#he could get lung cancer or whatever!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

therealjordan23 · 7 months

Text

the good girl/bad boy gwiles nobody asked for

ooo

"You shouldn't be smoking," came a pointed voice from behind him.

17 year old Miles Morales groaned, staring at the source of the curt voice: a pale, light skinned girl around his age, though much shorter, was giving him a glare. She had blonde hair split into two neat braids, ocean blue eyes, and sported a pair of gold-framed glasses. She wore the standard Visions Academy uniform: a well pressed plaid blue skirt that didn't have a single wrinkle on it, a navy knit sweater, collared shirt and tie, black leggings and black flats. She continued glaring at him, and folded her arms like a dissatisfied mother.

He took another defiant puff. "I don't know, Gwen. You should try it. Maybe you'd loosen up for once."

Miles on the other hand, couldn’t care less for the school’s uniform regulations. He hadn’t even wanted to attend the preppy boarding school to begin with, instead winning a lottery and passing an entry test that honestly, wasn’t that difficult. His blue blazer had several wrinkles on it, he wore a black hoodie, jeans, and his Jordans. The school should've been grateful he was even wearing their stupid blazer to begin with.

It had been approximately one month since Gwen Stacy had transferred to Visions Academy. Her businessman father had to move to Brooklyn for work-related reasons, meaning his perfect daughter had to enrol at the best school in the city. Mr. Stacy had donated a hefty amount of money to the school, meaning their recently counsellor turned principal, Principal Weber, was going to make sure that Gwen was going to be treated like royalty.

Miles had gotten into some trouble with Principal Weber right around the time Gwen had joined; apparently the old hag wasn't too keen on the brash teenager vandalizing her office. So naturally, Weber had put him in charge as Gwen's guide for six weeks, stating that her good energy would rub off on him. As if walking her to each class and giving her a tour of Visions wasn't enough on its own, Weber had gotten special permission from Miles’ parents to have Miles walk Gwen to school every morning and walk her home. Miles protested, obviously he did, stating that six weeks was way too extreme of a time frame to be hanging around the pristine porcelain doll that was Gwen Stacy. However, Weber had threatened it was either six weeks of being a guide or semester of after-school detention. Miles had chosen the latter.

"No thank you," she replied, and he tensed up at the politeness oozing from her tone. "I would rather not be at risk for lung cancer."

He rolled his eyes, dropping his finished smoke, and putting it out underneath his boot. "Yeah, whatever, princess. Are you ready?"

"Yes," she nodded.

Together, they quietly walked towards Visions. He didn't know why she chose to walk when Mr. Stacy had a line of vehicles parked on their driveway. Not that Miles minded. He could use the cardio.

In the short time Gwen Stacy had been a student at Visions, she had quickly made a name for herself. She was somehow on the Student Council, something Miles found himself avoiding, was in every honours class, became head captain of their roller derby team, and even Miles had to begrudgingly admit that she was a damn good leader. She was somehow terrifying and motivating at the same time. Gwen never falunted any of these traits, though, nor did she show off her money. She wasn’t like those other preppy, spoiled rich girls at Visions. Gwen did these things for her own happiness and benefit, and despite how annoying her goody-two-shoes preppiness was, he liked that about her.

Gwen broke the silence. "Have you done the physics homework?"

Miles rolled his eyes. Apparently one month wasn't enough for Gwen to get the memo: he didn't do ‘homework’. "I'm ditching." he said clearly, as if it were obvious.

Gwen clicked her tongue. "Miles, you're already at risk for suspension for all your absences. If you ditch today too, then—"

"I don't have to come to school?" Miles intervened, placing another cigarette between his lips. "What a nightmare," he chuckled sarcastically, reaching into his back pocket for his lighter.

She rolled her eyes, snatching the cancer stick from his mouth and throwing it into the bushes.

“Hey!”

"Would you take this seriously?!" she snapped, though her tone hadn’t lost its perfect and pristine tone. “You could get in trouble or lose your spot in this school!”

Miles scoffed. "Damn, Stacy. Do you care about me or something?"

She smiled sweetly, though there wasn't a trace of mirth in it. "Absolutely not. Besides, I'd love for Weber to extend your punishment by another few weeks."

He froze at that. Could he truly endure six additional weeks of waking up an hour early, walking to the Stacy residence, and having to awkwardly stand outside their gate as Mr. Stacy gave him the evil if-you-hurt-my-daughter-I-hurt-you stink eye every morning before he left for work? Gwen took notice of his rigid shoulders and giggled at his reaction. Miles scowled. That damn angelic sounding laugh was going to drive him truly insane one of these days. Before Miles could think of his own snarky remark to shoot back at her, a shadowy figure emerged from behind them, snaking their arms around Gwen’s waist. Miles felt his hands ball up into fists, and he immediately turned around to find a guy about their age wearing a Midtown High School hoodie.

Gwen’s nostrils flared, and she wriggled to get out of his grip.

"Hey, sweetheart," the stranger said into Gwen's ear. "How's my favourite girl?" His eyes travelled up her body with a leer of entitlement.

Miles felt a flame of anger ignite somewhere deep inside of him, and it only burned more fiercely when he saw that Gwen was visibly repulsed.

She can take care of herself, Miles had to remind himself. Don't lose your temper.

She pushed him away, her arms flexing as she did so. "I was fine, Eddie," Gwen grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not so much now that you're here."

Miles chuckled to himself lightly, happily reminded that Gwen was able to hold her own. It didn't last long, however, because the interloper gave him the evil eye.

Eddie redirected his gaze to the source of the laughter. "Who's the peasant, Gwen?"

He wrapped his arm around Gwen’s shoulders and waggled an insolent finger at Miles, and he felt the flame of anger return.

Gwen glared at him, answering through clenched teeth. "This is Miles. My friend." She stomped her foot in anger. "But I don't talk about my friends to people like you." she huffed, letting her arms fall from her chest. "What are you doing here?" she asked, wrestling out of his grip and stepping away from Eddie and closer to Miles.

Eddie barked out a laugh and stepped closer, attempting to snake his arm around her again, but she stepped back. His smile became more oily and insinuating.

"Can't I visit my favourite girl?" he asked, reaching for her for yet another time.

Miles yanked Gwen behind him. In one swift move, he grabbed Eddie’s arm and pulled it up and behind his back. Grabbing the moron by his stupid hoodie, Miles raised his first to sock him across the jaw, but he held back when he heard Gwen gasp behind him. Taking a deep breath, he decided to settle this with words, the way Gwen usually would; his tone was dangerously calm as he uttered out his next few words.

"If you want to talk, then fucking talk. But keep your hands off of her," he hissed through clenched teeth. "She obviously doesn't want to be touched."

Miles had dealt with creeps like Eddie before, especially in his old neighbourhood before his father landed his policing job in Brooklyn. He would usually just grab them and drag them to the nearest authority figure.

“She’s mine, who are—”

“Gwen doesn’t belong to anyone,” Miles growled dangerously, putting an angry emphasis on his words. “Now get out of here before I break your arm," he huffed out.

For a brief moment, he turned around and caught Gwen gazing at him in pure awe, and Miles felt his raging anger morph into a much warmer, more pleasant, and less recognizable emotion. But it only lasted a second before she regained her composure and glared at Eddie as well.

Eddie squirmed as he tried to break free from the grasp on his collar. "Fine! Just let go of me. Take the whore!"

That’s when Miles saw red. He dropped Eddie, sending him crashing onto the pavement sidewalk. However, Miles hadn't expected the bastard to recover so quickly because he delivered a swift kick that swept Miles under his feet and he too landed hard on the asphalt. Eddie got up and roughly socked him across the jaw, before looking at Gwen.

"Bitch," he hissed, and Miles’ emotions spiralled out of control.

Gwen began to open her mouth, probably to diffuse the situation and settle this peacefully like she always liked to do, but Miles had different plans. He scrambled to his feet and tackled Eddie to the ground. He pinned him down, digging his knee into Eddie's chest, and delivered a hard punch across his jaw. He didn't intend to keep on going, until Gwen was pulling him off of him and screaming for him to stop. Eddie was once again lying down on the pavement, this time groaning as blood gushed out from his mouth and nose. There were several bruises beginning to form on his cheek and jaw, and Miles spotted a black eye starting to take effect. He delivered one last hard kick to his shin for good measure, and snarled as Gwen grabbed him, ushering him away.

"Call her that one more time!" he challenged as Gwen hurriedly took him in the opposite direction. "If you do so much as look at her, you're dead!" Miles shouted as she practically dragged him back to Stacy residence.

Miles's chest was still heaving with anger as Gwen jammed her keys into the keyhole and unlocked her door. She dragged him all the way upstairs to her bedroom and locked her door.

"Are you crazy?!" she snapped.

"Me?!" he sputtered in disbelief. "He was the one—"

"Miles!" she growled. "Every single guy at Midtown is like that!"

"So?!" he barked in disbelief. "Am I supposed to just stand there and let him touch you and call you names?"

"You're already at risk of suspension! You really don't think Eddie isn't going to Principal Weber right now?!"

He shrugged. "Whatever! Let the idiot squeal. I don't care what happens to me. Nobody does."

Gwen stared at him, before letting out a soft sigh. "I care." she whispered, before squeezing his hands and disappearing into her bathroom.

Miles sat there, surprised. He knew he had his parents, but he had always been an outcast, along with his other troubled friends. He knew they cared, but to hear it from someone as high class as Gwen was an entirely different experience. Before he could process it any further, she returned with a First Aid kit.

"Let me see your hands," she murmured, and he obliged. She sucked in a sharp gasp when she saw how scraped up and busted they were.

Wordlessly, Gwen began to bandage him up.

"Why are you even helping?" he muttered. "I thought you hated me."

"Maybe I've grown quite fond of you," she sighed. "Your brutish criminal behaviour can be charming… sometimes." she added pointedly.

He didn't know what to say after that, so he stayed silent.

“How’s your back?” Gwen asked, referring to his hard fall against the pavement.

He wordlessly slid his shirt off, lightly hissing. He glanced at her to get a read of how bad it was, instead noticing a light blush dust her cheeks.

"Nobody… nobody's ever fought for me like that," she breathed shakily as she dabbed his scrapes with some iodine. “Why did you?”

He hissed at the slight burn against the fresh wounds, and Gwen soothed him by blowing cool air on it.

Miles closed his eyes as she wrapped some gauze around his torso. “I would’ve done it regardless of who it was. Those Midtown douchebags need to understand that this isn’t okay,” he shrugged. “And,” he added offhandedly. “M-maybe I’m fond of you too.”

She cupped his face tenderly.

For the first time, Miles got a good look at her face. Had her eyes always been this beautiful? She smelled amazing, like lavender and vanilla, but something else too… something salty, like the gentle breeze at the beach.

Before he knew it, he had pressed his lips against hers… or did she kiss him? Right now, he couldn’t be bothered.

“Thank you.” she smiled.

ooo

#across the spiderverse #ghostflower #miles morales #gwen stacy #gwiles #gwen x miles #miles x gwen #spiderman

79 notes · View notes

trigunwritings · 1 year

Text

Bad Habits (and Dutiful Husbands)

Rating: General

Relationships: Fem!Reader/Wolfwood/Vash

Summary: Vash and Wolfwood have to take care of a job, but their thoughts are still with their wife.

Written by @blood--hunter

Note: Reader is referred to as wife and uses she/her. Various pet names are also used through the writing.

The lighter sparked to life with only one flick. Wolfwood sighs in relief, lifting the small dancing flame to his cigarette as if it were as delicate as a butterfly. Just as he’s about to cup his hand—mostly out of habit— around the end, there is the sound of a gunshot.

In the same breath that the bullet meets his cigarette, Nicholas lets out a sigh. He had known it was going to happen, but it was still an annoyance that made his teeth grind.

“Seriously?” He asks, flickering dark eyes to the man walking towards him. Vash was dressed in his usual red coat as always, blond hair waving gently in the desert wind. “You couldn’t even let me have one drag?”

Though his gun was nowhere to be seen, Vash was the only one stupid enough to literally shoot something out of Nicholas D. Wolfwood’s mouth and not expect any consequences or accidental injuries.

“You heard the little lady.” Vash said, taking the final few steps to stand before his husband. “No more smoking. It’s bad for your lungs!”

Nick gnashed his teeth again, leaning against the large, cross-shaped gun that was behind him. Vash was, unfortunately, right. Their wife had strict orders for him not to smoke anymore largely out of concern for his health. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that his newfound powers would keep anything like cancer at bay, instead acquiescing to her and Vash’s whims than try to make the argument.

“Whatever,” He spits, turning his eyes to the ruined, ramshackle house before him. Within was hidden the Glass Gang, known for burning down any town they went through and turning the sand itself to glass in their wake. They preferred fire as their weapon of choice, and there was a bounty on them that could cover the bills for months. “At least I didn’t show up late.”

“Aw, c’mon, I just got a little held up.”

Wolfwood didn’t comment—with Vash, the excuse was probably literal.

He hoists his gun onto his shoulder, letting it sit there as he sauntered to the front door.

“Hey,” the man said, banging loudly at the door that held on by barely one hinge, “Come on out!”

“Could be a little more polite.” Vash sighs, but he stands there regardless, hovering over Nick’s shoulder like a worried hen.

Ever since they’d gotten married he had started doing that. He did it to their wife too, hovering, fidgetting, worrying about their health and how they felt. It was Vash’s way of showing how he cared, so Nick allowed it, and sometimes—only sometimes—he even found it cute. Their wife had told him that he needed to accept some things, like people caring about him, when they got married. Her words rang in his ears in moments like these.

It’s because he loves you, Wolfwood. Let him.

“Ain’t commin’ out!” A voice finally rings from inside.

He sighs. Sometimes he wished he’d just picked a different profession. Maybe being the town preacher would have been better, but it never really stuck and—if he were an honest man—he preferred sticking to Vash’s side. Otherwise, their wife would have done it and he didn’t think he could bare being the one at home taking care of things while she and their husband was out earning money.

Vash pipes up before Wolfwood can think of anything to say. “We have donuts!”

“Really?”

Nick raises a brow, looking to his husband. Vash is subtly shaking his head no.

So, it was a lie, then.

The voice inside responds all the same, “Then I guess I will!”

Nick has enough forethought to leap away from he door, grabbing Vash by the edge of his sleeve and hauling ass. Just as they get clear the slab of wood is kicked open— a burst of flames taking up the space where they had just stood.

Vash whines from beside them as they hit the sand. He looks over his shoulder to see a tall man—taller than even Vash— standing in the doorway. The gang-member held a huge flame thrower in his hands, complete with a large tank attached to the back of it, probably filled with some sort of fuel.

“What? No donuts for me!” The man says, a wide, hungry grin on his face, “Or are they all burnt?” Nick rolls his eyes but Vash chuckles, even if it is a little awkward.

“So,” His husband speaks from beside him as they both stand, dusting themselves off. “No way we can convince you to just turn yourselves in?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“Well, that stinks.” Vash sighs, “And here I told my wife that I wouldn’t get into any trouble today.”

