#it's loving huey hours

[mjf-af]

[daisyhooves]

just a small dump of stuff for the rain world mgs au because its been on the brain for a bit. the ideas they are in my head.

[superblysubpar]

<- part three | part five -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve drives you to work all week.

the song: Smoke by Caroline Polachek

also for your listening pleasure: Do You Believe In Love by Huey Lewis & The News, We Are the Champions by Queen, and In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

6,475 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned / for the purposes of this fic, you drink coffee and you take it sweet / alcohol mentions/consumption - you are tipsy in this / brief descriptions of car accidents/injury with some blood/ slight descriptions of panic/anxiety happening to Steve | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday

You slam the alarm button down when it goes off on Tuesday morning, sitting on your bed, fully dressed, one hour too early. 

Your knee bounces up and down, your teeth rip at the skin next to your thumb, and you stare at the clock, counting down, literally, to when your ride will be here. 

Steve had offered, when he dropped you off last night, to pick you up all week. It was supposed to rain off and on till Friday, you shouldn’t have to bike so far, it was the least he could do all babbled out of him as you sat in his passenger seat still wearing his clothes. 

What was the surprise, to both of you, is that you’d said yes to his offer. 

He’d blinked at you, you blinked at him and he nodded, fingers fiddling with the radio dial as he murmured, “Cool, cool.”

You’d sat in his passenger seat in silence, both staring out the windshield at your apartment complex until Steve cleared his throat and looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” You quickly snapped off the seatbelt and pushed the door open, pausing to look down at the clothes you had on and the wet ones in your hands. “Um, I’ll, I can change quick and-“

“No!” 

He snapped his jaw closed and rubbed at his temple, blowing out a breath before he gestured, “I meant, like, don’t go to the trouble. It’s late, and, I’ll see you, and it’s fine, I don’t even wear those pants to sleep in because they’re too hot and-“

“Steve?” You interrupted, lips twitching against a smile. 

“Yeah?” He replied limply.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. You smiled. Something was definitely wrong with your stomach and so, sure you were about to be sick in his car, you mumbled something about seeing him tomorrow and quickly closed the door, then climbed the stairs up to your front door. 

Steve waited to back out of his parking spot until you were safely inside where he couldn’t see you fall backwards against the door with an exhale and you couldn’t see him rubbing his face at the exit of the complex mumbling the word ‘idiot’. 

Which is what you felt like, when you woke up with the sunrise, still wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes. 

And you were still feeling like it after you showered, scrubbing at your skin till it stung because you felt like you needed to wash off any evidence of the smell that clung to your body like it was supposed to. But somehow that didn’t stop you from spending longer on picking out an outfit, or taking more time to get ready. Reasoning with yourself that it was because you didn’t have to bike, that you woke up early, it’s nice to dress up and take care of yourself every once in awhile, it feels good to be put together for no one but yourself. 

This is what you’re currently telling your reflection, avoiding eye contact with the sweatshirt as you stomp out of the room towards your kitchen. 

But as you move down your hallway, something, or rather someone, outside the window catches your eye and you grab your bag and leave your apartment to figure out what he’s doing. 

Steve’s crouched down next to your bike, large fingers working on something with the chain with a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t hear you approaching, which is probably why he shoots up at the sound of your voice, the back of his head smacking right into the metal bike rack.

“Harring-“ his name cut off with a sharp empathetic wince as his eyes shut tight and his jaw pulses after he curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” you rub at your elbow, scuffing a converse on the ground as you squint at him, “Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve exhales what you think is supposed to be a laugh, as he blinks at the ground, “Yeah, I…” 

His words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth somehow because all he can think now is:

Pretty.

The word makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth, like he needs to say it or it’ll just keep sitting there and he’ll suffocate as it swells.  It’s not like he’s not thought that word around you before, he has. But the urge to say it hasn’t ever quite made him feel like this, like he’s gonna die.

“You…?” Your head tilts, eyes squinting to inspect him more, heartbeat thrumming faster as Steve stares at you intensely.

