#and yes i do see tommy as fulfilling that sort of role for me

[zeta-in-de-walls]

My interpretation of Tommy’s character.

Hey, have some C!Tommy thoughts! 

I like to interpret Tommy’s characters as a hero. He is a character who always tries to do what is right and fight against evil. 

It’s pretty popular these days to consider all characters as morally ambiguous but I feel like that makes Tommy less compelling for me. I like fairly idealistic characters who try to be good. Indeed, I find it inspiring when they prevail and it feels very satisfying for me when they choose to do the moral thing in spite of everything.

Now, I get the impression that moral characters are often seen as boring? Like these characters can do no wrong and are therefore less interesting? I don’t see it like that and I also don’t think that this sort of character cannot make mistakes. (Don’t worry I’m not suggesting Tommy’s never done anything wrong xD) These aren’t like ‘perfect’ characters - they’re characters who fight against their inner demons.

See, Tommy gets tempted a lot and faces many trials and struggles in the story. In fact he’s getting constantly challenged and his ideals are put to the test. He fails, he has flaws, he gets angry, he gets hurt. He learns, he reflects.

But in the end, I trust in his character to always do the right thing. Tommy once considered running away from it all just before the festival, with Tubbo, leaving everything behind. But he chose to stay. That’s just the kind of person he is. He doesn’t give up on the things he loves and takes responsibility for his actions.

A defining character moment for me was when Wilbur tempted Tommy with the idea of blowing up Dream’s house in revenge, Tommy chose not to. Later, in Pogtopia, Wilbur suggests they be the bad guys and in spite of how much Tommy’s always looked up to Wilbur and the fact that they’ve both been banished - he rejects him. He says that’s not the right way to do things, that they’re better than that. In Pogtopia, Tommy spends his time trying to save Wilbur from himself, ultimately failing but he doesn’t give up. After Wilbur blows up Manburg, Tommy rallies everyone around the L’Mantree to give an inspiring speech. ‘As long as we’re still together, L’Manburg lives on.’ 

Tommy gets tested some more with season 2 and the exile arc. A question is raised of whether he’d be the next Wilbur. And we see him at his lowest, at his darkest on that path to becoming like Wilbur. He’s angry, he lashes out at everyone, he hurts people and it seems the world’s cruel and unfair. He even goes as far as agreeing to destroying L’Manburg with Techno.

But he ultimately changes sides. He realises he too had been selfish and was using his suffering to justify hurting other people and he realises that’s not the person he wants to be. So he apologises, making amends, changing sides right there and then - realising his priorities were wrong and that revenge was also not the way. He rejects his villain arc. 

Now, Tommy is at the centre of a lot of conflict on the server and I think that’s important. Being a hero-type does not mean being nice. The thing is, conflict isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes its necessary. When Dream is abusing his power, threatening L’Manburg, appeasing him may avoid war - but it will lead to him abusing his power more. Those obsidian walls were not fair and characters should fight injustice! Tommy fighting Dream leads to conflict - but that’s good because Dream’s power should not go unchallenged. There are many characters who are less involved in conflict and trouble than Tommy - but doing less wrong doesn’t make you more moral and heroic, it can just mean you’re more passive. 

 Now the role of a hero in-story is a complicated one for Tommy. He has had a lot of character development. An interesting one is that he is far less sure of himself. Where once he was confident that he was generally in the right and that he was the good guy fighting the bad guys, now he realises that it’s far less simple than that. He realised that he himself is fallible, he can mess up and he’s questioning himself. He also realises that people doing bad things aren’t necessarily bad. They may be suffering and have lost faith - maybe society has failed them. Where Tommy had once dismissed Pogtopia as a bad guy now he wants to help Wilbur once more, the leader he looked up to is the same man as the one who blew up his home. He understands suffering more now and wants to help.

All this is good growth. His previous certainty in himself was flawed, making him more blind to his mistakes and was a very black-and-white approach to the world. In questioning his actions, feeling guilt, he’ll be willing to reflect, to admit fault and learn. A person too proud to see their flaws can turn into someone like Dream, who has a very warped perspective on the world. It’s one of the biggest differences between them. 

Tommy finds the role of hero to be a burden. He is tried of fighting but he has never been the sort to stand idly by. He believes he must make a stand. Tommy is a very active character, involved in a lot. It’s an interesting dilemma his character now faces - wanting a peaceful life but unable to accept it. His character gets very few wins - and yet when they do come they feel fantastic. 

Anyway, those are my thoughts on his character. All in all, he’s an active character always trying to do the right thing, he has standards and will challenge others too. He’s really determined, never giving up, never losing hope, not giving in to temptation even if it’d be easier. He cares about his friends, connects with others easily, shares his feelings and believes in making his community a better place. These are some of the things I love about it and I think considering him from this perspective is super interesting and makes it really satisfying to see him do well. 

[thespoonisvictory]

I Ramble About The Ending For A Long Time

ok hello i am insane yes yes 

however when else are you going to see me write c!crime meta

what’s important first off is that the emotional core of the story is still there. that’s the only reason why this works for me. this was a story about two bored brothers who make a story that turns into a nation together, and under that it’s about communication and loyalty and the strain mental illness places on a relationship and underneath even that it’s a story about two streamers in a pandemic who wanted content and to make each other laugh. 

that is never undermined or taken less than 100% seriously; it’s the emotional core of the whole thing. as wild as it gets and as bold choices are made, both wilburs love both tommys and vice versa. 

it’s a similar story with the line at the end: “I never did quite forgive myself” isn’t undermined, isn’t played for laughs. The argument c!crime have is incredibly well done and people will write actual analysis about that so you should go read it, but the gist of it is that c!crime are what they’ve always been: more than a bit unhealthy, perpetually arguing, but never quite willing to give up on each other.

with that being said, I felt like that was what I wanted out of the finale achieved. now to get into the wild parts.

the interesting part for me is how c!wilbur’s insane mindset is, for the first time, actually challenged and beat.

we’ve been saying for months that one of c!wilbur’s biggest issues is that his paranoia manifests in believing he is in a story, that there are roles like heroes and villains, that he has to play his part and there is nothing he can do about it. he’s his own self-fulfilling prophecy, he takes himself incredibly seriously, and most importantly, he is aware of the audience.

and nothing could break that. everyone around wilbur confirmed to his narrative, letting his vague statements that were clearly a narrative foreshadowing to suicide slip by. he’s getting swallowed up again by his own story, he is the one putting chekov’s gun on the wall, never quite saying something, but implying just enough that he was willing it into reality.

(he does the same thing in season 1, remember? he tells everyone he’s going to press the button enough times that by the end he feels like he has to because he’s foreshadowed it, because it’s who he is now. eret said it was never meant to be and thus it wasn’t. if you’re in an improv rp and you know it, speaking things is enough to make them real.)

and it almost works again! he almost follows the exact same trajectory of self-deprecation and sealing his fate. except. tommy’s not taking it this time.

tommy, having gone through everything he’s gone through, finally gets to win this. he looks the entire force of wilbur’s simultaneously self-aggrandizing and deprecating mindset dead in the eye and says tell me what you’re fucking talking about. 

he says the words! he looks at wilbur and says we’ve both been in this story before, I know what you’re doing, I know who you are and what this is and I’m not going to let it happen again. tell me, are you going to kill yourself? he enters into wilbur’s spiral and says this can’t be redemption if you still won’t be honest with me and you can’t leave without apologizing. 

he gets right to the core, no subtext, with all the blunt honesty he’s ever had, and c!wilbur, worn down from fighting and apologizing and the exhaustion of it all, finally gives in. he stops lying. 

his backstory was never cool. he was a gas station attendee, never any sort of leader before coming to the smp, and his jacket was just another uniform. he isn’t even european. he somehow sailed here from a landlocked state, because why not. this is Not the type of backstory for the type of person he’s trying to build himself up to be, this isn’t the fit for the genre at all! 

but insanely, impossibly, it’s true. it’s canon. just like the fish fucking and the fridge mom and everything else. it is ridiculous! and with that, it’s the realization that wilbur’s story has always been a serious character with serious feelings in ridiculous circumstance. his very real suicide was attempted via looney-tunes-esque sticks of dynamite in a pile, his ghost talks in a high-pitched voice and gives out blue dye. none of this undermines the seriousness of c!wilbur’s feelings, but it does undermine how he views himself as some great evil out of Game of Thrones. 

he died and got revived by a book! his depression fort was named pogtopia! he has always existed just under the threshold of ridiculousness by just how seriously he takes it all, how seriously everyone takes it. 

and c!tommy has always loved the person under the narrative he paints, and that’s why, at the end of it all, he can get through to him. tommy knows the story, he loves parts of it (l’manburg, the family, etc), but he doesn’t love this part, and for once, he gets to choose. he pushes and pushes and says you love me enough to not shy away from this, I am banking on you loving me enough not to push me away again, and he’s completely right! he breaks the cycle by being the same kid he’s always been.

and so wilbur’s end is ridiculous. it’s absurd, but it’s not him killing himself again. it’s not drenched in the belief that everything he made should be destroyed, but full of callbacks and nods to who he was. he never did quite forgive himself, but he’s not looking to the audience for forgiveness anymore, either. 

there are no more looks into the camera, and the book he gives for tommy is for his eyes alone, unlike every other speech like apology we’ve seen so far. he says things that the audience won’t reach. he invites us, one last time, to look upon his works and despair, to tell us that nothing remains. but he is still there, even if there is no story to watch. he is not part of a story anymore. the cameras are cut, and he survived. he is nothing more than himself. 

[strangerthings4theories]

Billy Is Not A ‘B’ Character In Stranger Things

Yeah, his name starts with a ‘B’. That’s not what I mean. 

Everyone’s noticed an interesting trend in Stranger Things: if your name starts with a ‘B’, you’re probably going to die. First it was Barb. Then it was Bob. Then it was Billy. So, like Barb and Bob, Billy’s probably gonna stay dead. Right?

Not so fast. I’m a writer, fam. I’ve studied storytelling my whole life. And when you line up all the characters who have died so far (excluding the ‘bad guys’ and bit players), I can immediately tell you one of these characters is not like the others.

In fact, I can tell you Billy is not the ‘B’ character of S3. Alexei is. The Duffers just slid over to the ‘A’ to throw us off.

It all comes down to the weight each character is assigned. Are they a protagonist central to the story? A secondary character designed to comment on or reveal things about the protagonist(s)? Or are they just an extra, designed to fulfill a specific role in a smattering of scenes?

You don’t have to scratch your head over this. If you know storytelling mechanics, sorting characters is pretty easy (usually).

Let’s try it out...

One Of These Characters Is Not Like The Others

>>Barb, Bob, and Alexei have an arc spanning only one season. The Duffers never intended to let them survive for two. When they die, they leave no loose threads behind them except for other characters' grief and remorse. (And in Barb's case, a deep sense of injustice - which Nancy resolves in S2.)

>>Billy’s already had an arc spanning two seasons. When he dies, he leaves a TON of loose threads. He never:

made up for bullying Max

made up for hurting El (Starcourt was a good start, but not enough)

apologized to Lucas

apologized to Steve

stood up to his father and broke his hold over him

had a fulfilling friendship/relationship with anyone

grieved his mother (if she’s dead), found her again (if she’s alive), or otherwise came to terms with her memory

reclaimed the sweet, happy boy we saw on the beach

healed from the abuse he suffered throughout his life

hit back at the Mind Flayer, made Him regret possessing him, and emerged victorious

If he’s dead for good, this is disastrous storytelling. A good writer would never dream of cutting a character’s arc so short. It makes people (and other writers) grumpy.

>>Barb, Bob, and Alexei have a handful of narrative functions. They’re intended to show us more about specific characters, or redirect the plot at specific, identifiable points.

Barb is Nancy’s best friend. Her death was designed to propel Nancy’s coming of age journey. In S1, it shows Nancy how selfish she’s been and brings her and Jonathan together. In S2, it leads her to reject Steve because he doesn’t understand how desperately she needs justice for Barb. When Nancy secures this justice, Barb’s role in the story is complete.

Bob is Joyce’s boyfriend. His relationship with her shows us Joyce is holding herself back and not pursuing the man she really wants (Hopper). Throughout S2, he helps Joyce and the kids solve puzzles crucial to the plot. Then he helps them escape the lab and dies a hero. With that, his role in the story is complete.

Alexei is an expert on the Russians’ “key” machine. His primary role is to give Hopper, Joyce, and Murray the info they need to shut it down. Along the way, he provides comic relief, helps Murray overcome his hatred of Russians, and shows us Russians and Americans can coexist peacefully. Finally, his death demonstrates the lethal threat posed by Grigori. After that, his role in the story is complete.

>>In terms of narrative structure, Billy is a heavyweight. While I can rattle off just a handful of functions for Barb, Bob, and Alexei, I can’t do the same for Billy. Yes, in S2 he operated at ‘B’ character level. But in S3 he broke out and took control of the narrative. The entire plot of S3 hinges on his possession by the Mind Flayer. Without him, the story simply would not happen.

In addition, Billy is not defined by a single relationship. Just now, I summed up Barb, Bob, and Alexei like this: Barb is Nancy’s best friend. Bob is Joyce’s boyfriend. Alexei is an expert on the “key” machine. You can’t do that for Billy. He sits in the middle of a whole constellation of relationships! He is:

an antagonist to Lucas

Max’s step brother and the “monster” she defeats/tames

Steve’s rival for the kingship of Hawkins High

Karen’s (eventually rejected) love interest

Neil’s terrorized son

his mother’s sweet little boy who lost his way

El’s opposite and equal, the yin to her yang

Will’s older “twin” - in Will’s words, “a new me” (it’s no accident they share the same name)

This is just with the main cast so far. He interacts with a slew of minor characters as well, such as Tommy H. and the Holloways. And you can bet he’ll develop relationships with the rest of the main cast. The potential is incredible! Among other things:

Hopper will see himself in Billy and become the positive father figure Billy needs.

Joyce will see Will in Billy and become the protective mother figure he needs.

Jonathan will resent Billy’s presence and hold a grudge. Over time, he’ll learn that monsters can change.

It’s a lot, okay? And it’s not an accident. This kind of narrative pull only happens by design. 

Other characters who have the same pull include Hopper, Will, and El.

Billy is not a secondary character. He is a main character, the kind you can point to and say “yes, this show is about him.” That’s why, when an article I read recently said “we haven’t had a REAL major character death yet (Billy doesn’t count),” I laughed.

It’s true. We haven’t had a REAL major character death yet. But only because Billy ain’t gonna stay dead.

Peace. ✌️

»»————-　✼　————-««

P.S. If you want to figure out who’s a ‘B’ character like Barb, Bob, and Alexei, use this handy-dandy checklist:

has a name that starts with A, B, possibly C (Barb, Bob, Alexei, Argyle...)

is a sweet, adorable character that makes you like them (to make their death more painful)

can be defined by a single relationship

has a handful of narrative functions

For these reasons, Argyle is at the top of my list for S4. He's already been introduced as "Jonathan's new best friend" - an eerie parallel to Nancy and Barb.