“Our wife,” Wolfwood corrects, expression straight and unwavering.

The gang-member’s face crumples in confusion and discuss. “Your wife? What kind of woman would marry you two assholes?”

Nicholas lifts the punisher, taking aim for the tank of fuel, but Vash stops him with a firm hand on the end of his gun.

“Now, now, no need to go insulting us.”

The man chuckles. Nicholas’ frown deepens. One more stupid word and he was going to be eating lead.

“Nah, I won’t insult you anymore. But I am gonna make your little lady at home eat your ashes!”

He lifts his flame thrower. Vash dodges out of the way, rolling to the man’s side while Wolfwood goes the other way both of them are flanking him but as they get into position gun fire erupts from the house. The rest of the gang was joining the party.

Fine by him.

Wolfwood strafes with the weight of his weapon on his shoulder, letting bullets strip through the house’s walls. He knew Vash didn’t want anyone killed, and he didn’t want to disappoint his husband, but it was better to lay down covering fire and risk maiming someone than get killed themselves. Their wife would never forgive them if the both of them didn’t come back in one piece.

Vash, for his part, acclimates quickly to the new scenario and moves to be behind the large man. Unwilling to fire at—what seems to be—their boss, or to get hit themselves, the gang-members stop firing, probably to attempt to repossession themselves.

Their leader growls deep in the back of his throat, trying to swing around to set Vash ablaze but Wolfwood’s husband is too fast, and manages to stay behind him as he swings from side to side.

“Get back here you little freak!”

“No thanks! I don’t wanna end up roasted!”

“Fight fair damnit!”

“Nope!”

As the two of them continue to bicker, Wolfwood makes his way into the house. There are five other gang members and all of them are scrawny, hungry men who aren’t very hard to take down now that their cover is gone and their boss is preoccupied. After tying them up with rope as one big group he emerges from the house again.

Vash has his hands raised, a simpering smile on his face as the boss points the nozzle of his flame-thrower at the other man.

“Got you now!”

Wolfwood sighs, rolling his eyes. “When are you going to stop playing with him?”

The boss smiles wide, eyeing him. “What? So you want me to roast your husband right in front of your eyes!”

“Wasn’t talking to you.”

The man’s face crumples in confusion, but it’s Vash who speaks next. “Oh, I was just gonna let him get this out of his system first.”

With a click the gang-member attempts to light his weapon. Then another click. And another.

Click. Click. Click.

It’s only now that he realizes the tank of fuel is long gone, Vash having gotten rid of it long before Wolfwood even went into the house.

“W-What?!”

“Sorry buddy, couldn’t let you go around setting people on fire!”

Before the man can say anything more, he’s on the ground and his hands are tied behind his back.

Another long breath leaves Nicholas and he grabs for his cigarettes without thinking. He barely has time to put it in his mouth before a gunshot rings out, knocking it away once again.

“God damnit blondie!”

“Hey! Wifey’s orders!”

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #trigun x reader #sfw #sfw writing #fic #sfw fic #writing #vash fic #wolfwood fic #wolfwood x reader #vash x reader #blood--hunter

658 notes · View notes

not-alien-girl-v · 1 year

Text

Disconnected (Matty Healy)

warning: not smut but it might as well be. mentions of doing the dirty but. it doesn’t happen. you know. also george gets roasted sorry georgenation

note: meow

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

he collapses on top of you, sweat coating his bare skin. a long exhale releases from his lungs as he sinks into your body. you keep your hands on his back, rubbing up and down comfortingly, soothing the angry red marks left by your nails just a few minutes ago.

he hums in contentment and places featherlight kisses to the right side of your neck. you giggle and push him off you.

“what? done with me already?” you don’t say anything, expecting him to just fall asleep like he usually does at the end of your ‘after he gets back from the studio quickie.’ it’s not always like this, your sex life with him, this is just one, predictable aspect of it.

it’s almost like you both know how good he fucks you when you ask for it, that it makes up for all the simple, mundane sex you have most of the time.

suddenly, he turns to his side, propping his head up on his hand, and his silent stare is harrowing. “yes?” you ask him, wishing you could read his mind. sometimes you swear he can read yours.

“can i ask you something?” he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says this, and you can only assume the worst.

1. would you still love me if i was gay?

2. will you help me bury the body?

3. when i die of terminal cancer, will you promise not to remarry?

you’ve just been staring at him staring at the crisp white bedsheets and when he looks into your eyes, you are reminded that he can’t actually read your mind, and your attempts at telepathic communication are feeble.

“sure, baby.”

“ok. i’m gonna ask you, and no matter what your answer is, i promise i won’t get mad. you hear me?”

“yes?”

he reaches out to grab your arm, “i mean it, i won’t get mad, i’m just genuinely curious, i’m not fishing for a compliment or anything, i just really want to know.”

what on earth is he on about?

“just ask your question.”

he sighs again. “who’s the best man you’ve ever hooked up with?”

you close your eyes in a mix of both confusion and a bit of disappointment. “like… character-wise or sex-wise?”

“sex-wise.”

you nod, about to say something.

he doesn’t let you.

“i bet it was george, wasn’t it. i’m sure of it. god, when you two hooked up, he was in his prime. i mean, not that he isn’t fit now, i’m sure he still fucks, but back then… i bet he knew what he was doing. how was it with him? be honest, i won’t be upset.”

you just smile silently as he can never shut his big mouth. “that’s pretty gay.”

he chuckles at your response, still egging you on for a real response. “come on, he’s a drummer, so obviously, he’s got rhythm, and he’s a very big boy, so you know he’s got the size.”

you reach forward to brush a stray curl behind his ear, enjoying his beautiful tranquility for as long as you can, because you know he will inevitably get riled up the more this conversation continues.

“i’m starting to think you just want to hear about what it’d be like to fuck your friends,” you brush your fingers through his hair continuously, and he closes his eyes, nearly forgetting about your conversation.

“you’re changing the subject darling,” he leans into your touch.

“so you’re saying you don’t want to know? what it would be like?”

he opens his eyes, “of course i want to know! we’re all straight men in committed relationships to beautiful women, i may never get the experience.”

you rest your hand on the edge of his face, rubbing his temple in circles with your thumb. “you know, if you ever wanted to fuck any of them, i think i’d let you. it’s only fair, since me and george, you know.”

“it wouldn’t be the same, though, because when you and him fucked, we weren’t together yet, i hadn’t told you i liked you. it would mean too much if i shagged my mates now since you and i are you know… whatever.”

you gasp in amusement, “did you really just refer to our relationship as whatever?”

he pouts, but you know he’s laughing on the inside. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine, i guess.”

“wait, you never answered my question!”

“alright. i’ll get into it. you ready?” he nods, looking more prepared than you are for what’s to come. “george was… i mean… it was good. to somebody else, maybe it was great. but to me? i don’t know, we just didn’t mix well together.”

“what d’you mean, baby?”

“like, okay, you look at a guy like that, you assume a certain thing from him while fucking. like you go into doing it with a level of expectations, somewhat high, and he just didn’t meet them.”

“can you be a little more vague? i think i’m almost understanding you, god forbid that happen.”

“fine, fine. truth is, he was too gentle. like you said, he’s a drummer, he’s super muscular, and he’s huge, you expect him to give a rough fucking or even something adjacent to it, and like, i mean, i’m a big girl, i can take it, but every 5 minutes was like ‘are you okay?’ ‘is this too much’ ‘do you need me to stop?’ you’d have thought he was a virgin the way he was so awkward and nervous and gentle. it was weird.”

“that is weird. i never thought that’s how it would be with him.”

“did i ruin the magic for you? now that you know fucking your best friend would be underwhelming?”

“it wasn’t magic, more morbid curiosity,” he speaks.

“morbid? it’s not like we’re talking about fucking a dead body, it’s just george.”

“agree to disagree, my love.” he gets up, butt ass naked, and pulls on some clean boxers from his closet. then, he stops in his tracks, and turns around to face you again. “wait, answer the question, for real this time. i won’t be mad.”

“it’s you.” you speak it plain, simple, and true. you wonder why he even debated the question.

“really?”

“really. it’s always been you.”

“aw, that’s so sweet. just don’t go getting feelings for me, i’m a lone wolf, don’t do relationships,” he warns as he walks out of his room, heading to his kitchen.

the irony hits you as heavy as the new engagement ring on your finger he presented to you a week ago. you laugh to yourself, feeling smitten.

he returns in a moment with a glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand next to where you lay. “drink, darling”

you obey, giving him a look over the rim of the cold glass as it rests against your kiss-swollen lips. you swallow, “you’re being pretty sweet to me, for a ‘lone wolf.’”

he smiles, enjoying the near endless banter between the two of you. “every alpha needs their omega.”

“ew, that’s gross, get out of here, you freak!” you gently nudge him off of the side of the bed where he sits.

he gives you his classic dumb smile as he leaves the room with the now empty glass of water, likely returning it to the dishwasher.

when he gets back, you can’t help but continue his dumb conversation. “i think i’m the alpha in this relationship, anyway. you’re my bitch.”

he nods in agreement, “i’m your bitch.”

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

taglist: @indierockgirrl @itssimpleanditgoeslikethis @milkluvr8 @americanangel

234 notes · View notes

zabala0z · 16 days

Text

Welcome back to “new fan listens to S3 and OH MY GOD THEY NAME DROPPED THE ENTITIES” and I’m your host, Zabala0z!!! I just listened to MAG 111 if you could tell so be prepared for a long post.

MAG 107: Third Degree

Very The Desolation-core. I mean the officer literally asked “what do you love most” and the guys dad was dead a week later so duh. Sucks that Jon literally has to read out a statement or else he’ll like get sick. Bro has to read a scary story unless he wants to die 💀

ALSO JULIA MONTAUK??? TREVOR HERBERT?? Isn’t that bitch dead???? Bro had lung cancer last we heard about him wth 😭 the weirdest duo ever by the way

MAG 108: Monologue

Not much on this but Peter god damn Lukas, get out. He’s very cheerful in a way that reminds me of Michael Crew, y’know. I don’t know how old he is but he’s a sea captain so like 35-40? “Thought we had a chat. Alone” oh haha, you bastard. Anyways the statement dealing with loneliness and Peter Lukas appearing I guess was something Elias did, I mean Peter said it himself. Peter didn’t seem to like Elias a lot which makes me think, why is the Lukas family even patrons of the institute and why is Peter and Elias suddenly having these meetings?

Not much on MAG 109. Still wondering why Trevor is not dead but whatever. Bulbs breaking is a common theme with like Julia’s thing.

MAG 110 has a heavy spider theme (eughhh). Also loving the Basira, Martin, and Melanie trio.

Now finally the major one; MAG 111: Family Business

Oh my god. First off, hearing Gerard speak is giving me so much closure. Literally his first mention was in MAG 4 😭 his mom sucks. Duh. But let’s get to the main part. The entities. Jesus Christ.

There’s 14???? Jon says that’s a small amount for them being manifestations of peoples fears but that’s too much for me. But I’m so happy we get all the names for them. Because of course they are manifestations of peoples fears, that’s what gives them power. Fear has always existed as long as living things existed. I think it’s so interesting they brought in animals into it as well because maybe they aren’t as complex but they feel fear as well. And there’s billions of animals.

Gerard makes me sad. Like every mention of him, he’s like helping people or at least doing something good. I wish his life was better cause god does he deserve it.

The Lukas’s I guess are apart of The Lonely. I thought they were apart of The Vast but maybe there’s just some overlap. I think it’s interested they serve The Lonely and are patrons of the institute which serve The Eye cause if you think about, those are two different things. The Lonely deals with being alone and there being no one around. The Eye deals with there being someone, something, that’s watching constantly. I gotta know how they became patrons or I will explode damn it.

Then there’s the rituals, what the hell is the Watchers Crown 😭😭 give Jon a break. I’m gonna theorize that Jon is gonna have to deal with that and is somehow going to be the key to it because he can never have a normal life. Gertrude is interesting because yeah she’s ruthless as hell but she also stopped the world ending like a ton so I guess give and take.

I think that’s like most of my thoughts I can write on here. Which is like 1/5 of it. But god I’m so happy we have names, these are so cool. Or not cool. I might make like a post, ranking on which would be my biggest ops 💀

#the magnus archives #tma s3 #tma #tma podcast #zabala0z thoughts #Gerry deserves better #Julia and Trevor are interesting cause yeah they are killing monsters but they’re forcefully using Gerry and do kinda suck in a way #I wanna dissect every characters brain here #and go back to previous episodes to see which entity was involved #Jane Prentiss had the corruption #I figure all the meat stuff is like The Flesh #also there was that ep when that guy went to America and there was a wolf man was that like The Hunt?#but anyways #god #i love this podcast #I know I’ve said it a lot but I’m so invested and like I’m gonna be so pissed when it ends

26 notes · View notes

thewaywardkees · 3 months

Text

It's been so long since I've interacted with the Harringrove fandom, but I was going over old drafts I have on Google Documents today and found this piece I want to dedicate to my precious @ihni because darling... You have always and will always be my FAVORITE Harringrove writer. Always remember there's Stephen King, there's Taylor Jenkins Reid and then there's you (Baby Steps and Of Cats and Men will always live in my brain). I adore you, darling! ❤️ The only Harringrove Post of my own that I want to post online belongs to you and you only!

—

"I miss you, Billy..." Steve looks away from the stone as tears begin flooding his eyes, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as it finally gives in to the pain he has felt for so long. The pain he kept forcing down in order to be Steve — designated driver, babysitter, dumb friend Steve. His chin wobbles as he says "I miss my best friend…"

He lets the tears fall.

It had been strange how Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove became best friends but Steve had seen stranger things before. He remembers bits and pieces from how it started and that's why he cannot hate his mother as much as he tries to. She brought Billy to him or her borderline fascination at keeping the garden perfect did.

"The fuck are you doing in my house?" He spat out as soon as the front door was opened and it revealed Billy. Billy, wearing too thin clothes for Indiana's winter. Fingerless gloves and open shirt, no beanie, no warm jacket. Steve wondered if the guy wanted to die of frostbite, he decided he didn't care.

"Must've gotten the wrong address, princess. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Billy replied, his brows furrowing slightly as he checked the paper he was holding in his hand and then whatever he thought was on the walls or door. Billy was about to say something when Steve bit out.

"Alright. Fuck off."

Billy rolled his eyes and saluted him as he said "Right on, your highness."

"Suck my royal..."

"Billy… is it you?" His mom was suddenly at the front door.

The rest is history.

Steve and his countless six packs of beer because "You are old enough to buy beer, Harrington." — "Bold of you to tell me I look 21, asshole". Billy and expensive packs of cigarettes because "I'm not smoking cheap shit, Hargrove. If lung cancer is gonna take me, I'll allow only good shit in my mouth", Billy turning beet red and Steve blurting out innuendos so easily afterwards.

Late nights at the Quarry and Billy talking shit about his dad, bloodshot eyes as he tried to shrink his rage and Steve's light touch to his arm. "Come here" — their first hug... Billy pressing his swollen cheek to Steve's chest, seeking the warmth of his embrace even if it so desperately needed the cold.