“Don’t,” Steve finishes, standing up slowly, your red helmet swinging in his fingers. 

“You don’t?” The two of you blink at each other.

“Believe you,” Steve offers.

“Oh, right.” 

You hate that you feel so warm under his stare, hate that you’re wondering if he likes your outfit. You hate-

“I, um,” Steve gestures to the bike, “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to me driving you. Since you, you know, hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slip off of your tongue so easily, you bite down on it in fear that more lies will fall out. 

The words to Steve are, however, exactly what he needed to hear to remember who the hell he is. 

Steve grins, two freckles lifting as he asks, softly, fondly, “Yeah?”

“I,” you swallow, wondering if it’s possible that Steve Harrington possesses the power to erase ‘how to speak’ from your list of skills and abilities simply because he’s got nice eyes and smells good.

His grin settles, a smug smirk keeping his lips in a flat line before he whispers, “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your Journey t-shirt as you snap, “I don’t hate you. I despise you.”

Steve’s gaze darts over your face, before golden iris’ are settling on yours. He takes a step closer, dangerously closing the gap between your bodies as he whispers, “Yeah? Well I detest you.”

His chest rises and falls, bumping your crossed arms, the toe of his Nike’s touching the tops of your converse. So close you can count freckles on his nose and see green in his eyes.

“Wow,” your words hushed, but dripping in sarcasm, “Another big brain word and it hasn’t even been a week. Would you like a prize?”

Steve’s eyes flash, his lips twist up as he leans in even closer, “Yeah,” murmured as the tip of his nose almost touches yours, mint toothpaste fanning over your lips, “I would.”

Your breath leaves your lungs, held somewhere so it can’t escape as his nose brushes the bridge of yours before it’s suddenly gone. 

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” spoken over his shoulder with a grin as he heads towards his car. 

Steve faces his car again, biting the inside of his lip out of your sight as you close your eyes out of his. 

Were you just going to let him kiss you?

Your legs feel wobbly as you make your way across the pavement towards the maroon car, and even more so when, nestled inside and buckled, Steve’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he says, “You look really pretty today, by the way.”

His forearm flexes in the corner of your eye as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the spot, spinning his steering wheel with the other hand effortlessly. The movement and skill makes your legs press together under your skirt, and you bite the inside of your cheek, adamant on ignoring what your body wants to tell you.

Steve fiddles with the radio dial as he comes to a stop sign.

“You know,” you bite, mad at yourself for falling for this, mad at him for starting it, just mad, “I haven’t forgotten that you have five days left to get me, of all people, to sleep with you. And as much as it pains me to say this, we’ve been in each others lives for quite awhile now, and I know you, Harrington. This isn’t working, it’s not going to work, and the fact that you think-“

He says your name roughly, tight, like the word burns his throat to say it. He leans over the console, ducking his head to catch your gaze causing a strand of hair to fall over his forehead. 

“Have you ever thought, for one second, that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as much of an asshole as you think, but because I know you hate me, I’ve never even tried to give you a compliment because that’s just not what we do? Tell me, honestly, if I’d have told you that you looked pretty, before today, before this bet, you wouldn’t have bit my head off then too? Or, god forbid, would have believed me?”

His breath is sharp, his gaze pierces into you, making something in your chest spark and sizzle, it’s not unlike the swell of pride you get when you win, and it’s better. 

It’s addicting. 

A horn honks and Steve blinks, facing the windshield and moving the car forward again. 

“I don’t hate you,” the words are a whisper, not as easily said as earlier.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat. He glances over at you with a small smile, then back at the road as he sighs, “Just despise.”

You hum a feeble agreement, and let Huey Lewis & The News fill the silence, asking if you believe in love. 

Steve’s fingers tap along to the song, his lips part, every other word softly exhaled as he sings under his breath. Which makes it hard to convince yourself that his words were just words, they meant nothing, and yours weren’t true either.

