#and once i'm done i'll probably put it all up on ao3

[f-imaginings]

hai!!!!

i know you've already confirmed doing minor what ifs, but have you ever planned or thought of doing a longer one for a happy ending?

(im sorry for asking but these two make me mentally ill in the best way posible. )

The what ifs will be pretty well sized so hopefully they'll scratch the itch for y'all. My goal with the ending is also to make it kind of optimistic to empower other folks who want to write fanfic to give it a shot and make their own content too. I just love the idea of being able to make a positive impact with this story and to embolden others to let their own creativity run free. Plus I'd be cheering if there was a list of "works inspired by" that could sit at the end of the story when it's finished. That way the story (that a lot of people seem to really dig) can live on in everyone's interpretations of it!

[stylesispunk]

The days of you and I | part 1

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

series masterlist | next chapter

Summary: After Joel’s near-death, you stay by his side, refusing to leave him behind. You both confront the weight of what’s been done and what it means to still have each other for now.

w.c: 4,5k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know.

Note: Remember this story is a sequel of this one shot "What remains of us" or you can ignore it and keep reading this one haha.

A/N: Okay, hello. This is a new Joel series because we love Joel here, and he is alive and recovering. This series will have angst, and the topics followed throughout the story will hold onto the path of healing after a traumatic event for the characters. I already have the end for this series, so everything will lead to it. I hope you like it and stay here to read it. Reblogs are really important, and I appreciate them. I'm gonna be out for a days because I have to put an end to the semester before winter break and do my teacher duties.

Also, I created an AO3 account, and I'll be posting fics there too from now on.

The hospital room was very quiet. With that eerie absence of sound that you could feel penetrating your bones, damaging the inside of your body with a pain that pierced your body, seeped into your soul, and oppressed your heart.

Joel still woke up to that silence, as if was chocking him to death and he had decided he have had enough of it.  to the distant hush of an early morning, and a world that carried on without him. The sharp sting in his ribs reminded him he was still alive, though some days, he wondered what for.

His eyes opened slow, the weight behind them too heavy to lift at once. The ceiling looked the same as it had for the past week, wooden beams, a single hanging light. He’d spent more hours staring at it than sleeping. The painkillers dulled the sharp edges, but nothing softened the hollow inside his chest.

And you were still there.

Your silhouette sat by the window, curled into the old chair like you belonged there. As if you were stuck. A book half-read on your lap, a cup of cold tea nearby, and that same tired crease between your brows you probably didn’t know you had. You looked so small in the pale dawn light, so goddamn stubborn.

He should’ve been glad. Grateful you hadn’t left.

But this morning, something cracked inside him.

It wasn’t relief that filled him. It was grief.

His bones were still aching, his legs dumbed under the cover. He didn’t feel like a man no more, but as a lifeless lump lying in bed.

And you deserved better than this version of him, this half-broken thing stitched together by other people’s hands, carrying the weight of mistakes that couldn’t be undone. Joel wasn’t the man you met. Wasn’t the one who held you like you were the only good thing left in the world.

And seeing you here, still choosing him, hurt worse than any wound that other girl that beat him almost to death had left behind.

He swallowed hard, voice rough and unused.

“You don’t need to stay here all the time, you know?”

The words came out more bitter than he meant them to, tasting like rust and regret.

Your head turned, soft eyes finding his. That damn look, the one that exactly saw right through him, the one that made him feel like a man again for a moment.

And for a second, Joel wished you’d leave.

Because it would be easier than losing you piece by piece like this.

You smiled, small but steady, like you always did when you noticed he was awake. That damn smile, it cut through him every time.

“Took you long enough to wake up again,” you murmured, the softness in your voice brushing against the raw places in him he tried to keep buried. You crossed the room, moving to his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it hadn’t been three weeks and one more of watching him drift in and out of fevered sleep and silence.

“You must be feeling tired,” you said, fingertips brushing through the strands of his hair, pushing them gently from his forehead.

Joel didn’t move, but his throat worked around a swallow. It wasn’t fair, you being so gentle. Wasn’t fair that after everything, you were still here, speaking to him like he was the man you remembered, not the one lying broken in that bed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning, barely, into your touch before forcing himself to pull away. His jaw clenched.

Reality blurred at the edges; every breath thick with a kind of grief he didn’t know how to name. Time didn’t move right in this room. It stretched too long, like a cruel joke, dragging him through the sharp fragments of what he used to be.

He wasn’t mad.

He was devasted.

He felt ashamed of the man he was now.

He never experienced a physical pain like this. One that burned inside and out his body.

He hadn’t even noticed his hand was clenching around nothing.

How he could even be useful for this town now that he was gone. Everything left was limb laying on a bed with nothing left but a void consuming him as a whole.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the coppery tang of blood grounding him for a second. His voice, when it came, was cracked and quiet.

“You shouldn’t… shouldn’t waste your time on me, darling.”

A bitter, broken kind of truth. But in his heart, he knew it would be worse than dying to watch you stay, wasting your life on him.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull your hand away, even when his words hung heavy in the air between you like a noose. If anything, your fingers curled more firmly into his hair, a tender anchor to a man too lost to realize he was still here, still tethered.

“I’m not wasting anything,” you said softly, the words steady even as your throat threatened to close around them. “You’re here, Joel. That’s enough.”

He gave a ragged breath, like he wanted to laugh, wanted to scream, but all that came was a low, broken sound somewhere deep in his chest. His gaze dropped to the space between you — his hand, bruised and shaking, lying useless on the blanket.

“Don’t deserve you sitting here, watching this,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes hot though no tears came. Couldn’t remember the last time they had.

A long, aching silence stretched between you.

You could feel it, the war inside him. The part that needed you close, needed your touch, your voice, like it was the last thing tethering him to this side of the dark. And the other part, the one too proud, too broken, too wrecked by shame to let himself have it.

But you’d made your choice the moment he opened his eyes a week ago.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. Not a promise you made lightly in a world like this.

Joel closed his eyes again. He didn’t answer. But for the first time in days, his hand moved, slow, halting, to brush against yours.

“Did you… really take them all?” he rasped.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

You gave a small, steady nod.

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His gaze dropped for a second, his hand flexing weakly against the sheets.

“I don’t regret it,” you said at last, the words steady despite the ache in your chest. “No one deserves what they did to you.”

There was a storm behind Joel’s eyes, a thousand things he wanted to say, but his throat burned too much to let them out. Anger, grief, guilt, some twisted kind of gratitude. It tangled up inside him like barbed wire, tearing at every soft part he had left.

“You didn’t have to…” his voice broke, low and pained.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I would do it again.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and this time, his hand turned, weakly curling around yours. A tremble ran through him, and you felt it in your bones, the weight of his shame, the depth of his sorrow, and somewhere, buried beneath it, the fragile pulse of the man you knew still fighting to breathe.

But the love you felt for him, that was enough to send you into a spiral, where nothing else felt real but the desperate need to save him, the desperation of not losing him because that would have meant losing yourself that day.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. The room was heavy with the things you didn’t need to say.

You didn’t look away from Joel, but you felt the shift in the room, the familiar presence of Tommy as he stepped in.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice was rough, softer than usual, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile peace hung in the air. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You lifted your head, your fingers gently slipping from Joel’s, though his hand lingered in the empty space you left behind.

Tommy gave a small nod toward you. “Gail’s waiting to see you. Said whenever you were ready.”

Your stomach twisted, a cold unease settling in your chest. You gave Joel one last look, brushing a thumb over his hand before pulling away completely.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered.

Joel didn’t answer. Just stared at the ceiling, eyes distant.

As you stepped out, Tommy caught your arm, just briefly, his hand firm but kind.

“I’ll stay,” he murmured. “Not gonna leave him alone.”

You gave him a grateful, weary nod and left, the door shutting quietly behind you.

The room felt emptier after you were gone. Joel let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a moment before shifting to glance at his brother.

“Gail?” Joel’s voice was rough, but clearer now. “She… she going to therapy with her?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, sighing as he sank into the chair by the bed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Doctor says it might help. Been… hard for her since it happened. It isn’t just you carrying scars, brother.”

Joel looked away, his throat working around another swallow. The word therapy felt foreign in his mouth, like it belonged to a world he’d never stepped into, one too far gone for men like him.

Joel stayed quiet for a long time after Tommy spoke, the words circling in his head, refusing to settle. His gaze lingered on the window, on the way the morning light edged in like it didn’t belong here.

Then, rough and low, he broke the silence.

“Was she…” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat, hating the weakness there. “Was she hurt? When… when they brought me back?”

Tommy’s face shifted, the answer already written in his eyes before he spoke.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “She… she had some bruises. Took a hit to the side’a her face, couple more on her ribs. And there was a wound on her abdomen.”

Joel’s stomach turned, a cold, sinking dread washing over him.

“Abdomen?” he rasped, his hands curling weakly into fists against the blanket. “Christ.”

Tommy sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. “She didn’t give a damn about it. Wouldn’t let anybody touch her. Wouldn’t even let them clean her up ‘til you were stable. Sat right there in that chair covered in her own blood and yours, talking to you like you could hear her.”

He shook his head, a ghost of a sad, fond smile on his face.

“Would’ve fought off half the town if anyone tried to pull her out of here.”

Joel closed his eyes, the guilt pressing so heavy against his chest he thought it might crush him. A sharp breath rattled through him, his throat burning.

“Goddamn fool,” he muttered to himself, a tear he’d never admit to stinging behind his eye.

“She loves you, you know,” Tommy said quietly, watching his brother’s face. “Way you do her. There is no shame in letting people love you, Joel. Even if it hurts.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the knot in his throat, not with the war inside his chest.

But his hand flexed again against the sheets reaching for something, for someone, perhaps you.

The silence thickened again, the kind of quiet that settled deep in your bones. Tommy stayed still, letting Joel sort through whatever storm was building behind those weary eyes.

Then Joel spoke, voice low and cracked, like gravel scraping out of his throat.

“She killed… all of ‘em.”

Tommy’s jaw tensed. He stared down at his hands, lacing his fingers together like it might steady him.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Every last one of ‘em.”

Joel’s throat worked around a swallow, his gaze distant, unfocused, like he was seeing it happen even if he hadn’t been awake for it. Like he could feel the blood she spilled on his behalf soaking into his hands too.

“I should have been the one…” Joel’s voice broke at the edge, bitter and aching. “Should’ve finished it. Not her. Not—”

“She didn’t leave you a choice, Joel,” Tommy cut in quietly, but firm. “You were barely breathing. We didn’t know if you’d make it. You almost died on her arms that night.”

Joel gave a humorless, broken kind of laugh, but there was no light in it. Just sharp edges.

“And now what?” he muttered, a tear sliding down his temple he didn’t bother to wipe away. “She got their blood on her hands. Because of me.”

Tommy leaned forward; his voice steady in that way Joel remembered from years long gone, before the world turned to shit.

“She doesn’t regret it,” he said. “You know that. And neither would I.”

Joel’s eyes finally met his brother’s. A flicker of something there. Grief. Fury. Love. Loss.

“But I do,” Joel whispered. “I regret that she had to.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

“You’re not the only one with scars, brother,” he said softly.

“I don’t regret it,” you said, voice steady, though your chest ached with the weight of it. “No one deserves what they did to Joel.”

Gail’s brow lifted, arms folding across her chest. “Murder?” she challenged; one word sharp enough to cut.

You didn’t blink. “Murder’s a simple act these days. Torture?” Your voice turned cold, almost unfamiliar even to yourself. “That’s another thing.”

A beat of heavy silence stretched between you.

“Murder is what Joel committed when he blew my husband’s head off,” Gail snapped, her voice brittle, laced with venom, old grief that still clung to her like a second skin.

“It’s not the same,” you bit out, shaking your head.

“It is,” Gail said, stepping closer. “The only difference is you had the chance to save him. If you hadn’t, Joel would be dead right now. And you’d be mourning him like I mourned mine.”

A fury you hadn’t felt since that day surged hot through your veins. You took a shaky breath, eyes narrowing.

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “You don’t know him. You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

Gail’s face didn’t move, but something in her gaze flickered, something dark, bitter, and quietly resigned.

“I know enough,” she murmured. “Enough to understand what kind of man survives in a world like this. And what kind of woman kills for him.”

You held her gaze, unflinching, the burn of unshed tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, though your face gave nothing away.

“I’m not sorry,” you whispered. “And I never will be.”

“You don’t get it,” you murmured, voice breaking just enough to betray the rawness beneath your fury. “My life would’ve ended.”

The words hung there, fragile and furious all at once.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in your throat. “When they took him… when I saw what they did… there wasn’t a world left for me after that. So don’t stand there and talk about men surviving and women killing like you understand a goddamn thing about what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and left bleeding in the dirt. Because you’ve been behind these walls, safe, without knowing what it’s like out there.”

Gail’s brow twitched; her gaze steady but dull. “Do you think I haven’t lost people? Do you think grief makes you special?”

“I didn’t say that,” you shot back, your voice tight, shaking now. “I’m saying you didn’t see him. You didn’t watch them tear him apart. You didn’t hear the sounds he made. And you sure as hell didn’t have to put him back together.”

Her jaw clenched. “And now what? Do you think murder fix it?”

“I don’t care if it does or doesn’t,” you spat. “I care that they’ll never touch him again. That they won’t look at Ellie. That no one here will whisper about how Joel Miller should’ve died that day.”

Gail scoffed, a bitter sound. “And what about you? How can you carry this and walk around like it won’t eat you alive?”

“I don’t care,” you said, low, certain. “I care about him.

A beat of silence.

“You think that makes you strong?” Gail asked quietly.

“No,” you whispered. “It makes me his, as I’ve always been.”

Gail’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You talk like that’s a badge of honor.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “It’s not. It’s a fact.”

She tilted her head, watching you like someone examining a wound too deep to close. “What if you drown into this?”

“I’ll try to save myself” you shrugged.

Another pause. The room felt too small, thick with old grief and new wounds, neither of you willing to be the one to walk away first.

“I loved Eugene so much” Gail said, her voice rough. “And when he died, it didn’t turn me into this.”

You met her eyes, unflinching. “But it made you bitter towards Joel.”

Gail’s jaw tightened, something sharp flickering in her gaze. “He made choices. Ones that cost people their lives. Good people. You act like he’s some goddamn martyr, but he isn’t.”

“And neither was Eugene,” you shot back, your voice low and steady. “Do you wanna talk about choices? Fine. Joel made his. I made mine. And you? You’ve been standing behind walls judging the rest of us ever since we arrived.

Her nostrils flared, a bitter breath leaving her. “I don’t have to like what this world turns people into.”

“Neither do I,” you murmured. “But I’ll fight for the one thing in it that still means something to me. That’s the difference between you and me, Gail. You buried your heart with Eugene. I’m not ready to bury mine.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between you, the old ache of loss clawing at both your throats. And for the first time, Gail didn’t have a sharp reply. She just looked away, jaw clenched, and you took your opening.

You didn’t say goodbye. You just left.

You made your way back through the hallway, your steps slow, heavy, like every word from that conversation with Gail was still clinging to your skin. The air in Jackson felt colder somehow, like the whole town was holding its breath, waiting for something none of you could name.

As a town, you were still recovering from that day.

When you reached Joel’s door, you didn’t push it open right away.

You stood there, hand hovering by the frame, heart hammering against your ribs because, god, he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

And it didn’t matter how broken or battered he was, how much rage or guilt sat behind those tired eyes. It was him. And that was enough for you.

Inside, you heard the low murmur of his voice, raspy, weighted with a pain he never used to let anyone hear.

“But how is she really doing?”

“She’s… holding up,” Tommy answered, voice cautious. ”

Joel let out a rough, broken sound. Not quite a sigh, not quite a sob.

“If you ask me, you’re lucky she’s still here after what this world’s done to both of you.” Tommy said.

There was a pause, then Joel spoke again, softer this time, like he wasn’t sure he meant to say it out loud.

“I just… I don’t want her staying because she feels like she has to,” Joel muttered, his voice rough, almost cracking. “She should go, Tommy. Find something better. Hell, anyone better than… whatever I am now.”

Your stomach twisted. A sharp, cold ache settling beneath your ribs. You stayed frozen at the doorway, your hand tightening around the frame, every part of you aching. You didn’t mean to listen, but it was too late. The words were already carving themselves into your chest.

“She’s not here out of obligation.” Tommy said, his tone harder than before. “What would you do if you were her?”

Another pause.

Joel let out a humorless, ragged chuckle, and it hurt to hear it. “It’s not fair.”

“But she gets to decide what’s fair,” Tommy shot back. “And so far, she has decided it’s you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking fast against the burn in your eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest so loud you were sure they’d hear it.

You needed one more second to pull yourself together. To bury the hurt his words left behind, not because you doubted him, but because you knew where they came from. The same place you’d been sitting in since the day you saw him bleeding out in the dirt.

You swallowed down the knot in your throat, forcing your face into something steady, or close enough to pass for it. Then, with a breath you weren’t sure reached your lungs, you pushed the door open.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Both their heads turned. Joel’s eyes landed on you first, and for a split second, something in them broke open. A flicker of guilt, sorrow, and something heavier, like he knew you’d heard more than you were meant to.

But you gave him a small, careful smile, pretending the sting behind your eyes wasn’t there. Pretending your heart wasn’t in pieces on the floor between you both.

Tommy cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you. “I, uh — I’ll give you a minute.” He patted Joel’s shoulder, murmured something you couldn’t catch, and brushed past you on his way out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence stretched thin in the room, heavy like storm air. Joel shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his hand twitching against the blanket. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

You crossed the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress by his side. Close, but not quite touching.

“I was thinking…” you began, “I could ask the doctor if you can leave the hospital and go back home. We surely need to make some changes there with the bed and—”

 “Stop it.” He cut you off, his voice rough but firm. “I’m not going anywhere right now.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sharpness. “Joel—”

“No.” He shook his head, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. “Not until I’m ready. And right now, I’m not ready to face that.”

The weight in his tone pinned you still. You wanted to argue, to tell him that staying there wasn’t helping him heal, but the raw edge in his voice stopped you.

Instead, you just nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, the tension in his jaw slowly easing into something like resignation.

You settled into the chair beside his bed, not bearing the closeness anymore, the quiet between you thick but familiar. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edge of his sleeve, as if hoping to stitch together the frayed pieces of him with nothing but touch.

Joel’s breath was shallow, uneven, and you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing down on the room. The man you knew, the one who’d fought through hell and back was here, but buried beneath layers of pain and doubt.

“I’m scared,” he finally muttered, voice rough and low. “Not of dying... of what’s left after.”

Your heart clenched. “You’re not alone in that,” you whispered. “You know that.”

“What you did—” he began “I didn’t deserve to be saved, baby.”

“I made my choice.” You replied, eyes watering.

Joel’s gaze dropped to your trembling hands, then back up to your face, searching.

“I’m broken,” he said quietly, voice cracking. “Not the same man I was before.”

You shook your head gently, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re still him,” you insisted, voice firm but tender. “Wounded, maybe. Scared, sure. But still you. And I’m still here.”

A long pause stretched between you, filled only by the faint rhythm of his labored breathing.

Joel’s eyes glistened, a shadow moving through them as he let out a shaky breath.

“What you did… it’ll haunt you,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel. “Same way Salt Lake haunts me. What I did to those Fireflies… what I took from Ellie. Thought I was saving her. Thought it was worth whatever price.” He swallowed hard, jaw trembling. “But it never leaves you. Never lets you forget. Look what they did to me.”

You didn’t flinch. You leaned in, your hand finding his cheek, thumb brushing against the rough line of his beard.

“No,” you said softly, steady. “It won’t haunt me, Joel.”

He blinked, as if the words knocked something loose inside him.

“Because I know what we do,” you continued, voice trembling but certain, “when we love someone enough to tear the world apart for them. I know what it means to save the person who’s your whole heart. And I’ll carry it. All of it. And I won’t regret a single thing.”

His eyes closed, a tear slipping down his temple, and for the first time in too long, he didn’t look like a ghost of himself. He looked like Joel.

“Goddamn you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I’m not letting you go,” you said, leaning your forehead to his.

His breath hitched at the sound of your voice so close, your warmth grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Baby…” he rasped, like it hurt to say it, like it was both a confession and a plea.

You hushed him gently, your hand brushing through his hair, your forehead still pressed to his.

“It’s gonna take time to heal,” you whispered. “I know that. I’m not asking you to be okay tomorrow, Joel. Or next week. Or even next year. I just need you here. With me. However, you can manage.”

His fingers, still weak, clung to yours like a lifeline. His voice cracked as he spoke again, rough and small.

“I won’t be able to protect you.” You felt it in the way his words splintered under the weight of his shame, the jagged edges of the man he used to be catching against what was left. His eyes searched yours, desperate and hollow all at once.

“I won’t be able to protect you,” he repeated, voice breaking like a man confessing to a sin he could never undo as he closed his eyes. “Not like before. Not the way I should do.”

You swallowed hard, a tear finally slipping free, tracing down your cheek as you gripped his hand tighter, like you could anchor him to this moment, to you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, voice trembling but certain. “You protected me for so long, Joel. Longer than anyone else ever did. It’s my turn now. I don’t need a gun in your hand to feel safe. I just need you. That’s it. I just need to feel the beating of your heart under my hand to know you’re still breathing with me.”

His throat worked around a choked sound, his other hand weakly lifting as if it wanted to touch you but couldn’t quite make it, so you guided it to your cheek, holding it there like it was the most precious thing in the world because that’s how it felt.

“I’m still yours,” you whispered against his palm. “Always. However, you come back to me.”

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

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@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby

[dandylovesturtles]

And here it is, part 4 of the Room Fic! ...or well. part of part 4.

see, Part 4 is going to be pretty long and take me awhile, so I decided to release it on tumblr as I go, in parts. and since we're already in a numbered list, I'll go by letters now. So this is Part 4 Part A!

it's fine, it makes sense!

I'm going to release it here on tumblr in parts, and then when it's all done I'll put it on AO3, and probably do some proper editing and may add/fix some things up once the whole thing is written. So consider this a semi-WIP. but I doubt it will change much because I usually don't change things too much after I finish writing them haha

anyway, hope you enjoy!

content warnings: discussions of food issues, anxiety, aftermath of torture

also, if you're confused, start here!

-----

Raph spots the change in Leo’s train car on the way to breakfast. He stops and tries to make sense of it for a minute, before making his way to the kitchen.

Mikey is already there, as is Splinter, making some tea. “Morning!” Mikey trills, scraping some scrambled eggs into a big platter.

“Mornin’,” Raph echoes back. He meant to sound neutral at worst, but his tone still earns a worried look from Mikey.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” Raph says quickly. “I just… noticed Leo did some redecorating.”

“Oh, yeah…” Mikey chews on his lip. “What’s up with that?”

“I dunno, but it makes Raph uneasy.”

“What is it?” asks Splinter, looking at them each in turn. 

“Leo covered up all his windows,” Mikey tells him.

“Ah, I see.” Splinter sets cups in front of them, followed by the tea pot. “I will go check on him.”

Splinter leaves Mikey and Raph looking at each other uncertainly.

“Why would he need the windows covered?” asks Mikey. “What does he need to hide from here?”

“I dunno, Mike.” Raph sighs. “I guess he doesn’t feel safe yet.”

“But he’s home,” Mikey insists. “He’s with us.”

“Yeah,” says Raph, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I told him to talk to us if anything’s bothering him.” Mikey taps the spatula against the empty skillet. “He said he would, but…”

Raph doesn’t know if he should feel surprised or not. “He hasn’t talked to you about anything?”

Mikey scowls. “Nothing important,” he says.

Raph chuckles. “Well, you are his little brother-“

“I’m not that little!” Mikey snaps, throwing the spatula down and rounding on Raph. 

Raph’s a little surprised by the sudden anger. Sure, Mikey has been insisting on his independence more and more, but this is more aggressive than usual.

“Raph didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, but Mikey doesn’t stop glaring. Raph is saved by Splinter’s return.

“He is sleeping quite soundly,” their dad announces, hopping up onto a stool and grabbing for the platter of eggs. “He was even drooling a bit.” Splinter chuckles.

“Okay, but you’re going to ask about it when he wakes up, right?” asks Mikey.

“No.” Splinter scoops the eggs onto his plate. “If he wants to explain, he will.”

“You don’t think it’s… I dunno. Concerning?” Raph asks.

“It is not hurting anyone. And it has helped your brother sleep. There’s nothing wrong with it,” says Splinter, and it has an air of finality.

Mikey looks unsatisfied with that outcome, but he doesn’t say anything. He fixes a plate for Leo and puts it into the microwave for safekeeping.

