punched his chest, unable to contain her smile. "Hey! I was a good kid."

He feigned the agony from the punch, clutching his t-shirt in a death grip. "Sure, cause good kids always leave bugs on pillows and punch their boyfriends."

"It was in his pillow for the record."

The silence was no longer heavy like it was before. This time light, breathable. A change of pace from how it began.

"Her dad died in a meat locker." Clementine pursed her lips together as the unsettling story began to spill out of her. She had never spoken about it before, to anyone, choosing to let those memories fester and hide.

"A what?"

"A place where you store meat. Some of us were trapped inside, he had a heart attack and to stop him from turning Lee..." Her words became the mere wave of a whisper as her breathing grew quicker. She was still there; in the meat locker, in the jewellery store, at Howe's, on the boat. Always there, always trapped, unable to get out.

Louis briefly stopped cutting her hair, giving her his full attention instead. "Lee did what?" Some small part of him was afraid of the answer.

"He held Lilly back as Kenny dropped a salt lick on his head." She said it so calmly, too calmly. As if it was just an occupational hazard, a little story you tell to strangers to pass the time.

The scissors nearly slipped from his grasp. "Holy shit."

"Yeah, not fun." It was the moment she realised her world had changed, now forever starved for help. There was no going back.

He thought of one final question, the one question whose truth terrified him more than the others. "How old were you?"

"Eight."

Louis didn't dare test his luck any further, his curiosity reaching its limit. She was right, he had no idea what people were capable of behind the school walls. The things she had seen, the things she was forced to live through...he wished he could take it all away. Replace her horrid memories with calmer ones.

There was always their purple house.

As her hair got shorter and shorter, he began to cut slower and slower, not wanting their brief time together to end. After this, it's back to the grim world. Back to the endless fight. He was so lost in concentration he hadn't noticed Clem staring blatantly at his reflection for the past few minutes. He wasn't the only curious cat in the room.

"Whatcha thinking about now?"

"Wondering where I can find purple paint. For our house." He chirped. Talking about this dream house always put them both in a better mood, despite the likelihood of them ever seeing it was slim to none. It was their safe haven, a world away from this one where they could do whatever and be whoever.

"Ah, right. I haven't been able to come across any. We might have to consider a different colour."

Louis nearly choked on the very prospect, his hands waving around violently in disbelief, despite wielding a sharp blade. "Never! I am building you that house and it's going to be purple."

"Why so set on purple?"

He slowed to a near crawl, pondering over his word choice. "Well, you said at the party purple was your dads favourite colour. Take it as a gift of good faith, I am dating his daughter after all."

Clem could only hope there was enough hair left to hide her burning ears. "He would like you." She whispered just for him, despite being alone.

"You think so?" The glee in his voice was obvious, his posture straightening up.

"If he didn't I'd make him. He had a pretty good singing voice, I'm sure you'd sing duets together, driving both me and my mom crazy." If this were a normal world that is. Perhaps they would go to high school together, go to the movies, skip class or whatever it was teenagers would do. Hiding from walkers would be replaced with games of tag, repeated bowls of rice would become pizza and endless junk food.

"You okay?"

Her fantasy world gone before her eyes just as quickly as it appeared, Clem ran a hand over her shadowed face, repressing the tears that always threatened her when she considered all that could have been. "I miss them."

"Sorry, shouldn't have brought them up." Louis kissed the top of her head, hoping it would soothe her subtle trembling. The original task of cutting her hair now gone from both their minds as they basked in this secret grief. A grief they both knew the other felt, grief for a world long gone from their grasp.

Her hand slid over the top of his, intertwining their fingers, her thumb tracing each line and callous present. Memorising everything about him. "No, it's fine. Really, I'm glad I can talk to you about them."

He squeezed her hand, letting this moment sink into his heart. It was moments like these he would turn to on his more difficult nights, where monsters pulled themselves out of every dark corner. She was a light, protecting him in more ways than she knew. "You wanna know a secret? Sometimes I'm thankful for the apocalypse."

"You're what now?"