Steve Harrington doesn’t think you’re pretty and you hate each other. 

Despise. 

Whatever.

Your hands rest in your lap, thumb catching on a loose thread in your skirt that you are indebted to now. 

Not because Steve thinks you look pretty in it. 

But, because, if you instead search for where the loose thread begins, that brain space cannot be occupied by trying to figure out other times Steve wanted to call you pretty, or how you would have reacted, or how there’s two coffees in his cupholders next to your elbow. Focusing perhaps on, how the snag happened in your skirt could even make it so you don’t think about how, somehow, the leather of the seats and the coffee in such a tight space only make his normal scent of something minty and woodsy better and-

“Before you ask, no it’s not poisoned, and no, this isn’t me trying to woo you or whatever.” He gestures to the coffee, as if he’s reading your mind, “Could you hand me mine? Think it’s the front one.”

You’re shocked to learn that one of them is for you, and even more so when he grabs the cup from you and sips, grimaces, then coughs. 

“Ugh,” he licks his lips and holds it over to you, “That one was yours.”

You hand him the other cup, staring down at the one he handed back to you.

He bought you coffee and seemingly knows how you take it. 

As he pulls into the Family Video lot, expertly avoiding the kids skating and running around in front of Palace Arcade already, he sighs.

“You know,” he puts the car in park and looks at you, “I don’t have cooties.”

Haven’t even thought of the fact that if you took a sip, your lips would be where his had been, your body warms at the ‘kiss through contact’ possibility like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, heartbeat erratic still from the gesture of getting you the coffee.

“Actually, I was wondering if you did in fact poison this, because you despise me.”

“Detest,” Steve offers quietly with a smile.

“Detest,” you agree.

“I took a sip of it though. How would it be poisoned?”

“Maybe you’re like Westley and built up some sort of tolerance to this particular poison.”

Steve stares at you, blinking in silence until finally he asks, “What?”

“The Princess Bride?” You unsnap your seatbelt as he starts to get out of the car, talking over the roof of it. “Harrington, you have to have seen The Princess Bride?”

Steve swings his keys on his finger as he follows you to the front door, squinting. Both of you loving to have something to discuss that feels like easily navigated territory again. 

“Is that the one with Daisy?”

“Buttercup,” you correct immediately, stopping on the sidewalk to face him, “That’s our first movie today. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs, but then nods to the cup in your hand, “If you take a sip and say thank you really sweetly.”

You scoff, “I don’t have to do shit, I’m the manager. And that was an if.”

Steve nods, holding his hand out. “Okay, then give me the coffee.”

“But...” you hesitate, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting up to your nose. 

He definitely knows your order.

“Thought you said no ifs, ands, or buts?” Steve grins.

Your lips scowl before you mutter, “Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He smiles wider than he has all morning, showing off perfect, dazzling teeth. 

You roll your eyes and lift the cup to your lips. His eyes remain on yours, drinking you in just as much as you drink the coffee, gazes unwavering upon each other. 

It’s hard to swallow the perfectly made to your specifications coffee when he whispers, “That’a girl. See, was that so hard? Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you,” you grit, but Steve’s hand stops yours from unlocking the door.

“That wasn’t very sweet…” he tsks, sing song lilt to his voice.

With his hand over yours on the handle, you sigh, focusing on getting to watch a favorite movie instead of the way it engulfs yours. Batting your eyelashes, you force out a cheery, “Thank you, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, shakes his head no. He leans in, just like he had at your apartment. 

Just like when you almost let him kiss you. 

“First name, honey.”

That sparking, sizzling, simmering feeling is happening in your chest again.

Steve’s breath in is yours out as you murmur, “Thank you, Ste-“

“Jesus Christ! Thank fuck you’re alive! I’ve been…”

Eddie’s shout drifts off as he jumps out of his van, his eyes darting between you and Steve who’s starting to stand up straighter, hand dropping from the top of yours.

You clear your throat as Eddie grins at you, then Steve, then you again as he steps closer.