Raph isn’t sure where he lands. All he knows is that he sure as heck isn’t going to be the one to ask about it.

-----

Leo comes in about twenty minutes later, after they’ve already finished eating. He’s still wearing his pajamas, one of his thinner throw blankets, with the Jupiter Jim logo, pulled around his shoulders like a shawl. If you focus on his torso, he almost looks like a healthy teenager, thanks to his shell.

But his hands are still drawn and thin where they grip the fabric, his wrists bony where they peek out of his sleeves. His cheeks are still sunken in and his skin hasn’t regained its usual vibrancy. And there’s a subtle shake to his movements, like the effort it took to walk from his room to the kitchen was immense.

Oh, and there’s the absolutely devastated look on his face when he sees the empty plates.

Raph remembers, again, when Leo had practically begged them not to let him sleep through breakfast in the motel, and he feels a sick twist of his stomach.

“Geez, you guys didn’t leave any for me?” he asks, and his voice sounds light and joking and completely at odds with the expression on his face. Raph is pretty sure Leo doesn’t even know he looks like that; their self-appointed face man, who usually has so much control over his appearance, not even aware of how far his heart has slipped onto his sleeve.

“We have you a plate right here,” says Mikey, scrambling to open the microwave. “Want me to warm it up any?”

“No,” says Leo a little too quickly. His eyes stay locked on the plate even as he pulls on a smile that is so carefree it’s in obvious opposition with the rest of him. “I’m sure it’s fine - thanks, Angelo.”

Mikey tries to smile as he hands the lukewarm plate of eggs and toast to Leo. Leo takes it and grabs his fork with urgency he tries not to show. His bites are so steady and evenly paced that Raph bets he could clap the beat out if he wanted to - Leo doing all he can not to look like he’s scarfing.

Okay, so Leo clearly isn’t better yet; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Any conversations Raph wants to have about what happened in that room will have to wait. That’s okay - he can be patient.

To keep from watching too obviously, he takes out his phone. April texted the group chat twenty minutes ago, saying she had some homework to catch up on but she’ll be coming over later today. Raph’s glad, because having her around keeps them all in better spirits. He spends way longer than necessary trying to find the exact gif to use as a reaction to the news.

“Can I have another piece of toast?” Leo asks, pulling Raph’s attention from his phone. He’s already eaten the ones Mikey gave him, and about half his eggs. He taps his fork against the empty half of his plate at a quick pace.

Is this the first time Leo has actually asked for something outright? Raph isn’t sure.

Mikey grimaces and checks his phone. “Barry said to give you that much… Oh, but if you’re still hungry, you can have yogurt!”

He opens the fridge to retrieve it. Leo scowls, scooping up a bite of eggs with more force than before, the scrape of metal on porcelain.

“Barry said,” he grumbles. “How long do we gotta listen to that guy?”

“He’s doing a lot of work to help you, Leo,” says Raph. “He seems to know what he’s talkin’ about.”

“Aw, come on. It’s one piece of toast!” Leo leans toward Mikey. “It’s not gonna hurt me!”

His voice is light, almost joking, but he’s doing it again: that sad, pitiful look. Raph is sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

It feels impossible to deny that face. Raph looks at Mikey, who looks back at him, both of them equally unsure.

“Well…” says Mikey weakly, glancing back toward the toaster. He’s going to give in, and Raph can’t blame him. Splinter doesn’t step in to help, either. “Barry said…”

Leo smiles. It looks almost manic. “What Draxum doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says in a singsong.

“What won’t I know?”

Raph jumps. Everyone jumps - some family of ninja they are.

Draxum stands at the foot of the escalator into their makeshift kitchen, arms folded. Raph has to hold back a sigh of relief, and he sees Mikey’s shoulders sag in turn. Leo scowls, whirling to glare at Draxum.

“Oh, come on!” he snaps. “Don’t you have other teenagers to torture today?”

“It’s Saturday,” says Draxum, crossing the room to sit at a chair. “So you have the benefit of my full attention.”

“Auuugh,” Leo groans, slumping dramatically at the table, and ignoring the effect his casual use of the word torture has had on everyone else in the room. Raph feels ill. Mikey looks it.

“Can Blue have another piece of toast?” Splinter asks, cutting through the awkward silence that follows this. He sounds almost annoyed as Leo, but as far as Raph can tell he’s letting Draxum take the lead on this one. Raph wonders if they’ve talked about it without him or his brothers around.

“Hmmm…” Draxum looks at Leo’s plate, considering. “Finish your eggs and yogurt first. If you’re still hungry, you may have another piece. But only if you’re hungry.” His expression turns even more stern, leveled directly at Leo. “Do not eat if your stomach is full. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m not gonna make myself sick,” Leo argues.

“Hmph,” says Draxum, the short noise coated thick in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything more. Leo goes back to his rhythmic eating.

Raph grabs the empty plates from Mikey and Splinter and takes them to wash. Anything to keep himself from staring at Leo. And it’s his lucky day: there’s a whole stack of a distraction waiting for him in the sink. He runs the hot water and gets to work.

“Morning, family,” comes Donnie’s sleepy voice a few minutes later. Raph doesn’t look, and he doesn’t have to, because Donnie characteristically beelines straight for the coffee pot on the counter. Raph knew he went to his room after their talk in the lab the day before, but he’s not sure how much sleep Donnie actually got.

He leans sluggishly against the counter and checks his phone while the coffee brews. Raph keeps his focus on the dishes. Leo finishes his eggs and Draxum agrees to half a piece of toast - Mikey scrapes his stool against the floor as he jumps up to make it.

Donnie fills his mug and immediately takes a drink with no fear of scalding his mouth. Then he turns around and says, “Why’d you cover all the windows in your train car, Leo?”

Raph fumbles and drops the dish he had just pulled from the soapy water - thankfully it doesn’t break on the way down. Next to him, Mikey freezes. The toaster dings into the silence.

“Oh, that,” says Leo, nonchalant. Raph doesn’t turn around, so he has no idea if his face matches his tone this time. “I was just trying to envision how the room would look with curtains.”

“Using towels?”

“What can I say, I’m a visual guy.”

“Hmm…” Donnie pushes off the counter and disappears from Raph’s view. “Well, did you decide you want curtains?”

“Uh, yeah… I think it would really up the feng shui in the joint! And our old rooms didn’t have any windows, so too much light gets into the train car when I’m trying to sleep, anyway.”

The argument rolls so naturally off Leo’s tongue that Raph is impressed.

“Okay,” says Donnie simply. “I can install curtain rods in your room later. I actually have some leftover scrap metal that I’ve been trying to find a purpose for, and I think it will work well for this.”

“Really? You’ll do it today?”

“Yes. I don’t have anything else on my to-do list… that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Leo chuckles, but he sounds genuinely happy when he says, “Thanks, Dee.”

“And I have some leftover fabric I can sew into curtains,” Splinter adds. “You can use them until you’re well enough to find some you prefer.”

“Yeah? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Blue! It will be a nice little project to keep my old hands busy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” says Leo sincerely. There’s some shifting around like he’s getting an ever-coveted Splinter Hug. It lasts a beat longer than those hugs normally do. Raph can’t blame his dad - if he could, he’d pick Leo up and never let him go again.

He hears a clink next to him and turns his head. Mikey has buttered Leo’s toast, but now he’s standing still, a pensive frown on his face, the butter knife clenched in his fist.

“Hey, Leo,” he says, turning around, and Raph senses danger. He turns around, too, watching as Mikey approaches the table. “Is that the only reason you want curtains?”

Leo looks between the toast and Mikey’s face. He tenses up, the empty yogurt cup crinkling in his grip. “Yeah, that’s all,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Mikey asks. He still has the half slice of toast in his hands. Leo’s eyes keep catching on it.

“What’s there to be sure about, Miguel?” he asks. “It’s just curtains. Lots of people have ‘em.”

“It’s just that you never said anything about it before. And now suddenly you need curtains today?” Mikey’s hands wave and take the toast with them - Leo’s eyes track the movement. “You told me, if anything is-“

“Michelangelo,” says Splinter sternly, making everyone jump for the second time this morning. “That is your brother’s toast - give it to him.”

Mikey seems to remember the food in his hands at that exact moment. He grimaces, quickly depositing the toast onto Leo’s plate. Leo’s face has that sad, desperate quality to it again as he grabs the toast in his fingers, like he has to make sure no one else will take it.

Mikey backs away from the table, crestfallen. The silence that ensues is uncomfortable again.

“Uh… well I think the curtains will look great!” says Raph. “Snazzy!”

Snazzy? Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky help him.

“…Thanks, Raph,” says Leo, and takes a bite of toast. It doesn’t have the same warmth from before, and the awkwardness is thick now.

Raph dries the dish he has in his hands and sets it on the counter, pops the drain plug, and quicksteps for the doorway.

“I’m going to do my morning training!” he calls, to convince everyone, especially himself, that he isn’t running away.

-----

Leo sits alone in his dad’s recliner, staring very hard at the opposite wall and willing himself not to barf.

The piddling amount of eggs and toast he ate at breakfast would not have been enough to fill him up even three weeks ago, but now it’s stuffed his shrunken stomach. The truth is, he’d been full when he bargained with Draxum for another piece of toast, but he hadn’t been willing to let the fight go.

Besides, he doesn’t know when he’ll get food next. And better to be overfull than hungry.

He’s being dramatic, of course. He’ll get food at lunch… probably. No, definitely, because he’s home and his family would never deny him food.

Except, the way Mikey had held his toast and demanded answers about the curtains…

Leo really thought he had gotten away with it, too. No one said anything until Donnie did, and Donnie had seemed completely convinced by Leo’s casual responses! But of course Mikey saw through him. Mikey’s as keen when it comes to people as Leo himself is, but where Leo uses that insight to manipulate and obfuscate, Mikey uses it to tear open, to expose.

Leo will have to watch out, next time. He can’t let half-thought through excuses stand between him and food.

Not that they’d actually keep food from him. Because they love him and they’re his family. He’s just being weird again.

Still…

His stomach gurgles uncomfortably, and Leo grips the arms of the chair. He really doesn’t want to throw up. Besides the mess he’ll make of the recliner, and the unpleasantness of the sensation, he doesn’t want to lose everything he ate earlier. He still doesn’t know when he’s going to eat again. If he loses it here, he’ll truly have nothing.

“Blue? Are you alright?”

He turns his head. Splinter is standing by the chair, looking up at him. It occurs to Leo he didn’t actually ask if he could sit here, and he starts to push himself up.

“I can get in a beanbag-”

“No no, it’s alright,” says his dad, hopping up onto the chair to join Leo. He does it so lightly the recliner barely jostles. “You’re alright, Blue. Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Leo does as he’s told, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He wonders how his dad seems to know the problem without having to be told - from raising four children alone, most likely. After a moment, he feels the chair move, the back reclining and the footrest coming up under his legs. Then furry hands gently tug his blanket from around his shoulders and spread it out over his whole body.

“There we go,” says Splinter after that’s done. “Are you comfy, Blue?”

All Leo can do is give a tiny nod of his head; anything more aggravates the nausea. It seems Splinter understands, though, as he hums approvingly and hops off the chair.

“What’s wrong?” asks a new voice, and Leo grits his teeth. He doesn’t move from his spot, though.

“Blue just needs some rest,” says Splinter.

“He ate too much, didn’t he?” Draxum asks, tone irritated. “I told him not to have more unless he was actually hungry-”

“Stop,” Splinter commands, in that firm tone that can’t be argued with. “We will talk about this later.”

Leo wonders if he’s included in the we. But Draxum grumbles something under his breath and retreats, leaving Leo and his dad alone again.

“Don’t worry about him,” says Splinter, moving to turn on the projector. “I’ll deal with it. You just get some rest, Blue.”

He turns on one of his stories on low volume, then climbs back into the chair and settles in beside Leo. The soft whir of the projector, the quiet voices of the actors, and his dad’s breathing lull him into a doze. The nausea, eventually, passes.

-----

After his workout, Raph goes to check on everyone again. It’s becoming a routine.

Splinter’s loud snores lead Raph to him and Leo, both sound asleep in the recliner in the TV room. Raph would wonder how Leo can sleep through that, but he remembers that their dad’s snores used to be piped directly into his room in their old lair. If anything, this is probably nostalgic for him.

Draxum’s in the kitchen. Apparently they’re stuck with him for the weekend. Raph decides not to say anything to him and slips away before he’s noticed.

Now to find his other little brothers. He heads straight for the lab first, already knowing it’s where Donnie would be at this time of day, even if he hadn’t promised to make curtain rods for Leo.

He has to go through the same song and dance as the day before with the voice lock, but the door slides open soon enough, and Raph walks in on an argument. At least he won’t have to go searching for Mikey.

“-don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it,” Donnie is saying. He’s bent over his workbench, goggles pulled down, soldering iron in hand but not on. “It’s just curtains.”

“Because everyone’s acting like it’s not weird!” Mikey argues. He spins on his heel, looking at Raph beseechingly. “Raph, you agree with me, right!?”

“Raph just got here,” Raph says, folding his arms. “Mind filling me in on what we’re arguing about?” Even though he already has a good guess.

“We aren’t arguing,” says Donnie, at the same time Mikey snaps, “Leo, duh!” Donnie sighs, raising his goggles and turning around.

“Mikey is upset that I’m making Leo the curtain rods he asked for.”

“I’m not upset about the curtain rods! But you’re all acting like this is totally normal!”

“Curtains are normal!”

“Leo asking for the curtains is not normal,” Mikey presses. “What does he even need them for!? We live underground!”

“He complained about the light coming through the windows.”

“And he never thought to mention it once over the months we’ve been living here? Come on, Donald, use your brain!”

“Excuse you, I am always using my brain-”

“Leo’s got insomnia, Mikey,” Raph interjects. “Maybe a totally dark room helps him sleep better.”

“He had insomnia in the old lair, too,” Mikey retorts. “And he’s so tired right now all he does is sleep! He was sleeping in the TV room when I came in here!”

Raph doesn’t have a response for that. And the thing is, he thinks he has an idea why Leo wants to block out his windows, and it has nothing to do with his insomnia. But he doesn’t know how much to tell Mikey now. Not without bringing up the security footage.

Maybe Donnie has the same thought, because when Raph glances his way their eyes lock. 

Of course, Mikey notices. Because Mikey is just as observant as Leo, when it comes to people.

“You guys know something,” he says, looking between them.

“No,” says Donnie, too fast.

Mikey pouts at him. “Donald.”

“Leo hasn’t told us any more than he’s told anyone else,” says Raph.

“But you know something. How could you…” His eyes go wide. “The security footage. Donnie copied it all.”

“Well, I did,” Donnie agrees, “but-”

“You guys watched it, didn’t you?” Mikey asks, but it’s more like an accusation.

“No,” says Raph, and now he’s the one who says it too quickly.

Mikey squints at him, then looks back at Donnie, weak link that he is. “Donnie, did you watch that security tape?”

“I did…n’t,” he says, characteristically unconvincingly. Raph groans.

“I knew it!” Mikey lunges for Donnie’s computer, and it’s only Donnie’s battleshell arms that stop him from getting to the keyboard. “Let me see it too!”

“Mikey, stop!” says Raph, coming and putting a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. He winces when it’s shrugged off. “We’re not gonna watch the video.”

“Why not!?” Mikey demands, ripping himself out of Donnie’s metal arms and jumping back from both of them. “Why can’t I see it!? You both got to!” He looks between them with wild eyes, and then his face falls. “It’s because I’m the youngest, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Raph. “It’s because we both decided not to watch any more for Leo’s privacy.”

“For Leo’s privacy?” Mikey doesn’t look convinced. “Raph, he’s hurting! What if what’s on those videos can help?”

“What if watching them hurts him more?” Donnie defends. “He’ll find out we watched them, and then what?”

“He’d understand!”

“Would he?” Donnie sounds doubtful, and Raph can’t help but doubt it, too.

Even Mikey falters. He’s quiet a moment, wrapping his arms tight around his middle.

“...I don’t want him to suffer,” he says finally. “I want to help him.”

“We all wanna help him,” says Raph.

Mikey turns his eyes on Raph, and they’re full of fear and doubt and uncertainty. “You won’t even talk to him,” he says. It’s damning and cold and worst of all, true.

Raph takes a shaky breath, trying not to show his broken heart. “Listen. All Raph’s saying is, it’s barely been three days since we got Leo back home. Let’s give him time. Hopefully he’ll open up about all this stuff on his own.”

“...Fine. I won’t watch the video,” says Mikey. But he steels his expression, defiant. “But I’m going to keep trying to help him.”

“Just don’t push him, Mikey-”

“I won’t! I know what I’m doing.” He gives them a smile, but it’s weak compared to his usual. “Trust me, guys. I’ve got Dr. Feelings on my side!”

He turns and leaves the lab, the door sliding shut with a reverberating shunk behind him. 

Donnie slumps in his chair. “At least it’s not Dr. Delicate Touch.”

Raph laughs at that. It’s about all he can do.

-----

They feed Leo lunch. Of course they do. He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking they might not.

Of course, Draxum is still there, looking over his shoulder like a warden to make sure Leo doesn’t eat so much as a bite more than he’s meant to. It makes the whole experience stressful, and Leo is ready to crash again as soon as it’s over.

(Is this all his life is now? Long periods bogged down in exhaustion, only broken by the reminder that food is always controlled by someone else.)

He hasn’t been dozing for long this time when a shout echoes through the lair, grabbing his attention.

“Hey guys!”

“April!” yells Mikey, springing up from the beanbag he was sitting in. He’d been there for a while now, looking intently at his phone, but Leo never asked. Probably a new game or something. “Come on in!”

She enters the living room, a bag with a familiar comic store logo hung over her arm. She gives Mikey a one-armed hug before making her way around the chair to hold the bag out to Leo.

“Here you go!” she trills. “I picked it up as soon as I got done with my homework.”

Leo takes it, baffled. He reaches into the bag, gripping something rather large and hard-covered; pulling it out reveals…

“…The Jupiter Jim Sixtieth Anniversary Comic Special!?” Leo cries out loud. He lays it in his lap, reverently brushing the cover with his fingers. “It came out!?”

“Uh, yeah, today.” April laughs. “Don’t you remember? You made me set, like, three different reminders.”

Leo stares at the comic book, feeling a strange sort of disconnect. He can remember when he thought about this comic coming out once a day, at least - he’d been counting down the days from the preorder. But… he actually hasn’t thought about it once since…

At some point, he stopped looking forward to the comic. Because he didn’t think he would be here to read it.

But he is here. He’s alive. Time is still moving forward, and the proof is his long-awaited comic book, finally in his hands.

(Maybe his life still has a few good things to look forward to.)

Leo may be tired of crying, but crying isn’t tired of him - the tears come on hot and fast as he processes all of it at once. The grief at what was almost lost and the impossible relief that it wasn’t.

He rubs furiously at his eyes and sniffs aggressively. Then he looks up at April with the best smile he can manage and holds out his arms.

“Thanks, April.”

“Of course!” She beams, not commenting on the tears, and gives him a hug that is tight and warm and everything he wants. “Now you don’t have to keep texting me about it.”

Leo laughs as he lets go. It’s still a little watery, but she doesn’t comment. “Well what are we waiting for? Wanna read it together?”

“Uh, duh!” April shoves him to the side without any force and settles in next to him on the chair. “I heard they brought back all the old comics characters for this!”

Leo nods excitedly, eyes rising to meet Mikey’s. “How about you, Mikester? We can do the voices!”

Even though he knows his voice won’t hold out for more than a few pages.

“Oh yeah!” says Mikey. “Just let me-”

He looks down at his phone, and Leo catches it as his expression changes - something on the screen taking his attention and causing him to furrow his brow.

“Aaactually,” he says, looking back up with a forced smile. “I have… something I have to do. Somewhere else! But you guys have fun!”

And then he disappears down the escalator toward their train cars.

Leo watches him go, then turns back to look at April. She’s craned her neck to watch, too, a worried pinch to her eyebrows behind her glasses.

It clears up when she catches Leo looking. “Welp. Guess it’s just you and me, then!”

Leo rubs his fingers over the cover again. His desire to read it disappeared with Mikey. Donnie’s busy, Raph’s avoiding him, and now Mikey has more important things to do.

At least April is here. He worms himself a little more solidly against her warmth and hopes he doesn’t drive her away, too.

“Let’s do something else for now,” he says. “Save this bad boy for when we can all read it together.”

April’s eyes go wide. “You sure? I don’t think the guys would mind…”

“Uh, no, Donnie would definitely kill me if I read anything with Atomic Lass before him.” Leo gently sets the comic aside. “Besides, how are we gonna do the voices with just two of us?”

“What, you’re saying I can’t handle it?” April asks, a challenge in her voice. “I bet I could do a one-woman show.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that!” Leo laughs, and it’s only because April is here that it’s genuine and not forced. “But I don’t think I could stay awake for the whole thing, anyway.”

“Well… fine.” April relents. “Anything you wanna do instead?”

“Mmm…” He hands her the remote. “It’s been awhile since we judged people on Say Yes to the Dress.”

“Ooo, you are so right!” April flips on the projector and starts loading up the episodes. “Hold on, let me find where we left off.”

Soon, the sounds of over-dramatic reality TV fill the room. Leo shifts until his head is tucked under April’s chin, and she scratches her fingernails over his shell as they watch. They give their opinions on the dresses and jeer the catty friends and family members.

It feels so normal. The most normal Leo’s felt since he woke up in a room that was nothing but white.

It proves to him that things can be normal.

(But still, in the back of his mind, he wonders when his next meal will be.)

-----

Raph isn’t sure how many more tense dinners his family can survive.

They’re eating beef stew, partly so Leo doesn’t feel like the odd one out with his soup. Except he’s still the odd one out, because they have big chunks of beef and veggies while he has mostly broth with easy to swallow carrots, and some more egg for protein.

Raph hates eating in front of him. It feels like rubbing it in. But would taking their food and leaving him to eat alone be any better?

Probably not, because Draxum would still be watching him. And that’s the biggest source of tension.

Draxum is sitting at the table like the rest of them, but he might as well be looming over Leo’s shoulder. Leo himself stays hunched over his bowl of soup like he thinks it’s going to be snatched away at any moment, eating with quick, furtive movements, his eyes darting to Draxum each time.

It’s the exact opposite of his measured eating from this morning, and even more unsettling.

April is here, thank the Pizza Supreme, and she’s trying to keep the conversation going so they don’t all dwell on the bad vibes from Leo’s direction. Only Splinter is biting, though. Raph tries, of course, but…

He’d take fighting a villain a million times over this.

“Oh yeah, Donnie, Leo said you and Splints are making him curtains for his train car,” says April, grabbing Raph’s attention. “How’s that going?”

Across the table, Mikey’s expression turns conflicted. He focuses his eyes on his food and doesn’t catch Raph watching.

“Oh, it’s going well,” says Donnie, “but I didn’t have enough spare metal to finish. I’ll go to the scrapyard tomorrow and see what I can scrounge up.”

“Hmm… I do not like the idea of you going alone,” says Splinter hesitantly. “We do not know if those people will come back.”

No one has to ask what people he’s referring to. Still, Donnie looks irritated.

“Papa, it’s just the scrapyard,” he argues. “I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

“Still…”

“I’ll go with him!” says Mikey suddenly, raising his hand to volunteer. “Then he won’t be alone. Buddy system!” He slaps his raised hand down on Donnie’s shoulder. 

“Ow,” says Donnie in a flat tone, reaching up and shoving him off. “Despite the unnecessary assault on my person, I’m amenable to Micheal accompanying me.”

“What’s “amenable”?” Leo asks in a stage whisper. 

(It’s the most like himself he’s sounded all day.)

“I think it’s what you say at the end of a prayer,” Mikey stage whispers back.

(Raph can help his smile. He hides it behind his napkin.)

“It means I’m fine with it,” Donnie snaps. “None of you read my Word of the Day texts, do you?”

“Only ‘cause it’s words no one uses,” Leo scoffs. “Seriously, who even uses words like “sanctimonious”?”

“Lots of people!”

“Lots of nerds?”

Donnie glares at him. “You are so lucky we’re having a nice dinner right now, Nardo.”

Leo snorts and refocuses on his soup. He has a big, cocky grin on his face, and it’s all so normal that Raph feels something unknot in his chest. Maybe, Leo really is starting to get better. 

And then Splinter says, “I also need to go out tomorrow… It’s been so long since we got groceries, I couldn’t even eat my usual microwave burrito for lunch!”

And just like that, the normalcy is ripped away again.