[blinder-secrets]

Between Palms

fem!reader x michael gray

warnings: power imbalance, role play, mild nsfw (its a slow burn but hang in there trust me)

wordcount: 4,125

It seemed silly really, a birthday meal at Arrow House, but here you were. Invite accepted and fulfilled, even though you were just there as a plus one. An almost family member. Michael had you living in his house, accompanying him to every event, and yet your finger was still empty of the ring you both knew would come eventually. He’s waiting for the right moment, you suppose. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone knows he’s yours, and you’re his. Even Polly is starting to treat you like a daughter.

‘Is it his actual birthday today?’ you ask Michael, as he takes your coat in the entry way.

‘Don’t know.’ He passes it to Mary, who you’ve only just been introduced to. 'Tomorrow I think.’

You hum. This was the family version then, they’d spend his birthday alone, just the two of them. ‘It’s quite sweet, isn’t it?’ you muse. You’d never have marked either Tommy or Lizzie as the sentimental sort.

Michael snorts. ‘Sweet, yeah.’ From his smirk, you know he doesn’t even remotely agree.

‘The meal is being served,’ Mary tells you, careful in her interruption. ‘If you’ll follow me?’

‘Oh, course, sorry.’ You nod and gesture for her to continue; you’d almost forgotten that the both of you were late. ‘Come on,’ you say to Michael, offering your hand.

He takes it readily, his palm warm and soft against yours. From the look of him, his sharp suits, his set hair and his square jaw, you’d always assumed he would shy away from touches like that. That he’d keep his hands in his pockets and his character professional, impenetrable. But, he never does with you. Whenever you give your hand, he takes it, locks his fingers around it. He’d let you pull him half way across the world, you think. If you tried.

In the main dining room, you’re met by the rest of the family. They’re seated already, talking and drinking around the platters of food, the plates already filled with some expensive cut of meat. The conversation stills as you enter, a few of them beginning to stand to greet you.

‘No, no don’t,’ you say quickly, waving them down again. ‘We’ve got time for that later.’

‘Tommy,’ Michael says, acknowledging him with a nod. ‘Happy Birthday.’

‘Yes,’ you add, ‘we left your gift with Mary.’ You’re sure he doesn’t care what it is, you don’t even know that he’ll ever open it. It’d had felt wrong to go to a birthday party without taking something.

Tommy almost matches your waiting smile. It’s as much of a response as you’ll get. ‘Please,’ he says, gesturing to the two empty chairs, ‘sit down. Get a drink.’

You take your seat which is, of course, next to Michael. Your Michael. He’s holding the chair out for you, ready to tuck it in as you sit. Always the gentleman like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. You smile up at him in thanks, but he just touches your shoulder briefly before sitting himself. ‘Looks great,’ he comments, eyes down as he scans the lay of food and alcohol before him. His accent’s stronger when he’s with them, like he picks it up at the door. At home it almost disappears, melts into something softer, some remnant of his upbringing. You haven’t decided yet which it is that you prefer. It’s what he says that charms you.

‘It’s nice of you to have us, Tommy,’ you say, leaning around Michael to smile at him.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, as uninterested in the food as you’d expected him to be. His eyebrows raise in response to your comment, and he half-shakes his head, as if to say, oh it’s no problem, no trouble. From the way Lizzie’s smiling beside him, you know that it was all her really. Her idea, her planning. She wanted him and the family to have something nice for once and so here you were.

‘And Lizzie, of course,’ you add. ‘Thank-you.’

‘Our pleasure,’ she replies gently, lifting her glass. ‘Please, eat. Before it gets cold.’

You nod and bring your focus back to Michael, who’s lit a cigarette and is now resting between drags. It sits between his fingers on the table, smoke pulling up and over his plate, swirling his meal in grey. How he doesn’t mind, you have no idea. He may as well peel it open and eat the tobacco instead.

‘Michael,’ you scold quietly, knocking your elbow against his. ‘Put it out.’

He clears his throat and sits straighter, lifting the cigarette for a final taste. ‘Was in my head,’ he comments on the exhale, before taking another sharp, final drag. ‘Think we should do something like this.’

You watch him lean forward and stub the cigarette out, into the ashtray in the middle. ‘Do what?’

‘Have a dinner,’ he says, sitting back again. ‘For you, for your birthday.’

Snorting, you shake your head and turn to pick up your cutlery. The house you have together is nowhere near big enough to accommodate for the Shelby side, let alone your family too. Not that you would invite them anyway. They’d see Arthur and go running, hear Johnny Dogg’s jokes and flush red with shame.

‘Yeah? And who would arrange that?’ you ask. You take a bite and throw him a closed-lip smile between chews. ‘I’m not doing it.’

He shrugs. ‘Well, I will.’  

The beef is cooked perfectly, you cut another piece off as you reply. ‘You’re good with numbers, Michael, not parties.’

‘Alright.’ He picks up his fork limply, too focused on the side of your face to even consider eating something himself. ‘Mum will,’ he says to you, then, turning to her, ‘you’ll help, won’t you?’

Polly scoffs from opposite. You hadn’t realised she’d been paying attention, but of course she had. She never misses anything of interest. ‘Not bloody likely,’ she chides. ‘You’ll have to do something for yourself one day, Michael.’ She’s smiling, teasing with her lips soft and curling, but it still sours him.

‘Fine,’ he says, slouching. ‘No party, then. Christ.’

You almost roll your eyes, but it isn’t often that he suggests something like this. Something flashy. Normally, any gesture of affection he has for you is quiet, private. Tucked away just for the two of you. A big party like the one Lizzie’s thrown for Tommy is entirely new; you hadn’t meant to shoot him down so quickly. Sighing, you soften your voice and say, ‘We can have a party, baby.’ He hums. You put your hand to his face, thumb angled for his chin, but he tilts his head away in the last second.

Before you can complain, Polly catches your attention again. ‘Here, love,’ she says, ‘have some more potatoes.’ She holds the dish up for you, over the centre of the table and the glasses between.

‘Sure, thanks.’

You take the offering and when you pull the dish toward you, the bottom catches on your wine glass. It tips quickly, spilling red over the table, over you. You half expect it to shatter against the edge of your plate.

Cursing loudly, you abandon the dish into Michael’s waiting hands. ‘Sorry, fuck, sorry.’ You stand quickly and the commotion hushes every conversation that had been rolling within the room.

‘You’re meant to drink it, love,’ Arthur laughs, from whichever end he’s sat at — you’re too busy patting your napkin frantically onto the tablecloth to check.

‘God, sorry, sorry Lizzie.’ It’s stained, it’s definitely stained and ruined.

‘It’s on your dress,’ Michael comments, like you hadn’t noticed.

‘Never mind the dress,’ you snap back. ‘The sheet’s ruined.’

Tommy clears his throat. ‘Its just the tablecloth, [y/n], sit down.’

‘It’ll do more damage to your dress, love,’ Lizzie adds, sympathetically. ‘It’s alright.’

You pause, huffing slightly, then sit clumsily back into your chair. It’s always you, it seems, to stand out like this. To be un-calculated, accidental. Every Shelby is so precise, and so careful, and so in control of everything at once, somehow. Michael’s a Gray but he’s got it too, the grace. Lizzie isn’t even blood related and she holds herself the same. What is it about you? What do you lack?

‘Don’t worry,’ Michael says quietly, interrupting the thought by pouring words into your ear. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up.’

You don’t answer him, you just pout and dab at the stain on your lap. The wine’s sunk in deep already. It looks purple, not red, against the fabric.

‘Mary could help,’ he offers, after sighing at your silence. ‘She’ll be in the kitchen.’

You nod and stand, clutching the soggy napkin in your palm. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ you say to the table. Your voice only catches the attention of Polly and Finn, but no-one else challenges you when you turn to leave. It’s just another of your quirks, they must think, just something you do. They either don’t care, or didn’t see.

You hurry from the room with your ears turning hot. Michael will tell you later that you were being silly, worrying over nothing, but right now it feels mortifying. Leaving the room to see a maid about a stain. In the middle of a dinner party, no less.

When you reach the kitchen, Mary startles. Her eyes widen at the sight of you, like your presence alone means she’s done something wrong, like she’s forgotten something and you’re here to chase her up on it.

‘Don’t worry,’ you tell her, gesturing to your dress. ‘I just wanted to see if you had something for this.’

Her expression softens. The gentle folds in her face fall slack and for a moment she reminds you of your grandmother, though she never had the gall to be a gangster’s housekeeper. ‘Is it wine, miss?’

You sigh. ‘Tragically, yes.’

‘There isn’t much we can do for that.’ She hums. ‘But I’ll try, please sit.’

She gestures to the table, and the chairs which are wooden, and bare, and much plainer than the dining set upstairs. It’s welcoming in a way elegance will never be. You sigh into the seat and watch her pull bottles from various cupboards, busying herself quickly. Her dress folds as she does, creasing at her waist, comfortable enough to not restrict her movements. If only yours was like that. The dress you’re wearing is too expensive, and too tight, to be any good for anyone. Now, it isn’t even pretty.

‘Mary,’ you start, stilling her as soon as the idea strikes, lighting itself as a match would. ‘Do you have any spare uniforms?’

Her brow arches slowly, like she’s unsure of your intention and even more unsure of asking for it. ‘Miss?’

‘That I can wear,’ you explain. The thought is rolling, piling up and catching speed in your head. It makes sense really, a worker’s fit for the working woman, an apron for the spills. If the Shelbys can’t find the humour in it, you certainly will.

‘Only the ones the maids wear,’ she says.

You smile. If Michael could see you now, he’d accuse you of plotting something. He’d be right. ‘Perfect,’ you tell her, ‘that’s perfect, Mary.’

If your exit was quiet, unnoticed, then your return may as well have been an explosion. A great tremor to the room and all its inhabitants. You’re barely through the doorway before Arthur’s laugh is bursting from his chest, barking over Johnny’s head toward you. From the noise of it, the rest turn in your direction. Conversation is tossed out the window and onto the lawn. Lizzie laughs, more out of shock than anything else, Polly mutters a ‘Christ’, and you’re sure you catch Finn swallowing his beer like it’s running out. How Tommy reacts, you don’t know, you don’t look.

‘Fucking hell, woman, almost lost me drink over that,’ Johnny says, speaking before anyone else has chance to.  

You reach the table and give a half-confident bow, with your gaze sitting easily on Michael. ‘Would you like a refill, mister?’ you ask falsely, twisting your voice high enough that it hardly sounds like you at all.

His eyebrows lift, eyes widening, and then they drop again, quickly, like nothing’s happened. His face hardens slightly. Then, he turns away, facing forward, and he goes very still, and very quiet, and you don’t quite know what he’s thinking. You thought he’d laugh, or at least make some snarky comment about not mingling with the help. Instead, his eyes sit on the whiskey in his hands like you aren’t even there.  

‘What the hell you got that on for?’ Arthur asks, amusement in the crinkles by his eye. ‘Eh?’

You force a smile at him. ‘Thought I’d give you something to dream about, Arthur.’

There’s few snorts in response and then Tommy puts them to rest. ‘Alright, alright, sit down,’ he says, lighter than you’d expected, ‘unless you’d like to help serve pudding.’

‘If it gets me on the payslip, I’ll consider it,’ you reply, pulling your chair out to sit.

Michael doesn’t acknowledge you still. The plates are cleared, your wine glass is upright again, refilled, and then dessert is brought out. Everything in order as Lizzie’s itinerary no doubt demanded. By the time everyone’s eating again, your outfit is entirely forgotten about. There’s no comment on the plain black dress, no jokes on the white apron that pulls it tight to your waist, no awareness of it at all. You almost regret not wearing the matching hair-band, maybe if you did Michael would have had something more interesting to say.

When the other guests are suitably distracted, he finally leans into you, whispering harshly by your ear. ‘What’re you wearing?’ he asks. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s frowning.

Your eyebrows pinch, gaze on the spoonful of tart that you’re chasing around the plate. It’s very obvious that you’re wearing what the maids wear. It’s a joke, Michael, ever heard of that? ‘My dress is ruined,’ you answer. ‘I’ve left it with Mary to work on the stain.’

‘And you couldn’t find anything else to wear?’

‘No,’ you say firmly. ‘I couldn’t.’

His jaw flexes. He downs the last of his whiskey like it’s laudanum and you’re the ache. He wants to say something, you can see it, but he holds himself back. He shakes his head like he’s knocking it down, forcing it into his throat with the liquor.

After that, the pair of you eat in silence, and when Tommy invites the party to move into one of the more comfortable rooms, you stand in silence too. You let the rest of them go ahead of you. When Polly passes on her way out, she says, ‘That’s something I’d have done when I was your age,’ and even though she’s being friendly, you wish she hadn’t. The last thing you needed now, was to be told that you were acting like your boyfriend’s mother.

You follow the crowd out of the dining room with Michael behind you. Before you can get much further, he catches your wrist, tugging you back and sideways into one of the shorter hallways. It’s dimly lit, a hardly used corridor between rooms that you’d never been to, never even noticed. He sets you against the wall, careful despite the firmness of his grip, and then his hand lifts from your arm to sit flat on the wallpaper by your head.

‘Are you trying to embarrass me?’ he says sourly, words forced over sharp teeth.  

You frown. ‘No? Why would I?’

‘This.’ His chin dips and lifts again, gesturing to the uniform. He isn’t sneering but it’s implied.

‘I had to wear something, Michael.’ You had no idea it would offend him so much. You hadn’t even considered that it’d upset him, embarrass him. It was a stupid joke and a way out of a wine-stained dress.

He breathes heavily through his nose. He’s close, very close. The heat coming off him is warming you too, making the skin beneath your collar sticky with sweat. He lets his gaze sink down your body, then drags it up again, slowly.

‘What’s the problem?’ you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes find yours and harden, the angles of his jaw setting like he’s forcing it to. Oh. Oh, you think, oh, that’s what this is. It doesn’t offend him, he isn’t insulted. He’s embarrassed because you’ve found something out about him, you’ve brought something to the surface that he hadn’t even known himself, and you’d done it in front of his family, without warning.

You smile. It stretches slowly across your cheeks as the realisation solidifies. ‘Does this turn you on, Michael?’ you tease. ‘It that what it is?’

His eyes squint slightly but he says nothing. That’s a mistake — his silence just encourages you, dares you to push it further. You’re right. Now you know you are. You see it in the sharpness behind his expression, in the weighted breaths against your skin. In the way he steels himself before you.

‘Who would have thought?’ you purr, tilting your hips forward.