Eddie’s gaze looks over your outfit and your cheeks warm as he hums, raising his eyebrows over bright brown eyes that see right through you. 

“Well, don’t you look nice today.”

  Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday

  He was already on thin ice, and now, you were planning to fully cut a hole in said ice and let him meet his demise in the cold, dark water beneath it.

  Eddie doesn’t seem to care, as he winces with fake sympathy, and tosses an M&M in his mouth as you glare at him with your arms folded over your chest. 

  “What do you mean, you can’t take me anymore?” 

  He shrugs, but takes a step away from you, seemingly out of harms way.

  Physical harms way at least.

“I have to go back into the shop, Wayne needs me. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you?” He puts on a nice, big, Munson level show - hands folded in prayer, big pouty lips, and blinking sad doe eyes. 

  You stand in front of the counter, rubbing your temple from the fluorescent that’s been blinking all morning. 

  “I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t pack a lunch, because you promised the diner, you made a big deal about tradition,” you start towards him, hangry and looking for vengeance. 

  Eddie quickly sidesteps around the corner, standing directly across from you as you both go in a circle around the main counter where Robin sits, typing at the computer. 

  “Beer, on me,” he pleads, quickening his pace, “Tomorrow. A whole pitcher, just for you. I won’t even make fun of you when you get a gutter ball every turn!”

  “I don’t want beer, Munson! I want a strawberry shake and a damn cheeseburger!”

  “I can take you.”

  Steve’s quiet offer makes you freeze, Eddie grins and backs out quickly towards the front door, pointing, “What a wonderful idea Steve! I wish you both a lovely first date!”

  “Eddie!” you shriek, stomping towards the door, but he’s gone. 

  The bell chimes as he dashes through it with a salute, Steve clears his throat while you stand frozen, staring at the closed glass doors. 

  After Eddie had found you yesterday, and thoroughly bothered you about your outfit, and what he didn’t interrupt, because there was nothing to interrupt, he’d shown up at your apartment with far too many questions and far too much of an opinion on your relationship with Steve Harrington.

  Not a relationship. A friendship.

  No. 

  A mutual understanding. A common ground. An agreement of ceasefire of your overt…hatred. A, maybe, slow ascent to friendship, one day, perhaps. 

  Which seemed to please the idiot who was betting against Steve winning, well into the night. So, he agreed to take you out to lunch the next day, honoring your tradition, yet assuring you that the conversation was in fact, not over. 

  Robin finally breaks the silence, calling your name, then, “You good?”

  “Yeah,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Just debating sleeping with Harrington so Eddie loses three hundred dollars.”

  There’s a choking sound behind you, and you spin to see Steve’s mouth stuffed with Red Vines.

  Your Red Vines. 

  “Are you kidding me? What did I say!”

  You stomp towards him and he holds up his hands in surrender, talking around the candy, “Hey, remember me? Steve,” he swallows, backing away and tripping over his heels. “I’m the guy who brought you coffee two mornings in a row and has the ability to bring you to a delicious, cheesy burger, fast?”

  You’re inches from him and he yelps, wincing before you even attack, then a shouted, “I’ll pay!”

  Stopping in front of him, you snatch up the package of Red Vines and growl, “And a shake.”

  Robin gapes at the two of you, then looks at Steve, “You brought her coffee? You never bring me coffee.”

  Steve glares at her while he grabs the package of candy back and holds them high above your head, ignoring your protests. 

  “You can have these back when you learn to say please.”

  “Can you pass the salt?” You speak around the fries in your mouth.  

  Steve sits across from you, eyebrows raised. 

  “Please,” you grumble. 

  You shake the salt over the basket sitting between the two of you after he hands it to you. The basket holding the fries he ordered immediately and flashed the waitress a smile and wink for so you got some food fast while you waited for burgers and shakes. 

  He watches your shoulders relax after a few bites, and decides he can attempt conversation, “Better?”

  Your head nods, fingers covering your mouth full of food as you say, “Yeah. Thank you.”