Leo’s eyes snap up, locking on their dad, unblinking. His knobbly fingers press tighter around his bowl, pulling it closer to him like he’s scared someone will snatch it away.

“We’re running out of food?”

He sounds so scared that Raph can’t stop himself before he’s reaching over. Just to put his hand on Leo’s shoulder, to give him a hug, if he wants. Anything he needs to calm down, to not look so terrified.

But Leo must misread the action, because he jerks away, gripping the bowl impossibly tighter, eyes blown out wide and a just noticeable tremble in his shoulders. Like he’s scared of Raph.

Raph pulls his hand back without making contact and hunches in his chair, as far away as he can get from Leo without leaving the table. Or maybe he should just get up and leave. How can he be around his little brother when he’s scared of him like this?

“Ah, no,” says Splinter, and this has finally broken his easy-going tone. “There is still plenty of food, Blue, don’t worry.”

“…Hah. Right. Of course there is,” says Leo.

His voice is high and reedy, his face twitching like it’s trying to force itself back into the big smile from earlier but just doesn’t know how to move its muscles. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

Splinter reaches out hesitantly and gives Leo a pat on the arm. Leo flinches, his grip on his bowl still tight, and Splinter retreats again.

“Hey, Pops,” says Raph, drawing attention off Leo. “I can go with you tomorrow.” 

They can get more food with more hands.

“Oh, thank you, Red,” says Splinter, relieved. “That will make things much easier to carry.”

“Sure,” says Raph. Then he upends the rest of his stew into his mouth and swallows it all as fast as he can before standing up.

“Welp, I’m done with dinner so I’m going to get a workout in before bed night everyone!”

And then he’s out of there. Running away from the haunted shell of Leo.

He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who ducks away from his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who covers windows and hides from his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who looks up at him and says, “That’s not what a hero would do.”

Raph is a big guy and he’s never been good with fragile things. So maybe the best thing he can do for now is stay back and let those with deft hands take the lead.

Even if it’s not what he wants.

What he really wants to do is go back to that facility. Find the men that did this to Leo. And then…

Raph lines up his punching bag and swings. Over and over and over, until his fingers sting.

-----

They’re leaving him here. They’re leaving him alone.

Alone with Draxum. 

Leo wants to protest. He wants to beg them to stay. He wants them to not want to leave him to begin with.

But Splinter said they haven’t gotten groceries in awhile. And even if he claims they aren’t running out of food, Leo is terrified of what happens if they do.

So he doesn’t ask his dad to stay. He keeps his mouth shut, focus on his bowl of soup, depressingly empty next to everyone else’s.

But Donnie… Donnie doesn’t have to go to the scrapyard tomorrow, right?

Yeah… Leo can survive the lack of curtains for another day. He slept just fine with his makeshift window blockers last night, after all. He appreciates that Donnie wants to get it done quickly, but there’s no need.

“Hey, Dee,” he says, looking up, and realizing too late that he just interrupted something April was saying. Everyone goes quiet, anyway, and he feels the suffocating weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

His mouth goes dry.

“Yes, Leo?” Donnie prompts when he doesn’t say anything. He looks confused, and concerned. They all do. Because it’s super weird for Leo to say something and then fall silent. Just like it would be weird for him to beg Donnie to stay because he’s afraid of being alone with Draxum.

“Just, uh… excited to see the curtain rods,” he says, pivoting to a neutral topic. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe he was quick enough.

Donnie’s face lights up the way it does when anyone wants to see his handiwork, which is good. Leo likes making his brothers happy. Pizza Supreme knows he hasn’t been good at it lately.

“Of course!” he says, practically bouncing in his seat. “I’ll show you after dinner!”

“Can’t wait.”

Conversation moves on. Leo finishes his soup.

“Are you still hungry?” Draxum asks, making him jump. “Do not lie to me, this time.”

“Draxum,” says Splinter in a warning tone. But that’s all he does. He doesn’t offer Leo more food. He doesn’t argue that Leo wouldn’t lie.

They haven’t been grocery shopping in awhile.

“…No,” Leo says, twisting his napkin in his hand. “I’m full.”

-----

“I focused on the windows directly around your bed to begin,” Donnie says as he leads Leo into his train car, a bounce in his step as he pushes past the curtain. “To help you get a good night’s sleep. And Dad already hung what curtains he had finished, so you can even see the final result!”

Leo steps into the middle of the room and looks around. The curtain rods are simpler than he expected, simple things fastened to the wall, able to be unlatched so the rods can be removed and the curtains swapped out. Every windows’ brackets are slightly different, a testament to the scraps Donnie used to make them, but Leo likes that - this hodge-podge, improvised way of home decor has always been their style. It has a charm you can’t get in a normal house.

Donnie has also painted the rods a gunmetal blue, and some of the brackets have Ls etched into the metal. It’s little details like that that leave Leo touched.

The curtains themselves are just black fabric, sewn so they can loop over the rods and be pulled aside when desired. It’s simple and quick, but they represent hours his dad spent today at a sewing machine, just to help him sleep.

Leo feels himself getting a little teary again, and he quickly blinks it back. He doesn’t feel like crying today.

“It’s so cool, Dee,” he says, and his voice is genuine; he catches Donnie flap his hands in a pleased way out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks. This will really help a lot.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them!” Donnie is all smiles, and it makes Leo smile, too. “I wanted to make them more elaborate, but I thought time was of the essence. I would have been done today, if I hadn’t run out of materials.”

“No way, man, you got a lot more done today than I thought you would.” Then again, Donnie always has been quick, even more so since he got his powers, so Leo shouldn’t be so surprised. “What else could you even do to them? Add AI?”

“Oho, don’t tempt me.” Donnie reaches up and taps one of the brackets with a nail, making a soft ping. “Then you could open or close all the curtains with voice command!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good using my hands.” He spins to take the room in one more time, then claps his arm around Donnie’s shoulders.

(The pang when his arm hits the metal shell is more jarring than it used to be.)

“Seriously, hermano. Thanks.”

Donnie doesn’t pull away quite as quickly as he used to. “Well. Save any more thanks until I finish with the project. Which should be soon, after my scrapyard run tomorrow!”

Right. The scrapyard. This is when Leo should bring it up. This is the perfect time.

He can just ask Donnie to stay. To put it off one more day, work on something else. Here, in his room, just the two of them, he doesn’t think Donnie would refuse him. He doesn’t think Donnie would make fun of him. He doesn’t think Donnie would call him weird.

“Actually, uh…”

He remembers Donnie taking his cracker and eating it.

“Hm?” Donnie turns out of his arm and looks at Leo, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He remembers Donnie’s reaction to the chewed up bottle cap.

“Leo?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Just… be careful, okay? We don’t know if those EPF guys have come back.”

Donnie’s face drops into a more serious expression. “Right. Don’t worry - I’ve taken precautions.”

“What precautions?”

“I’ve updated the software on all our trackers. If they leave the city limits, or if a third party attempts to interfere with the signal, they’ll immediately send an alert to everyone’s phones.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… excessive?”

Donnie folds his arms over his chest. “Not if it keeps everyone safe.”

Leo doesn’t know how to argue with that.

“I am working on a way that we can each override it, though,” Donnie adds. “We wouldn’t want to scare each other if we leave the area on purpose. And I have plans for even more enhancements that can-”

“Eugh boy.” Leo motions Donnie toward the door. “I’m way too tired for speech mode, Dee. Maybe later?”

Donnie scowls. “Exasperated sigh. There is never a “later” with you.”

Leo laughs. “You got me!”

“You could really stand to pay attention and learn something… But, alright.” Donnie steps toward the curtain. “I will let you get away with it this time, only because you’re still recovering.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.” But Donnie gives him a grin on the way out. “Goodnight, Nardo.”

“Night, nerd!”

As soon as Donnie’s gone, Leo sinks onto his bed and puts his head in his hands.

He couldn’t ask Donnie to stay. He couldn’t, because it would be weird and strange and bad. And now he’s going to be left alone with Draxum.

Will Draxum even let him eat? What if he decides Leo’s had enough…?

It’s a stupid thought. Of course Draxum will let him eat. Otherwise, Leo’s family would… do something!

Right?

He thinks about Donnie taking the cracker again. His pulse quickens.

He can’t go without food again. He can’t. He doesn’t think he would be able to take it.

But if no one else is going to give him food, then… then…

Leo takes a deep breath and steels his resolve. He knows what he needs to do.

He grabs the curtain on the nearest window and pulls it over, just a crack - just enough to see the lights outside, to see when they dim as the rest of his family goes to bed for the night.

And he waits.

-----

By the time Raph finally leaves the dojo, it’s dark in the lair, with only some safety lighting and a few neon signs still on. He can hear his dad snoring from the TV room, the projection flickering on the end card of a show, and as he passes their extra train car he sees Draxum inside, working on something under a desk lamp. Mikey and Leo are both in their rooms, from what he can tell, and Donnie must be in his lab.

He’ll go on his rounds in a bit; first, he beelines for the kitchen for water and a nighttime snack.

He’s quiet as he walks up the escalator, knowing exactly which steps creak and squeal and carefully avoiding them. He doesn’t want a conversation right now; not with his wrapped knuckles and sweat-soaked mask dangling from his fingers.

The kitchen’s dark when he arrives, and he fumbles around for the switch, missing it a few times. It’s so different from the layout of the old lair, and he’s not usually the first one in the kitchen in the morning.

He finally flips on the light, and finds he isn’t the first one in the kitchen tonight, either.

Leo stands frozen by the counter, eyes wide and panicked when they meet Raph’s. In his hands he’s clutching a half-full bag of chips, sour cream and onion, the plastic crinkling and snapping where he grips it tight. He looks like a terrified, wild animal, drowning in one of his own hoodies and stancing up like he’s ready to bolt. Like he’s doing something wrong, getting a snack in his own house.

Except… he kind of is doing something wrong. And that’s what breaks Raph’s heart.

But what is Raph supposed to do here? Tell Leo he can’t eat that, the same as his captors did? Try to explain to him why he can’t have it, when Raph barely understands the reasons himself? Rip the bag from his weak hands, and prove to Leo once and for all that his family can’t be trusted?

Raph is supposed to be the biggest brother. The one who always knows exactly what to do, exactly how to help, who protects his three little knuckleheads from a world that wants to hurt them.

But he doesn’t know what to do about this. It’s just not in his playbook.

He’s never been good with fragile things.

Raph reaches over and flips off the kitchen light. He goes back to the escalator, and dodges the squeaky steps. He goes to his train car, and pulls the curtain over the doorway.

He pretends he didn’t see.

-----

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A (here) | Part 4 Part B | Part 5 (not out yet)

[gloomysoup]

he's probably worried (not hiding anymore)

@steddiebingo christmas card prompt: secret relationship

rating: teen+ | word count: 717 | tags: post-s3, post- starcourt, coming out | ao3

The air is filled with red-orange flames and smoke as the mall burns to the ground in front of him. His head is still spinning, face throbbing, and he can barely breathe. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and Steve’s injuries are making themselves known. He stands side-by-side with Robin, neither of them saying a word. Everything has changed. Neither of them will ever be the same person they once were.

Steve has a fleeting thought that Eddie must be worried. It's gone just as soon as it was there when the paramedics are ushering them into the ambulance and taking them to the hospital.

Everything is a blur of sirens and lights, Robin’s hand in his, a shock blanket around his shoulders. Doctors and bright lights, wires and beeping machines. He gets set up in a room for monitoring. Robin is okay. The kids are okay. Everyone is okay.

Steve doesn't even register what's happening when the nurse says they're going to call his emergency contact. His brain still feels a little fuzzy, even if things are starting to become clearer.

Everyone is gathered in Steve’s room. Robin and Dustin are sitting at the end of the bed, on either side of his legs. Robin refuses to leave his side. Steve is thinking about Eddie again.

Steve is late for dinner. He's probably so worried.

There's heavy footsteps in the hallway, shoes squeaking on the linoleum. The door flies open, and a head of curls stumbles into the room. Eddie’s eyes find Steve’s quickly, wild and full of fear and concern. He quickly crosses the room, pulling Steve into a tight hug. The room falls silent around them.

“Christ, Steve, I was so worried about you,” Eddie whispers, his voice tight like he's trying not to cry. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm okay, promise. Just a little banged up, that's all.”

Eddie sucks in a very shaky breath, not letting go of Steve. “You're not allowed to scare me like that anymore, asshole. I can't handle it.”

“I'll do my best. How'd you even know I was here?”

Eddie pulls back, his hands resting on the sides of Steve’s face. “The hospital called Wayne.”

The door opens again, and there's Wayne. Steve notes that he looks tired, but the older man smiles when his gaze lands on Steve.

“Glad to see you're still kickin’, kid,” he says, the worry washing away from his face.

“Sorry, Wayne, can't get rid of me that easy,” Steve says with a grin that pulls at his cuts and bruises. Wayne barks a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“What the hell is going on?” Dustin says, finally finding his voice.

Eddie's eyes go wide as he suddenly seems to realize they are not alone in the room. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand with a smile and gives it a squeeze. Then he clears his throat and looks at Dustin.

"Wayne is my emergency contact,” he explains. “Has been for a little while now. I've, uh… kinda been staying with them from time to time.”

Dustin frowns, his eyebrows knit together. “But… why?”

Steve glances at Eddie, squeezing his hand again. He takes a deep breath. It's now or never. “Eddie is… my boyfriend.”

It's the first time he's said the words out loud. It's the first time they put an actual label on what they are, what they truly mean to each other. They've been boyfriends for a little while now, but they never actually talked about it. There was always so much sneaking around and secrets and keeping it under wraps. They were both scared.

Not anymore.

Steve isn't scared to hide Eddie away from his friends, from his family. The people who truly matter. Not when Eddie has never been scared of hiding him from Wayne, his family. He's done being scared, because he knows there's so many scarier things out there. He knows that monsters are real, and he knows it'll take a lot more than a boyfriend to run off his monster hunting family.

So he smiles at Eddie, and he calls him boyfriend. Because that's what he is. He's Steve’s boyfriend, and he loves him.

He's done keeping that a secret from the people who have always had his back, despite what they've been through.

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 13/04

@bladekindeyewear submitted: You've noticed something important: Everyone seems to have come down with the SAME items that John gave them on their birth meteors. That means that excluding some incredible shenanigans, the ectobiology that created the kids only happened ONCE, and we're unlikely to see some weird repeat. John did it. In his session. Before the Scratch. Have you noticed the problem yet? In the Trolls' session, all of the ectobiology was done by KARKAT. In a session we now know was a POST-SCRATCH one. p=4053:

The Pre-Scratch trolls were forced to invoke the Scratch to even be BORN. And Lord English is somehow responsible. And this is apparently Lord English's "calling card". Utterly terrifying.

Yup. English's 'already-hereness' applies to more than just his physical presence, it seems!

Anonymous asked: I believe I sent an ask some time ago, regarding my eagerness towards seeing you take on my favorite character. At the time, I noted that their introduction was still a ways off, but now the moment is just about at hand and I couldn't possibly be more thrilled. Happy blogging, and welcome to Act 6! ^u^

Thank you! You're presumably talking about one of the new Players, and their introduction has certainly been a lot of fun for me so far. For the first time in forever, we're getting a new set of protagonists!

@sanctferum asked: seems like nobody has mentioned it yet, but 10/25, the day Cascade came out (and one of Homestuck's arc numbers, with 1025 being what you get when adding 413 and 612 together), was christened "Gristmas" by the fandom. Intermission 2, meanwhile, was (very fittingly) a Halloween upd8. Act 6 started on 11/11/11, so the arc number there is various configurations of 1 or 11. Truly the most important thing to happen on 11/11/11 and let neither man nor tod say otherwise.

Gristmas is pretty great - and thank you, I'll keep an eye out for long strings of ones. I imagine that we'll be seeing one on Jane's Cruxtruder, at the very least.

Anonymous asked: I'm surprised that no one pointed out that Hussie describing the story of the Troll Ancestors as Fanfiction is actually an accurate accusation In-Universe. As after, Doc Scratch took the trolls' original story, and rewrote it into how he wanted it to go. Anonymous asked: If you think about it, since Scratch is responsible for Alternia being such a hellhole when it originally wasn't, it is technically his "troll fanfiction".

Oh, I like that. Scratch is, after all, both the instigator and the narrator of the Ancestors' fucked-up lives, which does indeed put him in a position akin to that of a fanfiction writer. This Scratch-as-author stuff has layers, huh?

@manorinthewoods asked: If it was Bec's put-Jade-to-bed instincts that caused her revival, then Vriska's abuse of Jade to practice her powers on humans was the reason Jade survived Act 5. ~LOSS (9/1/24)

Good point, actually - but fucking hell, don't tell her that. You already know how insufferable she'd be about it.

Anonymous asked: Unsure if it was simply not mentioned, but in case you missed it there are two other messages on Jane's computer: Submit and Cease Reproduction

So there are.

CEASE REPRODUCTION, in particular, makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it. After all, I doubt the Condesce actually wants to rule over humanity; instead, she probably wants to exterminate them, so that they can be replaced with a brand-new cohort of trolls.

@joyfulldreams asked: Detective Pony is absolutely a masterwork of fanfiction. It has the original version on AO3, an equally excellent podfic by NakedBee, and then the podfic was later adapted by NakedBee into a full feature-length film. It has basically Legend status and in some ways has been partially(???) canonized because of how widely regarded it is by the fandom at large to be Legit. There is also a similar fic called Theatre of Coolty, a fanfic written in the format of a play, which I believe was written by the same person who voice acted DS in the Detective Pony podfic (DuckFace, I think) which NakedBee adapted into a short film. Recommend watching Theatre of Coolty before touching Detective Pony, tbh, it's much shorter and more easily digestible. (Both are EXTREMELY DENSE TEXTS.) Also you probably shouldn't touch either until you've finished Act 6, unfortunately. Theatre of Coolty has a minor spoiler for something pretty late in Act 6, and while Detective Pony doesn't TECHNICALLY have any REAL spoilers as-is (the movie has visuals that could be considered more spoilery), the entire thing is basically a deep dive into DS's character and you really ought to understand DS better before getting into it. (You don't even know his name yet!) @creamcloud0 asked:I don't know if it's what you were implying in your tags but i would absolutely LOVE seeing your dissection of Detective Pony. @heliotropopause asked: since we're doing this, The Serendipity Gospels should now also be spoiler-free, though i haven't double-checked, nor read the unfinished act three that's only available on tumblr. and yeah, very much seconded on sonnetstuck's Detective Pony- it'd spoil DS's name if you read it right now, along with maybe one other thing that'll get revealed soon, but it should be fine to read quite soon, and is one of the absolute best fanworks i've ever read. there's also a very high quality hours-long puppet theatre video adaptation of it made by someone else, but the visuals there contain spoilers up to pretty much the very end of the comic. ben-guy asked: The detective pony fic is absolutely still full of spoilers, if only for later kid bro characterization @pechikka asked: Im gonna be real. I don't even think of Detective Pony as a fanwork. To me it's just part of Homestuck's extended quasicanon to the same degree the epilogues are, and a crucial part of how I read kid bro as a character. It's THAT spot on to the characters and themes of Homestuck itself and it's a fascinating read. For obvious reasons tho that does means I absolutely cannot recommend anyone read it until kid bro has been introduced and has had a long while to be established as a character. @publicuniversalworstie asked: Seconding the Detective Pony recommendation as hard as I can, but I'd recommend saving it for after you finish the main comic at least. It's essentially a D-Stri character study. @hussianphilosopher submitted: There's really only one Hussie quote that matters.

(Thirding or fourth-ing or fifth-ing the Detective Pony recs, though I would argue that you need to wait a while before you read it - you need to meet teen-Bro and have seen quite a bit of him to actually get what it's going for.) Hussie's commentary is really interesting and deserves to be read if you like the comic, but the most recent and (in my opinion) most enlightening parts pretty much assume that you've read the Epilogues. If and when you're ever interested it's all wrapped up in the Homestuck Unofficial Collection.

I'm moving Detective Pony up on the list, because this all sounds amazing. We already know from the Auto-Responder conversation that Kid Bro is a pretty weird dude, so a deep dive into his character via a horse girl parody sounds like a hell of a time.

As for The Serendipity Gospels, if I can vet it completely for spoilers, it might finally be time for my first fanfiction analysis. After all, I've been waiting for this one for years.

Anonymous asked: How many doomed timelines have Sally and Sahlee made from their continued insistence on trying to break the Incipisphere even after seeing how utterly fucked they'd be from attempting that?

Less than you'd think, honestly. They'd definitely make a few, especially in the first days of the session, but once they start to understand how Doomed Timelines worked, they'd probably try to ensure their experiments were less destructive.

That's not to say they'd stop trying to violate the Alpha Timeline - but it does mean they'd be smarter about it, potentially abusing systems like the Scratch to create some additional non-doomed timelines. I can't tell you where their experiments would lead, though - not until I'm more familiar with Sburb's deeplore myself.

@elkian asked: Obviously Jake types on the coat sleeves, Power Glove-style xD @thelegendofgreg-2 asked: "Jake, for god's sake. How are you typing on a coat?" I am choosing to believe right now as of this very moment that every single one of the rainbow flashing boxes on the lining of his coat is a teeny tiny computer screen, and he has a keyboard hidden under one of the arms of his coat It's very practical

I do think that the sleeves are the best choice here - but I also like the idea that his clawed slipper is an integral part of the setup, with buttons on the soles that he needs to shift his weight to press. A shift key, perhaps?

This thing's just so awesomely impractical. Grandma Jade was a real one.

@library-seraph asked: "Michael Cera's a strange choice for one of these portraits. He's neither a harlequin, nor a gentleman, and thus doesn't really fit Dad's normal aesthetic." This is a fandom injoke, actually. So many people joked that the guy wearing the groucho glasses in the egbert house's hallway looked like michael cera despite it not being him, that Hussie decided to shout out the meme

Ah, that makes sense.

Sometimes, I wonder how many of the comic's 'confusing' moments are actually fandom in-jokes that I don't have the context to understand. To get that context, I need these messages, so keep 'em coming!

Anonymous asked: it truly is like, the greatest jape of all that your blog popularity is coinciding with the tumblr fanbase popularity of homestuck

No kidding? I wasn't aware there was an uptick in the fandom's Tumblr presence, but I'm happy to hear it!

The last thing I want to do is finish the comic, stroll into the fandom, and discover that it died before I was ready to engage with it. Not that that wouldn't be kind of funny.

@elkian asked: Possibly one of the funniest things about the Alpha Reboot here is finding out Jane, of her familysquad if not the humans as a whole (depending on how sincere Rose was about her taxidermy Jaspers rage) who has a problem with embalment. Everyone else has been involved in the taxidermy or other preservation of some kind of corpse; I was gonna exclude Bro but then remembered the horsebib.

Jane, Homestuck's primary cast is all weird as fuck. You need to get with the program.

@abysswarlock asked: AR to Jake: “Here’s your problem”

Jake's response:

Anonymous asked: while not that big of a deal on the grand scheme of things, the revelation that rose gets her eloquence and wordiness from her father is perhaps my favorite revelation in all of hs.

I like it too! Based on what Bro was like with Dave, I expect his kidsona to be the strong, silent type, but - assuming he's as chatty as AR - I really like Hussie's decision to make him a yapper.

It feels right, somehow - and I hope it means that he's the one who wrote this session's GameFAQs guide.

Anonymous asked: One of my favorite bits of the Auto-responder's replys to Jake is the % of how close the responses are to Bro's goes down as Jake catches on, dude is having the time of his life messing with him

This guy really is hilarious. He's honestly going to be a pretty tough act for the real Little Bro to follow.

Anonymous asked: ive sent an ask like this in the early days. but il say i have never been so extraordinarily possessed by a 2014 era fan of homestuck in its UPD8 era than i have been waiting all these days for the D Stri inteoduction chatlog. for reasons i am almost betting many may have expressed in this inbox already Anonymous asked: Every update you post convinces me harder that you're going to absolutely love kid bro Anonymous asked: So fucking excited for you to start analyzing kid bro it has me twirling my hair. I barely even have enough hair to twirl this is a high compliment. So excited

...that said, people have pretty high hopes for the impression he's going to make!

I'm sure that whatever vibe I get from him, one thing is already clear: he's clearly recognized as the post-Scratch kid, the Vriska of his team. His introduction is getting the most hype of any character outside of Hivebent.

Anonymous asked: "Though we adore Him we shall never enjoy His beauteous croak. We spill our blood on acres of black and white so they may cross the yellow yard. At last in Skaia's reflection through broken glass He may find the pond in which he's meant to squat." - A Prospitan book in [S] Seer: Descend.