You catch the material of your dress at the waist, pinching it, so that your movement pulls the hem up your legs. His chin drops. The dress is bunched enough to reveal your thighs, just high enough to show the top seam of your stockings. With his free hand, he pushes carelessly under the apron and lifts, scrunching it by your hip to give him a better view. The air puffs out of his nose like he’s breathing manually, like if he doesn’t force it he’ll stop all together.

‘Have I embarrassed you, Mr. Gray?’ you drip, honey pouring from your mouth, sinking into him like an opiate. It’s new, but it’s easy. It comes naturally. Perhaps it’s always been like this; without you realising, without you caring. A power imbalance that you both liked.

You’re looking at his lashes when his eyes dart back to you. ‘Stop it,’ he warns. The apron falls down again, his hand pulls away from the wall. ‘Don’t.’

‘Why?’ You’re enjoying it too much to pay any attention to his order. ‘Would you prefer I call you Sir?’

He swallows. You bite down on your lip as you wait for a response, half-convinced that he’s about to storm away and leave you there. Then, slowly, slowly like he’s fighting and losing, letting it flood the cracks, letting it pull him under, he leans into you. His palm cups your cheek. His head drops to put his mouth just below your chin, angled and ready by your neck.

‘Say it again,’ he coaxes, voice rough over your throat.

Your breath shakes, quiet, fragile from your mouth. ‘Say what, sir?’

He exhales sharply but it catches, and for a moment it sounds like he’s growled. Your Michael, growling, with his breath hot and heavy against you. If you took drugs, this would be yours, this would be your fix. You run your hand up his side, under the jacket and over the waistcoat.

‘Do you like it, sir?’ you ask.

‘Fuck.’ The words drags out of him, scrapes through his teeth like he hasn’t realised. ‘Bring it home,’ he says, pulling his face up to look at you. He looks serious, so serious, and so desperate that it should be ridiculous.

‘What?’

‘The dress,’ he answers tightly, ‘the outfit. Bring it home with you.’

You’ve won. Somehow, you’ve won. You’d put on a uniform you had no right to wear, and now Michael was begging for you to bring it home. Desperate to have you like this, again, just for him. And you would, of course you would, you’d be an idiot to deny him something like that. To deny something so mutually beneficial. You’d get your dress back from Mary, and thank her kindly, and then take the maid’s clothes home without saying anything else. But, that was no fun now, that didn’t see to the ache that had started to build between your legs. That didn’t feed the hunger. You had Michael alone, in a darkened corridor, needy and tightroping between disciplines, teetering on the edge of his restraint. That’s too rare, too good to lose. You won’t let it end yet.

Instead, you pout your bottom lip and say, ‘Don’t you want me now? Did I do something wrong, sir?’

He groans, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

You’re impatient so, tiring of the gap, you pull him forward so that your hips are together. He’s hard, you realise, taut against his trousers. You’ve barely touched him and already he wants you, his body craves the way yours does. ‘Kiss me,’ you say messily, quickly, forgetting all about the persona you’d adopted. ‘Kiss me, Mikey.’

‘Hm?’ he hums, putting his other hand to your face, holding you still as he settles his attention on you again. He pushes back until your spine is straightened along the wall. ‘What was that?’

The slip in character hadn’t gone unnoticed. It’d broken the tension enough to give him the upper hand, to finally let him make his play.

‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ he says. ‘Do you?’ The words pour out of him thickly, whiskey and languid control melting across your cheeks, over your lips.

‘Sorry, sir,’ you reply.

Now, it was your own breath that came stiffly, unwilling to move of its own accord. Your chest rises against his because you tell it to. The pressure from his crotch grows, firm and wanting against the dip in your hip.

His tongue runs between his lips once. He’s following your expression carefully, noting each shift, each hesitation. He can see you’re cracking, you’re sure of that. The look he has is the look of a man who’s already won. One that has want he wants, but enjoys the sport of taking it. He puts his nose to the hair by your ear and breathes in deeply, sending goosebumps along your skin. ‘Ask properly,’ he says, his voice low, rumbling.

You swallow quickly. You’re flushing hot. There’s fire in you, flames curling and rising, pulling upwards from your thighs, your stomach, swallowing your heart before it can stutter a beat. ‘Please,’ you start, ‘please kiss me, sir.’

‘Better.’

His eyelids flutter once, as he looks to your lips, and then he’s kissing you. Hard. Harder than he has for a while.

Your hands go to his wrists, hanging onto him as he holds you, as he kisses you into the wall, into the house, through the brickwork and into Elysium. You moan against him and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, wanting more. Needing more.

‘Not a sound,’ he pants as he pulls away. His grip on your face disappears and then his hands are on your thighs, roughly, desperately. His palms settle behind your knees and tug them up, lifting your legs off the ground and putting them around his waist instead. He takes your weight like it’s nothing; uses his hips and his own body against you to keep you upright, between him and the wall. ‘Not a fucking sound, right?’

You nod, frantic, already reaching for him again, already pushing your mouth to his for the taste. For the whiskey. For the heat and the need, and the tongue between your teeth, for his cock, hard and ready against the softest part of you.

He pushes the dress up abruptly, piling it and the apron over your stomach. ‘I want to hear you say it,’ he breathes, forcing it between kisses. ‘Say you’ll keep quiet.’ His touch is searing, alight with something so untapped, it’s raw. Primal.

‘I’ll be quiet, sir,’ you answer pliantly. Willingly. He could ask anything of you now and you’d give it to him, you’d bleed it into his palm like molten silver. ‘Please fuck me,’ you beg. ‘Please, sir.’

He growls again and this time it’s on purpose. His face buries into your neck, into the base of your throat. He kisses the skin hungrily, wet and biting, lustful. He takes you and you let him, you invite him to, because you always have wanted it, the imbalance. The game was fake but the power is real, the submission is honest. Cultivated. It was him over you, always, and you liked that. You wanted that more than anything and now you had it, scorching between your fingers. Burning you into the wallpaper.

You moan; his hand goes to your mouth firmly, flat palm against your lips. An order without words. Quiet, he says, stay quiet. All you have to do is oblige.

[anigodd]

The Deal

Here it is, the crossover I said I would do like 3 weeks ago. Sorry about that. anyway, first and foremost, I’m a Captainsparklez stan, so he is the main character. Also, if you don’t know anything about Mianite, this aint for you, sorry. 

Let’s get started! It’s super long, but enjoy!

Summary:

Jordan would not consider himself a cruel man, but when he saw that children, especially Tubbo, were being forced to fight in a war? Well, if he made a seemingly harmless deal with JSchlatt in order to...persuade him to end the war, then that was his own decision to justify. After all, what was a war without a little bit of psychological torture?

Most of the time, people forget that Jordan, better known as Captainsparklez or just The Captain, was old. I don’t mean in his 40s or 50s, I mean thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of years old. He’s fought for balance for as long as his lady had accepted him as her Champion millennia ago. Most don’t know simply because they don’t ask.

Most of the time, people forget that he is not entirely human. He’s immortal—it come with the job description—and has spent so much time in the End that it was bound to affect him eventually. His Lady, ever the one to always worry about him, changed him ever so slightly so that he was not susceptible to most human weaknesses: he didn’t need to sleep as much, better stamina, strength, etc. He complained that she did not have to do that, to save her power for something more important than him, but she stared him straight in his eyes and said with such conviction and with such sadness in her eyes that he was stunned,

“You are the most important thing to me, Jordan. Please, never forget that.”

He never did.

Most of the time, people forget that Jordan was dangerous. You don’t remain the Champion of the Goddess of Balance without having a few perks, nor do you simply kill a god and not absorb some of their power. In his dreams, he could see snippets of the future, not like his Lady, but just enough to influence his actions in wars or in everyday life to help maintain balance. Jordan could feel a deep ache in his soul when balance was disrupted. He can travel to and fro from the end without the need for a portal—he teleported like an enderman (he wouldn’t stop scaring Tom with this new-found power for days). He knew how to use a bit of magic, some was taught to him by the Ianite in Ruxomar. Just simple spells, such as small barriers or being able to communicate with endermen. He really had to hone his magic at some point. What was most interesting was his control over some of the Darkness’ domain. He never figured that he gained a little bit of something from killing World Historian all those years ago, he just thought he was mentally prepared for the next years to come.

Turns out he was wrong again.

The Darkness, before their final battle, had brought this to his attention. The deity would always poke into his head and whisper to him, but Jordan would push him out of his head when it got too much for him. After a few times, the Darkness said that Jordan had more power over his mind than he thought. The deity’s voice sounded intrigued by this development and soon worked harder to get Jordan on his side to no avail. However, what the Darkness said lingered in the back of his mind until one day, after the war, his Lady brought it up.

They were quietly sitting in her temple in the End when she spoke.

“Captain, I don’t want to pry, but I know that you’ve been thinking about what the Darkness told you and, if you wanted, I could help you control it?” She hesitantly offered. Jordan froze.

The Darkness told him a lot of things. He promised him weapons of infinite power, nights of peaceful rest, a break from the voices in his mind—a break from fighting. He promised him a peaceful life if he joined him. The Captain composed himself but stopped.

‘Control what?’ he thought. Now he was confused. It must have shown on his face because a smile blossomed on Ianite’s face.

“I wanted to teach you how to control your mind. The Darkness noticed you were able to block him from your mind. That does not come from years of experience, Captain. It’s more of a gift...or perhaps a curse. This power is why, when I was being influenced, I was unable to communicate with you,” she explained.

“Unable to talk to me? Why? I never intentionally pushed you away,” Jordan questioned. He would never ignore his Lady, even if she wasn’t really herself.

She chuckled. “I know you wouldn’t, Jordan. Thank you for that. What I mean is that you subconsciously blocked out all influences if the Darkness, including me.”

She watched as his eyes widened, but he nodded slowly in understanding. He waited for her to continue before he asked his questions; she could feel his curiosity.

“I could either help you control and develop this power, or you could leave it as a sort of unconscious barrier for your mind. There are many aspects that come with this gift, not just protection for yourself. If you wish, we could start immediately?” Ianite inquired.

She hoped he accepted. The Captain was like a son to her and it would mean the world to Ianite if she could finally teach him something as a mother would teach her son to ride a bike. She wanted to see him grow into his power and watch with pride as he mastered magic. Yes, she hoped he would accept.

Ianite watched as he thought about it. He stared at her. She could see his burning curiosity and the look of hope on her face. The truth was, the Captain craved knowledge more than power. He wanted to know anything and everything that he could, and this was something he wanted to learn. It may come in handy in the future.

He nodded. “When do you want to start, M’lady?” he asked with a smile.

She grinned. “We can start immediately.”

Oh, she couldn’t wait to see what he would become. No matter what, she would be proud.

—————— Nobody knew the extent of Jordan’s power or what he was trained to do. Rumors spread of the great hero who learned how to harness old magic from the teachings of the Goddess herself. Others say he went mad with power and tormented her with visions of destruction. Some say he does not look human anymore. Some say he guards her temple in the End and is still loyal to her thousands of years later. Others say he got to live his life in peace after training.

Some of those rumors are true. After all, all myths come from a seed of truth. Nowadays, though, The Captain does live in relative peace. He gets to participate in tournaments, such as the newest one called Minecraft Championship, where he really just plays for fun. He never got to make friends or have fun for his years under the gods, but the Universe has calmed down and his Lady wanted to see him have fun and socialize.

Most of them recognized him or had heard of him. He was always so uncomfortable with attention or praise but thankfully—THANKFULLY—their starry-eyed looks stopped after a while. Unless, of course, he said something that they recognized as one of his catchphrases all hell broke loose but...well...it was pretty funny to watch them yell and laugh good-naturedly when he said something like that.

Some asked him a million questions about his life or his adventures, especially this...child? His name was Tubbo and, apparently, Jordan was his role-model. He was flattered and a bit flustered. Most people that came up to him were older than 16 and usually asked about his fighting tactics or the wars he fought in. But this kid asked about none of those. Tubbo was the nicest kid he had ever met and tried to give him the best answers that he could, even if the were a little vague at some points—he didn’t want to scar the boy.

Tubbo didn’t seem to care. He always stared at him with the most excited smile and genuinely interested expression that he nearly cries thinking about it. Only a few people look at him so kindly it hurts. Tubbo is always bursting with questions and the Captain is always happy to answer. It became a thing for Tubbo to follow him around, prompting Jordan to call him ‘duckling’ in his mind.

He has started to become a bit worried about Tubbo and his loud friend, Tommy, though. The two are usually so boisterous and loud that it was hard to miss them. Nowadays, when he sees them, the two teens are more subdued and they look....exhausted. He’s seen that look. He knows they are fighting a war they cannot win.

Jordan knows he has to put an end to the fighting. If not for Tubbo, then for his own peace of mind. He finds Jschlatt on his own private server and strikes a sort of a deal with the man.

His smile is ice and his eyes are as dark as the Void when they shake hands. Purple tendrils and sparks emerge from their handshake, giving Jordan access to Jschlatt’s every move. The magic let Schlatt know that there was no backing out of this deal.

Their souls were intertwined until the deal was done. —————— Nobody knew that Jordan was a deal maker. Not that he did it much in the first place—there wasn’t anything that he wanted from others and he hated exercising his power over others.

This time, however, was an exception.

He knew what Schlatt had done to Tubbo and the others on Dream’s SMP. He knew that they were hurting. He hated seeing families torn apart and children being forced to grow up and fight. They should’ve had a childhood. They shouldn’t have to be forced into a war, and for what? Power? Glory? Honor? No honorable soldier would endorse using children to fight. No honorable leader or nation would do so either.

He noticed the shadows on the walls growing and harmful magic beginning to swarm around him.

Jordan heaved a sigh. He had to calm down before he did anything he would regret. He looked back at Schlatt from where he was hidden in the shadows. The hybrid was sat at his desk in the White House, languidly drinking from a glass as if there was no war going on; as if he isn’t responsible for the suffering going on in his lands.

He gave Schlatt two weeks to fulfill his end of the deal before Jordan fulfilled his end, but it doesn’t seem like Schlatt was even slightly worried about their agreement.

The Captain watched as he filled out paperwork and discarded peace treaties or ideas for that may improve Manburg. The lack of care for his nation made Jordan’s blood boil.

How careless.

How cruel.

How sickening. —————

Most know that Jordan, at his core, is kind-hearted and humble. He would never attack without a reason, but even before then, he would try to negotiate. It’s why he has been the Champion of Balance for so long: it’s in his nature.

That being said, Jordan is not a cruel or sadistic man. But to him, this deal was important to him. It would bring peace and protection to those in Dream’s land. They have been fighting for too long and are beginning to lose themselves. It had to be stopped.

As another few days went by, and soon, with 5 days left for Schlatt to fulfill his end of the deal, Jordan knew he had to give a bit of an....incentive to Schlatt.