Meet me at the bleachers notes. Movies on saturday? Notes. Okay, don't invite Tommy notes and more notes. Drawings too. Really ugly drawings of stick people, making fun of Mrs. Whoever's mustache, Mr. Whatever's ugly sweater… Any of your sweaters missing, Harrington? Middle fingers draws, mouth sucking said middle fingers draws. Middle fingers becoming dicks draws, Billy cackling so loud the whole class would startle. Steve becoming the Picasso of Dicks… just to make Billy laugh.

Their coach congratulates them for putting their differences aside and working together as a team. A knowing glint in his eyes and a kind welcoming smile, he knows something Steve doesn't. Steve likes whatever their coach knows, it feels good… safe. Billy is smiling too and patting Steve's back. Months later "We are going to the finals, Harrington!"

They lose by 3 points and everyone is angry. "If you two weren't sucking each other's dicks all the time, we could have won! WE ARE A TEAM, this isn't just about you two, you faggots" someone from their team lashes out at them and before Steve could say anything, Billy punches first… hard and breaks the guy's nose.

Billy is forced to quit the basketball team.

He shows up at Steve's door with a split lip that night.

"Homophobic assholes…" Billy says and Steve agrees. He is passing like a caged lion around Steve's room. Steve wants to reach out, touch his arm again like that night at the Quarry, bring him close and ask him to breathe but he doesn't. He knows Billy needs to get everything out his chest because it helps him relieve some of the pain he is feeling… physical pain — fuck you Neil, emotional pain... All sorts of pain.

"I miss you every day…"

—

I hope you liked it, love!

And to the rest of the Harringrove fandom... More like the Billy Hargrove fandom. I hope you are doing alright, loves!

Happy 4th of July to my US Harringrove fellows! ❤️ (We all know what it means to this fandom)

#Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #Harringrove #Stranger Things

30 notes · View notes

base0h · 1 year

Note

Hi hi!

Alright, so I'm here to ask you politely for Noya and Tendou hcs/scenarios (whatever u want rlly) abt how they would react to their s/o moving to cuddle them closer in their sleep

Hehe

+ the s/o has a tight FUCKING GRIP and the boys literally can't break out from it in the mornin

Could add if Noya and Tendou do it too if ya wanna

Hope it's not much detail, rlly sorry if it is :[

Take care <3

a/n - error your requests are always the highlight of my days 💜💜😭

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, s/o is taller than nishinoya 💀

Please let go of me

- Noya really wants to be the big spoon, but uh- you’re taller and it’s kind of weird that only about 2/3 of your body is being hugged 😭 soooo you’re the big spoon most of the time, and trust me, it’s just better this way 💜

- it’s morning, and you woke up nuzzling into his fluffy hair. You didn’t know what shampoo he used but damn you needed whatever it was because his hair was silky soft. Your arms were wrapped around him, cuddling him gently before you started to give him a hug.

- my poor guy woke up unable to breathe 💀 he was a bit confused as to why he was struggling to take a deep breath, and why he couldn’t move a muscle… “Y/n-?? I can’t- I can’t move babe.”

- …

- “hello-????”

- “bAbe. Can’t- can’t breathe!!!”

- he was trying his best not to hurt your arm as he tried to get your attention and wake you up. You were like half awake when this was happening so when you finally woke up, you managed to let go. “Morning noya :)”

- mans over here wheezing and coughing like he has stage four lung cancer, give him a little bit lmao.

- “Please don’t “morning” me- you almost squeezed me to death! I’m not a stuffed animal!!”

- “well- you’re the size of one. >:)”

- “EXCUSE ME?!”

- he tried picking you up but since you’re so tall?? Didn’t go so well. It’s not that he wasn’t strong enough, it’s just that his arms weren’t big enough to hold your legs, and your back at the same time. Sulked about it for around an hour with Tanaka laughing at him the next day.

- you can’t physically squeeze this noodly man to death lmao. He will literally slide out of your grip. Sooo he’s the one that squeezes you to death 😭 you’re peacefully sleeping, and all the sudden, you have to pee so fucking bad.

- right when you start to get up, he will literally pull you back and squeeze your stomach, making you almost punch him in the face. “Tendou I need to pee. So fucking bad please let go of me.”

- “I’m ok. You can suffer tho :)”

- “LET GO PLEASE.”

- you tried squirming but tendou was too tired to let you go. And also he needed cuddles right that second. What could he say? His needs were very important 💀 he finally let you go, and he found it absolutely HILARIOUS how fast you ran to the bathroom.

- “BAUAUSHUDHDUSHEUDHIDHDIDJF YOU RAN LIKE A FUCKING CHEETAH KDBISBSUDHIFBFFJ”

- “SHUT UP! YOURE THE ONE WHO NEEDS CUDDLES EVERY SECOND!”

- “you’re the one who always needs to pee right when I need cuddles.” this “argument” went on for hours but it ended with you two cuddling 😂 also with all this yelling, poor ushijima in the room next to yours was struggling to fall asleep.

a/n - I totally did not spend an hour figuring out how to format their banners for this 👀

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu tendou #tendo x reader #tendou headcanons #tendou hcs #tendou satori #satori tendō #satori tendou #satori tendo x reader #tendo satori #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya headcanons #nishinoya x you #nishinoya x reader #noya x reader #haikyuu noya #haikyū!!

260 notes · View notes

mrsfrecklesmarauders · 3 months

Text

AN: Little post for Regulus's birthday that in my headcanon is today. 25th of June, Cancer child, obviously.

This one is a little sad but sometimes I need to write angsty things about Regulus to deal with my personal pain because I kin him so much.

Content warning of verbal and physical abuse plus mentions of self harm.

*****

Regulus had always been invisible on his birthday. It wasn't that people actually forgot. It was just not a big deal like Sirius’s birthdays for example. Sirius had always been the king. Even if he was the rebel. Even if he fought constantly with their parents. Even if he represented everything that the family didn't. Sirius Black was the heir. Therefore his birthdays were special. Regulus's were not.

It always mixed with the end of term exams as well. This year, Regulus had gone through his GCSE's with stress but hopefully successful results that would come out on August. Being a Black, Regulus had lots of expectations on him to get full marks. Like Sirius surprisingly did for his.

Regulus didn't have a party or a cake until summer officially began.

Regulus's sixteenth birthday was stained by Sirius's rebellious behavior. It was the summer before his eighteenth birthday, before he became an adult and he had to start behaving like the heir everyone expected of him.

So Regulus's birthday party became an excuse to invite "important people" over so they could meet Sirius. A business meeting with old people that Regulus didn't even know. Regulus didn't have friends besides Barty, he didn't expect much people of his age. But still.

Their Grandfather Pollux was dragging Sirius around to introduce him to coworkers, shakeholders and businessmen. Orion and Walburga were acting like proud parents. Everyone was pretending. Regulus was practically a ghost.

"It's okay" Regulus sighed as Sirius commented furiously how it wasn't fair, when he could escape from Pollux into the kitchen for some forbidden drinks "I hate my birthdays anyway"

"Grandfather is a dick. Heard his lung is failing, hope he passes soon"

"Sirius!" Regulus gasped but he hid a smile. Honestly it sounded cruel. But that man had been horrible to them their whole lives.

"I don't think I am ready for this, Reggie" Sirius added, looking around with disdain. The group of people chatting formally. Like a meeting in an office. Not like a teenager's birthday.

"I knew I had to be the heir one day. But that seemed far away when we were kids... Now I only have one year left at Hogwarts, and then my life is supposed to be this... Boring meetings, pretending to be perfect, talking nonsense about superficialities..."

Regulus was relieved he was not the heir. He had a plan with Barty to run away as soon as they finished school. Actually, they didn't even matter for their families. But Regulus didn't think about the burden Sirius actually had right now.

"There's no option" Regulus murmured as he had a sip of his drink.

"What if there is?" Sirius asked "What if I ran away with Uncle Alphard to Rome or whatever"

"He just left to make some businesses. He will be back"

"Are you sure about that?" Sirius’s eyes glistened revealing how much he missed Alphard "I think he got tired of this family and ran away"

Regulus panicked. He knew his brother well. And he was capable of going after Alphard. Maybe, if it wasn't for Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew, he would have already be gone. And Regulus didn't want to lose him. He didn't know what would happen if Pollux would lose his heir. But it wouldn't be good. Plus, Sirius was the only person that kept Regulus sane.

"If you leave, and Grandfather has a heart attack for your absence, this hell hole would be chaos. I don't want to be there when it happens"

Sirius twisted his mouth in a half smile "Good thing I'm bringing you with me when I leave"

"When? I thought it was a matter of if..."

"When, Reggie. When" Sirius winked.

They ended up their conversation as Sirius was summoned by their mother again. Sirius groaned openly as Walburga fixed his suit and tie.

"You look like low class lawyer, Sirius. I don't understand how people believe you can be a good heir. But hell, here we are"

"They say I take my gracious looks from you, mother"

Walburga answered by tying his tie tight. A little bit more and Sirius could choke.

"Now get over there and behave like a human being"

"Care to pay attention to your son on his birthday?"

Walburga flickered her eyes towards Regulus for a second. But fixed her penetrating gaze on Sirius.

"His birthday was days ago"

"But we are supposed to be celebrating today!"

Regulus could feel the tension building up between them. He didn't want to witness a fight. Those were horrible. And they were worse when they involved Orion.

Walburga just pursed her lips.

"Just go back in there before I lose my patience"

Sirius’s eyes were daring. He didn't move for a few seconds. Seconds in which Regulus thought he was going to lose it and do something dumb.

"Luckily we are not done with the celebration"

Sirius simply said that and gave a little wink to his brother. Then he walked away.

Walburga sighed with patience as she turned to Regulus. Now that Sirius was gone, she had a softer expression.

"Don't worry, love" she whispered in French only for him, squeezing his chin gently "I have your birthday cake ready for later"

"Thanks, mum" Regulus replied in French as well.

The rest of the evening passed in a numb blur. A feeling Regulus had been having lately. If you could call it a feeling at all. Usually, Regulus survived school with Barty. But summers were split into horrible social events of fake and superficial people and the constant fights of Orion and Walburga. Between each other. Or with Sirius. Regulus was drowned in a teenage angst. Youth didn't seem like the best years of his life. He wasn’t even excited to be sixteen.

"How much he is growing" people would say "He is as handsome as his father. Surely there are lots of girls after him... Maybe my niece would be interested. She lives in America"

"How skinny" another would say "Does he play any sports, Orion? It is good for young boys to be athletic. I was captain of my rugby team when I was his age"

"Oh, how adorable. He is shy, isn't he, Walburga? Not very suitable for businesses. Good thing you have Sirius"

"A handsome boy like him without a girlfriend? Maybe it is the piercings, son. See girls think that is weird. You don't want people thinking you're a puff, do you?"

These kind of comments made Regulus hate himself even more than he already did. He hated how shy he had sounded. How socially awkward he was. How he was seen as this baby, mummy's boy. While Sirius was natural with words, with presence, with the winning smile. Everyone wanted him for business, for recommendations, for making him their sons' model, their nephews' friend, their nieces' and daughters' future husband. It was sickening. Sirius could be the best heir for the Company and the family name. He just didn't give a fuck about any of it.

Regulus locked himself in his room when everything became too much. He had a knot on his throat. He just wanted to crawl in bed and cry. He was ashamed of himself and what he was. He felt guilty for not being enough. For not being more. For not being the center of attention, not even in his fucking birthday.

Regulus sat on his bed and opened up his drawer. Inside it, Regulus kept a large pair of siccors he had stolen from somewhere.

Regulus had been the angsty teen that not only related with depressing songs about how society sucked and everything was hopeless, that had had his embarrassing emo phase at thirteen when he covered his face with a fang and used only black clothes; Regulus also had cut his own arm.

It was a secret no one knew. Not even Barty who wouldn't be scandalized by these things. It was recent. And Regulus did it a couple of times to feel something. To focus the mental pain into a physical one.

Regulus wanted to do it tonight.

Luckily, he was interrupted by a knock on his window that made him jump. Barty was smiling through the glass. He had a new piercing on his nose.

Regulus hid the scissors inside his drawer and ran to open the window for his friend.

"Happy Birthday!"

"Don't you know how to use the front door?"

Barty crawled inside.

"And face the pretentious wankers from downstairs? No, thank you!"

Regulus smiled "I'm glad you are here"

He didn't want to hurt himself anyway. He felt worse afterwards.

"I brought you a present. And you are going to love me for it" Barty grinned as he took out something from his back pocket.

A big bag of weed hanged from his fingers.

Regulus grinned "God, I love you"

They smoked for a while on Regulus's bed. Barty asked him about the party. Regulus said it was shit. Barty didn't ask no more. Regulus loved him for not pressuring him. They smoked in silence only with punk music in the background. Barty commenting on weird facts that Regulus didn't need to know. But it was nice to focus on something else.

A few hours later someone bursted through his door and Regulus almost had a heart attack hiding his spliff, thinking it was his mother. But Sirius was on the door with a grin on his face and a bottle of gin on his hand.

"Look what I got for ourselves, birthday boy!" he chanted.

"Oh fuck"

"Crouch, you're here"

"Black" Barty said as he let out some smoke.

"Is that weed?" Sirius asked with his eyebrows raised. "Nice! Let's begin with the actual celebration"

"What about our parents?"

Sirius shrugged "Let them have fun with their little orgie of rich old boomers"

Barty cracked up laughing at that.

Regulus started to have some fun with his two favorite people smoking weed and drinking gin with him. It was funny that Sirius and Barty were so similar but quarreled about everything.

Regulus loved them. They made Regulus happy and they made him feel young and alive for a while. They tried playing Monopoly until Sirius threw the board away because he was losing. They gossiped and laughed about people at school, including teachers.

"Okay, hottest girl in school to shag" Sirius said, "Go!"

To Sirius’s surprise, both Regulus and Barty were silent. They had always said Hogwarts girls were too stupid for them.

"Don't you want to shag someone?" Sirius asked

Regulus actually didn't.

"Come on! I know both of you are virgins"

"I am not a virgin!" Barty exclaimed but when Sirius gave him a look he added "Fine! I'd prefer cutting my dick off than shagging one of those brainless princesses"

That was why Barty was Regulus's best friend. They were too similar.

"Me too"

"Come on! There must be someone you find pretty, sexy, hot..." Sirius insisted. Of course he had a long history with girls.

Regulus and Barty stared at each other. This was often something boys didn't understand. How they weren't interested in any girl. The boys in their class used to tease them for it. Calling them fags and each other's boyfriends. Until they got sick of it and arranged to have a default answers. Sirius was the teasing type.

"Emmeline Vance" Barty said.

"Alice Fortescue" Regulus said almost immediately.

Regulus chose Alice because she was the prettiest girl in school. And she was unreachable since she was dating Longbottom. So people left him alone with his "crush". Barty chose Emmeline because everyone thought she was a lesbian and they found funny how Barty didn't have a chance with her. Actually, they didn't care about those girls.