Hey, you're right - this passage does make a lot more sense in retrospect. I guess the implication here is that Jade's frog might still be the designated Genesis Frog in the post-Scratch session...

This gels well with Umbra's earlier statement implying that Jade & co. will be slotted into the new session as Players. It also means the post-Scratch humans might not need a Space Player, since Jade can still fill that role as before.

...yeah, it's looking more and more likely that Jane's team will wield completely different Aspects to their predecessors. I honestly prefer this to the alternative, since it'll allow us to get up close and personal with four Aspects that we've previously only seen in the abridged Hivebent session - or, potentially, four Aspects we've never seen at all.

Anonymous asked: "Poppop in the attic" is a reference to the TV show Arrested Development. In one episode, Michael Cera's character is harboring his fugitive grandfather in the attic of his home. He attempts to inform his dad but he misinterprets "poppop" as a euphemism for sex or masturbation. @skelekingfeddy asked: ‘the mere fact you call it that tells him youre not ready’ is just reference to arrested development lol. basically the kid michael cera plays is hiding his grandpa/‘poppop’ in the attic away from the feds. later he tries to tell his dad but due to earlier misunderstandings he thinks ‘poppop’ is actually referring to having sex with his girlfriend. and so he tells michael cera ‘the mere fact you call making love poppop tells me youre not ready’ the auto-responder's line ‘since we've already shot that wad's eventuality on so many dry runs of flustered ambivalence’ is also an arrested development reference, albeit a much more subtle one (the original line is just ‘i prematurely shot my wad on what was supposed to be a dry run if you will’) @random2908 asked: Maybe others mentioned this already, but the stuff about Poppop and the attic is a quote from the tv show Arrested Development. There's a bit where Poppop is hiding in the attic, only Michael Cera knows he's there, and his father is trying to give him a sex talk and misinterprets "poppop" as a euphemism. It's been a while, but IIRC Hussie makes a few Arrested Development references in early Act 6; fans speculated at the time that they must have just watched the show for the first time.

Ah. I've never seen Arrested Development myself, so it's kind of wild to see a teenage Michael Cera for the first time. People say he has a baby face now, but he actually was a baby, here.

Anonymous asked: The dads aren't clones their eyes are completely different colors :P

Turns out one of them's left-handed, and that's literally the only difference.

@wickedsick asked: RoLal my beloLal @morganwick asked: "Huh, we're approaching the halfway mark of the comic and I haven't met Roxy yet. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's Mom Lalonde's name, but it hasn't come up. How could she make such an impact that I'd have heard her name before starting Homestuck despite only really appearing in half- oh. That's how." @abundantchewtoys asked: You try to control yourself and not overhype Roxy, but the S-tier on your tierlist… it beckons. @necrowyrm asked: So hyped for you to get to know Roxy, the greatest character in homestuck by a mile @elkian asked: God I'm so excited for you to meet Roxy. I'm pretty sure you'll love her for multiple reasons.

I can't wait! Like I said, I think she's very likely to be one of my faves. Hackers play with with an unfair advantage in the Sally Sweepstakes.

@manorinthewoods submitted: https://www.tumblr.com/darks-arts/757253456235053056/got-inspired-by-this-post-n-made-a-new-troll?source=share ~LOSS (1/15/25)

Don't get it twisted - this is who the Condesce picks as her VP.

@mrjocrafter asked: Any Bro Strider (and to some extent every Strider) analysis needs to be tempered by the acknowledgement that that's just what Texas is like. Like, one time I saw someone hold up a self-driving taxi at sword point. Texas is just like that.

Apart from a three-day childhood trip to New York City, the USA is a closed book to me - but I've heard enough wild shit about Texas that I don't think you're kidding.

@carcinogeneticist-writes-fanfic submitted: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuNgQEWgjwk Submitted for your approval: a full orchestra cover of Sburban Jungle. Possibly my favorite fan work of one of my favorite homestuck songs. Really captures that epic feel of the original song.

Dang. This fire burns hotter than the Green Sun.

@dedicatedfollower467 asked: i'm sure lots of people will have told you this, OR you will have figured it out yourself by the time you read this, but where DNA uses guanine, cytosine, adenine and thymine to represent information, its counterpart, RNA, actually uses a base called uracil in place of thymine. Meaning that uranianUmbra manages to both break the troll/kids naming pattern AND fit in it, in a slightly different way. UwU Anonymous asked: Concerning UU: Uracil (U) is a nucleotide that replaces Thymine (T) in RNA, which makes UU an -- at least in theory -- valid base pair. Compare this to how their chat symbol is a caduceus, and the constellation Ophiucus (traditionally, Apollo battling a pair of serpents) is sometimes considered the thirteenth Zodiacal sign. Anonymous asked: Fun Biochemistry Fact: (Almost) All the players using a combination of GCAT in their names is a reference to the 4 amino acids found in DNA (guanine, cytosine, adenine and thymine). The exception is John (EB), but who originally used GT only to change due to the trolls' interference. However, RNA, which 'reads' DNA to perform biological functions, uses Uracil (U) instead of thymine. I hope this helps your theorizing about UU! @3dgftw asked: belated congratulations on making it to act 6! from biologist to coder- the letter “U” is almost as important as GCAT in biology, and for a related reason! while G, C, A, and T are the most common nucleic acids, they’re not the only ones around! uracil (U) replaces T when RNA is transcribed, and this substitution is one of the reasons why it’s so unstable, comparatively. that, and the fact that RNA is a single stranded polymer, while DNA is double-stranded. it’s quite the headache for me- sometimes it feels like my RNA will degrade if I look at it wrong!

Huh. So the pattern arguably does still hold, for now - but since uracil is a component of RNA, rather than DNA, there's still an implication that UU is 'different' from our GCAT heroes in some fundamental way. What the hell is up with this girl?

Anonymous asked: The symbol that was similar to the Rod of Asclepius is the Caduceus, the symbol of Hermes (who I think is Asclepius' father?). Interestingly enough, the symbols are often confused with each other, which has led to medical organisations using the Caduceus instead of the Rod. I'm sure you already know, but if you don't, Hermes was the Messenger of the Gods, and patron of a lot of things, most notably travelers and thieves. Anonymous asked: Caduceus anon here. Small correction on my last ask, Asclepius was the son of Apollo, not Hermes. @likelyvampirical asked: Although both have been used in the medical profession, that symbol is actually the Caduceus, a symbol of Hermes, rather than the Rod of Asclepius. Although, the origin of the use of the Caduceus as a medical symbol is also thought to be mistaken symbology, so I suppose it's fitting.

It's possible that Hussie intended it to be the symbol for medicine, and simply got the reference wrong, but it's impossible to say for sure.

The thing certainly looks more like a caduceus to me, but I don't know what it would mean for UU to be Hermes-themed. Maybe she's a Player, and Hermes is her Denizen?

@skelekingfeddy asked: ok, some context on UU: basically, for more than a year the fandom had been theorizing about a SECRET 13TH TROLL. it started out as people pointing out that there were 4 kids and 12 trolls, so a 13th extra troll would make it so that it’s 4/13. then people realised, oh shit, there actually is a 13th extra zodiac named Ophiucus (one of the proposed symbols for which is the caduceus)! people even decided that their handle’s initials would be UU (because of Uracil, the fifth nucleotide base). the theory got so big, Toby even made a theme for UU as a bonus track in his Alternia solo album… …and now, in late 2011, here she is in the comic itself!!! she has the name, the zodiac symbol, everything. what’s her deal? you’ll just have to wait and see :)

That's good context to have, but I still have no idea what the implications are. It really doesn't feel like the trolls could have had a secret thirteenth Player stashed away somewhere, and we already know the pre-Scratch Alternian session was a twelve-Player one, too. Curiouser, curiouser and curiouser.

@aceotaku asked: random: it's only natural PM and Jack Noir were fated to be archenemies of sorts. After all, what is a dog's natural enemy according to cartoons without any real reason?

lmao, does this mean Jack's going to defeat PM by biting her ankle off?

@spiddermen asked: fun homestuck fact: shortly after homestuck ended, hussie came out as clowngender. everyone assumed this was just a bad joke for a while but it was not, hussie is nonbinary and one of the things I like about this second half of homestuck is that you can see them starting to critique the idea of gender roles a lot which I think is interesting. once they stopped working on homestuck they wrote psycholonials which explores these ideas and their thoughts on online society a lot more, it's really good

I heard about this recently, yeah! Apparently the official What Pumpkin press releases have switched to they/them for Hussie - who, if I'm not mistaken, uses any pronouns. Kind of based, honestly.

I'm surprised that this hasn't come up before, given how much the comic likes to delve into gender. I guess I just don't talk about things too much from an out-of-universe perspective, except to offer Doylist explanations for otherwise confusing plot developments.

@aceotaku asked: Your theory of Doc Scratch's Omniscience being based around meta knowledge of the author is incredibly clever and interesting and works really well especially with what we see of Scratch and Hussie after you made that theory. I also wanna bring up how he's my favourite villain in homestuck (I like his dark charisma and tendency to manipualte people while being upfront about his motives, goals and nature which i find unique) and am saddned by the many livebloggers who seem to genuinely hate him.

Oh yeah, I think Doc Scratch is great.

I kind of love to hate him, if that makes sense. He's totally awful, of course - but he's awful in a really fascinating way, that I haven't often seen in fiction. Above all, he's always entertaining to read.

@abibeur asked: One thing I like with the Betty Crocker propaganda is the obvious They Live reference, even if I didn't get it at my first reading. Jane Nada would be really funny… Even if there's another likely candidate to play a character with cool shades!

I picked up on the reference to They Live - but since I haven't seen the movie, I'm not really sure about the exact mechanics of the movie's iconic propaganda-revealing shades. One for the watch pile, for sure.

@abibeur asked: "Apparently his goofy lil' wave is a universal constant." This reminds me of another master of the wind…

Now that's a real Breath Player.

@calcamity asked: im rereading your liveblog for fun since youve reached act 6 (which features my favorite character) and i just have to say you have a great understanding of the characters. all of your pesterchum screenshot bits are (terminally funnily) in character. you could write some baller hs fanfic

Well, thank you very much!

I'm definitely going to at least write a fic involving my 'sonas, when I'm done. If I do have other ideas, though, I could easily end up writing some more canon-adjacent fiction, too. We'll see!

Anonymous asked: is jake english in the newtonverse called hass, just to tie this whole joke together? maybe the newtonverse is where the felt is the varnish instead, and hes like… hass brusher or whatever

Hass Brusher is too good. That one's 100% canon to the Newtonverse now.

@carcinogeneticist-writes-fanfic asked: New reader here who just caught up, congrats on making it to the EOA5! What was your favorite song of the four featured in Cascade? Savior of the Dreaming Dead is a top-tier personal favorite of mine, not just here or even in its album but in the entire Homestuck discography, and one of the songs I was most hoping would make it into the comic proper (not that you have to worry about that, I can def respect not wanting to hear any of the songs 'out of context' beforehand). Good luck with Act 6!

It probably was Savior of the Dreaming Dead, to be honest. It really sells how triumphant Jade's big moment was.

I also loved the section of the track that played during the Perfect Mendicant's transformation. The scene was already epic, but those chords knocked it into twelfth gear.

@krixwell asked: Curiously, as its card was stamped in the punch designix and used to alchemize a worn old hat, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias was "Oh no, not again."

Oh, that is a great pull. I need to reread the Hitchhiker's Guide series again sometime soon.

Anonymous asked: I never made the connection that Aradia's voices could have been coming from the Haidmaid before, but that fits so perfectly. I'm just imagining her summoning up a bunch of ghosts to constantly haunt Aradia and whisper exactly what she "needs" to hear.

That's pretty much what I'm thinking! I don't know if she'd have revealed herself in person, but she was absolutely behind that particular plot.

@aliceoverzero asked: I discovered this blog just before New Years and it's been an incredible binge-read. You've probably noticed by now that Homestuck is one of the most extreme cases of "you can never repeat the experience of reading it for the first time" due to the structures of its mysteries, and this was further amplified by the original reader experience including maddening wild speculation in between each wait for new pages to drop. Your deliberate pace with this liveblog and your willingness to slam the brakes to hyperfixate on details is the closest a returning reader can get to recapturing that feeling, and it's been a good reminder for me about why this comic has been so impactful to me. Thank you for doing this. Now that you've cleared Act 5, it's worth bringing up that while not present in the original panel where the declaration is made, the "most important character in homestuck" moment is expanded in Cascade to show that it includes both Lil Cal and Gamzee. This has prompted a lot of debate about which of them is actually being referred to as the most important character. Also now it's possible to talk about my favorite detail about Doc Scratch. His repeated use of the statement "I am an excellent host" has finally revealed its double-meaning. @leo60228 asked: so, what do you think about the alternate angle we saw the "The most important character in Homestuck fondly regards the miracle of a new beginning." panel from? @elkian asked: You may have received such a comment already, but during the "most important character in Homestuck" scene, Lil Cal was in Gamzee's lap. Either way you slice it, it's correct, but it's interesting to speculate which is meant. (Though ig one also requires considering Cal as a CHARACTER which is a bit unsettling…) Anonymous asked: Jade's laboratory falling seems to mirror Lord English's arrival. Also, in [S] Cascade you can see that Lil' Cal is also watching this happen. Does that make him the most important character in homestuck? @morganwick asked: In light of Cascade and Intermission 2, you might want to consider whether, now that you've seen the "miracle of a new beginning" moment in fuller context, the "most important character in Homestuck" might not have been referring to Gamzee after all…

Thank you!

And... uh, hang on a second. Do you mean what I think you mean?

...ah, fuck.

[observingfantasy]

The Price of Deceit

~ Shadow Milk Cookie redemption fic

Okay sooooo, ever since I saw this fanart from @frenchiefieart the brainworms refused to let me be. Questions like 'How did it come to this?' and 'What might happen after?' kept me from sleeping, so I wrote a one-shot. Which then kinda escalated...

I'm unsure about publishing my work in general, but I put far too much effort into that first chapter, and it still kinda works as a one-shot, so... here we go.🤷🏻‍♀️

Please go look at frienchiefie's absolutely gorgeous piece of art before reading. The first three lines of dialog are entirely stolen from her artwork, and the visual context really helps with the immersion. (@frenchiefieart if this kind of usage is not okay with you, please let me know and I'll change it. I never wanted to steel your ideas in any way.)

Chapter 1: Desparation

Summary: Shadow Milk learns what happens when you push the most kind-hearted cookie too far.

Read on AO3

"Nilly, please, don't let them do this."

No reaction.

"You love all cookies, right? A-and we spent some time together. It wasn't all bad… was it?"

Still nothing.

"Pure Vanilla, please, look at me. I-I can't go back there. I'm not ready to disappear."

Shadow Milk was just straight-up begging at this point—he had no other options left. He was aching all over, bleeding from multiple wounds—the worst of which was unfortunately on his head, dripping blood into his eyes and making thinking more difficult than it really had to be.

"How dare you speak to him like that! Like he hasn’t already given you more chances than you ever deserved! Like you didn’t spit in his face again and again! Like you didn’t twist his kindness just to break his heart!"

Ohh, she was furious—the Guardian of the Silver Tree. Protective of her best friend and still mad at him for killing Elder Fairy. Time had done nothing to dull her fury, not through the long, chaotic years of war that followed.

Shadow Milk would be embarrassed later—about the way he flinched at every word, how he scrambled backward despite the sharp ache in his limbs. But right now, all that mattered was putting as much space as possible between himself and the cookie he probably feared the most.

He couldn't go back into that tree. He couldn't.

He would survive it—he always did. The Beasts were immortal, their magic living on even when their bodies perished. But what would be left of his mind after another century in isolation? After a millennium? An eternity?

He didn't want to find out.

But the choice wasn’t his to make. The heroes were closing in, their weapons still raised, their expressions grim.

"Please, I..."

He was still looking at his counterpart, still trying to get the other to just look at him. With his own eyes or with his staff, Shadow Milk would take whatever he could get at this point. But Pure Vanilla kept his eyes resolutely closed, both his staff and his body half-turned away from his beaten foe. Yet as long as he didn't turn away fully, there still was a chance. There had to be.

Despite what everyone might think now, Shadow Milk was well aware that he didn't deserve mercy. Or another chance. And especially not forgiveness. But Pure Vanilla knew that—and had offered him a hand over and over anyway.

Once, Shadow Milk had taken it. He had pretended, smiled, played along—a game of keeping just enough truth in his words to make his lies believable. And all the while, he had spread his influence in the shadows. With the help of his faithful minions, he had worked to crumble the very foundation of the Vanilla Republic, his counterpart had built atop the ruins of his kingdom.

And Pure Vanilla had known.

Not everything. Not the full extent. But he had seen the cracks forming, had watched as trust faltered. Had looked at Shadow Milk and saw all the lies tangled between the truths.

And still, he had reached out. Had tried to show Shadow Milk there was another way.

And the jester, oblivious to just how much Pure Vanilla really knew, had kept going. Let the rumors fester, let small wounds deepen into permanent scars. Had whispered into uncertain ears, let doubt take root where it hurt the most—between friends, between families, between those who had always stood side by side. And by the time Pure Vanilla finally acted, the damage had already been done. Friendships shattered. Councils divided. Some wounds only emotional—some far worse.

And when Pure Vanilla finally confronted him about all that, and Shadow Milk learned that the other had known but waited—had held onto the hope that there could be a peaceful solution—the jester had laughed. At his own stupidity and Vanilla's alike. Until he saw the look in his counterpart's eyes.

Betrayal, disappointment, and hurt, morphing into something harder. A determination so cold he never would have thought the compassionate healer capable of it.

That look had never left Shadow Milk’s mind since. Even now, after years of war, it surfaced in the quiet moments, in every retreat that followed, in the hollow ache he refused to name. Because that had been the last time Pure Vanilla had reached out his hand.

And now, as Shadow Milk cowered before him once more, he knew there would be no hand this time. No warmth. No kindness. Only that cold determination and resentment, where once had been hope.

"Nilla… Nilla, please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry…"

He choked out between sobs he couldn't hold back any longer, as Pure Vanilla showed no signs of hearing him at all, while the other heroes were slowly closing in.

"White Lily, let's get this over with," Dark Cacao said with a finality that made his heart race.

He was running out of time. He couldn't stop himself from slowly scrambling away further, nor could he repress the absolutely pathetic whimper that tore from his throat. He was hyperventilating so badly he couldn't even form the words to try and convince them to stop. To give him another chance. To do anything but this...

Not that they would listen anyway. That was always the problem of the liars—no one believed them when they were telling the truth. But right now he just had to make them believe—somehow.

With his back against a wall and no escape, his desperate gaze fell onto Pure Vanilla once again. And when the ancient Light of Truth slightly turned his staff to look at him one last time, the former Virtue of Knowledge had one last, absolutely desperate idea.

"Wait! Please!"

When everyone paused for a heartbeat, Shadow Milk seized the moment to tear the Soul Jam of Deceit from his chest and extend it towards his other half.

Everyone froze. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard in the giant arena—where the fight between the last Beast and the heroes had taken place—was Shadow Milk Cookie's heavy breathing.

Well, at least he still knew how to capture an audience.

Shadow definitely had Vanilla’s attention now.

"What…?"

The question was soft, incredulous. Shadow Milk couldn’t blame him. He could barely believe it himself. His hand trembled, the weight of his Soul Jam unbearable in his palm.

"T-Take it."

His voice was shaking even worse than his hand. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his throat felt tight and his breathing was labored.

"Do…" He hesitated, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. "Do w-whatever you need to… do with it."

Crack it, break it, disintegrate it—anything but this.

"But please, don’t…" He choked on his own horror again, but forced himself to finish the damn sentence before it swallowed him whole.

"Don’t seal me away again. Please."

Silent tears were uncontrollably falling down his face at this point, as he waited for Pure Vanilla to please just accept his offer. It was the only thing he had left.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. And Shadow Milk realized he wasn’t the only one waiting. None of the other heroes moved to take the Soul Jam. Instead, they stood frozen, their gazes shifting between him and Pure Vanilla—some uncertain, some shocked, others expectant.

Finally, Pure Vanilla’s hesitation hardened into something like grim resolve. His jaw tightened. His shoulders squared. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and took the Soul Jam from Shadow Milk’s trembling hands.

It took every ounce of willpower not to recoil, not to clutch his most precious possession to his chest like a lifeline.

There was something dark in Pure Vanilla’s gaze—something final. Whatever fleeting hope Shadow Milk might have clung to shattered the moment their eyes met. And yet… behind the cold determination, there was regret. An apology. For what?

"I'm sorry. I wish it wouldn't have had to come to this."

Then, without another moment for Shadow to comprehend what the hero was going to do, bright shards of light pierced his Soul Jam of Deceit and Darkness, shattering it in an instant.

It was pain unlike anything Shadow Milk had ever known. Worse than when the witches had originally split his Soul Jam in two. Back then, they had cleanly sliced away the part that he had been rejecting anyway. Now, Pure Vanilla's light mercilessly carved into the deepest, darkest part of his soul and watched his everything shatter into a million pieces.

The pain was blinding, suffocating, all-consuming. He hoped desperately that he had been mistaken—that he wouldn’t survive this. That maybe his soul was so inextricably bound to that gem that its shattering meant true annihilation. Death would be mercy. No matter what kind of punishment awaited him in the afterlife, it couldn't be worse than this.

When the light finally retreated, the pain faded—slowly, agonizingly. Which probably meant that he was still alive. That was the only realization Shadow Milk could grasp right now. His body still ached all over—worse than before. His very essence had been ripped apart. Shredded. He couldn’t feel anything but pain. Couldn't hear, see, or smell anything at all.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. Maybe he was? He couldn’t tell.

Then, there were hands. Touching him. It hurt. Moving him. That hurt even worse.

Wasn't he suffering enough? (No.) Did they really have to keep hurting him? (Yes. He deserved it. He would finally get what he deserved.)

His body had nothing left to give.

The last thing Shadow Milk felt was a hand on his forehead before everything dissolved into sweet oblivion, and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

next

[lawyernovelistpersonal]

Heat and Cold

A fic for Joyful June Day 5: Winter, written during a Linked Universe Discord sprint.

Inspired by this art by @kikker-oma

[AO3]

Content warning: Illness

---

Twilight was a hero. He had done incredible things, fought horrifying enemies, and suffered terrible fear and loss. He was used to working alone to overcome every obstacle placed in his path.

That made him a terrible patient.

Hyrule had only turned his back for a moment to stir the pot of broth he was making over the campfire in the corner of a shack they'd found after being split by a portal. The winter wind was whistling outside, bringing occasional puffs of snow through gaps between the planks that made up the walls. Hyrule had done his best to block the drafts that might reach Twilight where he lay sprawled on his bedroll, Hyrule's blanket spread over him as well as his own.

He wished Warriors was here. Or Time. Or anyone else who knew how to care for a fever.

But even as he gave the pot a quick stir and worried about whether cold or fever was the greatest danger to Twilight, he heard a rustle of uneasy motion. He sighed and looked over his shoulder to see his brother - who he'd thought was finally asleep - groping towards the bowl of melted snow and wet rag he'd been using to bathe his brow.

Hyrule huffed out a frustrated sigh and set down his spoon. "Hold on, Twi, I'm coming over," he called.

"I've… got it…" slurred Twilight.

Hyrule regretted leaving it in his reach as he grabbed the rag and dragged it out of the bowl, across the dirty floor.

"Twi!" He grabbed it just before Twilight bit it. Presumably he was thirsty, but even Hyrule knew better than to let him drink water with whatever was on the floor mixed into it. He took out his water bottle. "Here. The broth's almost ready, but here's something in the meantime."

"But…" Twilight's hand grasped at air and he shivered wearily as another gust of wind rattled the building. Hyrule tipped the water bottle to his lips and he flinched. "Cold…"

"Probably warmer than that." Hyrule nodded to the rag discarded on the floor.

Twilight shivered again and Hyrule helped him sit up slightly so he could drink more easily. He was a dead weight, and given how muscular Twilight was that weight was significant, but Hyrule was stronger than his slender build would imply and hefted him up well enough.

It felt almost traitorous to be grateful for his warmth as he rested against him.

Twilight took a few sips of water, then went limp against Hyrule's shoulder, his eyes sliding shut as he slurred out a few broken syllables that tilted up at the end into a question.

"Yeah," said Hyrule, with no idea what Twilight was trying to say. "Yeah,it's OK. You get some rest and then have some dinner, OK?"

Twilight reacted by struggling to get up, but Hyrule could get him lying down again distressingly easily.

"Colin?" mumbled Twilight, blinking up at him. "'S cold… y've night're?"