He smiled. While he hated using his powers over the mind, now looked like a good time for some practice. The Captain waited until Schlatt was asleep to enter his mind. Since their souls were intertwined because of the deal, his plan was much simpler. His eyes glowed a deep purple.

After all, what was a little bit of psychological torture on one person if it benefitted the masses?

The Captain left the man to sleep. He had a feeling he’s be hearing from Schlatt in the next few days. And maybe, if Schlatt heard clocks ticking a bit louder than normal and seemed to echo in his mind, well, that was for Jordan to know, wasn’t it? ————————

Schlatt woke up with a killer headache and an unsettling feeling. The hairs on the back if his neck stood up and his shoulders tensed. Was he being watched? He looked around his room with a steady gaze. The room was quiet save for the birds outside and his clock. Had it always been that loud?

No matter. He couldn’t see anyone but that didn’t mean he was safe. Maybe he should have Tubbo stay by his side for the day until his paranoia passed?

Something caught his eye. He could have sworn he saw the shadows grow in his room after that thought. He shrugged to himself. He definitely needed more sleep if he was starting to see shadow demons.

Ha.

He took a deep breath and began to get ready for the day. He had paperwork to do and meetings to plan. If Manburg were to be under his rule, there had to be a few new....rules put into place.

‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘New regulations wouldn’t hurt anybody.’

He walked down the hallways of the White House quicker than he usually does. Why does he feel like someone was watching him? Was Pogtopia planning an attack? The thought made him snort.

‘Right, like they could plan a decent attack,’ he thought.

When he looked outside to where the seats in front of the podium were located, he didn’t see a nice grassy field with a peaceful waterfall. Instead, he saw ashes falling from the sky like snow, a red haze filling the air, and fires burning with. The birds chirping distorted into echoed screams of agony. The podium was blown to bits and Tubbo...oh god....—

He blinked and the scenery reverted to normal.

“Sir?” a small voice asked from behind him.

Schlatt jumped and tried to control his breathing. When did he begin to hyperventilate? Why was he shaking?

He stared into the concerned and slightly wary eyes of Tubbo. Jesus, the kid was quiet.

He let out a breath and put his hand on his chest.

“Christ, Tubbo, you’re gonna give this old man a heart attack one day,” he tried to joke.

Tubbo cracked a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you alright, Schlatt? You were staring out at the lawn like someone died.” Tubbo said.

Schlatt froze. He did see someone dead. But it wasn’t a memory, what was it?

He looked at Tubbo and put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. Geez, he was just a kid, wasn’t he.

“Whatever happens, Tubbo, just know that it’s not your fault,” is all he said before walking into his office and closing the door. Tubbo was so confused, but Schlatt has done weirder and so he let it go. He wanted to see Tommy.

The clock in Schlatt’s office echoed in his mind as he worked. ——————

The one thing that Jordan hated was being mistaken for a kind-hearted fool.

He watched as Schlatt worked for another 3 days while enduring the visions of what may become of Manburg.

He watched as Schlatt ignored the shadows on the walls and the ticking of his clock.

He watched as Schlatt jumped in his seat when the whispers of the End began to echo in his ears.

He watched as Schlatt could not sleep for the rest of the 5 days.

He watched as the man slowly broke down. The visions kept him awake, the clocks were too loud, the whispers were in a language he couldn’t understand and the feeling of being watched drove him to the brink of insanity.

The others began to notice his quickly deteriorating health.

Schlatt had dark bags under his eyes that nearly looked like bruises. He was constantly looking over his shoulder and nearly broke all of the clocks in the White House. While talking to someone, his eyes always darted to the corners of the rooms. Most worryingly, he would just stare at something that looked normal, say an open field, and nearly put himself into a panic attack. The residents may not like him but they hated seeing anyone reduced to shambles. They tried to help him but all they get is incoherent mumbles or snippets of what may be Schlatt’s imagination.

Whatever it was, it had to stop.

The first time Wilbur heard of Schlatt’s health, he laughed. He laughed so hard he cried and couldn’t breath for at least 5 minutes. Tommy and Tubbo joined in, though their laughter was much weaker. The times after hearing about it, though, something changed in Wilbur. He could see how it was scaring Tubbo and at the rare times Niki visited, she expressed her genuine concerns over Schlatt.

“We may not like him too much, Wilbur, but you haven’t seen him. The poor man looks like he’s gonna run himself to his grave. We’re all worried about him,” is what she said to him when he asked why they were so concerned about him.

Wilbur wanted to see how Schlatt was fairing. Techno didn’t seem to care too much but he seemed interested in what happened to Schlatt.

“I’ll go along only because I wanna see what he looks like when he walks,” was Techno’s justification to visiting the White House. Okay then, Techno.

Tommy was coming along as well. He was practically dying from curiosity, but he also wanted to see Tubbo. Wilbur didn’t question his logic either.

However, they didn’t have to sneak into Manburg like they had planned to. They received an invitation to an SMP meeting in the community center in 3 hours. Everyone on the server had to attend, including Dream. This surprised Wilbur as he held the letter in his hands. Why would Dream have to attend if Schlatt was calling this meeting?

“Kinda sus of him, not gonna lie,” Techno said from behind him.

Wilbur hummed and turned around.

“Do you think we should go?”

Techno looked at him, practically expressionless. Wilbur stared back--- he was used to waiting for an answer.

“Tommy will complain for days if we don’t go, so yeah, we’re going,” is what Techno said eventually.

Wilbur sighed and crumpled the letter. He looked back at Techno, who was starting to head to the entrance of their ravine.

“Can you wait for Tommy and I before you go off and commit war crimes?” He joked.

Techno stopped.

“BruuUhhhH.”

Wilbur just laughed and went to fetch the blond gremlin from his room.

He just hoped this meeting didn’t go to shit. ———————— Schlatt felt like shit. He didn’t know what was happening to him or why but he just wanted it to stop.

Every corner he turned there was some depiction of an explosion or a massacre in that area. Quiet rooms were too loud with the whispers and the clocks. He kept the lights on at all times.

What was breaking him down the most was the constant feeling of being watched. Even with multiple people in the room, it was like a predator was watching its prey from afar. Waiting to pounce. He was at his wits end, but finally, hours before he called the SMP meeting, he got answers.

He was trying to do paperwork but was really just staring at the same paragraph for an hour. His mind was muddled and he couldn’t form a coherent thought.

He was so tired but every time he closed his eyes, it was another scene of death and destruction. He hands shook so badly that he had to put his pen down and place his head in his hands.

“You seem to be struggling, Schlatt,” a voice said from behind him. That feeling of being watched increased tenfold, causing Schlatt to tense and look behind him.

The Captain was standing in the corner of the room. The shadows obscured most of his figure but he could see his eyes—what happened to his eyes?—and his unnerving smile.

Schlatt tired to summon some of his dignity.

“Captain! Long time, no see. How’ve you been?”

Jordan’s expression didn’t change, but the room darkened a bit. Schlatt noticed.

“Have you been doing that? It’s been driving me nuts!” he angrily exclaimed.

Jordan cocked his head to the side.

“Have you forgotten about our deal, Schlatt?” Is all he asked. Why was his voice suddenly deeper? It rumbled in his ears and was vaguely threatening. His heart rate picked up and he had a feeling that Jordan was not just some guy he made a deal with.

He steeled his nerves. There is no way that Jordan is anything but human. He looked towards the Captain who was impossibly still with his creepy smile.

“No, I didn’t forget about it. I just....had better things to do,” was his defense. That apparently was the wrong answer.

Jordan was suddenly right in front of him, smile gone and eyes staring straight into him. Schlatt’s instincts immediately screamed ‘danger!’ and ‘run!’ but something was keeping him in place. He felt his heart pounding in his chest but he still couldn't move away. Purple eyes bored into his own. 

Jordan placed a deceptively gentle hand on his cheek.

“I don’t like being mistaken for a fool, Schlatt. We made this deal to benefit both of us, yet you exploit my charity,” he patronized. The power radiating from those words nearly had Schlatt tumbling to his knees but he stood firm.

“I’ll give you 24 hours, but,” his hand suddenly gripped his face tightly and forced Schlatt to look at him. What he saw terrified him.

“If you continue to fail to uphold your end of the deal, then, well,” he released his hold on Schlatt, “I hope you’ll be able to get used to the way your currently living,” he threatened. The Captain straightened and gave him yet another unnerving smile.

Out of nowhere, he summoned an intricate clock and began to wind it. It was a beautiful black with purple and gold accents. The outer design of the clock resembled...scales? At the center, there was an ender eye. The numbers weren’t exactly numbers but looked like writing one would find in an enchantment table. How in the hell did Jordan get a clock like this?

He finished winding the clock and Schlatt thought he was going to place it down on his desk. He was wrong once again. A deep purple aura surrounded the clock and it disappeared with a burst of particles. Unfortunately, he could still hear it ticking next to his ear.

“This should remind you of the limited time that you have,” he began to back away before he stopped and turned around with a thoughtful look on his face.

“I’m not a cruel man, JSchlatt. But I do believe in an eye for an eye. I hope you make the right decision,” he said, and he was gone in a flash of purple.

Schlatt shakily sat down—when had he stood up?—and began to draft a peace treaty for Manburg. The writing was shaky and nearly illegible, but it would have to do. Then, he called a meeting for all of SMP to attend.

He sat for 3 hours listening to the incessant ticking. It was becoming more and more distorted in his mind as the hours ticked by. ——————— Once everyone was seated at a round table in the community house, they all looked towards Schlatt for an explanation.

The atmosphere was tense, mainly from Wilbur and Tommy, while the rest tried to sit as comfortably as they could. Dream was practically lounging in his chair.

“So, Schlatt,” Wilbur practically spat his name, “what did you call this oh so important meeting for?” he asked and crossed his arms.

It was his first time seeing Schlatt since his exile and he felt...just a little bit of pity for him. His clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them, his eyes were red—he looked about ready to fall asleep but always jerked awake at the last second. His eyes were darting to the corners of the room. Wilbur looked around but found nothing out of the ordinary. He could see the others glancing around the room as well, unnerved by Schlatt’s paranoia.

Schlatt, even though he was incredibly shaky and oh so tired, stood up. He was still the President, damn it. All eyes were on him as he cleared his throat.

“I have called this meeting to.....to....” he was having second thoughts. Did he really want to give up his power over Pogtopia and Manburg? He enjoyed the chaos and having control over everything. He wasn’t ready to give this up yet.

He saw the shadows move and the Captain manifested from the shadows. The ticking was nearly deafening. Jordan’s eyes were deadly, his smile nowhere to be found. He looked non-human without his glasses on.

Schlatt was so focused on his appearance that he missed when the Captain drew his sword—a near black blade that looked wickedly sharp. The handle was intricately carved with ancient spells and magic seals. Schlatt noticed too late that Jordan had heard his thoughts.

The Captain rushed at him with his sword raised and cold eyes boring into his soul. HIs smile was nearly feral as he charged. Schlatt shrieked and stumbled backwards into the wall and raised his hands to defend himself from the blows-

But nothing came.

He shakily looked around and noticed that the room was giving him nervous looks. Quakity and Niki were nearly out of their seats while Dream was sitting straight in his chair. Schlatt shakily let out a breath and began to stand.

“Schlatt...” Tubbo began but Schlatt waved him off.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just my imagination,” he easily lied.

Those in attendance saw right through this lie, but decided that once he begins talking, they may get an explanation.

Schlatt took a breath and tried to calm his racing heart. He was so tired. His whole body shook with adrenaline and exhaustion and, god, he just wanted to sleep but he couldn’t. Not with the state he was in now. The Captain’s words echoed in his mind: ‘I hope you can get used to this.’

Schlatt decided that he couldn’t live like this and made his decision. He sat down and took out the drafts of the peace treaty and set them on the table.

“The fuck’s all this?” Tommy quietly mutters while picking up a paper and scrutinizing it. But of course, Tommy’s version of quiet is still decently loud.

“It’s a peace treaty. If you read through this and sign, Manburg and Pogtopia will cease their fighting and hold another election. This time, however, two partied cannot combine their votes,” Schlatt explained. He saw the room looking at him with mixed reactions.

Some looked relieved that the fighting would be over, others were skeptical, and some looked elated at the chance to live peacefully again. Wilbur, however, was not convinced. He was looking at Schlatt skeptically while reading the treaty silently.

‘He’s looking for a loophole,’ was whispered in his ear. It took all of Schlatt’s willpower not to look to his left in fear of what he may see. He could hear the smile on the Captain’s face.

Finally, Wilbur spoke.

“And why should we believe that you would peacefully give up your power? We know that you love the fighting, the wars, the power,” his voice rose as he continued, “why should we trust anything you say?” he finished with a shout.

Wilbur was breathing heavily and glaring at Schlatt. The atmosphere became almost unbearably tense until Jordan finally decided to step in.

He had been silently watching from the shadows, making sure Schlatt stayed in check but also to make sure that the deal was completed. There was mistrust in the air, and to be honest, he was getting impatient. Jordan really wanted to get the treaty over with and go home, take a nap, and preferably not get up for three days.

“Schlatt’s telling the truth,” he says before he steps out of the shadows. He nearly chuckles at the bewildered looks he gets as he steps into view.

A very eager Tubbo is soon clinging to his waist and looking up at him with such relief that he does not regret even the smallest bit of what he’s done to Schlatt. He noticed the boy looked close to tears and was starting to bury his face into his coat.

Jordan placed a gentle hand on Tubbo’s head and he flinched. Oh, he was about to murder whoever hurt his boy. His Lady’s influence reminded him that no, no matter how much it would have been justified, he could not kill someone in this land. He took a deep breath and looked up.

“Does anyone have any questions or will you sign the contract?” he said more as a statement than a question. Tubbo’s arms tightened around his waist. Jordan should really ask him what’s been going on; he wanted to help him and Tommy in any way he could.

Dream, however, had a question.

“How did you get into my server? You’re not whitelisted and I know for a fact that Tubbo doesn’t have the admin power to invite you” Dream said, though he sounded a tad accusatory.

Did he not see what was going on in his server? Did he not care that people were being traumatized? Did he not care that they were losing hope?

The Captain chuckled. The sound caused everyone to shiver and for Schlatt to shrink in his seat. He noticed the clock had stopped ticking and his heart sunk. Fuck, was he too late?

“Dream,” the Captain took off his glasses and his whole visage changed.

His warm brown eyes were now a deep purple that held a small glow to them. His hair was impossibly dark—it looked like of you were put put your hand on it, it would sink right in like a shadow. The outside around his eyes were veins of crying obsidian, a stark contrast to his skin. His clothes floated almost as if he were in water and the pure power of magic that radiated from him was nearly stifling.

“I don’t need your permission to enter your lands when I feel that ethical and moral laws are being broken. I knew something was wrong when Tubbo stopped talking passionately about anything and everything. I knew something was wrong when those from here flinched and loud noises. And I knew something was wrong when you didn’t seem to care,” he spat.