  Steve nods too, looking anywhere but you while you lick salt from your thumb or suck on the straw in your glass of coke. 

  “Glad I could help.” He risks stealing a fry for himself, his stomach grumbling in protest as it watches you eat and it gets nothing. 

  “Sorry,” you fiddle with the straw wrapper in your hands, shrugging, “I know I much more resembled a ravenous wild animal than a normal human being back there.”

  “Glad you said it,” he mutters, ducking when you throw the folded straw wrapper at his face. He catches it, playing with it between his own hands, staring at the table. “You were pretty upset though, what’d you mean about tradition?”

  You shove fries in your mouth, buying time to respond, wondering how much you should tell Steve. 

  “Um,” you cough into your fist, squinting out the window at the sky turning gloomy. 

  “It’s okay,” Steve waves it off, “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

  He shoves fries into his own mouth, right as the waitress brings two burgers over, sliding a strawberry shake onto the sticky tabletop. Steve’s chewing becomes frantic, holding up his hand and you’re saying the words before you can even register what you’re doing.

  “Could he get some extra pickles please?” 

  “Of course, hon,” she sways off, delivering another shake at a different table while Steve blinks at you. 

  “What?” You avoid his intense gaze, looking at your burger as you lift it to your lips. 

  “Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me,” he finally says, smiling at the waitress when she drops off a small container of pickles. 

He looks at his burger, not you, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep talking about it.

  “Kind of make it hard to not pay attention, Harrington.”

  The pair of you sit in silence, chewing your burgers as rain starts to tap softly against the window, the red neon sign next to you flickering and making his yellow tshirt orange. 

  “Wish I knew you were watching sooner,” Steve looks up to find you already staring, “Wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot, maybe this would be a different story.”

  Your heart thuds in your ears, too warm under the softness of his eyes.

  “Acted?” You manage to push past your lips, tilting your head. 

  Steve smiles, and grabs for the shake, waiting for you to protest him putting a second straw into it. When you don’t, you surprise yourself by offering up, “It’s from the night we met.”

  He blinks at you, wrinkle forming between his brows as he sucks on the straw between his lips. You look away from them as you clarify, “Eddie. The diner. It’s a tradition from the night we met.”

  “Oh,” Steve nods, pushing the shake away and returning to his burger, adding another pickle. 

  “Yeah, I,” you close your eyes, then open them to look down at your food, blurting out, “Met him, after I threw that beer. In Brendan’s face. He took me to the diner, here, for pie, and I sort of spilled my guts to him.”

  Steve’s jaw pulses, the furrow of his forehead only deepening as you explain, not lessening. He takes another bite of his burger, ketchup smearing against the side of his mouth, offering you a reprieve from staring at his lips as he speaks around his bite, “Got it. That’s when you guys started dating, right?”

  You blink, lips parting but nothing comes out other than a shocked, “Ha!”

  Steve looks up at the scoff, taking in your wrinkled nose and how your eyes stare at his lips as you laugh, “Eddie…Ed,” you giggle, “No.”

  “You and…never?” Steve sits up straighter, eyes bouncing between your own. 

  “Not even a little bit,” you laugh, touching your lip, “You’ve got…”

  Steve swipes at his lips while he asks, “But you said you spilled your guts, I just assumed after what that asshole said and did that Munson like comforted and you and…”

  He trails off as you lean forward, rolling your eyes. 

  Your thumb swipes over the corner of his lip as you shrug, “Yeah, we bonded over assholes and crushing on people who’d never give us the time of day while sharing cherry pie. Best friends ever since.”

  Steve’s heart thrums as your fingers linger on his jaw, before you sit back again.

  And then you lick the ketchup off of your thumb. 

  He finally stumbles over the words, “I love pie.”

  “Yeah?” You grin, grabbing the shake.

  Steve nods, keeping eye contact as your cheeks hollow around the straw. But then he rolls his shoulders back and grabs the shake out from your lips and back across the table.