"Think about it. You used to live in Georgia, we probably never would have met had you not needed to bounce between cities for survival," He spoke gently into her hair, never breaking away from her. "I know we've lost people, I've made plenty of mistakes, but if going through all that meant I got to meet you, you best believe I'd do it all again."

And there it was, a confession that completely destroyed and rescued both of them.

Clementine couldn't bear to look at him, for her own self-restraint lest she become a puddle of tears. Grabbing onto the lining of his coat, she pulled herself into his inviting arms, burying her head in the warm crook of his neck. "You always talk about how you're the lucky one," Swallowing the strong lump within her throat, she bore her heart to him. "You may not have been the one to drag me out of that car crash, but you saved me that day and continue to every day since. It's always been the other way around."

His words got caught somewhere between his heart and his mouth, an amalgamation of thoughts moulding together in his mind. He stood there, unsure of when he had dropped the scissors and his arms had clung to her waist, gripping her tighter than before. The two fit together like pieces of a puzzle, completing each other. "Well...I think that's just about the most romantic thing anyone has ever told me," They both laughed in unison, now admiring each other's soft eyes. Their arms still wrapped around the other, not wanting to depart just yet. "Thank you, Clementine. Perhaps we're both lucky."

He planted a chaste kiss to her nose as their foreheads collided, his fingers drawing intricate circles on her lower back. "You're right," Her voice now back to a whisper only meant for his ears. "I don't want a normal world if it means you're not apart of it."

They could have remained within that tiny bathroom holding each other for a lifetime. Instead, they both let their young love mend the cracks of their past. His heart thumped from deep within, echoing in her ear. The slow, rhythmic beat had lulled her to sleep many nights. Even his heart made beautiful music.

"I have one last question for you," Clementine asked, no more traces of pain or regret laced within her words.

Louis glanced down at her, marvelling at their height difference. "Go ahead."

She beamed up at him, her chin prodding his chest. There was that devilish gleam in her eyes once again, unmatched by her innocent smile. "Does my hair look bad?"

[absinthemadness]

Long distance axel and Roxas and one of them falling asleep on the phone

Oh dang. I've written something like this before. It was this cliche/prompt filling mess that got me back into writing. A modern college AU, enemies to lovers, roommates... thing. 

So I'm going to self indulgently use my own AU  (This is from the ‘oh crap, feelings’ part)

Though I might come back to this idea in an established relationship kind of thing.

More under a cut for length. 

Contains: Swearing, Axel being a punk, entirely too much cliche, akuroku (In case the ask wasn’t a given)

---

Roxas rested his head against the cold wood, wondering just what he was doing. He looked around the empty hall like someone was about to catch him, chuckling to himself when he realized what he was doing. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed the door open, slipping inside and closing it behind him. What was he doing? Why was he sneaking into his roommate’s bedroom?

But his feet were moving again, walking him across the room and he dropped back onto the bed, immediately surrounded by the scent of Axel, faded from the week and a half he hadn’t slept in the bed, but still there. He was halfway through a brief crisis of wondering again what the hell he was doing and kicking himself in the mental shins for how bad he had it when his phone started buzzing. He rolled over onto his back, pulling it from his pocket and checking the ID.

Sometimes he wondered if Axel had a sixth sense.

“Hey, Axel.” He couldn’t help but grin.

“Hey, kid! Miss me yet?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He teased back.

“Do you have a camera on that thing?”

“Uh, all phones do now?”

“Then why isn’t it on?”

Roxas pulled the phone away from his ear, and sure enough there Axel was, face clean, hair hanging loose and still damp, an enormous smile on his face. He must have propped his phone on a nightstand because he was lying on a bed, turned on his side, and propped up on one arm.

Completely forgetting where he was, Roxas held the phone up over him and turned on the camera, glimpsing briefly the equally huge smile on his face.

“There you are!” Axel’s eyes lit up before he started laughing. “Are you on my bed?”

“Uh, I plead the fifth?”

Axel sighed dramatically. “I finally got you into my bed and I’m not there to enjoy it.” He shook his head, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “I guess I should have stolen one of your hoodies… or a pillow, or something then.”