"No, it's Hyrule."

"Oh…" Twilight started to get up again, but when Hyrule pushed him back down and drew the blanket back over him he didn't really struggle.

"Lie still. I'll get you some broth in a minute."

Twilight moaned.

***

By the time the broth was ready the short winter day outside had given way to a bitter night. Hyrule huddled over the dying fire as he spooned out a helping of stew for himself. Twilight had spent the whole time twitching and muttering, occasionally knocking over the candle Hyrule had put by him so he could see his face. But now he looked like he might finally have settled into something like sleep, so Hyrule quickly gulped down his helping of dinner. It warmed a path right down to his stomach and he sighed in momentary contentment before he spooned out a helping for Twilight too.

"Here we go," he said, taking it over.

It took a lot of shaking and calling to get Twilight awake. He hoped that wasn't a bad thing; sleep would help him heal, after all. And once he was awake he drank down the broth, not saying a word until he'd finished.

"'S good," he murmured. "Y've been l'rnin'."

Hyrule snorted. "That's the fever talking," he said. He set down the bowl and tried to pull the blanket up a little better around Twilight.

"Uli's b'n teachin'... She always…" Twilight smiled, his eyes drifting closed. "But 's good."

Hyrule knew what the others thought of his cooking, and even though he knew all this came from someone so confused he didn't even know who was with him, he couldn't help clutching the compliment close to his heart.

"Cold…" mumbled Twilight.

"Let's get you back into bed."

"You shouldn't… y're cold." Twilight grabbed vaguely at Hyrule's arm. "Come in with me. Warm."

Hyrule had grown accustomed to his new brothers and trusted them, but he still hesitated to get this close to someone when he was asleep and vulnerable.

But another biting draft whistled through the shack and a shiver ran through Hyrule. Even though he knew the warmth came from fever… Twilight was _really_ warm. And Hyrule was cold to the bone and so, so tired…

Before he could change his mind, he blew out the candle and crept under the blankets. Twilight hugged him close with a happy mumble.

"Y're OK," he said softly. "No m're nightm'rs."

Hyrule snorted. It all came from fever, he knew that, but the warm embrace and the kind words about his cooking and the fact that he was apparently close enough in Twilight's heart to his real little brother that he had them confused… it all warmed him from the inside just as the warmth of Twilight's arms warmed him from the outside.

"Get some sleep, Twi," he said.

Twilight was already snoring, peaceful at last. Hyrule soon joined him.

[acapelladitty]

something lost, something gained

Summary: After being snatched by human traffickers while exploring an abandoned schoolhouse, Lucy fights to survive as she waits for Cooper to find her. (3.9k words)

(warnings for: attempted sexual assault, biting, blood, face slapping, groping, violence, murder, aftercare, hurt/comfort, cooper trying his best in a bad situation)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Awaking with a languid groan, Lucy's eyes flittered open for only a moment before slamming shut again as a dull pain to her temple made her wince and gasp. Raising her right hand to press at the skin, she was surprised to find her left hand moving in tandem and her eyes snapped open as she realised that her hands were bound together.

Gazing down at the coarse rope which encircled her wrists, panic arose in Lucy's chest as she glanced around the small, cell-shaped room and immediately understood that she was not anywhere recognisable. It didn't even look like the same building she last remembered walking into.

"Cooper?" Calling out with a dry, uncomfortable voice, a sense of irritation laced the anxiety which rolled through her. "What the fudge? Why am I in here?"

The door to the cell creaked open and Lucy glanced up from her slumped position to see a man she did not recognise fill the doorway. He was very tall, head almost brushing the top of the door frame, with a mop of raggedy blonde hair hanging limply across his shoulders and something in the way he looked at her made her skin crawl with unspoken danger. An instinctive disgust which made her mouth tighten.

"Finally awake." The man spoke, his voice sharp, light and slightly pitched. "We were worried we'd done some real damage to your head there."

At his words, Lucy finished her earlier assessment as her fingers once again grazed the hard lump which had formed on her temple - the skin feeling raw and wounded under her fingertips. Dragging her fingertips away, she found them flecked with her own blood.

"Who are you?" She asked, wide eyes darting across the limited space. "Did Cooper put you up to this? Or my father?"

"Don't know who any of those people are but we saw you going into that old schoolhouse with a ghoul so we snuck in, waited for you to split, and gently smuggled you out."

Gently smuggled.

The wound on her head suggested otherwise.

"Why?" A reflex question, one Lucy didn't think she wanted the answer to as the blonde man took a small step in her direction to stare down at her with a lecherous smirk.

"Cause you're in our territory and you're ours now. Me and my buddies have a little side business going on and you're our latest catch." His gaze roving across her white tank top and blue pants, one of his hands settled on the visible bulge of his groin as he winked at her. "We take them, break them, and pass them on to be sold. 50/50 share. And, baby, let me tell you, you're gonna fetch us a pretty price."

The panic in her chest now clawing at her heart as she scrambled her back against the cool stone of the wall, Lucy felt sweat break out across her body as she took in his candid admission with open-mouthed horror.

"No. You can't-"

"Yeah. I can smell the vault on you so I know you probably aren't rolling with the same diseases as all the other cunts we pick up."

Flinching at the term, Lucy fell back into what she knew best as old defense mechanisms kicked in to protect her as best they could.

"Let me go and I'll get you whatever you need. Caps, meds, weapons. I know people who could hel-"

"You?" Laughing openly at her offer, the man steadied himself against the doorframe. "Maybe that bulky ghoul we saw you with could have worked some muscle for us but you haven't got shit we need. Well, aside from-"

His hand still groping sleazily against his bulge, the man stepped fully within the cell and kicked the door shut before him. An action which made Lucy jump as her body shuddered and tensed to the point of discomfort, sensing the danger and violence to come.

"You see, cunt. I'm much nicer than my two friends out there and I'm willing to cut you some slack. Wrap your lips around my cock and suck it like your life depended on it, and I'll tell the boys that you're willing to be a good girl for us. They'll even leave their nasty 'breaking in' toys at the door if they think you're gonna be a good girl."

As he spoke, his body inched closer towards Lucy and her fingers shook terribly as she struggled against the rope holding her wrists, vision quick to blur as genuine fear rocked through her body.

He's going to rape me. Repeated in her head like a cruel, merciless mantra. The elders had told them what rape was, explained that they needed consent to ensure that everyone in the vault was happy and able to share their bodies without problem. They knew, in the vault, they all knew what was okay and what wasn't.

"Cooper!" She hollered out, voice breaking on the second syllable as she attempted to back up against the wall enough to scramble to her feet. "Please, fudge, someone help!"

A memory rose, unbidden in her mind as Lucy rolled her back against the wall. Not long after her body had started to change, one of the elders, a slender old guy named Ernest, had caught her in the gardens. He had asked her questions about her changing body, questions that made her heart feel heavy in her chest as a sense of how wrong he made her feel forced her to back away from him.

He had moved to grab her, his hand wrenching her arm away from her chest when her father had appeared from nowhere. He had been causal in his greeting but even as a child, she had noticed how tight her dad's smile was and how quickly he ushered her back to her room so he could have a quick chat with him.

Ernest died soon after. One of the first to be lost to the latest famine as the crops failed due to an unknown blight. She hadn't questioned it then, too many good people had been lost, but now, in this moment where that same childish fear weighed heavily at her limbs, she wondered if her father had killed him for what he had tried to do.

Kicking out with her feet as the man dropped to his knees before her, his fingers were quick to lock around her ankles - pulling her free of the wall and stealing the breath from her lungs as her head collided with the floor.

"Please, no. Don't do this! No!"

"First times always the worst."

Flashing rotted teeth at her as he straddled her waist, his hands pinned her own roped palms to her stomach as he burrowed down into her space. His breath was awful, smelling foul and rancid, and it sparked a retch in Lucy's throat as she twisted her head to the side. His tongue trailed across her cheek, tasting the grime on her skin as he growled in her ear.

"Just gotta remember to be a good girl and-ARGH!" Breaking off into a pained scream, the man reared back as blood poured from his mouth to drip down on her tank top.

Spitting out the large portion of tongue she had ripped free with her teeth, Lucy used her attackers moment of stunned pain to knock him free of her body. Crawling on her knees, she almost made it to the door when a rough hand wrapped around her hair.

"Stupid cunt!" The words lisping due to his injury, the man's hand was like fire in her hair as he snatched at her scalp viciously. "Gonna break your fucking nose for that."

Yelling as her hands locked around a small shard of metal that lay by the closed door, the man's foot having accidentally knocked it within the cell as he entered, Lucy gripped it tight as she spun on her knees, digging the shard deep into the closest foot she could reach before pulling it free with a vicious twist.

A fresh cry of pain broke free of her attacker as he crashed to the ground, his hands tight around his foot while he snarled obscenities at her.

Fuelled by adrenaline, fear and rage, Lucy pounced on him like a cat, knocking his back flat to the floor as she stabbed the metal as roughly into his throat as she could. Memories of her fraudulent husband flashed before her eyes and she hollered a vicious snarl as she dragged the metal through his skin until the blood flowed and the gurgling of his throat ceased.

Breathing heavily, she stayed in that position until his glassy-eyed stare repulsed her, the scent of fresh blood making her heave anew. Body shaking and mind rattling, it was only when a new voice broke the silence that she jumped as though an electric bolt had fired across her spine.

"Fuck, Petey. She's killed Owen."

Rolling off the corpse, Lucy was quick to take her earlier position - her stained fingers clutching the metal shard as her back pressed against the wall once more.

"Owen was always a dipshit. We'll be better off without him." The taller of the two newcomers added.

Looking just as filthy as the first guy, Lucy's eyes were wild as she pointed the metal at each of them in turn.

"L-let me go. I'll do the same to you." She stuttered, a sinking feeling of despair making her skin feel cold and clammy. "I've killed people before and you'll be next."

Glancing between themselves, both men burst out into a cruel laughter and their movements were quick as they descended on her. Fingers already trembling, it was easy for them to wrestle the metal from her hands and pin her to the floor; their much larger bodies easily holding her knees apart as they pressed them to the floor with their own legs.

Rough hands fished inside her tank top and Lucy found herself unable to do much but bare her teeth and fight off a sob as her chest was pulled free of her bra; breasts spilling over the fabric as matching grunts of approval escaped her attackers.

"They'll do nicely. Fuck, might not even sell this one, what do you think?" The one named Petey asked, his free hand gripping at her chin painfully as he tilted her head to the side in a crude inspection.

Cupping her left breast as though weighing it in his hand, the other man flashed a yellow smile at her.

"Could play with her for a few weeks without going to the others. Would you like that? A few weeks with us and then a ten minute walk up north to meet the rest of the boys?"

Refusing to answer as a fat tear rolled free of her eye, Lucy chose to remain quiet and not give them anything as she struggled in vain.

"You owe us for you did to Owen." The second man continued, his face an open leer as he released her jaw. "So I'm gonna fuck you and then Petey is gonna fuck you and then we're both gonna fuck you. Then you're gonna open those pretty lips wide for-"

"No."

A sharp hand collided with the side of Lucy's face, the blow catching her across the mouth and bursting her lip open in an instant as the taste of copper flooded her mouth.

"Not asking, cunt."

Their hands were all over her, one set fondling her breasts while the other pulled at the hem of her tank top to expose her stomach. They were everywhere and the feeling of them, hot and heavy atop her body, made her feel sick - her throat constricting and panicking as her breaths came short and fast.

The vague sound of the door slamming open touched at her senses but it felt so far off that she didn't think much of it until all hell broke loose.

A fresh splatter of blood sprayed across her face, the sensation matching by a booming gunshot which made her ears ring in the small space as the taller of the two, Petey, collapsed dead atop her - a hole leaking blood and brains from the front of his forehead to her exposed chest.

In shock, both Lucy and the remaining man stared at the corpse for a second before Lucy felt half the weight on her body disappear as the final attacker was pulled free. Her eyes unfocused and blurred with tears, she saw the flash of familiar, tattered leather which hurled her would-be attacker against the wall.

Sounds of exertion were quickly followed by a fresh death gurgle as Cooper's knife flashed in his hand for only a second before being drawn across her attackers throat; the arterial spray swiftly coating Cooper's clothed chest as he let go of his prey and allowed the fresh body to drop to the floor.

Not trusting her eyes, Lucy tilted her head back and cast her gaze to the dingy ceiling as her thoughs spiralled into a messy haze.

After a moment, Cooper's face swam in her vision and the close sight of him sparked a myriad of emotions within her; shock giving way to genuine relief before settling on fear as she took in the genuine fury which blazed in his stark white eyes as they darted across her battered face and disjointed clothing.

He wasn't angry with her, she knew that, but the sheer rage which rolled from his coiled frame made her want to curl into a ball and hide away from it. He smelled of leather and blood, the scent of fresh violence making her nose twitch as the corpses of her attackers lay motionless, crowding the floor of her cell.

"S'alright, I got you, sweetie." Cooper's hands were firm but gentle as he wrapped them around her shoulders, hoisting her enough that she were able to lean against the wall in a sitting position.

Despite everything, his voice was like a balm and she relaxed into his touch as her trembling fingers were gripped within his own - his knife glinting once more as he quickly severed her bindings and let the rope fall to the floor. In an instant, her knees snapped to her chest as her arms looped around them, her body curling in on itself as a wave of nausea made her throat feel tight.

Still on his haunches before her, Cooper studied her for a solid moment before matching her position as he leaned against the opposite wall, his legs outstretched and his back straight against the cool stone.

"Fix yourself, darlin'. I'd offer but I don't think you want another monsters hands on you before the day's out."

Keeping her knees tight, Lucy brought trembling fingers to her chest - her relief at being saved having made her forget about her state of undress - and she tucked her breasts away back into the off-white bra with a lifeless motion, the skin feeling sensitive and sore due to their abuse. Made decent, her arms were quick to loop around her knees once more, her chin sitting atop her knees as a gloomy, far-off expression graced her features.

"Did they-" A half question which Cooper quickly thought better of as he abandoned ship and adjusted it on the fly. "You okay?" It was a quiet ask, the words so low that Lucy knew she could ignore them if she wanted to.

"No," she stuttered, feeling weary despite the adrenaline which still pulsed in her veins, "but I have to be because what else is there. So I have to be."

Making a small noise of agreement in his chest, Cooper's gaze rose to the ceiling as he plucked his hat from his head and dropped it to the floor by his open lap.

"That you do, darlin'. Nothing else for it."

They sat in silence for a bit, the only slightly pained sounds coming from Lucy's throat as she adjusted to the various aches which afflicted her body. Her face was the worst as her temple throbbed like a bitch and her burst lip felt huge and ugly against her mouth. The bodies forever doomed to lay in messy piles, Lucy's eyes ghosted over them and settled on the growing patches of blood which each steadily leaked to the cell floor.

"You killed them all?" She said, already knowing the answer and unsure why she even asked.

"Not all of them. One of them was already dead when I got here and I'd recognise the teeth marks in that hunk of ripped tongue anywhere." Despite the guarded nature of his tone, there was a spark of warmth as he flashed his, well, her, finger at her, and Lucy swore she heard the slightest hint of pride leaking through. "You did good, sweetheart. You fought like a hellcat and you didn't let them win."

"Didn't win." Lucy mumbled miserly. "You did."

"Oh, I have no doubt you would have gotten them both in the end. They might have taken a few strips from you, but that fire in your belly would have scorched them dry."

Mouth upturning at the praise as she fought off the urge to cry, Lucy swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands as her breathing quickly grew erratic.

"All these bullshit lessons you've put me through and it still wasnt enough." She blurted out with a desperate gasp. "They're evil. I hate it here. I hate their cruelty. I hate their hurting. I hate-"

Finally unable to hold back the swell of emotion which threatened her, Lucy broke off on the final word as a heaving sob replaced any chance she had of cohesive speech. It was something raw and unfiltered, mourning the loss of some part of herself that would never be returned as she was forced to mold herself into a creature of violence and hate just to survive in their world.

Cooper, to his credit, let her cry without any false sympathies or interference. His face lacked any judgement, the hole in his face flexing slightly as he inhaled and exhaled steadily, eyes never shifting from Lucy's sobbing frame. Something difficult to pin down flashed through his gaze as though a multitude of possible outcomes were pushing at his thoughts.

After some internal debate, a grunt slipped free of Cooper's lips as he leaned across the short space and pulled at Lucy's shoulder.

So lost in her own misery, Lucy didn't fight the pressure of his strong hand as he pulled her to the side, dropping her to the floor in such a way that her head pressed against the upper part of his legs as she faced away from him. It did nothing to stop her tears, but it did give her something to lean on as he immediately retracted his hand to fold his arms fully across his chest.

Cooper's thighs were like unyielding steel beneath her head, giving Lucy something solid to pin her senses on as she fought to quell the quiver of her lip and the shudders which continued to wrack her body. Their journey had been hard and the hunt for her father was a disaster of interference and dead trails of information.

This was just the latest set-back in a long list of utter shit.

Offering her no other physical support, unsure if it would cause her to act out or break down further, Cooper waited until her breathing was a little more even before speaking again.

"Be sad." He paused, allowing the rare piece of advice to sit heavily in the air between them. "Be angry. Feel that fire in your gut burn so hot that you get the fear it's gonna burst free and raze everything around you to the ground. Hell, curse the day your momma brought you into the world if that's how you feel. But don't break."

Stopping once again, Cooper felt a rare moment of genuine pity for the woman as he glanced down at her. Lucy Maclean, who foolishly tried to choose peace in a peaceless world, still had a lot of learning to do when it came to the way that same world worked.

He could only show her so much, some lessons had to be learned the hard way, and if she could take them, then he would do his part to keep her whole.

"Whatever they do to you, survive it. Skulk off, lick your wounds, come back stronger. Get that revenge your blood sings for." Speaking as much to himself as her, Cooper allowed her a peek into his own thoughts, an insight he knew she wouldn't fully understand quite yet. "Never let them break you. Better off dead than broken in this world."

Gathering herself enough to shakily speak, Lucy gripped Cooper's knee with clawing fingers as she clung to him like a lifeline.

"There's more of them. Ten minutes up north. That's who they were- who they were going to sell me to."

"More side-tracking bullshit." Cooper sighed but his voice grew more contemplative as his gravelled tones mused on her words. "That said, been a while since I hunted down some proper vermin. No bounty. No rules. Might be fun to let loose for once."

He let the idea hang in the air, curious if she was hinting at what he suspected she was.

"You coming with me?"

"Yeah."

Unseen by the shaking Lucy, a pleased smile split Cooper's lips as he glanced down at her steady answer.

It wasn't often he took on a companion, far less one that he'd actually indulge, but the odd woman intrigued him with the hypocrisy of her very existence. A vaultie with a edge, naive blood screaming out for wrongs to be righted just like his own as she fought alongside him like a harpy.

It did help that they both wanted her dear old daddy strung up like the traitor he were.

But revenge would see her right.

She was owed a debt by those who had tried to take her, a debt of honor, and he would see that she avenged it in a glorious explosion of violence that would help keep her nightmares at bay as they would leave no doubt that the beasts responsible were well put down and unable to haunt her.

By gun or by knife, she would get at least that.

He had seen the broken ones. The ones used and abused by so many across the wastelands that they gave up everything and became husks even more devoid of humanity than the ghouls who lost the battle and went feral. It was a fate worse than the many deaths he'd experienced in his time.

No one deserved that.

Especially not Lucy Maclean.

His hand ghosting over her head, fingers only an inch away from her fine head of mousy hair, Cooper tilted his head to the side as he took her exhausted frame in.

"Sleep for now, vaultie. Time for this little killer to save her strength. So take it for what it is and when you wake, we'll see about righting some of the wrongs that happened here."

Feeling more safe with the violent ghoul who had shown her the new reality of her world than any other of the awful creatures she had met since leaving her vault, Lucy's eyes fluttered close as his voice washed over her and exhaustion claimed her before she could do anything to muse on that odd feeling of safety.

Links to the rest of the series:

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

[theprinceandagcd]

20 Fanfic Author Questions

Thank you so much @anincompletelist and @caterpills for tagging me!! These are fun and I haven't done one in while, so :)

1. How many works on AO3?

77 !!

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

481,726

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos

but daddy, you love him

this is the first time I've felt the need to confess

we broke all the pieces (still wanna play the game)

can this be a real thing (can it?)

one single thread of gold tied me to you

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Red, White, and Royal Blue now! I have written for others in the past but I'm a hyperfixation girlie at my core so just that one :)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I haven't always, but I do now! Sometimes I get behind but I try to go through my inbox and knock some comments out at least once or twice a week.

6. Angstiest Ending?

I don't really do angsty/not happy endings - it's not in my capability, honestly? you can run (but only so far) was angsty up to VERY close to the ending but that's probably the best I can do

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

I ALMOST answered this with gay chicken just because they do get a... happy ending. i'm SORRY.

Probably the but daddy, you love him universe - the third installment especially is just sob-worthy happy. (although, perhaps that third installment isn't their final story, either)

8. Do you get hate?

I did get one guest comment once telling me to kill myself? But otherwise not really - I'm really grateful for it, too.

9. Do you write smut?

I do!! I didn't in previous fandoms and didn't when I started with RWRB, but I've got a few now and have a multichap coming soon that is VERY smutty. I've gotten a lot more comfortable with it and it's a nice tool to have, although works don't need smut to be good and I like choosing to do stories without it still, too.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I do not - the hyperfixation is too real.

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

A few, yeah!! it's super cool. I'm always very enthusiastically supportive of people doing this.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not yet!! but there may be a doc that exists where someone says "okay hear me out" every five seconds

14. All time favourite ship?

excuse you

probably captain swan but don't tell firstprince i said that

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oooh. i have a handful of multichap ideas/outline docs that like, just odds are that not all of them get written. not sure which ones, but I'm sure at least one of them will wind up not working out.

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue!! my go-to beta thinks it's because I did theater in college and took script writing classes which are dialogue heavy, but I LOVE putting dialogue together. sometimes when i'm in the process of writing, I'll do dialogue skeletons just to feel successful in writing and go back later to add exposition and fill everything out.

17. Writing Weaknesses?

other than having sort of favorite words that I tend to overuse, I think my main weakness is emotional weight in stories. I've read so many fics where I'm practically gasping for breath at the end because it's really hit me in the heart, and I just don't think my writing has that? I tend to think my best writing is when I'm being funny or cute, writing in banter and etc, and when I try to do something heavy or emotional it never feels like it's quite got the same punch to it as what I wanted.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

Love reading it - I don't typically write it because of time and not knowing any languages other than English and American Sign Language - which isn't easy to put into a fic. I've looked up small lines before for specific purposes and checked with someone who knows the language, but it's not something I typically have the time to do right - and I am NOT going to do it wrong.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

oh my god. high school musical. don't fucking look at me.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Can I say a WIP that I haven't posted yet?? I'm gonna say a WIP I haven't posted yet :)

no pressure tags! @agostobuwan @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @clockwrkpendrxgon @dreamtigress @everwitch-magiks @fckngyrs @firenati0n @fullsunsets @henryspearl @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway @jmagnabo92 @kj-bee @miharaikko @milowren29 @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nontoxic-writes @onthewaytosomewhere @orchidscript @pinkamour1588 @porcelainmortal @priincebutt @read-and-write- @softboynick @sophie1973 @stellarmeadow @suseagull5914 @thesleepyskipper @thighzp @thinkof-england @tinyarmedtrex @wordsofhoneydew

[starwarsmum]

Let SuperMari May begin! First prompt is Meet Fail

@maribat-calendar-events

AO3

PinkFrenchMarigold: I can't believe I get to come to meet you in person at last! Are you sure your dad doesn't mind me staying for a couple of days?

HortonsCoffeeFiend: please Mari, he might not even notice you're there

PFM: pfft, whatever you say, Timbit. Still good to meet me at the airport?

HCF: 👍 absolutely! I'll bring the coffee and doughnuts

PFM: my hero! Going dark, see you in 10 hours or so 🫶

*_____*

Marinette put her phone away, setting it to aeroplane mode before relaxing into her first class seat. She hadn't been sure she wanted to spend that much on the flight but Alya had convinced her that she would want the extra leg room and privacy. And now that she was settling into the chair, she could admit that it was absolutely necessary. 

Pulling out her sketchbook, she let her mind wander as she sketched out a design for a new line of hero inspired clothes. The main duo of the Parisian team, Scarabella and Chat Noir, were joining the Justice League that day and it meant that other people might want merchandise of the team. She'd been designing little bits for a long time, but now she would be able to market it to a wider audience. 