  “Except cherry. You’re delusional for choosing that over lemon.”

  “You’re delusional,” you yank the shake back towards you, “If you think you’re having any more of this.”

  Steve leans over the table as you begin to sip the shake again, only to wrap his lips around the second straw, noses bumping as he tries to drink it faster than you at the same time. 

  Your feet are intertwined under the table as you push at his shoulder and he tugs on the glass, both of you making a slurping noise as you get to the bottom, then grabbing at your temples from brain freezes while laughing.

  “I can’t stand you,” you push the glass towards the middle of the table. 

  “That’s better than detest, I’ll take it.”

    Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday

  Steve holds out the bag of popcorn to you, and you grin, taking some as you lean into him, a little tipsy, in the backseat of his car. 

  You, because you were last out to the car, and Steve, because he doesn’t do well in the front seat when Robin is driving. 

  Which is saying something, because Eddie isn’t doing so hot as it is.

  “No, Buckley!”

  “Give me a break, Eddie! It is super dark outside, and I’m a new driver, never attempted driving in the rain, and I don’t know wiper speed to rain droplet ratio!”

  You snort, nose in the popcorn bag as your shoulders shake. 

  Steve shushes you, mumbling, “You’re kind of a menace tonight.”

  “Eddie’s,” you hiccup, blinking up under heavy eyelashes at Steve’s profile, mesmerized by the freckles that dot it, “Fault. Got me all that beer.”

  “No comments-” Robin begins to talk over her shoulder.

  “Ba-ah-ah,” Steve points forward, stepping on an invisible brake in the backseat while Eddie grabs her chin and keeps it locked straight ahead.

  “From the peanut gallery,” she finishes loudly.

  “No peanuts back here,” you throw a piece at Eddie’s ear, “Just popcorn!”

  Steve remains facing forward, watching intently as Eddie directs Robin on slick roads towards her house. “You didn’t have to drink it all.”

  “Oh,” you sigh, sliding over to the window and pressing your forehead against the cool glass, “But I did, Harrington. For I am the champion of bowling night!”

  He opens his mouth, but you sit up straight again, and press your finger to his lips, softly saying (but thinking you’re singing), “No time for losers.”

  Steve smiles behind your finger, eyes soft and melting you a little. 

  Which you almost say out loud, but the song on the radio grabs your attention. You squeal, which makes Robin jump, which makes the car sway and Steve grab your shoulders, pushing you back on the seat as you yell, “Turn it up!”

  “You’re such a loser,” Eddie grumbles, but does as you request. 

  Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes plays a little louder, but no one can tell, because you’re loudly singing over him.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Steve watches you, and Robin bites her lip, fighting back laughter as you shout, “You all love this song, don’t lie to me!”

  You scream into your fist, dramatically singing, tossing your head, pointing at each of them. 

  “And all my instincts,” you take a deep breath and whip over to Steve, kneeling on the seat, “They return!”

  You shove your fist into Eddie’s face, who pretends to bite it, refusing to sing. But finally melts at your pout, mumbling along with you, “Without my pride.” Robin happily joins in, in a high falsetto, when you whip your fake microphone over to her, “I reach out from the inside.”

  As they all join in with you for the chorus, you fall backwards, laughing, catching Steve’s eyes. 

  You’d like to blame the beer, the cozy dark backseat, the way Steve smells, the rain, the fucking song. And while you can’t blame them for something that was inevitable, you can pretend that without this specific combination you never would have. 

  If you were sober, and In Your Eyes came on, you never would have touched the two freckles on Steve’s cheek, your fake microphone falling limp, palm flat against his chest. 

  If it weren’t dark, and he didn’t smell so good, you never would have let those same fingers drag down his jaw, only to linger on his lips. 

  And if it weren’t raining, and Robin hadn’t taken a second to look back in her mirror and say, “Holy shi-“

  It never would have happened. 

  Eddie shouts, Robin screams, and something heavy and warm is on top of you as the car spins on the water that’s flooded the streets. 