Sirius had the same expected reaction as everyone else. Teasing both for their silly crushes. He even mentioned that Alice and Longbottom were on a break and that his little brother might have a chance.

"You know, I lost my virginity at sixteen" Sirius winked "And Fortescue looks like a good shag"

"Sure" Regulus said. He didn't care.

Sirius was drunk anyway.

"I love girls" Sirius added, his mind somewhere else "I mean I'm very into girls, eh Reggie? No one else.... It is just weird that he is in my mind, yeh know?"

"Who?" Regulus asked amused.

But Sirius didn't answer. He placed his head on Regulus's shoulder with his eyes closed.

"He's pissed" Regulus laughed, turning to look at Barty and finding out he was fast asleep next to him as well. Regulus smiled.

These two. They had made Regulus's birthday worth it somehow. Regulus hated everyone else. Except for these two boys next to him. They made life worth living.

Regulus fell asleep thinking that was the end of the day. However he was woken up hours later by Walburga and her angry expression.

"What is the meaning of this?" She asked as she held the empty bottle and the rest of the stash.

Regulus's heart started beating fast in fear. His mother didn't know how he had drunk, had had drugs and wasn't the innocent lamb she believed.

"Mrs. Black..." Barty cleared his throat as he spoke "Let me explain..."

"I want you out of my house, Bartemius" Walburga snapped "I will call your father in the morning"

Regulus gave Barty an apologetic look. Bartemius Senior was going to punish his son hard. Barty knew it. He looked scared already.

"Regulus?" Walburga was staring directly at him.

"It was me, Walburga" Sirius said next to him and Regulus remembered he was there "Stole the bottle, bought the weed and even called Crouch here to make things interesting. It was my baby brother's birthday after all"

Walburga clenched her jaw.

"Of course it was you" she said looking at Sirius with disgust.

To be fair, Regulus was frozen on the spot. It happened a lot to him when he got too stressed and frightened to react. He wanted to tell the truth but he couldn't.

"I keep insisting to your father and grandfather that you're nothing but a waist" Walburga commented to herself "You are a disappointment. Probably going to end up in rehab or jail..."

Sirius was still drunk with puffy red eyes from the weed. But still what their mother was saying was hurting him. She didn't even care that Barty was there.

"But dragging your little brother into this?" Walburga shook her head "You might want to drown but don't bring Regulus into this"

Sirius chuckled.

"Maman..." Regulus began talking in French. He wanted to tell her it was all his fault. But his voice shook.

"Perhaps I just wanted to give your son a bit of fun, mother. You know, like a man" Sirius’s voice proved the alcohol was speaking for him "Not like the pussy that you had made of him"

Regulus closed his eyes to avoid the tears to fall. He hated to be this weak. To be this fragil. Barty was right there.

"Get up, get a cold shower and compose yourself before your Grandfather leaves. He would want to see you" Walburga sighed with patience.

"I can do whatever I fucking want" Sirius replied drunk as a horse "Didn't you hear? I'm the heir and I will own everything you see around..." he smirked evily "That pisses you off, doesn't it? To think you will have to respond to me like the little bitch you are"

SLAP! Sirius’s little comment caused his such a strong slap across his face, that Walburga's ring cut his cheek and it began bleeding.

Barty gasped and covered his mouth. Regulus, who was used to it, just closed his eyes and nailed his fingers on his palm so hard that it hurt.

Sirius was shocked as he touched the blood on his cheek. Regulus saw it in his expression. He was done. He hated this woman. He hated this life. He hated it all.

Regulus knew he would leave with Alphard. Forever. Regulus knew he was practically one foot out.

"I guess I will make an excuse for your Grandfather" Walburga said as if nothing had happened "I want both of you sober by the time everyone leaves. Or else, your father won't have mercy"

She was right. Orion was ten times worse.

"Bartemius" she turned to him "Get out of here, before I lose my patience"

"Eh... Eh.. Yeah..."

That was the beginning of everything. The beginning of the end as some might say. It easily became the worst summer of Regulus's life.

The relationship between Sirius and Walburga became worse. Sirius’s rebelty was worse. He went to Orion to the office and came back with a terrible mood. Dinners became a battlefield. Until the point when Sirius couldn't take it no more. And he left.

"I can't do this, Regulus" Sirius told him between tears the night he packed his things "I cannot be with them anymore. I cannot become what they want. I can't become like them. This life sickens me..."

Regulus couldn't hold the tears falling down his cheeks silently because he couldn't ask his brother to stay. It wasn't fair. How could he if Regulus himself sometimes wanted to leave.

"Please come with me"

"Where? To the Potters? With Alphard?" he shook his head.

"Doesn't matter! Anywhere but here" Sirius took a step closer, begging desperately "Reg, we can disappear. We can ran away together. They won't have a power over us. I promise"

Some part of Regulus wanted to follow his brother anywhere. But another part of him knew that The Black Family would not lose the heir. If it wasn't Sirius, it would be Regulus. That was it. All eyes would turn to him. They would follow them to the end of the world to make sure one of them took the place.

But Sirius didn't see the details. How by being selfish, he could hurt other people. The Blacks were like a Jenga. If a key piece was taken out, the whole tower would fall down. And Sirius was one of the most important pieces.

"I can't, Sirius" Regulus cried "I'm sorry"

He wanted to beg him to stay and solve this together. They needed to fix Walburga with her drinking problems and childish behavior. They needed to stop Orion from committing fraud and doing everything he could to keep the power. They needed to find out why Alphard left. They were family after all. They couldn't just abandon everything.

"Okay... Suit yourself" Sirius snapped angrily as he grabbed his bag.

Regulus watched him go and he knew once Sirius crossed the door, he was going to lose him forever. And that hurt.

#marauders #maraudersera #muggleau #regulus black #sirius black #barty crouch jr #the black brothers #walburga black

27 notes · View notes

sarcastic-positivity · 10 months

Note

It was the middle of July and despite Tim’s aspirations as a kid, he did not, in fact, have a job that gave him summers off. As such, it was a miserable affair, getting to and from work. Usually Tim would be in an airy t-shirt and shorts but Jon had caught sight of his Hawaiian themed top last week and it had been a close thing to avoid being forced to go home and change. It would be a few weeks before he could get away with such a ‘blatant display of disrespect for work procedures’, as Jon put it, so here he was: sweating his ass off on the tube and praying to whatever god would listen that they’d fixed the AC at the Institute.

God never did like Tim.

“Christ above, does Elias want us dead or something?” Tim cried to the room at large as he dropped heavily onto his spinny chair. It was stifling. “What did we ever do to him, huh?? Did someone submit a statement about Bigfoot again?” He immediately started popping buttons on his ‘work appropriate’ shirt.

Sasha popped her head up from her cubicle and grinned at him. Her waist-length braids had been piled sloppily on top of her head and she looked about ready to topple over from the imbalance. She’d already shed her top layer down to a simple purple tank top but she still had a sheen of sweat on her brow that had her large round glasses slipping down her nose.

“Pretty sure it’s cause Gerry called him an old codger and compared him to the statement giver from the McGregor case last week. He’s out for revenge now.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “What, the stuffy one with the cane who wouldn’t shut up about how the Tories are implementing a surveillance state?”

“The very same,” Sash confirmed, pushing her glasses back up with a hand. “Though I personally think Elias would be very pro Big Brother. Did I tell you he asked after my aunt the other week?”

“You told Elias about Matilda’s lung cancer?”

“That’s just it! The only person I told about that was you, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t run off to tattle to Elias.” She leaned forward in her chair conspiratorial and Tim couldn’t help but do the same. Sash was magnetic when she was like this. It had led to more than one rendezvous in their first year at the Institute. “I think he has cameras down here.”

It wasn’t the most insane theory she’d come up with, somehow. Just two months ago she’d followed Jon home because she didn’t believe he actually had a home; she’d thought he’d been sleeping in the Institute of all places. Besides, there was that feeling of being watched that pervaded this place. Still, Tim couldn’t help but laugh.

“I think we’d know if he had cameras, Sash. Did I tell you what he-”

“What fresh hell is this?” The voice from the doorway was flat and scathing and Tim immediately spun in his chair to grin at the intruder.

“Gerry!” He called happily. “I didn’t know you were coming in today!” He was wearing his signature black trenchcoat and a scowl that did things to Tim. Luckily for both of them, Tim was well guarded against Gerry’s scary-sexy goth vibe by virtue of sharing a flat with him. There were only so many times you could get a chub from simply looking at your roommate before your prick just gave up on the enterprise entirely.

“There’s a statement I need but this is fucking ridiculous.” His voice was as deep and rough as it always was but the angry edge to it managed to send a little zing down Tim’s spine. The days that Gerry showed up at work are always so interesting. “It’s at least 10 degrees hotter in here than it is outside. The fuck is Elias thinking?”

“Gonna rough him up for us, Ger?” Tim asked with a grin and Sasha laughed. “Stomp on him a little with those boots of yours? 10 quid says he’s into it.” Gerard shot him a look but there was a smile playing around his lips, pulling slightly at the snakebite piercings there. His makeup that day was the same as it usually was, eyeliner and three exaggerated lower lashes that made his gaze all the more intense. Thank god for the aforementioned Roommate Protection. Especially when Gerry’s eyes swept over Tim before meeting his eyes again and giving a mocking little smile. His eyes were slate grey and impossible to look away from.

“Projecting much, Stoker?” He asked in a low tone. It was teasing and Sasha cackled but Tim’s brain stuttered and properly died. What did one say when a hot goth implied that you maybe wanted him to stomp on you with his giant sexy boots? Especially when it was true.

“What, you wanna find out, Keay?” Tim shot back. That was good. Keep it light, let it plausibly pass for playful workplace banter – a little bit of light flirting to keep thoughts of the heat at bay. Gerry arched a brow at him, face betraying nothing but that same cool amusement. Sasha snorted and shook her head, turning back to her computer.

“You two are ridiculous,” she told them. Tim shrugged, eyes still on Gerry, and then Jon’s office door creaked open.

“Oh good, you’re here, Gerard.” Gerry’s eyes flicked away. “You said you needed the Anderson file?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Gerry said. He passed by Tim’s desk to take the file from Jon. Tim turned back to his desk. “By the way, your workplace is a HSE violation waiting to happen.”

“Yes, I am quite aware,” Jon said drily. “Make sure to get that one back to me by the end of the day. And not stinking of smoke this time, Gerard. I have more notes I plan to add to it.”

“No promises.”

・・・

Inevitably, it was Tim who had to go hunt Gerry down at a quarter to five to get the file back. Luckily the fire exit to the left of the stairs to the archives was conspicuously propped open by an unopened carton of cigarettes and Tim pushed outside into the slightly cooler summer air.

Gerard was lounged on the steps leading to the back alley, facing away from the door with the file open at his feet and a lit cigarette in hand. He’d tied his hair up sloppily, much like Sasha had hers, but it was so long that black sheets of it still cascaded down his bare shoulders. His trenchcoat had been completely abandoned, laid out on the step beside him, and he was left only in a crop top Tim had never seen before. It was made of a sheer grey material that matched his eyes and had no sleeves to speak of. Even worse, Gerry had a hand tucked under his shirt, shucking the top halfway up his chest. His alabaster skin shone in the dim light of the setting sun and Tim nearly took a tumble down the steps when Gerry tilted his head back to look back at him.

“What?” Gerry asked in a gravelly voice when he caught Tim staring. Tim opened his mouth to respond but he suddenly found himself incapable of speech. Gerry rolled his eyes and turned his head languidly back forward, lifting his cigarette to his lips. “AC’s broken inside but it’s barely any cooler out here. Don’t be a prude.”

That surprised a laugh out of Tim. “A- A prude?!” He choked out. Never in his life had he been accused of such a thing. And this, this was so far on the opposite side of the scale he wanted to laugh. Or cry. Gerry just blew a smoke ring.

“If you’re here for the file, it’s there.” He kicked at the manila folder at his feet and Tim could hear the wounded noise Jon would make if he were there. Right, Tim had actually come for a reason that wasn’t to ogle Gerry. Supposedly.

“Right.” Tim cleared his throat and picked his way down the steps so as to not step on Gerry. God, did his legs have to be so long? “This thing has gotta reek by now,” he said as he bent down for the file. “Pretty sure the boss man won’t be too happy with you about that one.” He turned back and around and Gerry quickly lifted his eyes. His eyes were a warm hazy grey, much like the smoke drifting around his head.

“Afraid of Sims then, are you?” He drawled. His piercings glinted as he grinned at Tim.

Tim rolled his eyes and made his way back up the steps. He very pointedly kept his gaze on the ground as he did so, enticingly bare torso be damned. “Everything’s a question with you,” he said. “‘Projecting much? Afraid of Sims?’ Just call me a bottom and get on with it.”

Gerry rasped out a chuckle right as Tim reached the top step. Tim hesitated but couldn’t help but glance back down behind him. Gerry’s head was tilted back, hair messy and top askew, and his eyes half lidded against the dying light behind Tim’s head.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

He was sight to see, all stretched out and half clothed on the steps to the alley. Tim shook his head and turned back inside without another word. Gerry’s rapsing laugh followed him all the way into the archives.

Damn tease.

SPEECHLESS. SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED AND MORE THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE HOLY SHIT IM LOSING MY MIND

61 notes · View notes

intriga-hounds · 2 years

Text

beau is going to be ok but here’s what we’ve been dealing with:

last friday, beau yelped when jumping off the bed and started limping. my parents took him to the vet and the vet said it was probably something soft tissue so to just rest him for a bit.

by sunday, beau stopped eating.

by monday, he was on his 3rd vet trip. they did xrays and found a weird fuzziness in his chest cavity. we thought maybe he had pneumonia.

the vet told my parents that beau had lung cancer, an enlarged heart, and lung torsion. the vet said he had days to live. my dad was devastated. i called him and he was a wreck. he was preparing to euthanize because fluid in the chest was making even breathing painful.

i packed a bag, canceled my root canal for today, and prepared to drive to nevada to be there for my dad.

we called starfyre silkens, beau’s breeder and co-owner, who urged my parents to get a second opinion with a specialist before making any dire decisions. they originally were going to drive to CA for a vet, so i stopped packing. then they found one in NV. so i was kinda in limbo and everyone was stressed tf out.

the specialist immediately drained the fluid to make beau more comfortable (the GP vet wouldn’t do it bc they said it might kill him??), then took new xrays. they told my parents there’s no way anyone could diagnose cancer or really anything at all from the original blurry xrays that had fluid obstructing the view.

after many tests, surgery was suggested as the only way to figure out what was going on. hernia was suspected as a best case scenario, but regardless, the vet said whatever it was, it did not seem life-threatening. at this point, we all felt like we could breathe. my dad sounded optimistic, so i decided to stay home.

the surgeon, who has operated on many sighthounds and is eminently esteemed in his field, found a faulty lobe in beau’s lung today. it was removed and sent away for testing. no cancer, no lung torsion, no heart issues, and no hernia were found.

beau is stable and in the ICU. this should not affect his life in any way once he recovers, but the next 24 hrs are critical. i will get an update tomorrow.