Mullo peeked out of her purse after the first hour of the flight and Marinette pulled out some cheese cubes, scattering them on the tray table. The tiny mouse Kwami grinned and began nibbling immediately. It was crazy to think she had been part of the team that took down Hawkmoth' and she was a little sad that she wasn't going to be introduced to the Justice League. 

She shook her head at herself. She was moving across the world, meeting her online friend in person for the first time, and it wasn't like any of the rest of the team were joining yet either. Maybe once she was settled in Gotham she could talk to Alya about bringing her into it, but for now she was going to focus on being Marinette. 

She smiled as she checked the time and decided to try and get some sleep.

_ _ _

The mood on the WatchTower was fairly relaxed and Kon watched as his best friend updated his notes on the Parisian team. They were due to arrive any minute and, because they were presumed to be the closest in age to them, Kon and Tim were supposed to be part of the welcome party. 

“I thought you were supposed to be busy today,” he said when he thought Tim was less distracted. 

“Yeah, I will be, but right now I'm okay for time. My friend doesn't land for another few hours and we should be done with plenty of time to spare for me to get to the airport,” Tim shrugged, saving his files and standing. 

“I can't believe you have an online civilian friend that you invited to Gotham. Wouldn't it have been smarter to go to them?” 

“Maybe if she hadn't been stuck in Paris for the past few years. Besides, I'm locking her up in the manor for a bit until I can tell if she can handle herself.” 

“That would be really concerning if I didn't know you,” Kon laughed, his grin turning roguish in the next moment. “And when do I get to meet your online friend? Maybe I can come and introduce myself while she's locked up in whatever tower you choose for her.” 

“Ha ha, funny. Marigold doesn't need another target on her back, it's bad enough that I'm probably going to have to keep her safe from Rogues. I don't really want to have to worry about Lex on top of all that.” 

“Fine, I'll have to meet her when you don't have her locked up I guess.” 

“Don't you have an off-world mission to get ready for?” Tim asked, sounding annoyed. Kon grinned widely, pleased that he'd managed to get under his skin so easily. He was fairly sure Tim was in love with his online friend, so he hoped she was everything she seemed. Tim deserved to be happy.

_ _ _

Adrien was excited to meet some of the Justice League, he just wished Marinette could be there with them. He knew why she wasn't, even agreed that it should just be him and Alya to begin with, but he still missed his best friend. 

“What do you think they'll be like?” He asked when they were waiting at the Paris Zeta Tube to be escorted in. “Multi seemed to think this was a good thing, but she didn't want to come up so…” 

“You know she was busy,” Alya said. They were prevented from continuing their conversation by the Zeta Tube lighting up and Wonder Woman stepping out to greet them. They exchanged hellos and then they followed the older heroine into the tube and up to the WatchTower. 

“Oh my god, that's Batman,” Adrien said in a hushed voice as they entered the meeting room. Alya looked like she was barely containing a fangirl squeal as Wonder Woman joined Batman and Superman. “Uh, hi, nice to meet you. I'm Chat Noir, this is Scarabella.” 

“Well met,” Wonder Woman said, smiling at them both. “Congratulations on defeating your villain, I'm sure it's a relief that Gabriel Agreste will no longer be terrorising your city.” 

“It is,” Alya said, actively working not to look at Chat. He knew this because she was tense as a taut wire and he forced down the nausea that came with the knowledge that everyone knew it was Gabriel that had done it. That the man he had called a father was the reason most of his friends had been akumatised and the reason he had died more than once. 

Shaking away the bad thoughts, they were formally inducted into the Justice League and introduced to a few heroes that were similar ages to them. Once that was all complete, Superman informed them cheerfully that they were expected at a few upcoming meetings and that support was available through the trials and any further investigations for Hawkmoth.

Adrien found himself relaxing completely once the big three were gone, leaving him and Alya in the care of Red Robin and the elder Superboy. It all seemed to be going well until Superboy started to quiz them on the rest of their team. Red Robin seemed to get frustrated and embarrassed on behalf of his friend.

“Do you think you'll bring the rest of your team up some time?” Superboy asked, and Red Robin looked like he wanted to hit him. “I thought you were going to bring everyone up here at once. Weren't there, like, fifteen of you?” 

“Something like that,” Alya said breezily. “But most of them are retired now and the others…they have their own lives to get on with. If any of them want to come up, we'll let them know that they're welcome but I don't want to pressure them at all. Hawkmoth wasn't really a barrel of laughs.” 

“So long as they know they're welcome, that's cool,” Red Robin said, shooting Superboy a look that said ‘shut up’ that even Adrien could read through the mask. 

“Maybe one day we'll get our strategist up here, she's a goddamn powerhouse,” Adrien said, grinning as he thought about Marinette. 

“Yeah, but is she hot?” Superboy asked cheekily, and Adrien thought he understood why Red had been getting annoyed. He wondered if Superboy flirted with many heroes. 

“Oh, like a supernova,” Alya nodded sagely. “But also not interested in dating a hero so you're out of luck I'm afraid.”

“Guess I'll just have to try my luck with Red's friend then,” he smirked, leaning back in a chair so far it rested on two legs. 

Adrien gave a bark of laughter when Red Robin kicked his chair out from under him.

_ _ _

Tim was not running late. He knew that it was more than likely that Mari’s flight would land on time but then customs would be a nightmare, so he was comfortably on time, he was sure. Besides, the coffee would get cold if he arrived too early, so getting there slightly after wasn't a bad thing.

But luck was not on his side because as he pulled up, he got a notification that a B-list rogue was trying to hold up the airport. Damian had already confirmed that he was nearby and would be expecting Tim to be suited up by the time he got there. 

“Good, it appears that Condiment King is attempting to rob the passengers of the flight from Paris for some reason. We should do some reconnaissance and then plan accordingly,” Damian said when Tim arrived in costume. 

“Fine, you head left, I'll head right and we'll meet at the back of the room to discuss strategies,” Tim said curtly, focusing on getting this done as soon as possible. 

As they circled to the back of the room, Tim spotted one of the passengers slipping away and heading into a corridor marked ‘Employees Only’. It was a young woman in a pink hoodie and grey jeans, worn sneakers on her feet. Very notably not an airport employee. She must have abandoned her luggage except for a small bag on her shoulder. He lost sight of her momentarily when she turned a corner but he could hear her murmuring urgently. Perhaps she had been on the phone?

“Mullo, get squeaky!” Said the voice, and Tim froze. What on earth did that mean? And then a light flashed and when he turned the corner the young woman he had spotted was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a superheroine in grey and pink stood there, two buns atop her head and a skipping rope tied around her waist. She gave a squeak when she turned and saw Tim, hand flying to her rope. “Uh, oh, you must be one of the local heroes, right? Red Robin, unless I'm mistaken. Hi, I'm Multimouse! Want a hand?” 

“...sure, why not.” 

Rounding up the goons took minimal effort between Tim, Damian and the new hero. She wasn't seen by anyone else but she was capable and strategic, following Tim's orders and offering insightful suggestions that sped things along. When it was over, she vanished with a quick salute in his direction, smiling brightly.

“She was…not horrendous,” Damian said stiffly. It took Tim by surprise because that was practically a compliment coming from him. “Hadn't you better go and find your friend? On the off chance that you have not been cat fished, she must be rather perturbed by the attack.” 

“Thanks Robin, I'll see you back at base,” he acknowledged, changing back to his civilian clothes in record time. He grabbed the cups of coffee and the box of doughnuts, and headed for the arrivals. 

Looking around, he held the box as visibly as he could, checking his phone. He sent a picture of the doughnut box and flipped the camera to show his line of sight and hoped that was enough for her to find him. He was staring at the check marks to see if they changed colour when someone stopped in front of him. He glanced up and was met by the woman he knew had to be Multimouse. He froze for a fraction longer than felt comfortable, until she broke the awkwardness. 

“Tim? Or, uh, whatever your real name is, HortonsCoffeeFiend,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice giving away her nerves. He was a little astounded that she was nervous to meet him when she had been completely calm during the fight. 

“Oh, uh, it actually…yeah, my name's Tim. Tim Drake,” he said, feeling a little smug when she laughed. “What about you, Marigold? Or would you rather I just keep using that?” 

“Marinette, actually,” she said with a bubbly giggle. “That's so crazy, what were the odds I would have picked your actual name? You look like you would know that sort of thing.” 

“Rude,” he said, holding out her coffee cup. “Sorry, it's probably a little cold now. But welcome to Gotham! As much as it sucks that you got caught in an attack, it's really…kind of common. Not how I pictured this meeting going though,” he added glumly. 

“Yeah, I thought I'd get at least a couple of days in before I experienced one of your villains,” she agreed, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. Upon finding that it was more than a little cold, she grimaced before chugging it back. “Hmmm, not too bad. At least it's caffeine.” 

“I'll get you a hot one another time,” Tim promised, reaching to take her bags. She shared them with him and chattered happily as he led her to his car. “I should probably warn you, my house is kind of…manic. And big.”

“That's fine, I won't stay too long. Thanks for offering me a space, I really didn't want to get an apartment without seeing it in person. Plus, I couldn't come to Gotham without meeting my online coffee bestie.” 

They lapsed into silence when they were seated, Marinette opening the doughnut box and offering it to him first. They got through the box of half dozen fairly quickly and he laughed when she licked her fingers clean. 

“I take it you want a serviette or something instead,” she mused, pulling napkins out of her purse. 

“Sure would, thanks,” he said, accepting them without taking his eyes off the road. 

“Would you be up for hitting a drive-thru or something? The doughnuts were nice and all, but I think I need something more substantial.” 

“Sure, why not,” he agreed, mentally figuring out where the closest drive-thru was and how to get there. Which was probably why he missed the sharp look she sent his way. 

Once they had more food, Marinette seemed to be mulling something over. She ate quickly and was done well before they pulled up at the manor. But where most new arrivals gawked at the massive building, Marinette was studying him. He cocked his head, wondering what the problem was, when she groaned and hit her head onto his dash. 

“Uh, are you okay?” He asked, nervous suddenly. He knew the manor was intimidating, but-

“Oh, yeah, just peachy thanks. Just wondering if you know the odds on us both having secret identities,” she said, tone flat. 

Well hell.

[jillsandwhichs]

Our Future Days

Joel Miller x Reader series, Chapter 13, Once in a Lifetime

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You & Joel attend the Jackson get together. Although, you both leave early and something unexpected happens between the two of you

WC: 3.4k

Type: SFW

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Moving into Jackson a few weeks back, never did you think you'd become this close in depth in the community. You thought you'd just be what they consider an extra - an outcast. You never planned to even try and make friends, you aren't the best at social interaction anyways and yet, despite that very fact, you've made a few. Maria has been a good friend, so has Tommy. A few others as well, but Maria has been the biggest help.

And to repay her for her respect & lenience, you agreed to help with the event she's hosting tonight. It's because of Jackson reaching their dream count of members that Maria decided to host a party. It's being held at the "community center" as they call it. It is a large, spacious area in downtown Jackson that Maria had cleaned up herself months ago to turn it into a place for parties and events to be hosted.

Your job however was to gather supplies on patrol and to be on the committee to help set it all up. From a bar to a dancing area, you guys went all out. And now, since it's all complete, it doesn't look half bad. The party doesn't start for another twenty minutes so Maria is giving you and herself time to quickly get ready - neither of you want to look like hags on the dance floor tonight.

"I'll meet back up with you after I'm ready. Just be back here in twenty, got it?" Maria said to you as you both exited the building. "Yeah." You gave her a nod. "Good." She then departed from you, heading towards her and Tommy's place to get all spick & span.

This process may be a bit difficult for you. You don't have a lot to work with. You picked out an outfit the other day but getting your hair done in this amount of time and with no actual hair products will be hard. You'll just have to manage. You know Joel is probably getting ready right now. Originally, he didn't want to go but you & Maria convinced him at the Park the other day. You're sure glad you did, you don't wanna be there without him.

As you got closer to your guy's house (He refuses to claim it as just his) you pulled out your key and unlocked the door. For security reasons, Joel mandated that the door must always be locked, even when they're both there; You've kept that mentally noted. You closed the front door behind you and locked it up again, making sure it was secure and unable to open. At first, you were going to call out for Joel, but he's probably busy so there's no need.

Instead, you went to the bathroom and opened the cupboard, seeing the outfit you had left there set up and clean. "Nice." You whispered to yourself as you began to get undressed. The outfit in question was casual, but cute. It's a black corduroy skirt with a metal button on the top. To pair with it, you got a red long sleeve shirt. Together, it makes a difference in what you tend to wear, though you know it means a lot to Maria that everyone looks their best.

You slipped the skirt on and put on black tights underneath it; The weather will not allow you to wear a skirt plainly. You kept your bra on, it's one of the few you have, and you slipped your red shirt over it, tucking it into the skirt. The outfit is comfortable and as you look into the mirror, you feel pretty. "Okay, this is good." You ran your hands down your body as you checked yourself out.

To your left on the sink is your hairbrush. You began to run it through your hair, just getting out any minor tangles and slipping it back into a low ponytail. You know yourself too well, if your hair is simply down, it'll become a mess real fast. Low ponytails suit you anyways, it's how you usually wear your hair. You brought out two strands of hair to rest on top of your forehead, just so your face looks more natural.

Letting out a deep sigh, you nodded and double checked everything. Your outfit is cute, your hair looks nice and... Oh right, perfume! How could you forget? Someone who you've befriended over the course of the few weeks you've been here creates her own fragrances. Her name is Francis and she's actually extremely talented with it. She made you something very special and she calls the scent Cherry Delight - it has accents of cherry, floral & spice. It smells great.

You rubbed it on your wrists, then to your neck, shoulders, stomach and the back of your legs - literally everywhere. You inhaled deeply and nodded. Much better.

That's all you have to do. In an apocalypse, you can't go all out like you used to. It's a blessing, and a curse. You miss it. Music whilst doing your makeup, talking with your girlfriends and pre gaming. Now, it takes you five minutes and you're going somewhere where only vinyls can be played, and a lot of the music you were once enabled to listen to isn't put on vinyl or you're sure Maria doesn't have it. It's a shame, truly.

"Here goes nothing then." You opened the bathroom door and closed it behind you. You might as well head out now. As you started to amble out to the doorway, you heard the stairs creaking. You turned around, Joel was standing on them, looking down at you. You blushed and crossed your arms. "You look nice." You smiled and looked him up and down. You attempted to come off as friendly but you fear that sounded pretty flirtatious. Joel smirked and walked down furthermore.

Joel looked you up and down and leaned against the door frame, eyes on you. "Look at you," he chuckled, "didn't think I'd ever see you in a skirt." You looked down and nodded. "I could say the same. I haven't worn one in years." You giggled and uncrossed your arms. "Are you leaving now?" You questioned him. "I am. You?" "Same." You stated. "Let's go together then." He reached over and grabbed his coat. You did the same, zipping it all the way up.

"You using Francises stuff?" Joel asked you as he opened the front door, letting you out first (Because he's just such a gentleman) then closing the door behind him as he stood next to you. "I am. She made me a spray the other day." "Yeah, she's real talented. Made me a-uh lotion, smells like back home. Been usin' it ever since." That's sweet. Francis is really talented. You'll most definitely be confiding in her more often. "That's really cool." You spoke as you two stepped off of the porch and made way onwards.

The sun is down, the only natural lighting now being the moon and stars. However, Maria truly does go all out. She set up lights all over so people could see where to walk and not only that, they are festive with Christmas coming up and all. It's cold though, unfortunately. You weren't aware of how bad Wyoming can get. You shivered slightly and snickered. "Guess wearing a skirt wasn't the best call." You muttered. Joel looked at you and shook his head, "It definitely was." Now is he flirting?

"Any plans for tonight? Are you gonna dance? Drink?" You asked him. He nodded, "Definitely drink." He chuckled. "As for dancin', that ain't really my thing." He clarified. You rolled your eyes. Such a classic response from a man. "I'm not too surprised to hear you say that, funnily enough. Maybe I'll be able to convince you to dance with me?" You laughed out. "We'll see about that darlin'." Joel winked and looked back in front of him.

You'll definitely convince him. You remember dancing at your aunt's wedding back in the day. You did it with your dad, sister, cousins and even random boys who were there. You had taken dance classes as a young girl, so it's no wonder. Looking up, you admired the moonlight as it peered down upon you and Joel. "Isn't the moon so pretty?" "It is. Real pretty. Me and Sarah used to look at it together as I'd put her to sleep." "That's precious Joel." "Yeah." He nodded, his hands in his pockets.

That wasn't your intention - to bring up a touchy subject. You just wanted to share a special moment with him. You sighed deeply and glanced at him. "May I ask you something?" "Yeah, sure." Joel said in a deep, thick southern voice. "Do you ever feel like Sarah's passing is your fault?" You ask this because you can tell he lives with a sense of guilt. All he did was nod. At least he's comfortable enough to do that. "It isn't." You touched his arm and gazed at him. "Even Sarah herself knows that." You reassured him.

You don't mean to get all sad & sappy before a party, but you needed him to know that.

"Onto more lighter topics," you cleared your throat, "I think once I'm back on my feet more, I can leave Jackson, maybe find a place to permanently stay." As you said that, Joel stopped and scoffed. It didn't come off as mean, but rather irritated. "One day you plan to stay here, then the next you're ready to go... Which is it gon' be?" He's not wrong. You've had a habit of switching it up. You sighed deeply.

"I just... Don't want to be a problem." "Well you're not, so knock it off," he stated in a stern manner. "Maria wants you here, isn't that enough?" Joel asked you. You nodded and uncrossed your arms. "I just have a habit of overthinking a lot, my bad." "I know." He snickered and held his arm out. You smiled and interlocked yours with his as the two of you continued to walk.

Just yards away was the center. You could already see folks going in and out of it. It's a nice sight, really. It's almost like it's twenty years ago all over again. "Will Ellie be here tonight?" "Most likely. Her and her little friends tend to stay together like a quiver, so." "Heh," you giggled and nodded, "at least she has people. Be grateful for that." It probably sucks being a teenager in a time like this and what would be even worse is having no one as a support system who is your own age.

As you got closer, you released your arms from Joel's and opened the door for him. "Ladies first." You winked and he pinched you playfully. "Manly men first it is." He walked in first and you snorted. Walking in, the sound of music playing and people laughing could be heard. A rush of nostalgia coursed through you. This is exactly how it was all those years ago. Music, laughter, joy & no worries. Oh how you wish it could remain this way forever.

"I'm gonna go look for Maria, why don't you get us drinks?" You asked him, flashing pretty eyes at him. "Those eyes work on me, see ya in a bit." He trailed off and you snorted to yourself before looking around to spot out Maria. She appeared to be with Ellie of all people, the two of them talking about whatever. You decided to amble over to them, to join in and seem casual.

Getting closer, Maria looked at you and stopped Ellie for just a moment. "Ah, there she is. You look nice." Maria complimented you and crossed her arms. "You do as well, same goes for you Ellie." "Thank you." Ellie said in a quiet voice. She seems a bit shy. You can't blame her. You're a bit nervous as well. "So, how do you like it? I can clean up the place quite well, huh?" "You've got a touch to yourself Maria." You smiled, it was an honest compliment.

Ellie jogged off to a few of her friends and started to interact with them. The sight was sweet. It warms your heart right up. Though, Maria soon caught your attention. "I'm surprised you dragged Joel here, he didn't come to the last party we had." "I didn't have to do much actually," you chuckled, "he was pretty much willing." Maybe he just needed to get out of the house, kind of like you. Maria smirked and nodded. "Go figure." She suspects something between the two of you.

"Well, I'll let you enjoy yourself. I'll be with Tommy if you need me." She gently touched your shoulder before meeting up with her fiance. You waved goodbye, then faced Joel again, who was convoying towards you with two glasses in his hands. "What did you get us?" You questioned him with a smile. "Myself a beer and you some wine, they found it today." He handed you the glass and you smiled. "How thoughtful. Thanks." You sipped it. It's been well preserved, that's for sure.

You two leaned against the wall and you looked up at him. The music playing was slow & romantic. Some couples and kids started to dance, having the time of their lives. You watched intently, the sight being the cutest thing you've seen in years. If Becker was still alive, he would've taken that cake. Same goes for Hannah. You sighed softly and shook them from your head - you won't let your grief disturb you right now.

You felt a nudge on your shoulder and noticed Joel was holding his hand out. This made you giggle. "Oh really now?" You bellowed and took his hand. "I didn't even have to make you!" You followed him out to the dance floor, setting your wine glass down as you did. "Yeah, well," he pulled you close to him, his hands on your hips and your arms encasing around his neck, "I could use a distraction." He breathed in deeply. "Me too." Truly.

The song playing was nice. You swear you've heard it before. Your guy's movements matched the rhythm of it and surprisingly, Joel wasn't too bad on his feet. "Have you ever danced with someone before?" You asked him. "Sarah, plenty of times. She'd make me dance in the kitchen while she'd play her cheesy music. You?" "I did dance growing up, so definitely more than I can count." You nodded. "Ah." He commented.

You two swayed across the wooden floor. The way you two danced was relaxing and it truly kept your mind off of things. "You're actually good. Dare I say I am impressed?" You said whilst snickering and he squeezed your hips in a playful way. "I've got my ways, sweet thing." He responded. That he does. He spun you around and caught you, making you laugh like a little girl. Really, only Joel could ever make you feel such a way.

Looking into his eyes, your heart stopped and it felt as if the world was coming to an end. Not in a bad way, no, but as if it's only the two of you left. Joel. How do you feel for him? That is a question you've been pondering on recently. You care about him immensely. He's done so much for you and you could never repay him. But do you love him? A part of you questions if you do or not and the other tells you yes, yes yes! It's just hard to pin point.

You gandered down and chuckled to yourself. You make these things more awkward than they need to be. Joel's face got a bit red, though you didn't notice. He doesn't get how he's pushing fifty and yet, you make him feel twenty again. It's crazy how love works. One thing about Joel is, when he's sure, he's sure. When it comes to you, Joel has already settled his feelings on you and they won't change.

You are a very special girl to him.

As the song came to an end, the two of you let one another go and headed back to where you were standing. You grabbed your glass and chugged it before placing it down again. Joel thought for a moment before talking to you again. "Let's get out of here, it's nothing special." "What? But Maria wants me here." "I'll tell her you got sick," he already started ambling for the back of the building. "C'mon now." Joel waved his arm and held the door open for you.

Now how can you say no to him?

-

The whole walk back to the house, you were just laughing and having a good time. Admittedly, that glass of wine was getting to you. You suppose that's what happens when you haven't drank in ages. Joel helped you up onto the porch and you two stood there, talking and admiring the midnight sky. "I feel bad. I should've stayed at the party longer." "I wouldn't worry 'bout it, Maria is probably drunk and with Tommy." Joel snickered out. You nodded.

"I don't think Maria and Tommy realize how lucky they are." "What do you mean?" Joel asked you, sitting down on the swinging chair connected to his porch. You sat down beside him and sighed. "They found love in this shit hole of a society. That's rare and special. Call me stupid, but I'm a hopeless romantic." You giggled and crossed your arms, looking out at Jackson and taking in the subtle view. "You ain't stupid. I have my moments like that too." "Like what?"

Joel thought for a moment before speaking. "Moments where I want love. A wife to come home to, kids to greet. Ever since I lost my ex wife and Sarah, I have been missin' it." Right, he had a wife. You understand him missing Sarah, of course, that's his daughter. You nodded. "You miss your ex wife?" "God no," Joel sipped his beer, "I miss havin' a wife, but not her. I miss the idea of it, y'know, havin' a pretty lady to come home to everyday and to have a life with."

That's a lovely way of putting it. You feel the same exact way. "I understand. I wish I had a boyfriend, husband, whatever... Would be nice." "Yeah." Joel replied, setting his glass down and looking at you. You smiled at him before looking up at the stars again. You didn't realize it then, but Joel was staring at you the whole time. He'd rather look at you than some silly stars up in the dark sky.

You quickly turned your head to say something. "You'll find someone, alright Joel?" You said to him, boosting his confidence and assuring him. He smirked and looked down for a second. "You're right. I will." Joel then glanced back up at you and cupped your face, this stunned you. Then he pressed his lips to yours, his hand going to the back of your head and his other trailing down to your waist.

Holy fuck. Now this you didn't expect. It took you a moment to recover but you quickly kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and swiftly moving your lips with his and scooching yourself closer to him. This was unexpected, though you aren't complaining. Kissing Joel is a dream come true. You've thought about this before for Christsakes.

As you two kissed, you stood up and his hands swathed around your hips, pressing you against him. Your hands rested on his cheeks, his scruff being easily felt and his face was clearly heated up. This is... Everything & more.