“Shut up.” Roxas could feel his cheeks growing warm. “Man, I wish I had a laptop or something. Holding this thing will get uncomfortable quickly. That or I’ll drop it on my face.”

“Look under my bed. I think I left my laptop there, I haven’t been able to find it.”

“What?” Roxas paused. “You’re not going to freak out if I touch your stuff?”

“Roxas, you’re in my room… laying on my bed… I think we’re past that.” Axel rolled his eyes with a grin.

“That’s fair.” Roxas chuckled. “I just had a girlfriend freak out on me any time I touched her phone, even if I just wanted to bring it to her when she left it laying somewhere.” He paused, thinking for a second. “Turns out she was cheating on me… so kinda makes sense.”

“So see, I’m obviously not cheating on you.” Axel stuck his tongue out.

“Green today, I see. Don’t think I’ve seen that one yet.” Roxas rolled over and propped his phone up on the nightstand.

“Felt like being different.”

“You? Different? No way, mister punk.” He hauled his upper body over the edge of the bed and slid a slightly dusty laptop from underneath. “Sweet! Power cord and everything.”

“Shit. Power!”

Roxas straightened up just in time to watch as Axel dove off-screen for a moment before the camera angle moved wildly.

“How about we get things set up and I’ll call you back? Preference for video chat method?”

Axel rattled off a program and ended the call. Roxas finagled with the laptop and power cord until he had it set up on the far side of his bed. A quick glance of the clock told him how late it was getting, so he flipped off the lights before laying back down and pulling Axel’s blankets over him.

Axel answered almost immediately when he called, face reappearing in a similar glow. “Still in my bed, I see.” There was just enough light to see the mischievous grin.

“You’re glowing an awful lot for a phone.” Roxas grinned back.

“Borrowed one of my kid nephew’s tablets.” Axel waved a hand. “The twerp’s already in bed, so his mom was happy to hand it over. Still using my phone for the call, but I figured I could screen share the tablet and we could watch a movie or something while we talked.”

And so he put on some silly kids' movie and Roxas told him about his day, about the snowball fight and how there’d been a debate over who got ‘the bartender’ on their side. Axel told him a bit about his family, all the relatives that had come in for the holidays.

As the night wore on, the filters broke down and they shared more and more as they got more sleepy. Roxas talked about how it was too quiet without Axel around, and Axel talked about how he wished he’d brought Roxas with him. Axel also complained about his parents, how they’d been onto him about finding someone to settle down with, maybe not partying so much, his wardrobe, how his mom wished he could get a haircut. Roxas may have threatened him with death if he cut his hair, he wasn’t sure. He was half asleep at that point. But anytime one of them suggested hanging up for the night, one would claim that they weren’t that tired, and the other would agree without fail.

The last thing Roxas remembered was Axel telling him in between movies that Lark had his key and would probably be by tomorrow to bring him some food since the cafeteria was closed for the holidays and he didn’t want Roxas to have to dip into his meager savings.

Roxas mumbled thanks before he fell asleep.

He woke a few times throughout the night, briefly panicking at the strange surroundings before his brain placed the scent of the sheets and he’d turn over and find the faint glow of the laptop, Axel still on the screen, fast asleep. At some point, the tablet screen had dropped, so he took up most of the screen.

Every time he’d wake up he’d turn to face the laptop if he wasn’t already, watching with half-lidded eyes, listening to the gentle breathing or soft snoring before he’d fall back asleep. Each time Axel would be more lit up by the rising sun and he could take in more details, finding himself staring more often than not at the tattoos under his eyes whenever he was facing the camera, occasionally the missing earrings when he was on his back.

But he could remember once when he turned over, and it was still dark out, Axel had his eyes open, so he stared sleepily into green lit just enough from the screen, watching as a small grin spread across Axel’s face before he yawned, making Roxas yawn as well.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” Axel’s voice was scratchy as he spoke. “Go back to sleep.”

And in his half-asleep state he mumbled something like “yes, dad,” and closed his eyes, smiling at the soft rumble of laughter he received in response.

I’m sorry, this is a little rambly.