He gently pulled Tubbo from around his waist and walked next to Schlatt. The air around him rippled like water and the shadows grew.

“Now,” he purred. “Schlatt and I made a bit of a deal. A peace treaty that stopped the fighting on these lands that also prohibited future wars in exchange for books on basic magic,” he explained.

The room listened intently.

“But,” he dramatically sighed and Schlatt tried to make himself as small as possible.

“Schlatt here didn’t feel like adhering to our deal very much, so I gave him a bit of incentive,” he stopped there and looked at the room as if that explained everything.

“What does that have to do with my lands?” Dream asked.

Jordan paused. How could he say this as delicately as possible? He sighed and cleaned his glasses in his coat.

“You have to understand that I’m not a cruel man, but I hate being mistaken for a fool. I told Schlatt this when he had five days remaining to complete his end of the deal. If you remember, he may have started acting a bit...differently?” he began.

Niki gasped.

“You were doing that to him? Making him go nearly insane?!” she exclaimed. While she may not like Schlatt, that was cruel of him.

“Yeah, we were really worried for him. What did you do to him, man?” Quakity asked. He was really not liking this side of the Captain.

“I think it was perfectly reasonable, especially when the lives of children were on the line. Honestly, you all should be ashamed of yourselves. Making children fight—who does that?!” he angrily exclaimed.

“They wanted to fight!” Wilbur defended.

Jordan’s dark eyes rounded on him and while he would never admit it, Wilbur was terrified. There was such resentment and disgust in his expression that he almost regretted the war. Almost.

“Have you ever once asked then what they wanted? You’re living in a hole for my goddesses’ sake! Tommy looks like he hasn’t eaten in days and Tubbo is on the brink of tears! Are you so blinded by greed that you can’t see you’re hurting them?” his voice rose as he pointed out the obvious states of the teens.

Tommy was so conflicted. He wanted to defend himself and Wilbur, but he was intimidated by the Captain. He usually never cared for being weaker than other people, but he felt if he used his usual snark he’d be vaporized or something. He looked to Tubbo. His best friend was struggling to keep his emotions in check ever since the Captain arrived, but he knew Tubbo adored the man to high heaven. If Tubbo trusted the Captain’s judgement, then so would he.

Wilbur hadn’t spoken yet, so he did.

“Wil,” he began quietly.

Wilbur turned towards the blond. He hoped he wouldn’t say anything that would confirm what Jordan said.

“Yes, Tommy?” wilbur sounded near accusatory.

The teen but his lip and looked towards Techno, who sat next to him. The pink haired man gave him a subtle nod to continue.

Tommy let put a deep breath. Techno was always right, wasn’t he.

“I.....I want to go home,” he admitted.

Wilbur was shocked. Go home? Why? They were fighting for their country back and Tommy wanted to go home?

“Why would you want to go home, Tommy? I’m so close to getting L’manburg back! If we could just-“

“I don’t want to fight anymore!” he cried. The room went silent.

“I don’t want to fight, Wil....” he said again in a small voice.

Wilbur didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell if he was angry or heartbroken at Tommy’s admission. He didn’t want to fight?

“We can go home if you want, Tommy. Just let me call Phil and we can head over once the meeting is done,” Techno said softly.

Tommy nearly cried in relief. He would get to see Phil again and sleep in a proper bed in a comfy house. He hugged Techno tightly, not caring if it ruined his alpha male reputation.

“Thanks, Techno,” he shakily said.

Tommy looked towards Tubbo.

“Do you want to come along, Big T?” he asked with a small smile.

Tubbo hesitated. He wanted to go with Tommy, he really did, but he just felt...safer with the Captain. Jordan must have sensed his conflict because he immediately changed the conversation.

“So,” he drawled and garnered everyone’s attention, “will you sign or subject Schlatt to some more mind games for the rest of his life?” he asked. It wasn’t a threat, but they knew a promise when they saw one.

“How do we know that you’ll continue to pester Schlatt and not just leave him be?” Quakity asked.

“Please, no, just sign the treaty! He’s legit, he’ll keep going!” Schlatt begged.

He was right, Jordan would have to keep this up if the deal wasn’t finished.

“He’s right. The deal wasn’t just a simple handshake. Our souls are temporarily connected until the deal is completed. Until then, I have power over him,” he revealed.

Quakity’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and immediately signed the treaty. Schlatt nearly sobbed in relief. He knew there was a reason Quakity was in his cabinet.

He passed the treaty to his left and it soon traveled all around the table until it got to Wilbur. He glared at the treaty, then at Schlatt.

“If this is a joke, I’ll kill you myself,” he warned.

Schlatt gave a shaky smile.

“Believe me, I’m really not joking about this.”

Wilbur stared at him a bit longer before signing and passing the paper on. It finally reached Schlatt.

He was about to sign when a pen was in front of his face. He looked at the Captain in confusion.

“This pen will help end the deal. It’s all magicy and stuff, pretty swick,” he explained with a less menacing smile.

Schlatt instantly took the pen and signed his name. The ink glowed red and blue before fading. Schlatt slumped in his seat, unconscious. Some panicked and went to check on him but Jordan stopped them.

“He’s fine, just overtired. He’ll wake up in a day or two with a completely restored mindset,” he soothed.

They nodded but still picked him up and took him to a room with a bed so he could at least rest comfortably.

Jordan clapped his hands together and smile happily.

“Welp, I think that settles everything for today! Unless you have any questions, you guys are good to leave,” he cheerily said.

Some immediately left while others took their time leaving. Niki hugged Tubbo and Tommy before leaving while Techno left to wait outside for Tommy. Wilbur, Tubbo, Tommy, and Jordan were the only ones left in the room.

It seemed like nobody would talk first, so Jordan took a seat next to Tubbo.

“You can go with Tommy, if you want Tubbo. I won’t be offended,” he softly offered.

Tubbo glanced unsurely between Tommy and Jordan.

“Could I...speak with Tommy in private? Please?” he asked.

Jordan nodded and motioned for Wilbur to follow him outside. The brunet hesitated, but with a stern glance he was leaving the room.

Tommy and Tubbo sat in tense silence before they spoke.

“Tommy-“

“Tubbo-“

The tension broke as they laughed with each other. Tommy began before Tubbo could say anything.

“Do you not want to come with me and Phil?” he hesitantly asked. There was an undertone of hurt but Tommy was trying to understand. This was Tubbo, and he trusted Tubbo.

Said best friend looked away as he fidgeted with his fingers and sighed. Tommy felt his chest tighten.

“Come on, just say what you want. I’m a man!” he joked, but it fell a little flat.

Tubbo looked at him.

“It’s nothing against you, Tommy, or-or even Techno or Phil, but, I just....I dunno, I feel....safer? I guess? With the Captain cuz he’s just great and he listens really well and you know how I get sometimes but-“

“Big T you don’t have to defend him,” Tommy cuts him off. It’s not often that Tommy is serious, but he was now.

“I want you to be happy, Tubbo. If you feel safer with the Captain than with us, I guess that’s ok. Just don’t forget about me, yeah? I’ll fucking kill ya, bitch,” he admitted.

Tubbo felt incredibly guilty for leaving his best friend, but he wasn’t staying with the Captain for weeks! Maybe just a few days. He said none of those though and settled for a hug. He buried his face into his friend’s neck and felt Tommy clutch at his shirt.

“Thank you, Tommy, for understanding,” he quietly said.

“No problem, Big T.”

They stayed like that until there was knocking at the door. Jordan popped in with an apologetic look.

“Just wanted to check in. Techno is getting antsy and Wilbur looks ready to demonetize something,” he said to the teens.

Tommy and Tubbo got up from their seats and headed to the door when Jordan stopped them. They looked at the man questioningly but he held no malice on his face. Instead, he was looking at them with some form of understanding.

“Tubbo, whenever you want to visit Tommy, just tell me and I’ll make a portal to Phil’s place. I know you’ll miss him,” he said softly.

Tubbo’s eyes widened and he looked towards Tommy with the biggest smile that the blond couldn’t help but smile back. Tubbo tackled Jordan in a hug.

“Thank you, Captain! Thank you so much!” he exclaimed.

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck and stood a bit awkwardly, “Yeah, thanks.”

Jordan smiled. “Of course.”

There was shouting from outside.

“I think Phil is finally here,” Jordan said.

They peeked outside the room and saw Phil hitting Wilbur with his sandal and the desperate attempts to deflect by Wilbur. Techno was cackling while taking screenshots.

Jordan turned to Tommy.

“I think they’re ready to take you home. Take care, kid,” he said as he nudged Tommy towards the group.

Tommy looked towards Tubbo and they shook hands.

“See you in a few, Big T.”

“As always, Tommy.”

They watched as he ran towards Techno and began to take screenshots as well with a growing smile on his face. His signature loud laugh seemed to brighten the area. Tubbo watched fondly for a bit before Jordan’s hand was on his shoulder. He looked up at Jordan who stared at him with a soft smile.

“Let’s go home, Tubbo. M’lady is eager to meet you,” he said. 

Tubbo immediately lit up.

“Does she like bees?! Could you teach me how to do cool magic stuff too?!” he excitedly asked.

Jordan laughed as he made a portal and stepped through with Tubbo.

-----------

There are many rumors surrounding the legendary Captain, but there are a few things for certain.

Even the most kind-hearted people can be cruel, and they can enjoy their own cruelty.

[intoanothermind]

The Glue - Part Four

T H E   G L U E

Word Count: 2.1k words

Synopsis: Glue or Variable? This is the big question about Frankie’s existence. Assigned to the same role as Newt in WCKD’s Lethal Experiments, Frankie suddenly realizes that she will become just a variable to activate brain reactions in her former Group A friends. Without memories and being the only girl among several boys, she has the feeling of already knowing some of them. The new question that matters to WCKD is: will Frankie play her role as a variable correctly?

- Newt x OC (Frankie)

Masterlist

<Part 3 | Part 5>

(This will be a miniseries of Newt from Maze Runner. It will consist of 7 parts and a spin-off. I won’t do a reader insert as usual, but you will soon understand why.)

—

P A R T   F O U R

The girl shifted in her bed unable to sleep. At the age of fifteen, she was about to have hormones on her skin, and her recent thoughts were bothering her to the point of dropping her sleep. She had grown there inside the CRUEL, not just mentally. Not only the girl, but her friends also developed and she found herself thinking of one of them more and more often. The skinny little boy had become a handsome teenager, still thin, but with more apparent and defined muscles.

Her blond hair darkened to almost brown, and although she still had a few childish features, Newt had become a handsome young man. Cuter than the girl had imagined before. And thinking so much about her friend made the girl restless under her own skin. The girl looked around at the girls she had known for years: Teresa, Rachel, Alice, Skylynn, Hayley, and several others she had not had as much friendship with as the first. He lifted his chin to read the inscriptions on the metal sign hanging a few months ago on his headboard.

                  Franklin

                  Group B

                  Subject 5

                  The glue

The words, so similar to Newt's inscriptions, gave the girl a certainty: She couldn't sleep until she saw him.

The girl got rid of the covers as if they were a straitjacket. Feeling slightly more relieved, she checked to see if the other girls slept and crept out of the room when she realized yes. He only bothered to silence his steps, knowing that no one else would be awake at this hour. For a second she stopped, thinking Newt would be asleep too , but then she remembered that he didn't mind being woken up by her. Smiling, she continued her way down hallways she knew as the back of her hand. He opened the door to bedroom GA1-10 , silently counting five beds, and headed for it. The boy in bed 2 shifted, and the girl stopped, mentally praying that Thomas would n't wake up and see her there.

Your request has not been fulfilled.

- Frankie? He asked, his voice slurred and sleepy. - Why are you here?

The girl swore silently before answering.

"I can't sleep, and I came to see Newt." She confided. Although not as friendly with Thomas as she was with Newt and Minho, she saw no problem talking to him.

“Al right!” She could have sworn Thomas rolled his eyes, but it was too dark to know. “Just don't wake up everybody.”

The girl smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see it. “Thank you, Tommy!” She whispered.

Thomas waved at her and lay back down. The girl continued on her way, not really caring if the others were already awake. Thomas was part of the new Creators, so if he allowed it, anyone else's opinion was disposable. She saw Newt in his bed, lying almost on the edge of the bed and leaving much of it free, as if already anticipating her arrival. She smiled, approaching the boy with soft blonde hair and angelic serene features. She sighed, lying on the bed and settling beside him. Newt shifted, as if recognizing her physical and mental presence there, and his foggy brown eyes widened, understanding his predicament.

“Frankie?”

“Hi blondie.” She whispered, smiling slightly.

“What are you doing here?” Newt asked, closing his eyes momentarily with sleep, but pulled the girl's lean body to tuck her against him.

She shuddered at his touch, but tried not to show too much.

“I can’t sleep.” She whispered, her face buried in the boy's broad chest. "My thoughts won't let me relax."

“What thoughts?” Newt asked , still with his eyes closed, as he reached a hand to her friend's hair and stroked the brown strands.

The girl cringed. “Better not to know.”

“You know I won't give up until I can't anymore, don't you?” He asked, and the girl realized that this could be her chance. Her chance for a first love or losing her best friend.

But she realized she wanted to risk it. For Newt she would risk her life.

“Newt.” She called, her tone lower. “Do you really want to know what bothers me so much lately?" She asked before she lost her nerve.

“Of course I want.” he replied, feeling the anxiety almost waking completely.

He wanted to know. Newt had realized that the girl had been lost in thought and always blushed when he drew her out of her mind, and became increasingly curious about it. She shifted in his arms carefully, and Newt pulled back a little, waiting for her to adjust. But he felt his heart explode in a swirl of sensation as he felt her lips on his. Newt opened his eyes in surprise, but when he realized that his dreams really did come true, he closed them again, enjoying the cherry and chocolate taste of his girl's lips. He wrapped her around the waist and she seemed to relax in his arms, parting her lips to receive his tongue.

The girl was ecstatic. Finally had taken the courage to do what her body and heart have long asked, and one felt the happiness when Newt responded. She had been unsure at first, as she had never kissed anyone before, but when the blonde squeezed her around the waist and as he explored her mouth further, she relaxed and stopped caring about it. Nothing else mattered but her along with him and the happiness that took her completely. When the air was needed between them, the girl broke away from Newt, breathing hard, but with her eyes closed to avoid seeing his reaction. Although Newt responded to her kiss, she didn't know what to expect from now on.

"Frankie..." Newt began, choking on the words, and the girl opened her eyes. “That was...”

"Sorry, Newt, I shouldn't have come." She whispered, still worried that the others would wake up.

She was about to get rid of Newt's arms and get out of there never to look back in his face in shame when he stopped her. The girl looked up, finding his brown eyes shining to her. Her small hands were flat against the boy's chest, which held one hand around her waist like a cage and the other caressing her cheek fondly. Newt leaned down and touched his lips to hers in a simple peck full of affection and desire.