Eventually, he pulled away and snickered, causing you to giggle too. "That was," "Compulsive." He finished your sentence and ran his hand through his hair. "I was gonna say amazing but sure, compulsive." Did he not like it? He sighed deeply and licked his lips before talking again. "You're right, it was amazin'." He smirked and kissed you again, as if he couldn't get enough. This time, it was much shorter.

You bit your lower lip and followed him up to the front door. "I think the best course of action now is for us to sleep this off, yeah?" You said to him, smiling and leaning against the wall. "Sure thing." Joel winked and opened up the door, allowing you to enter first before he then closed the door behind him, locking it up.

Fuck sakes, you just made out with Joel.

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Chapter 3 - Friday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude] [Chapter Three]

As suspected, Dustin and Robin are loitering near the gym doors, awaiting their rides. "What would you two have done if I'd kept my date instead, huh?"

"Like that would stop me from getting a ride," Robin says.

"Nancy would have taken me home," Dustin says with a grin and a shrug of his shoulders.

Steve rolls his eyes and does his best to look annoyed even when all he feels is fond. "Alright, let's go. Dustin gets shotgun."

"Yes!"

"What!? Why?"

"I ruined Dustin's game tonight. This is me groveling," Steve answers as he leads them to where he parked earlier that afternoon. They're arguing behind him as they follow, but he's not listening. Now that all the excitement of the night has ended, and the rolling of his insides has settled, he remembers the weird waking nightmare thing.

Once at his car, he unlocks the passenger side door, opening it for Dustin who gives him a suspicious look before climbing in. Steve reaches down, presses the unlock button for the rest of the doors, then shuts Dustin in.

"Robbie, can you stay the night?"

"I have to! I have so many questions. Like, what happened to Heidi-"

"Brenda"

"-why you came into the gym with a herd of nerds, and why you chased Eddie down," Robin finishes as if he hadn't even corrected the name of his date. Not date? Whatever.

"Great. Climb in," Steve says and rounds the car to climb into the driver's seat. He can see Robin fumbling around with her trumpet in the back, having shoved the instrument in first but not far enough to be out of her way.

"If you guys need to have a private conversation, you can just tell me. I'll plug my ears," Dustin gripes.

"No, you won't," Steve and Robin say at the same time.

Dustin doesn't argue. He makes a 'fair enough' face and shrugs his shoulders. "True."

Once they're all buckled in, Steve heads off. He drops Dustin off first. Robin doesn't opt for jumping into the vacated seat just yet. Instead, they sit in the quiet of the radio, even though they're both wound up with the need to talk about the day, neither of them wants to start the conversation in the car. They'll both get lost in it and end up sitting out front of Robin's house for hours.

He stops at Robin's so she can change and leave the trumpet in her room. Probably also tell her parents she's going to be staying over. It doesn't take too long before he watches her shout a goodbye to her parents. He sees she's changed directly into her sleep attire; sleep pants and what looks like a shirt she stole from him.

She flings the car door open and throws a very full backpack between their seats, a strap on the bag whipping Steve in the shoulder.

"Ow! Hey!"

"It barely got you," Robin pulls the door shut gently, though, so Steve accepts her apology. After buckling in she adds, "just be lucky it was just the strap. That thing's heavy. My textbooks are still in there."

"Why?" he asks as he puts the car in drive and starts the drive home.

"I'm in two classes that don't believe in the break part of spring break," Robin groans, flopping back against the seat. "I might get some work done after you fall asleep at nine tonight, or whenever it is your old man body gives out."

"I'm not old!"

"Last time I stayed over you went to bed at eight."

"Because I was up all night the night before helping Erica with-"

"I've heard your excuses, not convinced. You are an old man now, Steve. You've got bills to pay and a lawn to mow and everything. Old people problems."

"I hate you. Why do I let you come to my house again?"

"Our house. And because you invite me. Like all the time. It's like your obsessed with me or something," she shoots him a cheeky grin before sitting up so she can reach the radio. "No wonder Dustin thinks we should date."

"Not to jump the gun but if you still need to get married to get cheaper college tuition you know I'll do it."

Robin gasps. "Steven Harrington. Are you proposing to me on this beautiful spring night? Obviously, yes. Cheaper college, and then when you disappear under mysterious circumstances after I graduate, I won't even have to worry about a mortgage or anything. Just me, the Harrington inheritance, and my mistress, lounging by the pool."

He barks a laugh that Robin quickly joins. They ride in a comfortable quiet, just the radio playing.

Steve parks in the driveway, like usual, and Robin complains about him not using the garage and he says it's just an old habit from needing to keep the garage clear for his parents. An old conversation they have every now and then as they enter the house and make their way inside.

Robin heads right for the living room and Steve jogs up the stairs to change into his own pajamas. Soon enough, they are both settled in the couch, with Back to the Future playing on the TV for background noise. A joke choice that became less of a joke with each serious conversation they have while it plays in the background. It's why Robin is now looking at him, serious but not concerned, because it was the movie he put in.

"Spill," she demands as she snuggles into his side, pointedly not looking at him, which Steve is grateful for. It's easier for him to gather his thoughts when he's not trying to decipher what every expression on her face might mean.

"I. Well, two things. There are two things to talk about. I just don't know which one first."

"Well, I wanna know how you got the entire Nerd Herd to follow you into a basketball game."

Steve chuckles, "Yeah. It's... yeah. I guess both things tie in together. Um, so, I'll just talk about it in the order everything happened and you can interrupt as needed?"

"Oh don't worry, I'll interrupt," Robin says.

So, Steve starts talking. He starts with Dustin calling him to come fill in for Hellfire, about how he'd gotten so nauseous when he barely even thought about saying no that he'd almost thrown up, and about how he'd seen something this time. He can't really recall what it was he saw now but he tries to describe it anyway. "Just, like... Umm, there was a clock. And a cassette? And the school colors, I think? But the part I remember most is Dustin sobbing. Like. Full on crying the hardest a person can. I've never even seen him sniffle with the shit we've seen. Robbie, I'm fucking terrified of whatever makes Dustin cry."

She grabs ones of his hands, sandwiching it between her two but doesn't speak, so he continues.

He recaps the day; agreeing to play, arguing with and then apologizing to Eddie, getting Hellfire to postpone and go to the game instead, helping Eddie load what they'd need to play at Steve's house into the van. He doesn't leave out a single detail. and ends with, "so, I think I might have a crush on Eddie 'The Freak' Munson."

Robin makes active listening noised the entire time he's talking, but the loudest is the gasp she lets out when he's done. "No!"

Her shout makes him jump. "No? What, why no?"

"I mean, not no, like, no not him, but no as is in why."

Steve sputters, indignant, "yeah, okay, says the girl who wanted to be the future Mrs. Tammy Thompson."

She huffs and pulls away, twisting to sit sideways on the sofa, facing him. She pulls a knee up to hug and just looks at him for a moment. "Bad crushes aside, what, um, how are we feeling, about what you saw?"

"Bad," Steve answers immediately. "I feel very bad about it but, like, in a useless way. I don't know what that was."

"It was you seeing-"

"If you say I was seeing the future, I swear on Dustin's mom-"

"Steve. What does your gut say about it?"

He frowns at her, "it doesn't work like that."

"Well, it kinda does. Think about ignoring whatever you saw. Pretending it never happened. You never plan to do anything about it."

With a huff, he does that. Mostly to humor her, because it doesn't work that way- except. Except it does work exactly that way. When he's thinking about doing something, a specific something, that's exactly when his body lets him know. And the thought of pretending he never saw any of it brings a wave of nausea through him just as bad as when he first saw it.

The problem now is that Steve has no idea what to do with this information. He tells Robin as much.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @thisusernameisunavailable01! Thisusernameisunavailable has 85 fics in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and 69 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@dame-zoom-a-lot recommends the following works by @thisusernameisunavailable01:

blue skies over suburbia

friday night bible study

be kind & rewind (the only prison I see here is time

dumb, delusional, and maybe a little desperate

it came from beneath Hawkins Lab

"I have yet to read a scene in their fics that didn't end up sticking with me in some way. If you look at their catalog, you'll see so many different kinks, so many AUs, so many degrees of angst. And they're all incredible.

"They don't only write taboo / dead dove subjects. But when they do, they're so good at showing both the appeal of dead dove fantasies, and what the consequences would look and feel like in real life. I have a lot of squeaks, but I'll always at least give my squeak a try if they wrote about it. It's like watching a masterfully crafted train wreck-- beautiful, bleak, and something I just can't look away from." -- @dame-zoom-a-lot

Below the cut, @thisusernameisunavailable01 answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I have been a fan of Stranger Things since season one. Steve has always been my favorite character, but he never had a ship that stuck with me quite like Steddie. Once I started writing, I couldn't really stop and it brought me back to Fandom culture, which makes it even more enjoyable to create. 

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I actually don't think I have favorite. I will read almost anything if it's Steddie. I guess I can be a sucker for fix its, and I do like when there are sci-fi/upside down elements to a story too. I like a little of everything. 

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Oh, I have a lot. Strangers or even Enemies to Lovers is probably my favorite. I also enjoy writing Eddie how I really see him-, charming, in his own way, but a little socially inept and awkward around Steve. Also, liking steddie has enabled me to explore so many crossovers and that has been fun too.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I have so many. The first steddie fic I ever read, I still love is & it's- that's one romantic poltergeist by appledagger. My newest favorite is from this year's bb- It's Only Forever by Hbyrde.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I'm writing omegaverse for the first time, if that counts. It's fun so far 💖

What is your writing process like?

Honestly, I have ADHD. My process is usually…get an idea, write obsessively about the idea until it's done, or procrastinate for several months until I'm finished with it. Sometimes projects die off and never see the light of day ever again (unfortunate)

Do you have any writing quirks?

I write complete first drafts using only my phone.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

My schedule is more like…post three chapters back to back…sit on the rest for 8 months (apologies)

Which fic are you most proud of?

The benefit of not wanting to run away this time. It's older steddie and I put way too many pieces of myself into it, but it is definitely still my favorite project.

How did you get the idea for it came from beneath Hawkins Lab?

I love old sci-fi and horror movies. I also always wanted to write Eddie coming back as a monster. The trope was something I had loved since I first started reading steddie fics, but every time I started one it never came out right. So while I was watching a movie one day I ended up writing the whole opening scene to the fic and in my head, I imagined it in the style of an old horror movie, in black and white. Then it was my entry into the big bang that year, which made me actually finish it.

When writing it came from beneath Hawkins Lab, what was something you didn’t expect?

The fact that at first I had written Eddie as Kas or at least as a vampire. That changed during the writing process and he ended up being more like a Frankenstein esque monster.

What inspired dumb, delusional, and maybe a little desperate?

My insatiable love for Steve Harrington…I feel like most of my PwPs could be derived from that very same reason.

What was your favorite part to write from be kind & rewind (the only prison I see here is time)?

Exes To lovers never gets enough hype and I also got to write a little platonic Eddie and Chrissy, which I adore. I guess I just liked making the boys fall back in love again.

How do/did you feel writing friday night bible study?

Haha…it was a sequel to my kinktober/PriestSteve fic and honestly, I feel like we all need more Priest Steve.

What was the most difficult part of writing blue skies over suburbia?

Setting up the scenes. It's told from Steve's POV but he is an unreliable narrator. You are never really sure if what he's describing is accurate, but you start to believe it too because of Eddie's not so sweet characterization. At the end, even I was asking what just happened.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Anything under the tag crack treated seriously…also writing Eddie's inner thoughts gives me pure joy. I also loved the AIM chatspeak scenes I wrote for this year's bb fic. 

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Sure! for anyone who enjoys #metaldeputy (Eddie Munson × Gator Tillman crossover) I'm currently posting soothe, which is a 4 part omegaverse piece. I'm also working on finishing the sleaze series & hope to post another #metaldeputy series around Christmas time. For good ol steddie, I already have a very classic, sharing the bed trope fic planned for the holidays. 

Thank you to our author, @thisusernameisunavailable01, and our nominator, @dame-zoom-a-lot! See more of Thisusernameisunavailable's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[bekolxeram]

I had an idea of Buck finding out who Maurice was through Athena months ago. No one gave me that fic, I guess I'd better feed myself. I've never written any fic before, (You read that right, I don't mean for this fandom, I've never written any fic in my life) so I was planning for a short little humorous piece. Well, I'm around 2/3 of the way done, and it's already over 2.5k words long. I don't think I'll able to finish it in the very near future, and I still don't have an AO3 account, so I decide to share the first half of it with you? To give myself the motivation to keep writing?

I just want to get my ideas out there, I'll probably correct the grammar and refine the word choices when I finish the whole thing. Please enjoy and give me feedback. (Gently, it's my first time writing anything fictional outside of high school English exam)

The first time Buck heard the name Maurice, was at Chimney and Maddie’s hospital wedding.

Neither his sister nor his now brother-in-law had much luck in love. Murderous ex, surprise pregnancy, all sorts of trauma, mental health struggle, break up, make up, you name it, they had been through it all. Even on their wedding day, the universe decided to sprinkle in a little viral encephalitis as a last minute wedding gift. Any other couple would have taken all this as a sign of destiny’s disapproval of their relationship, but not Chimney and Maddie. Life kept trying to set them apart, but they chose to get back together, time and time again. Even when they were deep in delirium, when they had lost all sense of self, they always instinctively crawled back to one another, like it was in their very nature to love each other.

Buck agreed with his mother, getting married at a hospital was indeed appropriate. Plenty of newlyweds said their vows just for the sake of traditions, but when Maddie and Chimney pledged to their lives to each other, in sickness and in health, they had their entire relationship to back it up.

Buck was ecstatic, when Bobby pronounced them officially married. He envisioned how the day would be panning out quite differently, but he could not complain. Sure, he would prefer to have his date by his side, but as a firefighter himself, he understood the safety of the city was more important than his own feelings. If anything, on that day, he learned that life would not always let you have your dream wedding, or your dream date, but as long as you treasure and prioritize each other, everything would work out in the end.

Then Tommy walked into the hospital, still in his turnout gear, covered in soot, all apologetic.

Buck just knew he had to close their distance, taste the alluring flavor of smoke straight from his lips.

Tommy came, without stopping by to get changed or to wash up, because the wedding was important to Buck, because he promised to come. Buck once thought duty and romance was a question of either/or, but Tommy made enough of an effort to make them both work.

Buck knew very well how dirty his face must have been after making out aggressively with his date, but he did not care one bit. He had not been this happy for so long, he wanted everyone in the room to see how elated he was. He wanted to wear his happiness on his face.

He briefly congratulated the newlyweds. His sister, like the caretaker she was, pulled out a baby wipe for him to clean up his lower face. He tried his best to wipe off all the soot, then he took a piece a cake and started looking around the room for his date. He found Tommy having a conversation with the Wilsons.

“Hey,” Buck put his hand on Tommy’s lower back, “What are you guys talking about?”

“Just what an entrance you two have made,” Hen said with a smirk. Karen was struggling to hide her chuckle.

“Look at him, can you blame me?” Buck gazed adoringly at Tommy, “I was planning to show him off on the dancefloor anyway.”

“You’re full of surprise, Evan, you know that?” Tommy smiled, the ocean blue in his eyes filled Buck’s heart with affection.

“I’m sure it went a lot better than the last time you tried kissing someone in front of me,” Hen interrupted, with a devilish grin.

“Huh?” Tommy reacted, puzzled.

“Maurice.” The Wilsons were fully giggling at this point.

“Oh no.” Tommy covered half of his face with one of his hands, seemingly embarrassed by Hen’s teasing, “You guys are never going to let me live this down, aren’t you?”

The conversation kept flowing, but Buck was deafened by the thousands of questions in his head.

Who’s Maurice? Why have I never heard of him? Why was Tommy trying to kiss him? In front of Hen too? Was he Tommy’s crush? Who rejected him? No, were they… together?

“Evan?” Tommy noticed Buck’s lapse in focus.

“Uh… yes… yes, Tommy?”

“The cake?” Tommy pointed at the piece of dessert in Buck’s hand.

“Sure… Of course.” Buck handed the plate over. He really wanted to find out more about this Maurice, but at the same time, he recognized the recency of his budding romance with Tommy. Tommy would get around to mentioning this mysterious figure from his past eventually, Buck thought, so he decided to let it go for now.

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten since last night. I’m starving.” Tommy explained, while shoving a sizable chunk of wedding cake into his mouth. “Mmm, this is so good. This is everything I’ve been waiting for.” This man loved his cake, even the soot and fatigue on his face could not hide the genuine joy radiating from his face, in all its crinkly, wrinkly glory.

“The cake huh? Is that all?” Buck asked, flirtatiously.

Tommy flirted back, with his signature deadpan expression but burning lust in his eyes, “Well, I have to refuel my body before engaging in whatever activities await us tonight.”

Buck’s heart skipped a beat, probably from the sudden rush of blood down south. Yeah, Maurice could wait.

The second time Buck heard the name Maurice, was at the medal ceremony.

It was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

Not only did none of them get fired, they were all given medals for borrowing LAFD property and leading a pre-authorized rescue mission off the coast of Mexico. None of that would have been possible without the pilot. Yes, all of them played their part in saving Bobby and Athena from the sinking cruise ship, but Tommy in particular put his career, even his own life at risk just to help a few old colleagues he had not seen for years, just because there might be people in need. Judge him all you want, but seeing Tommy on that stage, being awarded for his skills and heroism, Buck simply could not conceal the fondness and enamorment written all over his face. Bobby and Athena being alive and well, looking like a classic Hollywood power couple, was obviously the most important part, Buck told himself. Although, Tommy being appreciated for the absolute ace he was, while in his dress blue, came as a close second.

The way the rigid fabric splayed across the pilot’s strong muscular body, buttons holding on for dear life against his bulging pecs, pants just tight enough to accentuate the curvature of his glutes, a feature Buck found enticing in all genders. Buck was not alone in ogling the real life erotic fantasy in front of him, about that he was sure, but he took comfort in knowing he was the only one there who got to touch this body, to worship it, to savor every inch of it, to feel it against his own. He might have almost missed his own call to the stage because he was too busy gawking at his boyfriend.

He was looking forward to celebrate this moment with his loved ones, maybe a little foreplay in costume with Tommy too, until Gerrard showed up and ruined everything.

Upon spotting the former 118 captain, Tommy looked as if he had seen a ghost.

The second Gerrard made a limp wrist gesture at Tommy, insinuating a homophobic slur, Buck realized he was more than an ignorant old man. He barely skirted the edge of blatant bigotry just to abuse his targets while staying on the side of possible deniability. If he used merely 10% of his brain power allocated for creative insults, Los Angeles would be a much safer place.

Tommy was clearly upset after their unexpected encounter with Gerrard. He was forking the food on his plate, without eating any, then abruptly, he stood up, “I don’t feel like eating these right now. I’m gonna get some cake, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Buck gave him a forced smile and a small peck to his temple, then he sent his boyfriend to his beloved sweet treat.

“I’m worried about him,” Buck turned to Chimney, “I’ve never seen him like this before, being so… small.”

“Working under Gerrard was not exactly a fun time worth keeping in your memory” Chimney sighed. “Like most of us, it took Tommy a long time and a lot of soul searching to become who he is right now. He did have a fat head back in the days, but I can’t say I blame the guy. Sometimes you do things you’ll regret further down the road just to survive at the moment.”

“Yeah… he told me the 118 was a regressive place back then.”

“Gerrard isn’t just another asshole, he’s an asshole with power, particularly power over his people’s safety. Tommy almost died because of him.”

“I know… Gas explosion, right? He said you saved his life.”

“I guess I did, but hey, Gerrard only gave me one month of KP duty as a reward, so that was a plus,” Chimney snickered, sarcastically.

“He punished you for saving Tommy’s life?” Buck never fully grasped the injustice, mistreatment, and suffering his loved ones faced under Gerrard’s reign of terror. He made a mental note to thank Bobby later for his gentle fatherly guidance.

“That’s who he is, Buck. All power trip, no leadership. I’ve never seen Tommy so scared of somebody,” Chimney continues, “except maybe... Maurice.”

Maurice, this name again. Buck still knew close to nothing about this cryptic individual.

Tommy was very upfront about how abrasive his was in his youth. Having to desperately hide his true self from his abusive father, then intolerant military policy, and finally his homophobic superior, he had learned very early on that the best defense was a solid offense. He was cold, distant, downright rude to anyone and everyone who tried getting too close, to the truth, to his desire, to his heart. So if Tommy was reluctant to share the parts of his life that he was less than proud of, Buck would not try to pry… At least until Chimney told him how fearful Tommy was of Maurice.

“Who…” Just as Buck opened his mouth, his brother in law rose from his seat, grabbing the red wine filled glass with him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this wine to my wife.”

As soon as Chimney left, Tommy returned with a piece of cake in his hand and a subtle smile on his face.

“Heyy-” Tommy greeted Buck in his usual playful tone.

“Hey, feeling better?” Buck was relieved, sensing Tommy’s change of mood.

“Um…” Tommy looked down, seemingly pondering. Then he retook the seat he previously occupied, the one right next to Buck, and hooked one of his feet under his boyfriend’s chair. He gave the chair a swift, firm tug, and in the blink of an eye, the physical distance between them vanished.

“Now I am,” Tommy murmured with his deep, gravelly voice.

Just like that, the rest of the room ceased to exist for Buck. No Gerrard, no Maurice, only Tommy. Buck’s fingers slowly slid towards the strong, burly thigh leaning against his own, but Tommy stopped him on his track, by grabbing his inquisitive hand.

“This is not exactly... appropriate for work, don’t you think?”, Tommy said, without letting go of Buck. “People may have questions if they see us.” His grip tightened, just enough to reignite the fervent desire building up between them since the start of the day. “Hen and Karen asked me just now about my intentions with you, if they are…” He looked down at the shinny medal currently decorating his boyfriend’s chest, and used his free hand to adjust the ribbon, “honorable.”

“And what did you say?” Buck asked breathlessly, almost panting.

“I told them, we’re taking it very slow…” Tommy inched closer and closer. “You’re taking the lead, I’m just trying to keep up…” His lips ghosted over Buck’s cheek, then he whispered into his ear, “Where should we go now?”

Buck responded by simply dragging Tommy onto the station rooftop. With the “no visitors” sign blocking the stairs, it was the perfect place for some private pastime.

[cielcreations]

"Slay The Prince" - Prologue: The Hero and The Prince

AN: So I'll probably only be posting this one chapter to Tumblr, just because I want to color coordinate all the text (as if I don't have enough work for myself, lmao), and Tumblr is very limited with what you can and can't do.

However, I will not be leaving y'all empty handed. If you want to read the full book/future chapters, here's the link to the AO3 page, where there will be a rainbow of colors, different fonts, and more exciting stuff. This is literally my passion project, so please enjoy!

"You're on a path in the woods." A voice told him, causing the man to look over. A man with dirty blonde hair, pale skin, and glowing green eyes rested on a nearby boulder. He was dressed in a simple black suit with a red tie, scarlet macaw wings on his back. He smiled at the man, "And at the end of that path, is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a prince."

He looked up at the path of trees, the wind blowing leaves around, the twigs lifting themselves a bit and flowing with the wind. The path up the hill was steep, with dirt and gravel leading him up towards the cabin. The trees were bent in such a way, beckoning him to come closer.

A prince really lived up there?

"You're here to slay him. If you don't, it will be the end of the world."

The man looked back at the other, confused, "The end of the world? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the end of everything as we know it. No more birds, no more trees, and, perhaps, the most problematic, no more people. You have to put an end to him."

"But how can a prince, locked away in a basement, end the world?"

"Don't... linger on the specifics." The avian brushed him off, "You have a job to do here. Just get in there and do what needs to be done. We're all counting on you."

"Do you have any evidence to back this up?"

The avian sighed, "Look, you're already on the path that leads to the cabin. Why would you be here if you weren't to complete a very important task?"

The man blinked, thinking.

"You've made it this far, you might as well reach the end of your journey."

"...How did I even get here?"

"Does that matter? You got here and that's a fact. You got here because of your task that needed to be done. Who cares about the how. Let's focus on the now."

The man stared for a second, before asking his next question, "Have you considered that maybe the only reason he's going to end the world is because he's locked up?"