#beau #fuck that GP vet #and thank god for jolene at starfyre 😭#she’s an angel #beaupdate

268 notes · View notes

komohine · 1 month

Note

What *is* your canon complaint ending for Jaith?

They die but in a very specific way so that its not as painful as it could be.

My friends wanted keith to die on a mission and then for james to die of LUNG CANCER like 30 years later and i decided that was too depressing.

So instead, they die together in a botched mission taking down one of the last Galra strongholds left over from when it was a colonial empire!! Here’s some context before the writing:

—————

Keith’s hands shook as he finished setting the timer for the bomb. He didn’t understand, truly, how an Olkari could willingly align themself with what was left of the Galra colonial empire. If not for their significantly more advanced tech, the bombs would’ve gone off. Keith would be off the ship. He’d get to go home. Slowly, he sunk to the floor, one hand over the gash in his ribs he had gotten getting to this room. That was thanks to the Olkari too. What did he say his name was…

Keith looked up and around him. The room was where the power crystal was housed, right at the centre of the ship. It was the only place where the frequency for the manual override code could reach most if not all the disarmed bombs scattered around the ship. It would save this already botched mission. He could only thank whatever was out there that there weren’t any casualties on their side.

Keith watched as the timer on the bomb in front of him ticked down. The manual override could be easily destroyed, and he wasn’t about to risk it, not when they were so close to liberating this planet.

It really was a shame that the override would only be sent out once the timer on it reached 1 second, to prevent any chance of disarming the bombs a second time. It really, really was a shame that the override was attached to the bomb in front of him in the first place. The bomb he strapped to the pulsing purple crystal to make sure that no matter what happened, this ship would not come out of the firefight in one piece.

The door to the room opened. Keith whirled around, his heartbeat soaring as he brandished his mother’s blade. He knew he was going to die here, but he still needed to protect the bomb. That’s what he told himself, at least. That’s why his hand shook, why his breaths quickened, why his heart squeezed with anxiety.

“Keith!”

It was James. Of course it was.

Keith lowered his blade, then dropped it. He stumbled to his feet as James ran toward him, and tried to run to meet him in the middle. He stumbled, weak from blood loss, and James caught him. Keith leaned into him, glad that someone else was supporting his weight because he knew his legs could not. They sunk to the floor, James careful in every movement.

“James- James what are you doing here?” Keith exclaimed, suddenly acutely aware that there are only thirty seconds left on the timer. James smiled at him, brushing a strand of hair from Keith’s face. He looks sad.

“Where else would I be?”

And Keith wants to say something but he looks into James’ face and he knows that he knows exactly what he’s done. He bites his tongue.

James stands, pulling Keith to his feet, one hand around his waist and the other firmly grasping Keith’s.

“Come on,” James says, “let’s get out of here.”

There’s 5 seconds left.

Keith stares at his back as they begin to run. 4 seconds. He wishes their gloves weren’t separating their skin. 3. He wishes James hadn’t turned his face away. 2. There was so much more he hasn’t said.

The room is filled with light.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #jaith #james griffin #james voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #shipping #headcanon #ship headcanons #writing #drabble #major character death #maybe happy ending #i think its hopeful #ish…#at least they dont die separately!#angst

13 notes · View notes

carolmunson · 2 years

Text

you can count on me (nurse!s.h.)

inspired by: i'll be home for christmas brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, holiday cheer, and viewers like you. a/n: i cried while writing this, so good fuckin' luck. cw: 18+ minors dni, hurt/comfort, sad/complicated family dynamics, lots of hospital talk (but i don't know shit about nursing or hospitals so i'm sorry if any of this is just blatantly wrong), mentions of illness/cancer, talk of death, overall holiday stress. mentions/discussion of WWII and the korean war, some slight homophobia, religious references (praying/heaven/'upstairs'), but on the bright side the party is featured and nurse!steve is a total flirt, so.

Christmas Eve, 1974

“I’ll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree…”

“Grandpa, why do you always have to sing this song? It’s so sad,” Steve asked, curling onto his side to face his grandfather. He smiled, running a hand over the boy’s hair, a little chuckle rattled his lungs. “Says who, sport?” he asks, creases on his face crinkling in faux offense. “Says daddy, says me. Daddy says it’s like if a funeral came for Christmas dinner,” Steve crosses his arms under the covers. “It’s not a sad song to me, kiddo. Came out the year I was far away from your grandma,” he explains, “They played it a lot when we were away – but I got to go home that year and surprise ‘er. It was playing in the diner when I walked in to say hello and she cried and cried – cried like a baby, kissed me all over my face.” “Ew,” Steve teased and laughed, “That’s gross. Girls are gross grandpa.”

“They won’t be so gross when you’re old like me,” he laughed back at Steve, tickling him on the tummy, “But I don’t think it’s a sad song, buddy – it reminds me of how much I love Grammy.” “So it’s a happy song, even though the words are sad?” Steve asked. He’s too young to understand, but that’s expected for such a little kid.

“Songs are whatever you make of ‘em,” his grandpa shrugged, tucking the covers around Steve while his eyes drooped with sleep, “But I gotta finish singing so you go to bed, or else Santa won’t come.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve smiled as his eyes fluttered closed, the soft hum of his grandfather’s voice sending him off for the seventh Christmas Eve in a row.

Christmas Eve, 1979

“He’s always at the office, he’s never even here. And then when he is, he’s just –” Steve’s eyes brimmed with tears, hugging his knees to his chest on his bed spread, “God damn it, he’s so mean.” Steve’s grandfather lets out a big breath, clapping a hand to his grandson’s shoulder, “I think your dad is just really overworked, kiddo. He’s tired.” “We’re all tired, grandpa,” Steve groans. He can’t believe the types of grown up things come out of his grandson’s mouth sometimes.

“All he does is talk about how much – how much better I can be to his friends. Like I’m not good enough for him now,” the tears spill over onto his cheeks, sliding past his running nose, the mole near his jaw, “Like ‘Steve could be varsity his freshman year if he just gets that three-pointer right. It’s looking rough,’ or like, like, ‘Don’t think my Steve’s gonna be in any honors classes, maybe your kid can tutor him’”

“You heard him Grandpa! He might as well have just – I don’t know – stood on the coffee table and told everyone h-how much – h-how much I s-suck at every-everything! Like I’m his favorite j-joke to tell at the w-watercooler. ‘Oh all he got from me was the good looking genes, other than that, not sure who’s kid he is.’”

“Well your mother is very pretty. I would know, she’s my daughter,” he says softly, “So I think you got a lot of those genes from her.”

He runs a hand over his bald head and smiles, “Maybe not my hair genes though.”

Steve lets out a weak laugh, “It’s not funny, Grandpa.”

“It’s a little funny,” he nods, a chuckle making his heavy shoulders bounce in his suit jacket. Steve laughs a little stronger, their laughs bouncing off each other, laughing from laughing, then laughing some more.

“You know something buddy, I’ve been around a long time. I’ve met a lot of people like your dad,” he starts, “And I when it comes to people like that, it’s important to just be kind.”

“But why? He’s not kind,” Steve argued, brows furrowing behind his new glasses. Another thing his dad teased him relentlessly over. ‘Shoulda named you Steve ‘Four-Eyes’ Harrington, kid.’

“I find the most unkind people need kindness the most,” he encourages, “And even if he’s still acting mean, at least you know you were the bigger man, right?”

“I guess,” Steve shrugs, “Why do you think dad needs kindness? Everyone kisses his ass. You saw them down there.”

The new tradition of the Harrington Office Christmas Party instead of the Harrington Family Christmas Party was weighing heavily on just about everyone. The time when they were supposed to be the closest and coziest quickly became the coldest. If this is how his dad was at home with his friends, Steve could only imagine what he says about him when he’s not there.

“I’ll bet you your dad’s not very kind to himself,” he confesses, “So he doesn’t know how to be nice to other people.”

“Well that’s too bad for him, then,” Steve broods. His grandpa barks another laugh.

“That is too bad for him, isn’t it, sport?” he gets up, motioning for Steve to get comfortable before he starts to sing, “Gotta get to bed, Steve. It’s late – Santa’s not gonna make it if you don’t go to sleep.”

“Grandpa, Santa’s not real,” Steve mumbles sullenly, getting under the covers.

“Who told you that?” he asks, putting on a show of acting shocked. Flabbergasted.

“Who do you think?” Steve shrugged, curling in on himself on his side and putting his glasses on the nightstand, “Dad told me. He said twelve’s too old to be believin' in Santa.”

“If Santa’s not real, then how did he call me this morning?” he asks, “He told me about the Atari you put on your list.”

“How do you know about that?” Steve shot up in bed, he only put the Atari on his Christmas letter to Santa. He didn’t tell anyone else about it.

“I just told you! He called me!” he urges with a full belly laugh, heading to the door, “Now go to sleep, or he’ll put it under that tree for me, instead.”

“Wait, Grandpa – sing the song.”

“You sure? You’re not too old for your grandpa to sing you to sleep?” he asks, his heart swelling.

“S’my favorite part of the night,” Steve smiles a drowsy smile, settling down in his covers while his grandfather starts to sing.

Christmas Eve, 1981

“Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light gleams…”

Steve sings softly to himself while he puts his pajamas on, the matching set his mother always made them wear for photos the next morning with the family. He can hear the sounds of the big corporate style Christmas party his father threw for the firm this year milling about downstairs. Even at fourteen, he wished his grandfather’s singing could drown out all the noise, but his Walkman would have to do.

“He would have loved that you’re still singing it,” Steve’s mother says gently from his bedroom door, tears shining in her eyes, “It must be really hard to not have him around this year.”

Steve forces a tight lipped smile, turning back to look at his mom and nods, “S’really hard.”

“Oh, Steven, I miss him, too,” his mother cries, walking over to hold him tight in her arms, “He loved you so much.”

It’s the most comfort he’s felt in months.

8 AM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Makin’ a list, he’s checkin’ it twice…” Steve mumbles to himself, going over his charts for the morning leg of the day. He flicks his eyes up to Darlene at the admin desk. She’s in her late forties, gray lacing through her dark brown hair. She wears a new holiday theme brooch on her cardigan every day, resting on her heavy bosom. She carries her weight in her rosy cheeks and her big thighs. Her husband comes in every lunch break to give her a kiss and picks her up every night at five. “Where’s your name this year Darlene,” he asks with a wink, “Were you naughty or nice?”

Darlene, who’d never been immune to Harrington charm, smiles big and waves him off, “You better stop that before my husband comes through that door.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he smirks, leaning over the counter, “Were you naughty or nice? Bet I could guess.”

He runs a hand through his hair, always half surviving double shifts on the thrill of flustering the married women in administration. Darlene’s face turns red as she turns to the computer in front of her, “I was very nice this year, Steve.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he shrugs with a knowing glance, swiping another chart out of the file holder and giving it a once over, “I won’t be around at five to ask Gary.”

“Oh, I saw you got the night off – who’s luckier than you?” she asks, “Gotta hot date or something?”

Steve snickers, “I could never play around with your heart like that, Darlene.”

She focuses on her work but shakes her head again while he continues, “Having some people over at my house. Parents are in Hawai’i again so –” he shrugs, “Just haven’t had some of the holiday off in a few years.”

“Night shift tomorrow?” she asks. He nods with a deep breath while he looks over the white board on the wall past Darlene’s head.

“Arthur’s coming in today?” Steve asks with a furrowed brow, looking at the patient list, “Isn’t he all good? He was in remission six months ago.”

“Oh yeah, he’s got a biopsy this afternoon – can you imagine? A biopsy on Christmas Eve?” Darlene asks, looking at the list with him, “Just routine, though. I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you.”

“Sure his wife will be, too,” Steve winks again and Darlene shoots him a look.

“Will you go do your job please, before I call security!” she teases, “I know what list you’re on this year, Harrington. You’re on my list!”

Steve laughs, adjusting his glasses and slinging this stethoscope around the back of his neck, charts tucked neatly under his arm. He’d been at the hospital a couple of years and even though his dad wished he was a doctor and not a nurse, he preferred this gig. It was all about making people feel good. He never had to give bad news, all he never had to do was just be there. All he ever had to do was be kind.

He loved the nurses that took care of his grandpa when he was sick, they were there all the way to the end. Steve made friends with all of them, especially Georgia – who called him a little heartbreaker and was always trying to convince his mom to let him have a playdate with her daughter. Steve thought Georgia was a whole lot of woman – spitfire red hair, the kind of nurse you found in dirty magazines. He guessed her daughter was just as pretty. He wouldn’t know, he never got a chance to meet her.

Arthur was a lot like Steve’s dad when they first met. Scrooge-like, a curmudgeon, not one nice word to say to anyone but his wife.

November, 1995

“Why do they got a male nurse in here for? What’s the issue kid, bein’ a doctor too hard? You a fruitcake or somethin’?” Arthur’s voice was gruff and angry, huffing and puffing into his mask while his oxygen pump wheezed above his head. He’d just gotten out of surgery for a chemo port in his chest, so the last thing he wanted to do was be greeted with a nurse he wasn’t able to flirt with.

“Oh Artie, will you just relax? You’re gonna have an aneurysm,” his wife chides.

“Of course you don’t care that he’s a guy, Dottie,” Arthur grumbles under his breath.

“Mr. Robbins, I get that you hate that I’m a guy,” Steve starts with a smile, “But if I don’t get your vitals you’re gonna be spending a lot more time with me than you want.”

“Please, take your time,” Dottie says softly, “Don’t listen to him. He’s such a grump.”

Arthur tosses her a look, it’s almost cartoonish. His frown pushes his jowls further down his face, deepening the creases by his nose. His furrowed brow in a permanent scowl from the deepened wrinkles in his forehead.

Arthur’s life reads on his leathered skin and perfectly parted hair. Still styled like he was stuck in the 50s, covered in pomade – the silver shining in the fluorescent lights above them. A set of dog tags hung on a chain, slipping over the dipping collar of his hospital gown.

“World war two?” Steve asked, casting his eyes over to them while he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Arthur’s arm.

“And Korea,” Arthur wheezed, listening to the hiss of the cuff get tighter and then release, “Met my wife when she came over to sing for the boys.”

“Thanks for your service,” Steve nods, while he writes Arthur’s stats down on his clipboard. He’s not sure if he’s thanking Arthur or his wife, he might as well thank them both.

“Did you have any family in the war?” Dottie asked, crossing her legs. Dot was a winner, her hair a salon dark brown but the smile lines in her cheeks and the crinkles by her eyes showed her age. She wore a dark brown fur coat and carried a black leather handbag with a gold clasp that Steve was sure she’d kept in mint condition for the forty years she’s had it.

“My grandpa fought in World War Two, too,” he smiled, “My mom was born in ‘45, though, so he didn’t volunteer for Korea.”

“Well, thank him for his service from us, too,” Dottie says warmly.

“He’s no longer with us,” Steve says, still smiling, “He passed away in ‘81 – but I’ll send a prayer up to him from you.”