"You have no idea how long I waited for this." She heard him murmur against her lips, and smiled, her heart bursting with even better sensations than before.

“Good to know.” She whispered, her fresh breath hitting the boy's lips, which shuddered.

"You know I won't let you get away, don't you?" He whispered.

The girl smiled and kissed him again, promising she didn't intend to run away from him.

Never.

Not from him.

~ * ~

I woke up from my dream with my body being rocked. I opened my eyes slowly, trying to drive drowsiness out of my body. I blinked several times, trying to wake up. It wasn't enough to wake me up, but I could see that it was Minho who was rocking me. He grinned, making his eyes even smaller as soon as he saw me awake.

“Minho?” I asked, looking around and noticing that no one else was near the edge of Deadheads, where I slept.

Ben was in the distance, waving at us as he waited for the Doors to open on a new morning.

“I came to say goodbye.” Minho answered, capturing my attention again. I raised an eyebrow in question and he shrugged. "I missed you and decided I could say goodbye to you every day."

I smiled, nodding. “Of course! And I'll be waiting for you every day on the way back.”

Minho smiled back, leaning over me to kiss me on the cheek before running toward the already opening doors. As soon as he was out of my sight, even before reaching the Doors, I turned aside, trying to sleep again, but couldn't. Rough thoughts disturbed my mind, and I felt some sort of struggle or anguish in my chest. As if I was predicting something bad that could happen. I simply shook my head, dispelling the melancholy thoughts, and stood up. I didn't do much different from the day before - I just tucked my sleeping bag between two roots and fixed my hair with my fingers. The difference is that I could go to Homestead to brush my teeth. Which was a blessing when Newt provided me with a brush the day before.

I scratched my right eye to ward off sleep, and headed for headquarters. I was about to enter the bathroom when I was barred.

“Good morning, Frankie!” Exclaimed Newt excitedly.

I giggled. “Good morning, Newt.”

“I'll let you use the bathroom, but I wanted to warn you that today you're going to work with the Builders, all right?” he said.

“Sure.” I nodded in agreement.

~ * ~

“Frankie, I already said you better go work with Frypan.” Said Gally, possibly for the tenth time.

“Greg challenged me.” I said, shooting a hard stare to Greg, who worked not far from us. “And besides, it's my bathroom you're building.”

I kept carrying a few logs that had come with me to the Box until I tripped over my own feet and almost fell to the ground if it wasn't for Gally's quick reflexes.

“All right, Greenie?” Asked Gally, and I nodded back.

“That's what you get letting a little girl do men's work." I heard Greg mutter and I had to take a deep breath to control my anger.

“Stupid slinthead.” I muttered under my breath, but Gally could hear it and giggled.

"Why won't you help Frypan or Chuck in the kitchen?" Suggested Gally again.

I snorted mentally. “Why do you want to get rid of me so much?!”

"It's not to get rid of you." Said Gally, a little uncomfortably. "But if you get hurt, Newt eats me alive."

I frowned. "And why would he do that?"

Gally bit her lip, seeming to hold back the laugh and as if he knew something I didn't know.

"You have no idea, do you?" He asked with an enigmatic smile.

“Of what?” I asked, increasingly confused.

Gally shook her head but kept silent.

“Go before you get hurt.” He insisted again, and I got annoyed.

I threw the logs on the floor and marched furiously into the kitchen. Frypan was busy with dinner, and I preferred not to get my hands dirty. What if my food wasn’t good enough, and the boys hated it? I would rather not be screwed the rest of my life.

"Something for me to do, Frypan?" I asked him, propping my hip on the sink beside him. "Preferably not involve me cooking anything at all."

Frypan laughed and waved to the back of the kitchen.

“Chuck is back there cleaning the tank. What do you think about helping the boy?”

I made a face but nodded. “Better than spoiling the food here.”

~ * ~

“Tired already?” asked Minho, and I just mumbled an answer.

With my head down between my arms crossed on the table, all I could think about was sleep. My day was tiring, and not just working with the Builders or in the kitchen - or even going to wait for Minho in front of the West Door - but it was my mind that was exhausted too. I was just on my third day there in the Glade, and I was as confused and stressed as someone who had spent years there, like some of those boys.

"Wouldn't you rather go to sleep, Frankie?" Newt asked right next to me.

I raised my head slightly from the dining table where we were sitting, seeing Newt, Alby, Minho, Chuck, and some of the Keepers looking concerned at my decaying appearance that was calling for a good, wonderful night's sleep.

“All right, I'm going.” I muttered, rising from the table. “Good night.”

I got a lot of good night murmurs back, and for a second I considered inviting Chuck to sleep with me, but dismissed the idea when I saw him having a good time talking to Jeff, one of the Med-jacks. When I reached the edge of Deadheads, I didn't think much before grabbing my sleeping bag and crossing the skeletal, gray trees that hid the beautiful, living forest behind them. All I wanted now was a good place to sleep and hide from what tomorrow awaited

[femmeharringrove]

merry christmas yall have the first chapter of a fic i completely forgot about

It’s Christmas eve, and Steve hasn’t slept in at least three days but that’s fine.

It’s not, not really, but those are the two words the boy has learned to live off of: that’s fine. It’s the motto of complacency, his father said once, after hearing it on the radio. Steve was just twelve at the time and already knew then that his father’s opinion wasn’t worth shit. Steve isn’t complacent, thank you very much. If he has to label himself, he thinks chill is a better word. He’s a chill guy, he’s the most chill person he knows, and everyone loves a chill person so it’s fine.

It’s stupidly early and he’s on the stupid green sofa in his stupid big house and he feels like shit, which is a surprise to exactly no one. The living room is a mess – he should clean it, he thinks vaguely, but he doesn’t plan on making a move anytime soon. If his parents were coming home he’d do it; can’t have them knowing their son’s become a wallowing slouch as of late. But they’re not coming.

His mother called yesterday, trilling over the line in her unnaturally pitched voice about how Prague was just beautiful this time of year and she wished he could be there to see but someone had to hold the fort down and speaking of they just won’t be able to make it back for the holidays but how would he feel about driving to Cincinnati on New Year’s Eve to join them at one of his father’s business socials that would be fun right? And Steve just listened because what else could he do?

He hadn’t been expecting them, anyway. The family hadn’t celebrated Christmas together in four years.

And in those four years he’d had options. Tommy’s family was happy to have him over, he spent many a holiday with the Hagans and then he’d spent that one truly merry Christmas with the Wheelers, and it was fine, but now he’s got none of that. This year, it’s him and the big empty house and he sort of hates it but it’s fine, thanks.

Steve watches the shadows on the wall shift with the rising sun and feels some vague sense of relief; it’s easier to breathe when the sun is out. That’s what’s been bothering him, really. When he does sleep, his dreams are plagued with darkness and cold and danger, and when he wakes up it’s still darkness and he feels like he can’t breathe. Those nightmares have gotten worse, infinitely worse over time. It’s easier to avoid sleep altogether sometimes. And he has no obligations this holiday season, no parties to appear at or houses to crash, so he can afford the heavy circles under his eyes this year.

It’s fine. It has to be fine, so it is. Even if it isn’t really.

Hawkins got snow last night. Steve drags himself up from his seat and meanders to the back door, eyes gazing out over the endless white carpeting the ground outside. He used to love snow. Now anything cold makes him uncomfortable. He hates the winter, makes him think of the dark Upside Down.

Or that damned Soviet Union and their officers and their cold, cruel faces watching on as he tells them he’s not a spy.

Had that really been this year? It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like just yesterday. He tears his eyes away from the snow and pads into the kitchen in search of something warm. Coffee? Definitely coffee. He waits in the kitchen while the dark beverage brews and since he’s here he figures he may as well get some food into his body. Steve can cook – it becomes a necessity when you spend most of your childhood devoid of parents – but he doesn’t really want to cook. Takes too much energy, and he’s not willing to put said energy into that. So he goes with toast, because you can never go wrong with toast, right? He even slathers the bread with copious amounts of butter. It’s not the most fulfilling breakfast, but he likes it well enough.

The coffee finishes brewing and Steve spills a good bit of his father’s whiskey into it before dunking three spoonfuls of sugar in and retreating back to the couch. He grabs the remote on his way over and drops himself gracelessly on the cushions before pressing a button. The screen flickers to life and he chugs half of the hot beverage, flips through channel after channel before settling on some feel-good holiday movie. He hates these movies, he really does, but if he’s lucky it might be enough to lull him to sleep for an hour or so.

Steve used to love Christmas movies. He watched families on television gather together and enjoy one another’s company, children waiting for the magic of Santa Claus while parents shared tender moments under mistletoe. It was everything a younger Steve had desired in a holiday. Even when he had his parents home for Christmas, things had been different. Their home was filled with strange adults, co-workers of his father’s and social acquaintances of his mother’s. Santa Claus never came to visit him – his parents would simply give him a gift or two gathered from their trips abroad. He used to enjoy it, but as he got older the presents got less and less interesting, less personal. He went from wishing for those perfect movie-esque holidays to resenting them. That being said, they have their appeal.

Even now Steve can’t help but get a sense of warm comfort and joy radiating from the film, a warm sensation wrapping around his chest. It’s a strange comfort to him, in spite of his bitterness. There’s something inherently warm about holidays, and yet Steve finds himself feeling cold. He wonders idly what his parents are doing now, if they’ll remember to call tomorrow. The boy sits and sips on coffee and wonders and he’s right about the movie because he ends up dozing for a little bit. He dreams of families and caroling and trees and the whole scene takes on a peaceful, golden haze. Something almost physical wounds around his body like a cat rubbing along his frame in a form of greeting. It’s the nicest dream he’s had in a long time.

Which is why, when the doorbell startles him out of his dreams, Steve feels like he’s capable of murder.

The boy is so confused at first he doesn’t realize it’s his doorbell. When the incessant ringing gets accompanied by an even more incessant knocking on the door, Steve groans. The warmth seeps away and he heaves himself up from the couch. The mug is drained of its remaining lukewarm contents before he sets it on the coffee table. Footsteps land heavy as he stomps his way to the door, yanking it open and preparing to bite off the head of whoever dared to disturb him so early on Christmas Eve of all days.

His face morphs from a snarl to a look of surprise. Dustin grins up at him, oblivious to Steve’s previous anger.

And he’s not alone, either. El is there, too, brown eyes sparkling at him, arm tucked in Max’s as they flash him identical grins. On Dustin’s other side, Will’s smile is something more timid than the rest of his co-conspirators. Steve’s shoulders drop.

“What are you dipshits doing out here?” he snaps playfully. “Not you, of course, Will.” Will’s smile widens while Dustin and the girls make faces of protests.

“Hey!” Dustin squawks indignantly. “I’m your favorite, that’s not allowed to change!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s hands settled on his hips. “Who rang the doorbell?” El’s hand shoots up. “Uh-huh. And who started knocking?” The younger boy shares a guilty look with Max, who kicks guiltily at the ground. Will blinks at him in innocent confusion. Steve smirks. “So, every single one of you played a role in waking me up from my nap with the exception of Will. Little Byers is now my favorite.” Max groans and Dustin makes another scandalized sound, while Will and El both try to hide their giggles. Steve feels a mix of fondness and frustration as he watches them; that seems to be his default emotion around these damned kids. Shaking his head, Steve opens the door wider. “Okay, okay, now why don’t you all come in so I can figure out what I owe this visit to?”

“No need,” El responds, her laughter dying down. That amused happiness never leaves her face, however. “Will you have dinner with us?”

“Mom and Hopper want you to join us,” Will adds. “You can help out with the tree and everything.”

“And baking and cooking and shit, because Hop and Mrs. Byers aren’t the best in the kitchen,” Max finishes, and even though Will makes a small attempt to protest he and El share a knowing shudder. Dustin bounces on his feet slightly as he looks up at the older boy.

“Plus, if you say yes I can ride back to the house with you!” He grins broadly. “Whaddya say?” Steve blinks.

What does he say?

It’s a nice idea, sure. He loves these kids, feels safe with the two adults in question, and spending the day with them promises to be interesting at the very least. But if they’re all there, he has little doubt about Nancy and Jonathan being there too, and he’s really not mad about it anymore but there’s a little bit of awkwardness lingering between the trio. And even if he did go, those lovebirds will have each other. The party has each other, Hopper has Joyce.  Steve is bound to be left out eventually. He knows it’s not on purpose, of course, but he knows how this goes. How many times has it happened before? And he’s already a little bit pissy this holiday season, that truth isn’t likely to make this any more enjoyable.

But eight pairs of eyes watch him expectantly, hopeful looks etched onto their faces. Steve’s gaze shifts past them, down the driveway and he finds Hopper’s truck waiting at the end and he doesn’t have to see the man to know he’s also waiting for an answer.

He doesn’t like disappointing people. He’s chill, Steve goes with the flow as a matter of principle, and this is where the flow seems to be leading. He makes a show of sighing, theatrics making the kids smile even wider.

“I shouldn’t –“ A series of pleas and protests interrupt him and he has to work hard to keep from smiling. Damn, Steve should have run off to New York or Hollywood and becoming an actor, he’s good at this. “- Oh, alright. I guess I can come for a little while. Dustin pumps his fist into the air as the others grin widely. Dustin rushes to the Beamer and Max isn’t far behind.

“Get your keys, Harrington, let’s get moving!” he shouts. Steve can’t help but laugh.

“Hang on, you little gremlin, I gotta get real clothes on! And do my hair!” The two set on riding with him dart back over and duck under his arm into the house, and Steve waves Will and El off. “Go on, you two, don’t wait for me. Tell Hop I’ll bring the little devils with me,” he orders. Both nod eagerly before setting off back to the car. Steve sees them off before turning back into the house. Max is in the living room, face wrinkled into something resembling disgust.

“Jesus, Steve,” she says, “Do you ever clean this place?” It has gotten pretty bad over the past month or so. Steve tries not to wince at the judgement he feels radiating off of the redhead.

“Never, it’s a point of pride at this point,” he teases instead, and she makes another face, nose crinkling before she rolls her eyes and makes a snide comment about messy boys. Steve reaches over and ruffles her hair, reveling in her giggled squawk of protest. “Oh, be nice, Mayfield. It’s a holiday!” Dustin’s footsteps thud down the stairs.

“It is the holidays, so I know you got me a gift, Harrington,” he states, eyes narrowing. “Where is it?” Max perks up in interest now, spinning from the curly-haired kid to the taller boy, eyebrows arching up.

“Oh, uh, presents? Yeah, um -” Steve smiles sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. Dustin’s eyes go wide.

“You forgot?” He marches down the rest of the stairs. “I can’t believe you, Harrington! Party members are supposed to get gifts for other party members! How could you forget?”