"While I appreciate the mental exercise, we are running up against a bit of a ticking clock." The avian groaned. He then sighed, "Nevertheless, let me assure you; the prince is locked up because he's dangerous. He's not dangerous because he is locked up." The man went to say something, but the avian stood, holding his hand up as he began walking around him, "And before you decide to waste even more of our time by asking how I know that, let me suggest a more pragmatic lens through which to view this situation." Once he stood in front of the man again, he looked up, glowing green eyes digging into his skull, "Causality doesn't matter here because the end result is the same, no matter what led us up to this point. If the prince leaves the cabin, the world will end, and there is no changing that. It's no use arguing semantics over a metaphorical chicken-or-egg, because the egg is hatched and it's about to ruin everything."

The avian then smiled and poked the man's chest, "Unless, of course, you do your job and slay him!"

"Killing a prince seems kind of bad, though, doesn't it?" The man crossed his arms over his chest, a bit uncomfortable.

"Does it? Are you a monarchist?" The avian hummed, beginning to circle him again, "Is slaying a prince that much worse than slaying a fisherman or a miller or a seamstress? If anything, slaying a prince is much better than slaying a fisherman! A fisherman contributes something valuable to society."

"Can't someone else do this?"

"Oh, if only that were the case, but, atlas, I do not make the rules!" He hummed again, his hand going to his chin, "I have to say, I'm surprised at your reluctance thus far. But, unfortunately for the both of us, you're the only one who can pull this off! Like I said, I don't make the rules." He sighed, stopping in his tracks, looking at the dirt, "No matter how much I wish I did..."

"Do I get some sort of reward for doing this?" The man huffed.

"Yes, but you'll have to slay him before you get it."

"Can't you tell me what my prize will be for doing a good job?"

"It's a secret, but I think you'll like it~! It's a special reward, just for you!" The avian winked, "And whatever you think it might be, I can promise you, it's going to be even better!"

The man continued to hesitate, "Have you considered that maybe I'm okay with the world ending?" He shrugged.

"Of course I haven't. Why would I even consider that? Nobody wants the world to end!" The avian huffed, his wings growing stiff as he narrowed his eyes. He then thought for a second, "...Well, I mean, maybe some people do, like nihilists or very, very, very evil people. But surely, you're not one of those, right?"

The man shrugged, "Forget it, I'm not doing it."

"Are you serious? No, you have to do it." The avian hissed.

The man narrowed his eyes, "Okay, look, I'll go to the cabin and I'll talk to him and if he's as bad as you say he is, then maybe I'll slay him. But I'm not committing to anything until I've had the chance to meet him face to face."

The avian spun around, turning into a scarlet macaw and landing on the man's shoulder, "Then I guess we'll have to see what happens. But, a word of warning? If you go in prepared to hear him out, he could easily trap you in his web of lies. And the more you listen to his honeyed words, the harder it'll be the pull yourself out." He then whispered in the man's ears, "Then each and every one of us is doomed."

The man stiffened.

"So, sure, go and talk to him! See how that turns out for all of us!"

The man shook his head, ignoring him as he made his way up the path. Upon doing so, he reached the bottom of the hill. Looking up, he saw a nice, normal, wooden cabin.

"You make your way up the short path to the cabin."

"Are you just going to narrate everything I do?" The man asked with a hiss.

"Hey, that's my job! My job is to say the facts!" The avian hissed back, huffing, "You'll find the prince within!"

"We're not going to go through with this, right?" Another voice asked, the two turning. Beside him was a brunette man with tan skin and yellow eyes, wearing a black prince coat with golden buttons and a yellow trim, black jeans, black boots, and a black cape with a yellow trim and yellow i on it. He had a sword strapped to his side, but he didn't touch it. He looked at the man, a look of concern on his face, "I mean, he's a prince, right? Aren't heroes suppose to save princes and princesses? Not slay them!"

The Narrator, the avian, flew and landed on the Hero's shoulder, turning into his human self again. He pinched the brunette's cheek, smirking, "Ignore him! He doesn't know what he's talking about!"

The brunette glared at the avian, "You always did annoy me, Narrator."

The dirty blonde just smiled, sitting on the Hero's shoulder, his new perch.

The man hesitated, staring at the two before looking at the cabin, hesitantly proceeding.

"The interior of the cabin is almost entirely bare. The air is stale and musty and the floor and walls are painted in a layer of dust. The only furniture of note is a plain wooden table. Perched on the table is a pristine blade." The Narrator explained, "The blade is your implement. You'll need it if you want to do this right."

The man hesitated before taking the knife.

"You take the blade from the table. It'd be rather difficult to slay the prince and save the world without it."

The man slowly opened the door.

"The door to the basement creaks open, revealing a staircase faintly illuminated by an unseen light in the room below. This is an oppressive place. The air feels heavy and damp, a hint of rot filtering from the ancient wood." The Narrator chuckled, "If the prince really lives down here, slaying him is probably doing him a favor."

The man and Hero glared at him.

"Who's there?" A voice called.

"He sounds... dangerous." The Hero commented, "It's almost as if he's the one in charge down here."

"He will do anything if it means setting himself free. He will lie, cheat, and steal, anything he thinks he needs to do to run." The Narrator grew serious, "Do not let it fool you. It's all part of the manipulation."

The man ignored them, answering the voice, "Uh, just checking in on you?"

"Oh? It's been so long since anyone's come down here. I was starting to think they forgot about me." His voice carried in a calculated way.

The man walked down the stairs, the Narrator continuing his... narration.

"You walk down the stairs and lock eyes with the prince. There's a heavy chain around his wrist, binding him to the wall of the basement." 

The man stared, holding the knife, looking over the prince. He had dirty blonde hair, though his was brighter than the Narrator's, as if the sun was somehow shining down on his hair, despite being down here. His eyes were a beautiful ocean blue, calculated, reserved, secretive as he stared at the man. His skin had a nice tan to it, freckles dancing across his body, wearing a simple white button up blouse, black jeans, and white socks, a small golden crown resting on his head.

On his back were two beautiful, golden yellow wings.

"He's so... coldly beautiful..." The Hero spoke, "Is he really a threat to the world?"

"Focus on the task at hand." The Narrator hissed.

The prince lifted his head, a sneer appearing on his face, "And there you are. Are you here to kill me or something?"

"I'm... just here to talk." The man tried to reassure.

"Oh? Then why did you bring a knife?" The prince accused before smirking, "How about you drop it and then we can chat."

"He makes a compelling point. What if we just drop the blade and talked?" The Hero motioned to the prince, "Look at him! He's not a threat!"

"Don't you dare!" The Narrator warned.

"It's fine. We can decide what we want to do after we talk to him. Maybe he really is a monster, but killing someone in cold blood isn't very becoming of us."

The man dropped the knife, "There."

The Narrator sighed, "The blade tumbles out of your trembling hands and drops to the floor with an unceremonious clang."

"Thank you." The prince mocked, "Maybe now we can just... talk."

The man ignored his quip, "May I step forward?"

"My, my, so polite." The prince motioned to the place in front of him, "Go right ahead. But try anything and it will not end good for you."

"Against your better judgement, you step forward to speak with the prince. Face to face. Unarmed." The Narrator groaned, making his disdain known.

"We'll be fine." The Hero reassured.

"I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish here, but I can assure you there's no reasoning with him!" He sighed, "Just make sure you don't forget about the blade on the floor. You're going to need it."

"So, here we are." The prince looked away, but still kept his guard up, "What an awkward way to start a relationship."

"What's your name?" The man asked.

The prince looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He then puffed out his chest and wings, "You may call me your royal highness, his majesty, or any other honorific, really."

"Uh, yeah..." The man looked away.

"I mean, what did you expect? He's a prince." The Hero reminded.

".....Solidarity..."

The man looked back up, the prince looking at the floor, "...Or you may call me Solidarity..." He looked up again, "...And you?"

"Oh, I'm Impulse- oh, wait, sorry..." The Hero chuckled.

"...I go by Tango." The man smiled.

"...Tango, huh... Interesting name. I don't think I've heard of you before." He then snickered to himself, "Then again, I've been down here for so long, I might've forgotten."

"Just long has he been down here?" Impulse, the Hero, questioned.

"Too long. Which is why you must slay him!" The Narrator hissed, looking at his nails.

Tango asked, "So, um, how would I go about getting you out of here?"

"You can't, don't bother."

"I'm guessing you don't have the key, then? I'm sure there's a key somewhere around here. And, if there isn't, well... we could put that knife to good use."

"He isn't suggesting what I think he's suggesting, right...?" Impulse asked.

"He is, I'm sure of it."

Tango ignored the two, "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Ohoho, hero, are you?" Solidarity snickered, "Don't bother. You were sent here to kill me, right? Do you even know why?"

"...You're meant to end the world."

"DON'T JUST TELL HIM THAT!" The Narrator yelled.

The blonde prince laughed hysterically, "Ahahahahaha! Is that why they threw me down here?!" He giggled maniacally, "If I'm supposed to be capable of ending the world, then how did I wind up here, chained to a wall? Have they told you why I'm allegedly so 'dangerous~?'"

"No. They haven't. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

"Ending the world seems like an awful lot for just one person to do. I wouldn't even know where to start!" He hummed, "However, at the end of the day, whatever the two of us have going on down here is about trust. Whoever sent you to 'slay me,' claimed I was a threat to the world, but didn't tell you why. That doesn't sound right to me, and I'm sure it doesn't sound right to you, which is why you dropped the knife and why we're talking." The prince then smiled brightly, "I could easily say I'd love to just live a nice, peaceful, quiet life in a cottage in a flower field, or how I'd like to open up a ranch with a ton of chickens, cows, sheep, horses, maybe even a couple of cats!" Solidarity's smile fell, face going cold, "But what good is my word? I can say any number of 'good things' or things I think you want to hear, but at the end of the day, you don't know me. So what good is my word in a situation like this?" He then looked down at his nails, "It's all about blind trust. And tell me, who do you trust? The prisoner, the victim, the prince clearly incapable of ending the world? Or do you trust whoever put me down here?"

"Okay, I think we've talked enough." Tango stood.

"Oh? Have you figured out what you want to do with me?" Solidarity raised an eyebrow, body stiff, still on guard.

"You know what you have to do!" The Narrator exclaimed.

Tango grabbed the chains, looking over them, "I'm getting you out of here."

"What- You've got to be kidding me!"

The prince looked up at him with wide eyes before smiling slightly.

The Narrator groaned, "You walk up to the chains binding the prince to the wall and give them a tug. They're large and heavy, far too solid for you to even imagine trying to break them apart."

"Damn." Tango hissed.

"If you don't have the key, maybe you should go looking for it. I'm sure it's somewhere upstairs."

"Doubtful. Only thing up there was a table and the knife."

"Yes because whoever threw him down here intended to keep him here, never wanting him to see the light of day again." The Narrator hissed.

"Oh? Then I don't mind loosing an arm." Solidarity spoke with complete nonchalance.

"If we were stuck down here for long enough, I'm sure we'd be nonchalant about cutting our way out. Anything to finally be free." Impulse shrugged.

"I'll be right back." Tango reassured, going to the stairs.

"You attempt to make your way out of the basement-" The Narrator leaned against the wall, a smirk on his face as the door slammed closed, "-buuuuuuuut the door at the top of the stairs slams shut. You hear the click of a lock sliding into place."

"Is someone else here?" Impulse asked.

Tango ran up the stairs, trying the door, banging on it, "Hey! Who's there?! Let me out!"

"You're not leaving until your job is done."

"You set us up!" Impulse hissed.

Tango made his way back down the stairs, Solidarity looking at him.

"Seems you're locked down here as well." The prince commented.

"It would have been soooooo much easier if you'd simply slain her like you were suppose to!"

"Easier for who?"

"Easier for everyone."

"I'm really sorry..." Tango apologized.

"No matter. The knife." Solidarity pointed to it, "Pick it up and cut me out of here."

Tango hesitated, but did as he was told. He grabbed the knife and took the blade. He put the edge of the knife against the prince's skin.

"What're-?! Uggggh, against your better judgement, you place the blade against the prince's arm, just above the massive, unyielding chain. The blade is sharp and you make quick work of it. Before long, you're able to crack through bone. Soon enough, he pulls the bleeding stub of his arm through the iron gauntlet."

"He didn't so much as utter a sound..." Impulse said with concern.

Solidarity stood up.

"Free from his bindings, the prince turns to face you, his fierce gaze meeting your eyes."

"A-Are you okay?" Tango asked.

"Fine." The prince responded.

"How is he so composed after loosing an arm? It's like he's not even bothered by it!"

"Thank you. Now, let's go." Solidarity began to walk to the stairs.

Tango followed after him.

"No. We won't have any of that." Tango felt his body freeze up, unable to react. The Narrator held his wrists and Tango suddenly felt like he was merely wearing a suit of his body, unable to control it, "The stakes are too high, you can't just let him escape into the world! I can't just let him escape into the world!" The man watched as the prince approached the bottom stair, "As the prince approaches the bottom stair, your body steps forward and raises the blade."

As the man narrated, Tango felt himself sluggishly preforming the action.

"Wait, this isn't fair!" The man watched as Impulse's hand grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him, "You can't just do that!"

"Watch me."

Tango struggled but choked out, "M-MOVE!"

"Stop that."

"I thought this was a little too easy..." Solidarity murmured.

The Narrator growls, "Your body lunges forward to sink the blade into her back, but the prince swiftly moves out of the way before you can connect." He hissed, "Stop resisting me!"

"R-R-Run-!" Tango choked out, attempting to stab Solidarity again, the prince dodging one more.

"I am trying to get you out of here alive!"

The man held his own wrist down, struggling against it, Impulse trying to help him fight the Narrator, "P-Please-! Get a-away!"

"The blade! Move. The. Blade!"

"You're doing your best to help me, aren't you?" The prince asked softly. He gently tilted Tango's head up, the two meeting one another's eyes, "I can see the conflict in your eyes." He cupped Tango's cheek, "I'll make this quick."

"He steps forward and pries the blade from your rigid hands." The Narrator sighed, giving up control.

"Maybe I'll see you in another life?"

"And then he slits your throat with an almost clinical ease."

Tango sputtered, coughing as he grabbed his throat. He fell forward, Solidarity catching him. He gently fell to his knees, holding Tango in his lap as the other bled.

"His face remains unchanging as you both fall to the ground, blood flowing from your butchered neck."

Tango looked up, seeing an unreadable, blank expression placed on the prince's face. Behind him, stood the Narrator and Impulse, the brunette covering his mouth in shock.

"T-This... This is the end, isn't it?" Impulse asked.

"I'm afraid it is." The Narrator closed his eyes, with a sigh.

Tango looked at the prince, who smiled softly at him. Gently, Solidarity closed his eyelids.

"Everything goes dark, and you die. I hope it was worth it."

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"You're on a path in the woods-

[library-ghoulette]

Lightning in a Bottle

Pairing: Phantom x Aether Rating: Explicit, MDNI Words: 2062 Summary: A curious Phantom asks Aether for a demonstration of a strange implement in the infirmary. Aether obliges. A/N: After my first encounter with a violet wand, I couldn't stop thinking about how perfectly quintessence-coded it was... And thus, this fic was born.

This and all of my fics are also available on ao3!

"What's this?"

"Don't. Touch it." The admonishment is automatic, out of Aether's mouth before he even looks up from wiping down the examination table to check what it is that probably already has Phantom's fingerprints all over it and is in imminent danger of being broken.

It's amazing sometimes how much unintentional destruction the tiny ghoul is capable of. But it comes with the territory—that new-summon clumsiness. Happens to everybody, so Aether tries to be patient.

But patience can only go so far before it starts getting expensive. And dammit, there's a lot of expensive stuff in the infirmary.

Sure enough, Phantom is already backing away—hands up in a suspicious display of innocence—from the rolling cart near the table, and the open case perched atop it. The case is black with silver snaps and trim, and filled with an enticing array of cords and delicate glass electrodes.

"That's my violet wand."

To Phantom's credit, he doesn't take the opportunity to make a dick joke, instead asking, "What do you do with it?"

Aether sprays the exam table with disinfectant again for good measure, considering how to explain. "I make people feel better," he ventures. "It's good for… muscle aches. Things like that."

"How does it work?"

Aether sighs. "Didn't you say Copia needed to see me in his office when I was done?"

That was Phantom's stated rationale for why he came to find Aether in the infirmary. And then, not content to deliver his message and go about his business, he had loitered, watching as Aether finished putting the exam room to rights.

"I don't think it's urgent," Phantom countered, in his calculatedly casual I'm definitely not lying tone. "I just wanna see what all these bulbs do."

His hands steal toward the case and all its fragile contents again, prompting Aether to round the now-dry exam table and nudge the much smaller ghoul out of the way. "Fine. I'll show you what it looks like. But you have to sit there. And listen."

Obliging, as he only is when he gets his way, Phantom hops up onto the exam table, kicking his feet as he watches Aether pull up a rolling stool and take a seat to assemble the wand. Aether runs through a quick version of his usual spiel for new violet wand patients, one part history and two parts building of anticipation—because he knows that his clients are not coming to him just for sore knees, and definitely not for "female hysteria" or any of the other maladies the violet wand was once thought to cure.

Phantom nods along, but as Aether predicted, everything he just said dims in Phantom's mind the instant the wand switches on. The teardrop-shaped bulb fills with a pulsing, purple light that reflects in the dark depths of Phantom's wide, amazed eyes.

"So, how does it do all that? Help people, or whatever?"

Okay, so maybe Phantom was halfway listening after all.

Aether explains, "I run it over the parts of their bodies that need… treatment."

Phantom asks, "Can I touch it?"

"No, bug."

"Why not?"

"Because it hurts. You won't like it."

But Phantom's mouth quirks up at the corners in a devious, eager grin that tells Aether that was not the way to deter his interest.

"Come on, Aeth, please?" Phantom whines. "I just wanna see what it feels like."

If Aether says no, there will be no end of it. He knows that Phantom is not going to rest until his curiosity is satisfied.

"Fine. Just—" He pulls the wand out of reach, as Phantom makes to grab it with his whole hand. "Just one fingertip."

As Phantom brings the pad of his finger close to the thin glass of the bulb, electricity sizzles and an arc of purple light connects with his skin. He yelps in surprise and pulls his hand away… But just for a moment.

Without being asked, Phantom brings his hand back up to the bulb, close enough to touch but not quite making contact. All five fingertips, connected to the glass by bright lines of crackling electricity.

"How does it feel?" Aether asks.

"It doesn't hurt. Just… tingles."

Aether notes the wondering tone in the other ghoul's voice, and the way Phantom's face falls with disappointment when he pulls the wand away and rolls over to the case. But the disappointment turns back to curiosity when Aether returns, a mushroom-shaped electrode replacing the bulb on the wand, and says, "Give me your hand."

Phantom places his small hand palm-down in Aether's much larger one. Soft and trusting.

"I'm going to run this over your arm, okay?"

Phantom nods, but Aether prompts, with a squeeze of his hand and a raised eyebrow, for Phantom to use his words. "Okay."

Aether runs the wand down Phantom's forearm, the flat size of the probe skimming over his skin. There is an audible crackle of electricity, but Phantom is prepared this time, and the sound he makes isn't a startled yelp—it's a gasp.

A gasp, Aether realizes, of pleasure. Because although Phantom's hand tightens around his own, the smaller ghoul doesn't even attempt to pull away. If anything, he's leaning forward, leaning into the sensation. Goosebumps prickle his skin, the soft, dark hairs on the backs of his arms charged and standing on end. And when Aether looks up at Phantom's face, he finds his eyes half-lidded, his lips slightly parted.

Aether feels his cock twitch beneath his scrubs, and he pulls back as though he's the one who's been shocked. Phantom's eyes fly open when the contact breaks. "That's it?"

Aether shakes his head, partly in answer and partly in affectionate disbelief at Phantom's eagerness. "No," he says, rummaging in his case of probes and attachments. "That's not it."

That should be it, he knows. He should be packing up and going to find out whatever Copia needs from him. Should already be in Copia's office. But there's just something about that moment, when the first jolt of electricity hits someone and he looks at them and knows, just knows, that they're hooked. When someone like that just falls into his lap, it's damn near impossible to resist taking them further, exploring them and in the process, letting them explore, too…

Phantom gives him a confused look when he turns around and isn't holding the wand, but a metal cylinder attached to a long cord that snakes back to it, and a square of conductive rubber.

"What's that?"

"A body contact probe."

Phantom's eyebrows shoot up, as though he's imagining a very intimate—and inaccurate—use for the probe. "What does that do?"

"Take your shirt off, and you'll find out."

Phantom's eyebrows creep even higher, one disappearing entirely behind the forelock tumbling over his forehead, but he does as he's told, quickly whipping his black T-shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly aside. Aether has him lie back on the exam table, then turn away just far enough to allow him to position the probe so that it nestles under the small of Phantom's back when he rolls back over, pressed against his bare skin.

When Phantom is settled in place, Aether switches on the current and stands over him.

"I don't feel anything," Phantom complains.

"You will," Aether reassures him. For a moment, he just looks down at Phantom, at the smooth expanse of skin, exposed and expectant. Vulnerable. There is so much that Aether could do to him, no shortage of spatulas and butter knives and forks and other metal implements tucked into his case of tools. All of them would have a lovely effect.

But this time—this first time—Aether wants something different. Wants to be able to feel what Phantom is feeling, wants to know for certain that he's not going too far. He wants to be able to tell exactly where Phantom's limits are, map the contours of that edge for himself.

The moment stretches long enough that Phantom fidgets nervously. He asks, "What are you going to do?"

Aether swallows hard. "I'm going to touch you. If that's okay?"

"Th—" Phantom's voice breaks, and he licks his lips before finishing: "That's okay."

Aether starts slow, with familiar territory, skirting a fingertip up Phantom's arm from wrist to bicep. Where their skin meets, a current of electricity connects them. Phantom's mouth falls open as he watches Aether's hand progress up toward his shoulder, but when Aether moves his fingers across his chest, his head falls back onto the exam table, eyes closed.

"How does that feel?" Aether asks. He knows how it feels for himself—a stinging, tingly pain in his fingers every time he touches Phantom's skin, like a shock from a doorknob in winter. But he wants, needs, to hear Phantom say it.

Aether runs two fingertips over Phantom's clavicle, relishing the way the other ghoul bites his lip and draws in a sharp breath. His hands clench and unclench at his sides and his voice is quiet and unsteady when he says, "Feels good."

Aether adds more fingertips, trailing them as lightly as he can down the middle of Phantom's chest and over the flat of his stomach. The smaller ghoul is trying to stay still, but it's clear that his body wants to thrash, to writhe. There are restraining straps in one of the cabinets nearby. Maybe next time, Aether thinks.

For now, he asks, "Too much?" and when Phantom shakes his head vehemently, Aether is only too happy to continue.

He traces spidery lines of electricity over Phantom's torso. Turns his hand over, running the backs of his index and middle finger along Phantom's side, knowing it's sensitive there, knowing that more surface area will make the sensations more intense.

His efforts are rewarded with the delicious little sounds Phantom initially tries to hold back, but is powerless to stop. Breathy giggles when Aether tickles his stomach, eager moans when he traces along the waistband of Phantom's underwear… and a sharp cry when Aether's fingers find his nipple.

The entire exam room reeks of ozone, sharp and heady and sexual—the discharge of the violet wand, sure, but also their bodies, their arousal. Phantom is covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and Aether can feel the dampness breaking out on his own forehead. Sweat, and the dribble of precum that he can feel leaking from his cock. He hopes he won't have a wet spot on the front of his scrubs by the time this is over, that he won't have to explain why he came in his pants like a horny teenager, and at work, no less…

But he's not the only one running that risk, judging from the way Phantom's hips move in needy little circles whenever Aether's hand dips low, and from the distinct line of his erection pressing against the tight fabric of his black jeans. It looks painful. Aether could make it hurt in a different way, a better way—

He's so lost in what he's doing that he doesn't even hear the strident footsteps ringing through the hall, or Copia's annoyed muttering about that idiot ghoul and how if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. It's only when Copia calls his name that Aether realizes what's going to happen, and by then, it's too late— Copia bursts right into the exam room.

Everyone freezes. The moment stretches, long and awkward and silent, as Copia takes in the scene with wide eyes and increasingly red cheeks. Finally, he sputters through the beginnings of several different sentences before managing, "Come see me when you're, uh, finished," and makes his escape.

The door closes with a gentle click as Copia eases it shut—with much more care than he burst through it—and Aether turns back to Phantom. The smaller ghoul looks up at him sheepishly and moves to sit up. "I— I guess I should go… Let you get back to—"

But Aether is not about to let this end. Not right now. With one hand, he presses Phantom back down onto the table, gratified by the slow smile that creeps across the other ghoul's face, the twinkle of light in his eyes.

Holding Phantom's gaze, and in the most authoritative voice he can summon, Aether growls, "Take off your pants."