“Heh, if this thing keels me over, I’ll say ‘hi’ to your grandpa for ya instead,” Arthur lets out a grumbly, dark, chuckle.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dot coos, tossing a reproachful look at her husband. Her voice sounds like it was made for the movies.

“Will you stop chattin’ him up and let him do his damn job?” Arthur growled.

“Stop being such a big baby, Artie. You want me to get you some water?” she asked her husband sweetly, “I’m about to go grab a coffee for myself.”

“Yeah, fine,” Arthur grumbled.

“Looks like that port went in okay,” Steve says to himself, inspecting the small contraption on Artie’s chest, “Everything feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” he huffed.

Steve shook his head, scribbling down a few more things on the chart at the end of the bed, “I believe it, sir.”

“You from around here?” Steve asks, hoping to strike up a small conversation. They’d definitely be seeing a lot more of each other.

“From Florida,” Arthur wheezes again, “My son and his wife, n’ my grandson all moved up here for some job she got. He’s some stay at home dad, can you believe it? ‘Least you sorta made somethin’ of yourself.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just nodding along.

“Well anyway – hmmmff – s’cuse me,” Arthur coughs roughly, it sounds his Steve’s grandpa’s cough from when he was a kid, “Anyway, Dot couldn’t bear to be away from her boy so, here we are. Got here, two months later I got cancer – so, Indiana’s working out great for me.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Steve says earnestly, looking up from the board, “Your son comin’ in at all?”

“Nah,” Artie makes a face, shaking his head, “That boy doesn’t talk to me. Prob’ly happy I’m sick.”

“Oh, I doubt that–” Steve starts, but Artie let’s out a laugh.

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Arthur’s chuckle is gravelly and deep in his throat, “I’m the meanest son of a bitch you’ll ever meet – and if anything’s true in this life kid, mean people never die.”

Christmas Eve, 1995

“Well I’ll be back shortly, honey,” Dottie chirped while Arthur got his port hooked up to his tubing. She nearly knocked Steve over when he came into the room.

“Oh, Steven, honey! I’m so clumsy! Merry Christmas,” she beams, rubbing his arm affectionately.

“You’re okay, Mrs. Robbins,” Steve says with a wink, “You’re leaving so soon?”

“Just running out for a few last minute gifts! Gonna grab the Grinch here some cookies from my son’s house for him to snack on later,” she lists, “Can I get you anything, dear?”

“I’m perfect, Mrs. Robbins, thank you though,” his dentist perfect smile makes her blush.

“Steven, I keep telling you to please call me Dottie,” she huffs, pulling her coat on, “Mrs Robbins sounds so…ugh, so old.”

“Ah, yes, don’t call her by her married name Steve. She’ll remember how married she is,” Arthur grumbled from his chair, a low chuckle shaking his shoulders.

“Oh, stop,” Dottie teases, opening the door, “I’ll be back in a bit, I’ll see you both soon.”

“You keep flirtin’ with my wife I’m gonna die a divorcee,” Arthur joked while she disappeared down the hall.

“Well if it weren’t for you still kicking around here, she’d be more of a Mrs. Robinson to me than Mrs. Robbins,” Steve smirks into Arthur’s file, “The ladies love me here.”

“God, don’t I know it – you’re everywhere, kid,” Artie rolls his eyes, “Whenever the girls are in here fussing over me they’re always checkin’ the board to see when your shift starts. I tell ‘em every time, ‘Will you shut up about that Harrington boy? I hear enough about him at home!”

“Sees you when you’re sleeping, knows when you’re awake,” Steve shrugs, “Might as well be Santa Clause, huh?”

“You doin’ anything for the holiday?” Arthur asks, he sits up a little, slowly. He’s gotten weaker with the chemo, it shows in his eyes. It shows in the growing softness in his voice. It shows in the thinness of his skin, olive green veins bleeding through a tan film. He’s thinner now, more fragile – it reminds Steve of the hospital in ‘81. His grandfather’s hands lying there, rigid and waxy.

“You’re lookin’ at it, Artie,” Steve mumbles, adjusting the levels on the machines next to him.

“Even tomorrow? What about your folks?”

“My parents are in Hawai’i,” he lets a chuckle out in puffs of air from his nose, but Arthur knows it’s not a happy one, “I don’t really talk to my dad, much.”

“You and my boy would get along -hhhgggack- get along great,” Arthur wheezes into another coughing fit.

“Probably,” Steve laughs, “We both don’t like you.”

Arthur’s coughs turn into barking laughs, loud enough that other attendants are craning their heads to look over at him.

“Oh Harrington, you’re funny,” Arthur says, wiping his eyes, “You’re real funny.”

The early evening rolls around and Arthur’s treatment finishes up just on time. Lung cancer was hard, but lung cancer with COPD and emphysema was a little worse. Steve was surprised that they were already starting to see some progress on the tumor after three weeks – maybe Dottie had a deal with someone upstairs. No one in heaven was looking out for Arthur Robbins.

Steve undoes the connection to his port, starting the wrap up, singing softly to himself.

“Please have snow, and mistletoe, and presents by the tree…”

“That’s Dorothy’s favorite Christmas song,” Arthur hums, staring down at his feet.

“Yeah? Was my grandpa’s too,” Steve says, grabbing Arthur’s coat from the chair and passing it to him, “He used to sing it to me every Christmas Eve, just sort of kept up with the tradition.”

“We do the same for my grandson,” Arthur smiles, “It’s better as a duet. You should really hear Dottie sing – the pipes on her she just –”

“Hi, so sorry I’m late!”

As if summoned by the angels themselves, Dottie rushes into the room, gifts in hand. Arthur stands up, slowly putting on his coat and scarf, picking up his portable oxygen (which was hardly portable for a man his age).

“Stevie, here,” she says with a smile, handing him a gift bag, “It’s not much, but I notice you always just come in with a coat on and I’d love for you to stay a little warmer, honey.”

Steve melts, opening the tissue to see a red wool scarf and a pair of gloves nestled inside, “Dottie, you didn’t have to get me anything. That’s so sweet, thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve, we’ll see you soon,” Dottie presses a kiss to his cheek, Arthur rolls his eyes.

“See you in the new year, Harrington,” Arthur says gruffly while he shuffles out of the room with Dot.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Steve corrects, putting his file in the holder by the door.

1PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Merry Christmas Artie, I got you a biopsy,” Steve cheers as he walks into Arthur’s room.

“Oh, there’s my boy,” Arthur laughs, it’s hearty but he still wheezes, the tubes in his nose shake against his face. Steve comes in for a hug, completely missing the two people in the corner of the room. A man in his forties or fifties, and a boy around ten or eleven next to him.

“Hi there,” Steve says, adjusting his glasses and putting his hand out, “I’m Steve, I was your dad’s nurse when he was here for treatment – and uh, I guess I’m his nurse today, too.”

“Mark,” the older man says, he doesn’t smile, “We’re not staying long.”

“This is my grandson, Mikey,” Arthur says, gesturing to the boy. Steve looks at him and his curly hair, his wire rim glasses that look like his own and his heart leaps.

“Hey Mikey,” Steve puts his hand out for a low five, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Mikey says back, slapping his hand against Steve’s. He watches Mark start leading Mikey to the door and he cocks his head.

“I’m just taking his vitals, you’re welcome to stay,” Steve says gently.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Mark says with finality, “Say bye to grandpa, Mikey.”

Mikey runs over, reaching over the bed on his tiptoes to pull Arthur into a hug, “I love you grandpa, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Arthur smiles, “I love you, too.”

He watches them go and Steve turns back to him.

“Where’s Dottie?”

Arthur smiles at him with downturned eyes, “We lost Dot in August, Harrington.”

“Oh, no. Artie, I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes, leaning against the end of the hospital bed.

“Still looked like a movie star down to the last day,” Arthur says with soft eyes, “Had me put her lipstick on the morning of, like she had someone to go meet in Heaven. I says, ‘Honey, I’m still here! Who’re you trying to look pretty for?’ She tells me she just wants to look pretty for me. Can you believe that? I’m just some schmuck she married.”

“She probably lied to you,” Steve teased.

Arthur swats at him with a grin, “She probably did.”

“Things okay with your son?” Steve asks, unfurling the blood pressure cuff.

“Nah,” Arthur shakes his head, “Mike though? That kid really is somethin’. He’s so friggin’ smart. Knows everything about computers and shit – even started teaching me how to use one. He’s ten! He’s gonna be – I don’t know, flyin’ rocket ships or somethin’ when he grows up.”

“You living with them?”

“No, no, still at the house. Can’t part with Dot’s stuff – y’know? So much of her is still there. She decorated the whole place. S’like I’m still comin’ home to her when I do,” he smiles up at Steve and Steve follows suit.

“You miss her?” he asks, the answer is obvious.

“Like the deserts miss the rain,” Arthur declares gently, Steve notices the soft heave in his chest.

“So what’s the deal, Artie, what’s the biopsy for?”

“You’re the nurse, you should know!” Arthur laughs in surprise, “Whaddya mean what’s the biopsy for?”

Steve rolls his eyes while Arthur wheezes back to speaking, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. They found a spot – I got a scan back in Florida, we were there for a couple months. It’s not big, but better safe than – y’know – cancer. But honestly kid, it’s nothing. I’m not worried about it.”

“Neither am I,” Steve nods. They go through the motions of his surgery prep, vitals, the works. They make jokes and share stories – it’d been a long six months. It was hard to leave each other – but his remission was a blessing. He’d become a different man in that year. They both had.

“I’m heading out around three today, so I won’t be back until tomorrow,” Steve says.

“Aw, c’mon, you’re supposed to be my Christmas buddy!” Arthur complains, “My son’s basically having me fuck off until he gets me tomorrow. Stick around!”

“You want me to stick around or do you want Sara-Jean to be your night nurse?” Steve smirks. Sara-Jean was real pretty. Pretty enough that Steve had pulled her into a few empty rooms to play doctor every now and again.

“Oh, you can get the fuck out right now if you want,” Arthur’s chortle is scratchy when it comes out. Steve missed that, and the soft puffs of his portable tank in the background.

3PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Barb, did you hear about Darlene?” Steve asks while he gets to the admin desk. Darlene ‘tsks’ under her breath while she types away.

“Did I hear what?” Barb asks, tossing a look at Darlene, “What’d she do?”

“Well I talked to the big guy, y’know?” he says, tugging on his jacket, wrapping a red wool scarf around his neck, “Turns out, she’s on the naughty list.”

“Ooh, Darlene! We better call Gary!” Barb teases with a laugh, opening a filing cabinet under the desk.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Steven?” Darlene whips her head around with a laugh, “Go home!”

“I know someone on the naughty list isn’t telling me what to do,” he tutts with a sly smirk.

He slaps a hand playfully on the counter, “Someone oughta teach her a lesson, huh Barb?”

“You’re pushin’ your luck here, Harrington,” Barb says, emerging from below the desk with a stack of files, “You’re luckin Gary’s not here to knock you into ‘98.”

Steve smiles, waving to the women, “If I don’t see either of you tomorrow afternoon, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” they call back.

Steve pops his head into Arthur’s room, still waiting to go in for surgery.

“Hey, Merry Christmas, Artie,” he says.

“Hey, Harrington,” Arthur says, beckoning him over, “C’mere for a second.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked, walking to the edge of his bed.

“I got a gift for Mikey that got delivered to my house this morning, my neighbor brought it in for me. But since I’m gonna be here overnight I was wondering if you could grab it and bring it in for me tomorrow? I just wanna tell ‘im Santa dropped it off so this whole thing doesn’t bum him out. I’m sure ya already got plans but I’d really appreciate it.”

“No, no, of course,” Steve shakes his head, “I’ll go pick it up. What’s the gift?”

Arthur smiles a knowing, grandfatherly smile, “He’s been begging Mark for a Nintendo 64 for since September – and they’ve been sold out everywhere. They can’t really afford stuff like that anyway, so Mark’s been telling him to ‘manage expectations’. Pfft.”

“Think I’d ever tell my grandson to manage his expectations?” Arthur asks, Steve swears he hears his own grandfather saying it. “So I used the lessons Mikey gave me about the computer and I found it on this website called E-bay – hefty fuckin’ markup I’ll tell ya that. Now, I had to go to the library to find out how to really order it but, y’know, here it is. Who’d a thought you could just click a button and get something sent to your house, huh? Friggin’ magic.”

Steve’s heart swells, “That’s really nice, Arthur.”

“He’s a good kid, he deserves it. And y’know, Mark could use a break – he really could,” Arthur nods, considering for a moment, “He really loves his boy – so I think it’s sort of a gift for him, too.”

“Well, I’ll give ya a call when I pick it up, okay?” Steve asks, walking back toward the door. Arthur nods, jotting the address down and passing it to him.

“Thanks a lot Harrington,” he smiles, stopping him while Steve gets to the door, “And nice scarf.”

Steve winks and pats the wall as he leaves.

7PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Well I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Robin confesses, “If she didn’t get you a gift, she probably doesn’t like you like that.”

“What do you know about girls liking you back anyway, Buckley?” Eddie frowns, playfully tossing a red M&M at her on the couch.

“Hey, hey, be nice,” Steve says, holding his hand out to Eddie who fills it with M&Ms.

“You look so tired, Steve,” Nancy frowns, “How many shifts did you pull to get tonight off?”

Steve shrugs, tossing his head back on the cushions of the couch, “I don’t know, too many.”

The door opens and the kids file in. They aren’t kids anymore, Steve guesses, but they might as well be.

“Party people! Merry Christmas!” Lucas calls, head of the line to file in followed by a deeply embarrassed Max. She has a big bag full of shiny wrapped boxes in her arms but before Steve can scold her about presents, she shoots him a look that could kill him dead.

Henderson comes in after, immediately running to Eddie first, also carrying a bag of gifts.

“Merry Christmas, folks,” he announces with a smile while passing out gift bags one by one.

“Guys, I said–” Steve starts.

“Shut up, nerd,” Erica says, walking in the door with Will and El flanking either side of her. Mike follows up at the end, closing the door behind him.

“You say no gifts every year and we never listen to you, so,” Erica continues, crossing her arms and looking down at him from behind the couch, “Merry Christmas, though.”

“Merry Christmas, Sinclair,” he says up at her.

“Merry Christmas, Lady Apple Jack,” Eddie calls from the other end of the sectional.

“There’s food all laid out in the kitchen,” Nancy calls to them. Steve yawns, sitting up and watching the group move as a unit to the kitchen, dropping their gifts off under the tree on the way. He looks around, a smile creeping onto his face, a Christmas that finally feels like family. Like home. Like he’s seven years old.

His eyes zero in on the Nintendo 64 on the side table and his heart skips.

“Shit, I’ll be right back, I gotta make a phone call.”

Steve heads upstairs to his room, dialing to hospital without even looking at the numbers, counting the rings down to the second for Barb’s voice to pick up.

“Hey Barb, it’s Steve. Can you transfer me to Artie Robbins’ room? He feelin’ okay?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah, let me double ch– Hey, is Mr. Robbins out of surge–he is? Okay, okay – alright honey, let me transfer you over.”