“Steeeve,” Max whines, head falling back dramatically. “I can’t believe you!” And she shouldn’t. Neither of them should. Again, he’s sure he’s missed his calling in life with the whole acting thing. Of course he got gifts for them – tucked safely away in the trunk of his car. He doesn’t plan on outright putting his name on them, but he’s sure the kids will figure it out tomorrow morning, which ones he leaves for them.

Chuckling at their antics, Steve hops up the stairs two at a time and dives into his room. How did this become his life, dealing with more barely-pubescent teens than any nineteen-year-old should? Steve’s shower is quick, and he styles up his hair before digging out an ugly sweater his grandmother had gotten him four years ago. Back then people were convinced the boy would go through a growth spurt; he did, but he hadn’t beefed up in the way everyone anticipated. The sweater still remains baggy on his slender frame, but he wears it nonetheless. Jeans are hastily yanked on and socked feet are shoved into sneakers before he trips his way down the steps.

Max and Dustin are anxious by the door, and he grins at them as he approaches the hall closet and grabs a coat. He hears his keys jangle softly in the pocket as he pulls it over his shoulders.

“The two of you have no patience,” he teases, watching them dash out to the car. He follows at a slower pace, amusement tugging at his lips. The kids are practically buzzing with excited energy, urging him to speed up, and they clamor into the car the moment he gets it unlocked, Max beating Dustin out for the coveted shotgun position. The younger boy pouts at Steve in the rearview mirror. Steve smiles right back at him. “Don’t look at me, she won this round, buddy.” Max’s smile is smug next to him, and Dustin scowls before slumping in the backseat. Steve shakes his head. “Alright, everybody buckle – even you, slouch potato,” The kid’s sulking is immediately replaced with a displeased squawk, and Steve doesn’t bother to hide his pleased smile as he eases out of the driveway and out onto the road.

It’s an easy trip; Steve exits Loch Nora and cruises down Dearborn. From there it’s a turn onto Maple and he has Max dig out cassettes from the glove box now. Wham! sings about holidays and heartbreak as Steve drives carefully past the Sinclair home, then the Wheelers not long after. He’s sure the occupants of both homes are either not there or too busy to be peering out of curtains in search of their kids’ babysitter, but he doesn’t want to risk having them see him do anything remotely reckless, and so he adheres to the laws of the road. Once he turns onto Cornwallis Street, he relaxes, speed inching up as he goes. Dustin’s previous sour mood has all but evaporated and he talks in that loud way of his, leaning up so he can get a look at the two people upfront. Max is just as chatty, and Steve is happy to let them converse, offering small hums here and there to show he’s listening.

He’s not really listening, but he doesn’t need them knowing.

Whiskey eyes try to focus on the road as he makes another turn, this time onto Kerley. It’s been five months since Hawkins last had to fight off monsters. Five months since the mall went down in flames. Five months since the Soviets and their needles and their gate.

He has nightmares still, about the room and the faces and the pain. Sometimes Robin’s there, panicked eyes screaming at him to help. Other times he sees Dustin, the kid looking betrayed as the general smugly tells him about Steve’s slip-up in his interrogation. Some nights he has dreams that leave him feeling physically cold. Those are the dreams he can never remember – whenever he tries, his head aches in a sharp sort of way that quickly has him leaving the whole thing alone. Even now as he thinks about it a dull throb warns him against it just behind his eyes. His thoughts wander further as the Beamer rolls onto Mirkwood.

Robin thinks he needs help. She may be right. Two weeks ago he almost had a full-blown panic attack in the back room of Family Video after seeing someone who looked eerily like the so-called doctor that ended up tugging his fingernails out with horrific ease. Even Keith had been surprised, awkwardly giving him the rest of the day off. Robin, bless her soul, tried talking him down, but ultimately she just held him while he sobbed frantically. Every day after that she gave him this look and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of her pity, the cold force of her concern, the bitterness of her remorseful anger.

He still isn’t sure how he knew she was feeling all of that so clearly. Steve’s not great at a lot of things, but he’s always had a knack for reading a room. You learned how to do that after witnessing your parents have screaming matches almost every night they actually spent the night in Hawkins; he had to decide whether the tension in the air was manageable or too electric for him to safely involve himself in. When you struggle up the social ladder of high school, you learn how to read people and earn their favor. It’s his thing, always interpreting. It’s been five months since that little quirk seemed to get more sensitive. He doesn’t exactly know how he feels about that, or if it’s a good thing at all.

Steve slowly tunes back into conversation as he turns off of Mirkwood and makes his way down a simple dirt path. From what he can tell, Dustin and Max didn’t quite miss his additions to their conversation during the drive. Easily the two chattiest people in the Party, the older teen’s convinced they could talk for a week straight, without pause, and never notice the lack of anyone else’s input. It’s impressive, if you ask Steve. Max’s electric blue eyes catch his for a moment and she grins widely. She looks for all the world like a normal girl, not like someone who’d almost lost her brother on the Fourth of July.

The Beamer finally comes to a halt. Steve laughs as the two kids scramble out of the car and rush up the driveway. He takes a moment to turn the ignition off and now he’s suddenly feeling rather hesitant.

Why did he let them talk him into this?

The boy slumps in his seat. He should go home. He should crawl onto the couch in the living room and hide under blankets the rest of the night. The kids would not be particularly pleased with him, he’s sure, but he’ll make up for it with the gifts in the trunk. But if he leaves, when is he going to have a chance to leave those gifts for them? He certainly can’t come back tomorrow, and after that he’s just going to feel bad. Up ahead, Dustin’s head tilts as he looks back at the car.

“Harrington! You coming?” Steve hesitates, waves the kid off, and as soon as Dustin turns again he drops his head against the wheel.

He really, really should leave.

The door is slammed shut with a nudge of his hip, and Steve trudges his way up the driveway. Joyce is at the door, all smiles as usual. In spite of his doubts, the boy can’t help but smile back.

“Steve! I’m so glad you came,” she greets, pulling him into a hug as soon as he gets near. Steve settles in her hold for a few brief moments before tugging away reluctantly.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers. I would have brought something with me, but -“ Joyce cuts him off, gentle hands waving about dismissively.

“Oh, none of that,” she chides, “And it’s Joyce, honey. Besides, you can still help in the kitchen.” Her smile turns almost sheepish. “Hopper and I could use an extra hand.” Both of them are stellar single parents, but Steve knows for a fact that neither can cook to save their lives. Steve’s been mastering the art since he was thirteen, he’s gotten quite good at it. He nods at the woman as he slips past her into the house and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by how homey the place looks.

Wrapping paper, string lights, and other festive odds and ends litter the floor. Hopper and Jonathan seem to be in the process of setting up the tree in a corner. A holiday record plays loudly, barely heard over the roaring chatter of the kids yelling and running around. It’s chaos, the very best kind. He’s surrounded by the inherent warmth of it all and the lingering trepidation melts away quickly as Steve lets his shoulders relax.

Eleven notices him first among the kids, and is quick to slip out of a confused Mike’s grip to greet him. Her hug is warm, and Steve holds her tight, one hand rubbing her back as he returns her embrace.

“Hey, kid,” he chuckles, ruffling her hair. Eleven beams up at him.

“You came,” she proclaims. Now Steve lets out a full laugh.

“Well, of course I did! I couldn’t just not show up. Besides, you and Will left me with the little hellions, remember?” Will comes next, shy smile creeping across his face as he tucks himself easily against Steve’s side. Steve pretends to give him a scolding look. “Had my ear talked off the whole way here thanks to you.” Will knows for a fact the older teen isn’t even remotely upset with him. The attempted glare melts into a grin and the boy relaxes, his smile growing easier as his slender arm squeezes around Steve’s waist, then retracts as he backs off. Lucas, already trapped on the ground with Max and Erica, waves in greeting. His teeth flash brilliantly in his bright grin and Steve tips an imaginary hat in his direction. Not too far off, Mike nods in his own greeting, gruff in his usual manner but maybe the holiday magic is working because there’s something unusually friendly about the gesture. Steve returns it in kind.

When Nancy makes her appearance, she falters at the sight of him and Steve’s body almost flinches with the strangeness of it all. Her eyes blink once, twice before she gives him that sad smile.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Steve’s answering smile is painfully awkward.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on coming. The kids roped me into this last-minute, you know how it is with them.” He becomes distinctly aware of Jonathan eyeing them from across the room and clears his throat.

Yeah, maybe this is a little bit of a mistake.

His escape comes in the form of Hopper, the man’s burly arm falling across his shoulders in a gruff greeting.

“Glad you decided to show up, kid. You’re the only competent chef in this house,” he jokes, but it isn’t really a joke. You’d think a couple of adults would know how to cook a decent meal – well, Joyce can cook a decent meal, but it’s just that. His smile is only slightly less awkward as he’s guided into the kitchen, tossing an odd sort of goodbye to the girl as he goes. Joyce gives him a relieved look as he enters the kitchen.

“Steve, do you think you could help me with this soup?”

He’s kept pleasantly busy after that. Between helping with Joyce’s mushroom soup, letting Dustin peel carrots for the pot roast, taking that job away after the kid hacked apart the vegetables beyond recognition, and attempting to restore some general sense of order to the lawless land of the kitchen, Steve barely has time to think about Nancy or Jonathan or the yelling all around him. He hardly pays attention to the pleasant buzz filling his body as a result of the warm atmosphere. It’s dark by the time all the food gets finished. He’s oddly proud of himself as he looks at the spread of food on the table. It’s nothing fancy, but beef and soup and biscuits on Christmas Eve isn’t a bad idea if you ask him.

He can sit at the table with the rest of the adults. There’s space, and Joyce asks him sweetly if he’d like to sit with them. Steve feels decidedly more comfortable on the living room floor with the kids, however.

And that just seems to be the bulk of his problems sometimes, doesn’t it?

Steve Harrington is almost twenty years old, and he has nearly no friends his own age. To top things off, he also has no idea what he’s doing with himself currently, his past haunts his sleep and his waking hours, and his future is all but nonexistent. He peaked in high school and his life has been in a steady decline ever since. But it’s not all bad – at least he’s got the tragic honor of babysitting the six toughest kids in all the world.

And they aren’t even kids anymore, are they? They’re creeping up on their fifteenth birthdays, all of them. Dustin’s is less than a month away already. Steve can’t believe it. They were kids just yesterday, it feels. He was a kid just yesterday, wasn’t he? Monsters have a funny way of forcing you to grow up, he supposes. And they’ve truly grown, his kids.

Eleven’s curls bounce as her head swivels back and forth to follow their conversation, smile warm and genuine as she leans against Steve’s right. Dustin’s always by his side, the little snot. He looks so happy all the time, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he talks animatedly on his left. Mike’s grown so tall, it’s crazy. Coltish legs are folded awkwardly under him as he sits by Eleven’s side. Lucas rivals Mike in height, though he looks significantly less awkward as he leans up against an engaged Max. She’s cut her hair recently; it’s not a bad look, though he knows she wants to grow it back out again. Something about her is tinged with a bitter sadness, something that makes Steve’s throat choke up in a most peculiar way. He gets it, though; Billy’s brush with death wasn’t that long ago, and she’s still struggling with her grief. But she’ll be alright, he knows. Billy’s getting better, her friends are too stubborn to allow her to struggle alone, even if Billy isn’t their favorite. And on Mike’s other side, simply enjoying the moment, sits Will. He’s grown too, but he’s kept much of his quiet mannerisms. He catches Steve’s eye and smiles a little wider, an action Steve mimics.

Sometimes, the calmer Will Byers is the one Steve claims as his favorite. In all truth, he doesn’t have a favorite.

He has different relationships with each kid, that’s all. His relationships with some are weaker than others, weaker than he liked them to be. Some of them share a bond even Steve can’t explain. But the one thing each relationship has in common is the boy’s love for each and every one of them. There’s no favoritism, even if he tells them otherwise. There’s no choosing, none of that. Each of these six kids have Steve’s whole heart.

It’s Eleven who catches him staring next, and she must see the fondness on his face because the smile she gives him is soft and tender and knowing in its own way. Eleven took to him surprisingly quick; he didn’t quite understand it yet, but he was glad the kid felt so at ease with him.

He’s dragged into the present by Dustin very suddenly collapsing against his side, snorting in laughter as Mike stares at Lucas, offense clear on his face.

“How do you not like the Beastie Boys?” he questions, and now it’s Steve’s turn to snort.

“No one likes the Beastie Boys, Mike,” he chuckles, trying to ignore the appalled look the younger teen gives him. “It’s just what you listen to when you reach the teen rebellion phase.”

“I’m not rebellious!” Mike huffs. Steve’s sure Karen Wheeler would beg to differ.

He doesn’t want to spend the night. Joyce already has her hands full with all these kids, and he doesn’t want to add on to that, so he goes out to the car once the kids have all gone to sleep in the basement and gets his sack of presents and he’s going to leave after giving them to Hopper, but Joyce stops him, a curious look on her face.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she questions. Steve feels awkward now, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“You’ve already got plenty of people spending the night, Mrs. By-“

“None of that,” she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow anyway if you leave, you’re having dinner with us.” Steve doesn’t remember agreeing to that, but now he doesn’t have a choice. Hopper, setting a gift under the tree, grunts in agreement.

“She’s right, kid,” he confirms as he stands straight again. “Can’t get out of this one, the kids won’t leave your door until you come back with them. It’ll be much easier on everyone if you just stay.”

And he doesn’t want to because this is their tradition, this is something they’ve been doing together for years as one large family and Steve isn’t really a part of that, so he wants to give them space, but Joyce is already dragging him back inside with the gifts, then she’s off grabbing blankets and Hopper busies him with the task of wrapping last-minute gifts until he forgets wanting to leave.

The couch is his for the night. Joyce gets him some of Jonathan’s clothes and even kisses his forehead and wishes him a merry Christmas before retreating to her room for the night. Hopper wishes him a good rest, and he understands because it’s already ass o’clock in the morning and it’s only a matter of time before those kids come barreling up the stairs to yell about their gifts. The living room is dark, aside from the gentle blinking of the string lights on the tree. It’s a silent night, indeed. He feels warm, and not just from the blankets tucked in close around him.

For the first time in three nights, Steve sleeps. He’s blissfully without dreams.

It lasts barely five hours.

The basement door is opened quite aggressively, and a cacophony of feet thud in before he hears a loud hushing sound, followed by the loudest whisper he’s ever heard.

“Dudes, Steve’s asleep!” one of the little shits hisses. Steve’s fairly sure it’s Dustin. He prays they turn around and go back downstairs for another hour or two.

“Shut up, he’s gonna hear you!” a girl’s voice hisses back, and she’s impossibly louder than the first kid – undeniably Max, Eleven would never whisper that loud. Jesus, who taught them how to whisper?