Steve holds his breath while the phone rings, letting it out when Arthur’s scratches through the phone, “Hello?”

“Artie, hey, it’s Steve. Your gift is secured.”

“Oh, good, good –hhgggack-, s’cuse me,” Arthur coughs wetly, Steve can hear him spit on the other end, “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, don’t worry man. How was um, how was surgery, how’s it lookin’?” Steve asks, heart thumping in his chest.

“Well um…” Arthur trails off, another wet, hacking cough echoes through the line, “Y’know I uh – I got some bad news for you, Harrington.”

“Oh shit, Arthur…Arthur I’m so sorry,” Steve starts, “We can start you right back up on –”

“I can’t believe you’d lie to me like that, Harrington,” he confesses, ignoring Steve’s apologies, his voice grinding with phlegm.

“What? I didn’t – what do you –” sweat formed on his brow. Why did he tell him it was gonna be fine? He’s just a fucking nurse, how would he know?

“Sara-Jean wasn’t my night nurse,” Arthur says, exasperated, “It’s some old broad I’ve never met before.”

Arthur laughs and it gets caught in his throat like a wheeze, Steve lets out a long breath through his nose.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole,” Steve chuckles, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “You almost gave me a heart attack, Jesus Christ.”

“Merry, merry, Harrington,” he says, “See ya tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to wrap it?” Steve asks, “The gift?”

“Hey, if you’re offering – I don’t gotta pay you for that, right? They gonna add that to my bill?”

“Actually, I’m gonna make sure they charge you double,” Steve smiles through the phone, hearing Arthur’s breathy laugh one more time before he says goodnight and hangs up. Steve heads back down stairs, the group all around the living room.

“Here,” Robin calls, beckoning him over and patting a seat next to her, “I’m gonna put on Miracle at 34th Street.”

“Why? It’s boring,” Mike frowns.

“Cause it’s your sister’s favorite and she made all the food, dumbass,” Steve snap at him, walking over to the couch, not resisting the urge to give him a soft smack across his mop of hair.

Eddie giggles, “Yeah, don’t be such a dumbass, Wheeler.”

8PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

Beep beep. Beep beep. Bzz.

The group looks over at Steve who immediately reaches back into his pocket, beeper lighting up and buzzing. He squints down at it, the hospital’s number flashing below, “Ugh, shit. They’re really calling me in now?”

“Just don’t go,” Eddie said, “They gave you the night off for a reason. Can’t they call someone else?”

“That’s not really how it works Munson,” he mumbles, “Sorry guys, I gotta go um –”

He looks around the room, eyes scanning everyone before they land on Nancy, “Nance can you just make sure everything’s locked up before you leave?”

She nods, Henderson’s voice calling over the TV, “Why do you always ask Nancy?”

“Do you really think I’d trust any of you other twerps to do it?” he asks with a laugh, pulling his coat on and wrapping the scarf around his neck, “Merry Christmas, guys.”

The traffic was low, everyone home and inside, cozy with their families while he races back up to the hospital. He lets out a sigh, exhaustion rolling over him in waves like he hadn’t worked three days in a row – the twelves hours he had off would’ve been a great welcome. Before he knows it, he pulls into staff parking, still in his scrubs, hurrying into the lobby.

“What’s up Barb,” he asks, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Oh, honey…” she says, her frown tells him enough.

“What’s happening, what’s wrong with him?” Steve asks, his body felt like he’d been dunked in ice water. In his peripheral he can see Arthur’s doctor come up behind him.

“Steve I – I’m sorry,” he says.

“What’s happening, what’s going on?” Steve eyes, nose prickling with heat, the back of his throat getting thick.

“He’s hemorrhaging,” the doctor said, “It’s happening slowly, but we can’t stop it…he’s not gonna make it, Steve.”

“Well you gotta, like, you can do something,” Steve says, a hurt smile pulling at his lips, “Like, there’s gotta be something that can stop it.”

“There’s nothing we can do, Steve,” he confesses, putting a hand on his shoulder, “He wants to go.”

“Well, um,” Steve swallows thickly, “Can you – has anyone called his son? Or? Where’s his family?”

“They aren’t coming,” Barb says, shaking her head. Tears pooled in her eyes, “He asked if we’d call you.”

“How much t-time does he have?” Steve gasps out, breath coming out of him in short spurts. Shoulders rising and falling unsteadily.

“Not much,” the doctor says, “You should go see him.”

Steve nods, numb, dizzy, the floor spins under him and suddenly he’s fourteen again – sitting in the waiting room with his dad while his mom wails outside the door.

He gets to the room and opens the door slowly, Arthur laying there covered in tubes – with every blink it’s 1981 all over again.

“Hey, Artie,” Steve says softly. He see’s Arthurs eyes flit toward him, a twitch of a hand standing in for a wave. Steve pulls a chair over and sits next to him, the healthy man he’d seen just hours before suddenly paled, older than he’d ever seen him.

“Hey -hmmmfff- Harrington,” he pushes out. Pulling in a big, strained, wheezing breath between the words. It sounded like it hurt to breathe – but with only one weak lung working at this point, the other filling with blood, Steve assumed it must be.

“Shh, shh,” Steve coos, “You don’t have to talk.”

He sits there for a moment, listening to the beep of the EKG, the whoosh of air from the oxygen machine. Steve watches the drip of the IV drip – morphine. Arthur’s eyes are drowsy, but they still sparkle playfully at him.

A lump builds in Steve’s throat while he watches him, he feels guilty taking deep breaths to keep from crying. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold back.

“Aw, come on man, you were – ugh, fuck – thought you were too mean to die,” Steve asked between sniffles. He tries to blink back his tears but they finally spring out of him, leaking down his cheeks.

“Well –hhhmmmfff- look what m-meeting you -hmmmfff- got me, k-kid,” Arthur laughs through labored, shallow, breaths, “One good -hhhmmfff- de-deed and I’m k-kicking the buck-bucket –hmmmff-.

Steve takes his hand, holding it tight, a shuddering breath hitting his lungs before he breaks, “I’m s-sorry your s-son’s not coming.”

“S’okay I don’t want -hhhmmfff– Mikey to -hhmmfff- see me like th-this,” he gasps out, eyes lulling, breaths getting farther and few in between.

“You think -hmmfff- Dot’s st-still gonna think I -hhhmmmff- look sh-sharp?”

“Oh, for sure,” Steve cries into a laugh, “She’d probably still think I look sharper.”

Arthur lets out a weak wheeze of a laugh, using whatever left over strength he has to push a half smile onto his face.

“I’ll say -hhmmff– hi to your gr-grandpa –hhmmff- for you,” he whispers. Steve nods, squeezing his hand, wiping his face with the other.

“He’ll thi-think you’re a real p-piece of work,” Steve jokes, his thumb grazing comfortingly over Arthur’s hand.

They sit there in silence, outside of Arthur’s labored breathing and the monitors beeping, Steve’s sniffling and shuddering cries.

“-hhhmmmff– H-harrington?”

“Yeah?”

“Sing the song.”

Steve doesn’t have to ask which he means, his heart breaks as he looks at the clock – 9 PM – right when his grandpa would bring him off to bed.

“Sure, Artie,” Steve promises, “Sure.”

“Christmas Eve will find me…”

“As the love light gleams…”

“I’ll be home fo– Oh, no…no, Artie. Arthur c’mon, c’mon man.”

The monitor holds a steady note, and against it, a rattle Steve knows all too well.

Christmas Day, 1996

Steve got home late but Nancy, Robin, and Eddie were still there when he got in. “How’d you know?” Steve asked, eyes red behind his specs.

“Your girlfriend Barb called,” Robin joked, pulling him into a hug. The rest followed suit, pressing against him so that maybe the pressure would relieve him of his grief. They all stayed the night, they saved cookies for him, a plate of snacks, dinner. They stayed up until he was fast asleep – all sneaking out quietly the next morning to spend time with their families.

Steve woke up around nine in the morning, blearily peering around the living room. He must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, glasses laid neatly on the side table and a note from Nancy. His eyes lingered on the present for Mikey, he heaved a deep and heavy sigh.

Steve got up and took a quick shower, hoping the water would take his aching along with it down the drain. It didn’t, but it woke him up a little. He didn’t bother getting dressed, just getting back into his scrubs from the night before, slapping on some deodorant and cologne before trudging back downstairs.

He took his time to wrap the gift, folding over the edges of the paper and sealing it seamlessly. The North Pole would’ve hired him in a heartbeat if they could get a look at this wrap job.

He pulled on his coat, his red wool scarf, and tugged the present under his arm while he walked to the car. He pulled out a small piece of paper from his coat pocket, his own sloppy writing looking back at him with Mark’s address scrawled on it. It was a twenty minute drive – it felt like an eternity.

He rang the bell and knocked on the door, and even though he knew they were home he was still surprised to see Mark open it, his wife next to him.

“Hey, Mr. Robbins,” Steve says softly, “Sorry to come by but um – I know this must be a really hard day for you both, but –”

“It’s okay. Um, Steve – right?” Mark guesses, Steve nods. Mark looked worse for wear, “This was dad’s nurse at the hospital.”

“Hi,” his wife murmurs, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merr–”

“Dad, who is it?” Mikey calls, pushing between his parents, “Oh hey, you’re that guy from yesterday.”

Steve guessed it must be hard to really dampen the magic of Christmas for a ten year old, even if his grandpa just died.

“Hey buddy, you’re actually the guy I wanted to see,” Steve said with a smile, kneeling down to get closer to his level.

“I found this on the desk in the lobby at the hospital,” he says, looking down at the box, holding it out in front of him, “It’s addressed to you, looks like it’s from Santa.” Mikey frowns, and at a closer look, it’s clear Mikey had just as rough of a night as his dad had. His lower lip wobbles slightly but he quickly straightens it out.

“Santa isn’t real,” Mikey says defiantly, crossing his arms.

“Who told you that?” Steve asks, his brows furrowed.

“No one told me,” Mikey mumbles softly, “I told Santa that all I wanted for Christmas was for my grandpa to get better. And he didn’t…so…”

“Well if Santa’s not real, then how did he call me this morning?” Steve asks with a smile.

“What?” Mikey asks, eyes shining with excitement.

“He told me he left this at the hospital because he thought you were still there,” Steve explains, “So he asked if I could bring it to you. It was something you really wanted, he told me.”

“Oh man, is this –” he takes the box from Steve, it’s a little too heavy for him, “Is this what I think it is?!”

“I don’t know, dude, you gotta open it!” Steve laughs. Mikey sits right on the ledge of the front door, Mark and his wife behind him. The paper rips away to reveal the Nintendo 64 Mikey had begged for since it came out in September.

“WOW! Dad look! Santa saw it on my list! He didn’t forget! I can’t believe it!”

Steve stands back up to see Mark, his red eyes pooling with tears.

“Honey, why don’t you come with me and I’ll see how we can set it up,” Mark’s wife says to Mikey, taking the box from him. Mikey runs inside and his mom gives Steve a small wave, wishing him a Merry Christmas.

“S’that from my dad?” Mark asked, wiping his eyes.

Steve takes his glasses off, wiping his own, “Yeah, he um, ordered it online – if you can believe it.” They both let out a small, pained, airy chuckle. Two men who are suddenly boys. Red noses and cheeks.

“He asked if I’d bring it to him to give to Mikey but um, y’know.”

Mark nods, face contorting while he tries to hold back a sob, “Merry Christmas, man.” Steve puts his hand out to shake it, but Mark pulls him into a tight hug where they both fall apart, “I’m so sorry, Mark. I’m just so sorry.”

They stay embraced for a few minutes before breaking apart, both taking deep breaths while they settle. Two boys who know what it’s like to not understand their dads. Two boys who know better now.

“You’re a very kind man, Steve,” Mark says, “Thank you so much, for – for this.”

“Thank you,” Steve says gently, “I hope you and your family are able to have a good holiday.”

They say their goodbyes and Steve takes his keys from his pocket, swinging them into his hand. He gets in the driver’s seat of the BMW, the leather quickly cooled over. He watches Mark shut the door behind him and takes a cleansing breath through his nose and out through his mouth, putting the key into the ignition.

The heat blasts and he pulls out onto the road, flicking the radio on.

He chuckles sadly to himself, eyes closing briefly behind his glasses at the coincidence, while the radio crackles to life.

“Merry Christmas, guys,” he says, staring up at the sky through the windshield.

Bing Crosby’s voice fills the car, and Steve’s red, wool scarf feels warmer than it ever has around his neck.

“Christmas Eve will find me. As the love light gleams. I’ll be home for Christmas…

If only in my dreams.”

#steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #nurse!steve #nurse!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington au #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #the party #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you

344 notes · View notes

fiori7ura · 7 months

Text

but strangely, he feels at home in this place

TW: body dysphoria, self-doubt, mentions of panic attacks & death, fear, depression-ish, trans max & steve, don't like, don't read.

(modern au, no upside down, max uses she/her but it changes halfway through, steve is also trans, max & steve have a brotherly bond — author is afab but on the transgender spectrum and goes through body dysphoria and confusion all the time)

→ i've been writing this on ao3, it isn't posted yet because it isn't finished, but i wanted to post what i already have on here :) it's all rough draft, so expect for there to be grammar mistakes or things nto worded correctly. there are italics galore in this, but i copy & pasted it from ao3 so it deleted the layout it was in, and my phone makes everything lag when i try and do italics on here, so, yeah, no italics, just imagine them in parts when needed lmao — read tags & warnings, thx!!

title from 'this is home' by cavetown!!

——— ★ ———

Yeah, you could say that Max never fully fit in with girls her age. She skated, hung around guys, scuffed her shoes with dirt and mud, crude sayings and drawings scribbled with black sharpie and in messy handwriting on the toes of her sneakers she got from Goodwill.

Her life was good for a while, until it wasn't. She woke up one day with panic and realization coursing through her veins, crying until her lungs gave out and she hyperventilated, screaming into her pillow.

Panic attack, Max's brain supplies from the old memory of her lessons with her school counselor, Mrs. Kelley.

Small things trigger them, and ever since Billy passed in the mall fire, they happen more than ever. Max wishes she could go back to that summer, when there were no worries in the world, before Billy died, before she and her Mom had to move into a crappy trailer park across from the Munsons.

The bad thoughts cloud Max's mind again, and she shakes her head like a wet dog coming in from the rain.

She gets up and throws on basketball shorts that come down to her knees and a threadbare, gray Hawkins Tigers shirt that she stole from Steve, her tightest, most concealing bra she owns strapped on underneath. Max shoves her hair in a haphazard low bun, taking a quick glance in the mirror, not even bothering to look for too long. Staring into her reflection is bad. It makes Max notice all the impurities and small problems about herself that makes her want to shatter the glass, break it into little pieces on the carpet below her.

Max prays that one day, she could just sink into the floor and disappear. Maybe then, things would be easier. She wouldn't have to worry about her impending doom of her crush on El and the dark thoughts that flood her mind daily, time and time again.

Max steps outside of her trailer, spotting Steve's car parked over at Eddie's. He's sitting on the porch steps, cigarette in his hand, smoke stirring out of his mouth.