“Both of you shut up, let’s just get to the target,” a third, quieter voice butts in, and they’re just quiet enough that Steve can’t tell who it is, which tells him it’s either Mike or Will. He’s betting on Mike.

He knows what their target is. Steve takes a moment to contemplate. Either he lets them poke around the presents until Jim or Joyce come in and stop them, which will definitely result in loud protesting and a permanent end to his rest, or he can get up now and get a little bit of sympathy from at least Will for them waking him up. Either way, he’s awake now.

He hears someone poking at a box and goes with the latter.

“Aren’t you little shitheads supposed to wait for your parents?” he groans, eyes peering at the group blearily. All six of them freeze.

“Abort mission?” Lucas whispers to Mike.

“Abort mission,” Steve confirms before the other kid gets a chance, sitting up and stretching. Eleven treads silently over to the sofa and finds her way under his blanket to press into his side.

“Merry Christmas,” she hums, as if she has nothing to do with the early morning shenanigans that roused him. Will joins them on the sofa, and it’s clear the other four are trying to decide how to best fit themselves on the piece of furniture with their babysitter. It’s about to get very cramped, he realizes.

“Yeah, yeah, bah humbug,” he grumbles in reply, but no one misses his fond smile.

Joyce makes her appearance thirty minutes after that, and of all the things she expects to see on a Christmas morning, this was decidedly not it. None of the kids on the couch notice her upfront, too caught up in their giggles and hushed conversation. Steve looks tired, she notes, but he’s not as pale or tired-looking as he was yesterday. He may not be her kid, but she worries about him nevertheless as if he was. Shaking her head slightly, she pads further into the room.

“I hope you all didn’t wake Steve up,” she tells the younger teens as she reaches the sofa. Guilty looks are shared and a few mouths open in hopes of explaining themselves, but Steve beats them all to the punch.

“They didn’t,” he covers, smiling softly up at the woman. “I was up before these hellions tried getting into the presents.” Joyce doesn’t believe him, not for a second, but she leaves it alone as she leans down and gives Will and Eleven kisses on their forehead. Max gets one next, followed by a gentle ruffling of Mike’s hair because he gets fussy about kisses. Lucas smiles as he gets a kiss, and Dustin responds in kind. Even Steve gets a kiss, and he smiles in spite of his surprise.

“Thank you, for keeping them out of the presents,” she tells him as she straightens up and sways off towards the kitchen. He thinks about going to help her, but he looks at the kids sprawled out on the sofa with him and he just can’t bring himself to make them get up, so he stays put. They whisper back and forth about present predictions (Dustin makes a passive comment about some people forgetting to buy presents, Max makes a face at Steve and it takes serious effort to not laugh), and by the time Joyce returns with coffee the six are practically bouncing with restlessness. Their excitement is downright infectious, Steve feels their giddy joy in his bones, his stomach twisting in a good sort of anxiousness. Hopper shuffles in soon after, makes his way directly to the kitchen and gets himself a mug of coffee. He brings an extra one out for a very grateful Steve. Mike makes a face when the smell of caffeine reaches his nose. Lucas doesn’t have to smell it before he gets that disgusted look on his face.

“I can’t understand why you drink that stuff,” he states. Steve inhales the warm smell, sips on the drink (and he’s got to give the chief a thanks because it’s got just the right amount of cream and sugar – not too much, but just enough to take the edge off of the bitter taste), and pauses for added drama before forming his response.

“Lucas, my friend, let’s revisit this conversation when you hit nineteen.” He rests the mug on top of Eleven’s wild curls and revels in her giggled protest.

Outside, the sun is just beginning to poke through the darkness. Steve glances towards the window, watches the black sky turning into blue, and couldn’t help but feel that maybe, maybe, this Christmas isn’t going to be so bad after all.

In an attempt to distract the gaggle of children from the glistening presents under the tree, Steve finally nudges the kids off of him and makes his way to his feet, and he stretches out his body with a few, satisfying cracks in his spine. He’s getting old.

“Hey. You little gremlins want hot cocoa?”

They do, of course they do. And they follow him like a line of duckling behind their mother as Steve trudges into the kitchen. They sit in a row and happily sip on the warm drinks as the brunette then sets about making breakfast. Joyce rubs his shoulder and says he didn’t have to, but Steve is happy to do it, he likes making himself useful. Besides, he’s good at this, the kids love his pancakes. He even whips up scrambled eggs and slices of wonderfully crisp bacon. The smell draws a bleary-eyed Jonathan from his room. He looks surprised by Steve’s presence, but offers a small smile.

“Merry Christmas,” he offers, ruffling Will’s hair on his way by. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and Steve smiles back at him.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.”

[persephonemine]

RP Masterlist

Plots. Prompts. AUs. Tropes. What have you.

#YAS #UNF-- GOOD SHIT #👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 GOOD SHIT GO౦Ԁ SHIT👌 THATS ✔ SOME GOOD👌👌SHIT RIGHT👌👌THERE👌👌👌 RIGHT✔THERE ✔✔IF I DO ƼAҮ SO MY SELF 💯 I SAY SO �

Please know this: These will be updated from time to time! Many of these plots I’ve worked hard on and am eager to try out. Yes, a lot of them are romantic or darkly romantic -- sorry. Most of these can be altered to fit whatever we want. Some of them will be pretty hard to RP, I recognize. Whoops! Plenty of these can be really angsty, dark, and well -- hopefully we can have some fun with that.

                                                         Plots.

“Take it Back” // Pink Floyd Post-Apocalyptic AU Ten or so years after the Zombie Outbreak.

“The Scout.”

1.) Muse A is from a well secured township and is sent to scout as to why its sister location has gone radio silent. They run into Muse B on the way. Do they work together and travel to the sister location or is Muse B the reason the sister location is down?

1.2) If Muse B is the cause of the fall of the sister location, why? What were the reasons? What happened behind closed doors of that township?

“Supplies.”

2.) Muse A is on a supply run and runs into Muse B. Do they decide to band together for survival or do they fight for the supplies Muse A has found? 2.1.) Muse A is on a supply run and runs into Muse B. Muse B is wounded and Muse A manages to rescue and heal Muse B. Do they stick together afterwards or does Muse B skip town?

2.2) Muse B tells Muse A of their plans to go to a place that is claimed to be some sort of sanctuary by someone on the radio they’ve found. Muse A decides to accompany Muse B. Is it truly sanctuary or is there something rotten afoot?

“Provisions.”

3.) Muse B is caught by Muse A for hoarding rations and keeping more than their fair share. In a desperate attempt to keep Muse A from outing them and potentially being ejected from the group, Muse B confides in them that they’re pregnant and unsure of how they’re going to be able to survive with a child and so have kept extras for future use.

3.1) Muse A decides to kick it up a notch and has quickly placed themselves at Muse A’s side and vows to fulfill whatever roles Muse B needs, spouse, parent, provider, etc.

“Just a peek.” Life Could Be A Dream // The Crew-Cuts

1.) Muse B gets a furtive glance of the future. They see a fulfilling, wonderful life with Muse A -- kids, house, stability, true love, real happiness. Do they want it? Is this something they’ve dreamt of? Is it something they want with Muse A? Or is it something they never considered before? Something they never wanted at all? Do they pursue it or do they fight it? 

1.2) Muse B and Muse A do not get along or are enemies. What changes in Muse B’s behaviour after seeing the vision or do they maintain their stance?

1.3) Muse B got the vision wrong -- and it is not their future with Muse A but instead Muse C’s. Do they attempt to take it for themselves or let it go?

“Pack it up.” Send Me On My Way // Rusted Root

1.) The muses have to live with each other for some reason or another despite not liking each other. They’ve got to make it work. The apartment is cramped with only one bathroom. It’s up to them to make it into a cozy home. The muses must decorate and furnish their new apartment. To the shopping centers they go! 1.2) Muse A has been standoffish, cold towards Muse B for whatever reasons until they see Muse B do mundane, domestic, pedestrian things and finds themselves quickly falling for them. 1.3) Muse B has been nursing a crush on Muse A but due to Muse A’s standoffish nature towards them, they never let their feelings be known.

“If you go, I’ll stay. If you come back, I’ll be right here.” Where’s My Love // SYML Reincarnation!AU 

1.) The muses have spent every lifetime together, whether they know it or not. From their first incarnation, throughout every era, they have found each other, fought for each other, and loved each other. They’ve belonged together in any form. This time, it’s different… Muse A remembers all their past lives with Muse B. They know that they’re missing Muse B in this lifetime -- where are they?

1.2) Muse B is with someone else and it’s up to Muse A to win them back. Do they tell them of their past lives? How are they going to get the love of their lives back to where they belong: with them?

“Funnel cake madness.” Younger // Tony Anderson

1.) The muses go to the carnival! Rides, food, fireworks, and showing off at the games to win each other stuffed animals.

“Someone to stay.” Amnesia!AU Crimson and Clover // Tommy James and the Shondells

1.) Muse A suffers from amnesia and must rely on Muse B for just about everything.

1.2) Dark! Muse A actually doesn’t know Muse B and Muse B chooses to falsify memories and a whole life together with Muse A.

“absentia” The Night We Met // Lord Huron

1.) Muse A suddenly vanishes but no one is talking about it. Muse B is absolutely panicked over this as Muse A is special to them. But no one even recalls Muse A and think Muse B is losing it. Was Muse A even real or were they someone Muse B created to deal with trauma? Looking through photos and videos, there is no Muse A. When Muse B is about to accept that Muse A was never real… they find an old wallet photo of Muse A and Muse B together.

1.2) Muse B has a choice. Show others of this proof of Muse A or keep it hidden. Who is in on Muse A’s vanishing and erasure of their life? How will Muse B get them back? How far will they go to reclaim what’s theirs?

“Operation: Romance their pants off.” Fake Date!AU Tonight You Belong To Me // Patience and Prudence

1.) Muse A goes to Muse B to help them woo Muse C. Muse B is secretly in love with Muse A but they just want them to be happy, so they suck it up, and help Muse A.

1.2) Muse A decides the best way to get Muse C’s attention is through jealousy and convinces Muse B to fake date them.

1.3) Eventually it comes to light as to what Muse A is up to. Muse A made a move on Muse C and Muse C wants to know why Muse A is trying to cheat on Muse B. Muse A fesses up to what’s been happening and Muse C laughs it off and accidentally outs Muse B’s romantic feelings towards Muse A.

1.4) OR -- Muse A begins developing feelings for Muse B as they fake date and they have to figure out a way to stop fake-dating and start real-dating.

“Oh, god. It’s you.” Mr. Sandman // SYML

1.) Muse B does a summoning spell to locate their one true love. Muse A appears. These two do not get along. Confusion is had.

1.2) Muse A wants to know what the spell was. Muse B refuses to say.

1.3) Bonus. Muse B has done the spell wrong and now Muse A cannot go too far from them, forcing them to live together, work together, etc. Muse B starts to see why they’re their true love in the pedestrian, domestic, everyday things they witness Muse A doing.

“Second chances.” Mona

1.) After a one night stand, Mona doesn’t think she’s going to see Muse B ever again -- until she finds out she’s pregnant. Having fertility issues, she sees this as a second chance and seeks out Muse B to tell them she is keeping the offspring whether they want to be a part of it or not.

1.2) Muse B wants to be a part of the pregnancy and the child’s life, and so Mona moves in with them to give the relationship a shot, platonic or otherwise. 

“The Guy in the American Flag Onesie.” Josette

1.) Freshly new to this dimension, Jo attempts to settle into a typical terran life. But she’s no idea who all these heroes are. Watching the news at a diner, she cracks a joke about not knowing who Captain America is.

1.2) Overhearing this, someone sits down across from her, and tells her just who Captain America is -- from Steve Rogers himself.

                                                       AUs.

Grease Arranged Marriage Mermaid Fake Date Bodyguard Fake Engagement Love Potion Undercover Couple Wrongfully Convicted/Hiding from the Law College High School Soulmates [ fave ] Zombie Reincarnation Amnesia Time Traveling Roommates Forced Roommates Suddenly Parents Royalty (Victorian, Elizabethan, Medieval, Modern, etc) Spies Assassins Werewolf/Vampire ABO Yandere

                                                      Pairings.

Bad Guy/Good Girl Good Guy/Bad Girl Bad Guy/Bad Girl Neighbors Friends to lovers Friends with benefits to lovers Love at first sight Enemies to lovers Hero/Villain Hero/Civilian Hero/Antihero Villain/Civilian Teacher/Student Age Gap [legal!] Supernatural Creature/Human Supernatural Creature/Supernatural Creature Friends to enemies to lovers

                                       Prompts // Tropes.

Friends to enemies to lovers.

Magic Made Me Do It!

reverse fake dating: very in love couple has to pretend they’re not actually together.

Seasonal Things: Carving pumpkins, going on hayrides, going to haunted houses, trick ‘r treating, gift shopping, skiing, camping, hanging up Christmas lights, etc.

Mutual Pining. [ fave ]

The hero and villain falling in love.

Slowburn. [ f a v e ]

soft/hard: basically where one character is cold, ruthless, driven, and other is kind, forgiving, and gentle. Just complete opposites. How the cold one can be merciless to everyone else except the one person they love and how fiercely loyal and loving they are towards that person. On the flip side, the soft person soothes the cold one and has a way to make them feel truly happy, truly at peace for the first time in their lives. [ f a v e ]

Grungy, rogue, uncivilized Muse A and the proper, tidy, law-abiding Muse B falling in love with one another.

Opposites attract.

Blind dates.

Age differences.

Height differences.

You bonded with my kid and now we’re kind of a couple. [ fave ] // my kid adopted the quiet loner at the park and now I kinda have a boyfriend. [ fave ]

Mistaken identity. Shy muse and outgoing muse.

                                                       Songs.

I Found // Amber Run Into Dust // Mazzy Star Take it Back // Pink Floyd Coming Back to Life // Pink Floyd High Hopes // Pink Floyd Show Me Love // Laura Mvula Your Way Is The Way Home // Tired Pony Younger // Tony Anderson Tonight You Belong To Me // Patience and Prudence Mr. Sandman // SYML Where is my love? // SYML Body // SYML Life Could Be A Dream // The Crew-Cuts Be My Baby // The Ronettes yes to heaven // Lana Del Rey Crimson and Clover // Tommy James and the Shondells Crazy On You // Heart The Night We Met // Lord Huron Send Me On My Way // Rusted Root Where Is My Mind? // Pixies Someone to Stay // Vancouver Sleep Clinic Night Moves // Bob Seger Nights In White Satin // The Moody Blues Bad Blood // Neil Sedaka & Elton John Rocket Man // Elton John To Build a Home // The Cinematic Orchestra You // The Pretty Reckless I'm On Fire // Bruce Springsteen When the Night is Over // Lord Huron Hurts Like Hell // Fleurie

If anything here catches your interest, hit me up! I also have a discord I don’t mind sharing. :)