She wishes to be like Steve. Wants it. Hopes for it. In her mind, he's selfless and resilient. He came out to everyone without a single trace of doubt, and everyone supported him when he said he didn't feel like a girl. That was three years ago. Max was only 12. She's now 15, drowning in her sorrows and regret.

She stumbles over the gravel that lines the ground, feet carrying her to cross the distance between the two trailers. Steve looks up from his crisp, white Nike Cortez shoes, a smile lighting his whole face up when he sees Max.

"You know those things'll kill you, right?"

Steve snorts, tilting his head like a dog. "Hello to you, too, Max. You sound like Rob, you know that?"

Max just scoffs, the smile on her face betraying the way she's trying to act. "Whatever you say, Mom. I'm not taking the blame from Dustin when you die from smoking on those cancer sticks."

"Sure," Steve says behind a smirk as he puts out his cigarette and dusts his hands off on his jeans, imaginary dirt spreading around the air. "If you're asking for a ride, just know that I'm about to be leaving. Just let me tell Eddie bye, 'kay?"

"Okay," Max echoes, laughing. "Go get your boyfriend!" She yells when Steve turns around to go inside, mimicking kissing and hugging, wrapping her hands around herself and making obnoxious smooching noises. Steve flips her off behind his back. She can almost hear the faint mumble of smart ass kid come from his mouth, which causes her to laugh even harder, head lolling back on a cackle.

——— ★ ———

They're halfway through the drive back to Steve's house when Max breaks the silence, Stevie Nicks playing low on the radio, music drifting through the speakers of his Beamer. "Could I, uh, ask you something? You gotta promise not to say anything about this conversation, because if you do, I'll blackmail you and send Eddie all the embarrassing photos of you from when you worked at Scoops."

Steve whips his head to look at Max, almost surprised look on his face as he lets out a disbelieving laugh, airy and light.

"Okay, kiddo. Shoot."

Her feet are propped up on the dash, and her pulse is rabbiting. "How did you know?"

Steve raises a questionable eyebrow towards her direction, nose wrinkling. "What d'you mean, 'know'?"

Shit, shit, shit.

"No, nevermind, actually. It's stupid," Max sighs. "It's stupid," she repeats, again and again, flipping the word around on her tongue.

"Hey, no, don't just dodge my question like that, Mayfield. Be honest. I doubt it's as stupid as you actually say it is. Spill your guts, c'mon. Like you do at those girly sleepovers of yours."

And, oh.

Girly sleepovers.

Max doesn't like that. Bile swirls in her stomach and she digs her nails into her palm, leaving crescent moons in her skin's wake, jaw clenching and teeth grinding down against each other.

Steve clearly notices he did something wrong, because he quickly pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park, unbuckling to turn and look at Max.

"What's wrong, firecracker? Tell me, please. It won't hurt to just say what's on your mind."

Max shakes her head, eyes downcast and frown placed onto her face. "When did you know you didn't want to be a girl?" Max whispers, voice small and weak sounding, even to her own ears.

Steve grabs Max's hand and holds it oh-so-gently, the angel he is.

"I always subconsciously knew when I was younger, I guess? I never wanted to wear dresses or look pretty. I wanted to feel like a boy. I always got mad when my teachers would split the class into girls and boys. I would try to go with the guys, and my teachers would usher me back into the girls side, telling me that I'm a girl, not a boy. Kids would laugh and point at me for it,"

Steve pauses, getting teary eyed.

"And I didn't fully recognize how I felt inside until after I met Robin and everybody else. I got assured that it was normal to feel like this, so then I recognized how to love myself and my body. I understood that I was a boy, that I am a boy, and I should be proud of who I am."

Max lets out a wet laugh, tears threatening to spill over and around her eyelids.

"I don't think I'm a girl, y'know, at all."

Max looks at Steve through glimmering eyes, and he pulls her into a hug, squeezing her, comfort washing over her body like a cold shower. "I'm so proud of you, Red. So, so proud. I love you, so much."

That's when the tears really start to flow. Max hugs Steve right back, laughing with hurt and love and peace and too many emotions that flood his body.

"You're the best brother I could've asked for, Steve."

They stay like that for minutes on end, time drifting together; Steve rocking Max back and forth in his arms, tears from Max staining his polo shirt.

Steve pulls back first, still holding Max's hand. "And you're the best brother I could've asked for. You're a boy, don't doubt that, Max."

Max wipes at his eyes. "Did I ever mention how much I love you, Steven Belinda Harrington?"

Steve sputters with laughter, letting go of Max's hand. "Belinda? That's the best you could come up, Mayfield? I thought I was the best brother you've ever had?"

"I'll take it back, Belinda, trust me, don't think I won't," Max laughs, punching at Steve's shoulder, not a touch of violence or hate behind it.

26 notes · View notes

imaginmatrix · 11 months

Text

Prompt: Moonlight

I have no clue where the short that this one word prompt inspired came from, but I hope you enjoy

Percy’s mother used to say there was magic in the light of the moon. She said the silver rays could carry any number of impossible things from the stars to the earth; strange beings and mysterious items and concepts like fate and destiny would ride those gossamer bands like a tidal wave to shift the mundane to wondrous.

And then, of course, Percy got older and learned that the moon merely reflected the light of the sun, and was little more than a barren rock doomed to encircle the earth however gravity dictated until the day an asteroid collided a bit too hard and freed it to the lonely emptiness of space. He wasn’t necessarily a practical guy who dismissed fairytales and children’s stories, but he was a cynic, and his mother’s stories lost much of their shine in the wake of losing her.

She used to joke she might choose to become the moon when she died, so she could watch Percy grow and live even after her story was over. But they both assumed they’d have more time before that happened.

These days, the moon was just a rock, the stars just burning balls of gas, and magic was a lie of his childhood.

“Those things kill, you know.”

Percy’s dark brows raised, his face turning to the blonde girl who criticized his life choices before even having the decency to introduce herself. The roof party behind them was abuzz with life; string lights gave a hazy glow to the young adults lounging on sofas and sipping bottles of some sort of craft beer that tasted like shit but all the hipsters pretended was a divine elixir of craftsmanship.

He was on the outskirts, leaning on the stone wall of the roof, puffing smoke from his cig into the dark and staring at city lights.

And now she was too.

He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and tugging the cigarette from between his lips, “Pretty sure that’s common knowledge at this point.”

“And yet here you are, turning your lungs to raisins anyway.”

Percy was both annoyed and intrigued, almost impressed at her audacity. He didn’t care much for being scolded; he was an adult. He could make whatever bad decisions he wanted.

But this girl was direct. Plenty of people hated cigarettes, but most would wrinkle their nose and move away, or cough dramatically to make a point without words, or mutter to their friends about the disgusting habit. Not the girl beside him. She walked right up and pointed out the obvious, said what most wouldn’t dare say to a stranger.

Percy could admire that.

“Well?” The girl asked expectantly, as if Percy was supposed to answer a question that was never actually voiced.

“Well what?” He stubbed out the cigarette, leaning away from the girl to toss what was left into the bin nearby.

“Why do you smoke.” She said, as if it were obvious.

Percy shrugged, “I don’t know.”

But he did know.

His mother never smoked a day in her life. Yet cancer made its home in her lungs anyway. So maybe it was to spite the universe for that, or maybe it was to dare it to take him out the same way. Maybe it was just self flagellation for being here when she wasn’t. There was nothing to blame himself for, nothing he could have done to stop her from getting sick, but some sort of guilt gnawed through his chest anyway.

So he dampened that guilt by putting chemicals in his body.

Or maybe he was just an idiot who smoked because he tried it once and got hooked, like every other person who relied on the stuff to get through the day.

“Well you should stop.”

Another incredulous laugh rasped from Percy’s throat, “Never heard that one before.” He finally turned to face the girl properly.

And then something that was neither smoke nor guilt filled his chest.

She was pretty, but Percy had seen pretty before. This was different. This was…

Intense.

There was something in her expression that felt a thousand years old; she was clearly around his age, but her gaze had seen the rise and fall of empires, revolutions, tragedies, and everything that filled the eons between.

But she was just a girl, and Percy was a bad poet, and he swallowed a sudden bitter taste in his mouth as he found words to combat the way she seemed to see right through him.

“Do you usually berate people you’ve just met, or am I special?”

She looked thoughtful, “A bit of both.”

“Yeah?” Percy wished he wasn’t a smoker, just so it would be easier to catch his breath around this girl, “What makes me special, then?”

“You’re in my spot.” She turned back to the city, those eyes shifting from his face and her profile caught the light in a near halo. The sensation of her focus leaving him had Percy desperate to hold it again.

“So you live here?” He leaned beside her, back to the wall so he could better see the slope of her nose and the curve of her lips.

A nod, “It’s my roommate’s party.”

Now an answering brow raise, “I thought it was a housewarming thing?”

“It is.”

“So wouldn’t this technically be your party too?”

Another shrug, but the continued conversation saw that her head turned back to him and Percy felt himself drown in the impossible gravity of her attention once more. “I’m not really a party person.”

“Me neither.” At her pointed look that said ‘but you’re at this one?’ he clarified, “I was dragged along.”

This answer was satisfactory, “You’re Percy then.”

Hearing his name from the lips of a stranger, particularly this stranger, was startling. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Because you’re the only person here I don’t recognize, and Charles said you were coming.”

“Right.” A beat. “And you’re…?”

“Annabeth.”

It wasn’t a name Percy had ever heard before, but as soon as she said it, it became one he knew he’d never forget.

Annabeth’s gaze turned out and up again. A silence settled over them.

Percy was frantically searching for something to say, a question, a statement, anything to keep the conversation going, when Annabeth spoke again; “You can’t see the stars.”

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, “…What?”

“Light pollution.” Annabeth nodded to the city, “It hides the stars.”

Percy glanced up, the sky dark and empty while something old and primal tugged at his gut and whispered that it shouldn’t be. “You can see a fair amount in Montauk.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I’ll take you some time.” It slipped out before Percy could consider the fact that inviting a girl he just met to drive outside the city with him to look at stars was weird, but to his relief she smiled.

“I’d like that.” Annabeth fixed him with her gaze once more. And once more it was crushing, and Percy was close enough now to make out the color of her eyes.

Some people might have called them gray, but a word so colorless and boring couldn’t come close to what they were. Silver was the closest, Percy decided. Silver and seeing every little hope, fear, desire, and secret Percy had buried deep down, as if he was laid bare without clothes or even a physical form to hide in.

Percy cleared his throat, “At least you can still see the moon.”

Annabeth didn’t look back to the sky when she said “Not tonight. It’s a new moon.”

Could have fooled Percy, the silver glow of Annabeth’s irises a fine replacement. Even better, as she carried two moons in her eyes, rather than just the one that hung in the sky.

“Ah. Well. Tomorrow then.”

“Mmm.”

Silence again. God. The silence hurt— not a sharp pain, but a dull ache, like the moment between comfort and burning when one held their breath for too long.

And he’d known the girl for less than ten minutes.

But in that time, he had decided to quit smoking, take her to see the stars in Montauk, and let her occupy every corner of his mind for as long as she deigned to stay for.

The numbness that plagued every waking moment for the past 3 years ebbed.

“Do you—“

“I think—“

They spoke at the same time. Annabeth laughed breathlessly, complimenting Percy’s own nervous chuckle.

“You first.” Percy said.

“No, no, you go.”

“I insist.”

Annabeth scrunched up her nose, making freckles Percy hadn’t noticed sharpen. “I think,” she started again, “that I’d like to go inside.”

Percy’s heart sunk, “Oh, uh, yeah, it’s kind of cold.”

Annabeth didn’t move, instead staring at him in a way that had him squirming, thinking there was something he should be doing that he wasn’t.

“…Are we going in, then?”

Percy jolted at the realization that he was invited. “Y-yeah!” He shoved his hands into his pockets, pushing off the wall.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, tucking a curly lock behind her ear as they walked back to the exit. Percy wondered what it would be like to do that, to reach out and brush errant locks from her face.

They stopped at the door to the stairs, and for the first time since they’d met, Annabeth seemed hesitant.

“I don’t… do this often.”

Percy furrowed his brow, “Do what?”

“Invite guys I just met to my bedroom.”

Oh.

His brain short circuited— inside meant inside, bedroom meant bedroom, she’d said inside, she’d meant bedroom, and he…

Holy shit.

Percy licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and throat working to form a sound, any sound.

“R-right. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah, me neither— I mean I have, but I don’t usually, it’s not like, a common thing, it’s not a normal weekend occurrence, I don’t go around picking up girls for one night stands and if I did I wouldn’t like, uh, leave it as a one night stand, I mean at least not these days—“ He bit his tongue to make himself shut up, because dear god that was way too much in response to a simple statement.

He’d made poor choices right after his mom died. Percy had never been one for casual: not casual sex, nor casual dating. He wasn’t that guy. He didn’t generally feel attraction unless he knew someone first, gotten to know them, fall in love with them.

But after his only family had died, he grew desperate to feel anything. Even self-loathing.

This… wasn’t that.

Maybe it was the fact that this girl, Annabeth, had no qualms about shaming him for a bad habit. Maybe he was just cold. Maybe it was the loneliness of a party he couldn’t find the strength to be a part of, to try and put on a smile and make friends and drink shitty beer and pretend everything was fine.

Maybe it was the moonlight in Annabeth’s eyes.

Whatever the reason, Percy couldn’t help but want this. Not in the self-destructive way of his past that left him feeling cold and empty. It was something different, it was…

He wasn’t sure.

Annabeth was smiling though, thankfully amused by his rambling rather than weirded out, and she reached a hand to lace their fingers together. “I’ll show you my record collection.” Her eyes drifted up and down Percy’s body in the least subtle way possible. “You look like a guy who likes music.”

Percy’s chuckle was strained, but his shoulders relaxed, “I’ve been known to sometimes enjoy sounds, yeah.”

Annabeth’s laugh made his skin tingle.

Her hand was warm and soft and fit perfectly against his calloused one.

Her eyes shone like the moon his mother loved so much did; they reflected the light in a way that Percy swore defied physics, holding all the things his mother promised moonlight would. Adventure. Magic. Mystery.

A promise of something more.

And as Annabeth blushed and ducked her head when Percy held the door open for her

as she led him down the concrete stairwell to a new apartment and room with lights so warm and comforting, they put those on the roof to shame

as they sat on the floor and looked at records and picked out their favorite songs

as Moon River played on the turntable and Percy met those eyes that held not just the moon, but the stars and sun and planets and entire galaxies

as he reached for her, tucking those blonde curls behind her ear like he’d been itching to, watching her lashes flutter and her breath catch and her cheeks flush with color and her eyes drop to his lips and back up

as they both leaned in

Percy thought that maybe, just maybe

his mom was right about the moon.

#morgan murmurs #writing #prompt #knowall7k #fanfiction #I have no idea where this came from what the heck #pjo #Percabeth #pjo fanfic #Percabeth fanfic #Percy Jackson #Annabeth Chase

32 notes · View notes