  Your ears are ringing, muffled words lost in the sound, and you can’t move, something holds you down. 

  It takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving anymore, and there’s hands on your cheeks. When your eyes blink open, there’s golden hazel ones that remind you of a scared boy looking at you intently.

  “Are you okay?” He gasps from on top of you where you’re both horizontal in the backseat now.

  “I’m fine,” Robin says sarcastically from the front seat, “Thanks for-“ Eddie shushes her.

  “Of course,” you grumble, hands that were clutched in Steve’s shirt loosening and pushing at him.

  His hands shake on your cheeks, fingers touching a spot on your forehead that has you wincing and his chest moving up and down faster.

  “Harrington,” you push at him more, his hand cups your cheek, eyes turning glassy as you insist, “I’m fine, get off.”

  “Hey,” you shake his shoulder as stares at your forehead, breathing harder still, “Harrington, relax. We’re all fine.”

  The side of his face flashes with red and blue, his heartbeat thuds against your chest as his breathing continues to ramp up. Your hands cup his jaw, thumbs delicately swiping over his cheeks. 

  “Steve. Look at me.”

  His shoulders shake with a stuttered breath and then his hand quickly reaches forward, gently cupping the back of your head as the door behind you opens. 

  Someone speaks, but neither of you hear them, eyes remaining on each other as you whisper, “Take a deep breath, Steve. Please?”

  You nod as he does, your hands loosening on his cheeks as he starts to let his weight hover over you instead of pushing you down. 

  A voice from behind you asks Steve to get out first. He’s held back as paramedics help you out of the car and lead you over to the back of the ambulance. Robin stands next to you and you shake your head, the words I’m so sorry easily able to read off of your lips and Robin stops them with her hand up. 

  Eddie stands next to him, watching, just as intently, and he clears his throat. 

  “That was…” he starts, looking at Steve, then back at you, now getting your forehead looked at. “Glad you were back there, man.”

  Steve nods, numb, as he watches you wince and say, “I’m fine,” to the EMT stitching you up. His fingers graze down the bridge of his nose and his swipes underneath it, nodding when Eddie says he’s gonna go check on Robin. 

  Everyone is fine, save for your head injury. His car is fine, save for a ding on the back bumper.

  Your side. 

  He saved you.

  He protected you. 

  He was scared for you. 

  Your heartbeat picks up as your gaze on the wet asphalt beneath your scuffed sneakers catches bright Nike’s approaching. 

  “How’s the patient?” 

  Steve’s voice is soft, scared, not a thing like you’ve ever heard before. 

  Which is maybe why when you look up at him, nothing comes out of your parted lips.

  Rain drips from the tip of Steve’s hair, curling around his ears, a droplet caught on his cupid’s bow, darkening the green shirt he wears. 

  The EMT stares down at you, waiting, then she smiles, staring at your forehead as she offers, “She’ll be okay. No concussion, probably a little sleepy from the pain meds she just took, but overall just a little dinged up. Nothing a little night of tender loving care from her boyfriend can’t fix.”

  “Oh, no, I’m-“

  “He’s not, we’re not-“

  Steve and you talk at the same time, stopping when the other speaks. 

  “Oh, my mistake,” she hums. She looks down at you as she inspects her last stitch, smiling softly, “Well, maybe some tender loving care from a friend then. Can I count on you handsome? Get her home safely?”

  Steve nods, cheeks pink as he waits for you to stand, his hand resting by your elbow just in case, then hovering near your lower back as he walks behind you towards his car. 

  “Dingus!” Robin shouts from Hopper’s truck. 

  Steve turns to look at her, and as he holds the door open for you, he leans down and murmurs, “I’ll be right back, you’re…you okay?”

  “Mhm,” you nod, blinking from the pain of the movement. 

  Steve doesn’t look like he believes you, but nods, and closes your door softly, running over to the truck, squinting in the rain. 

A soft tap hits the glass of your door and you jump, rolling the window down for Eddie, the boys swapping places without you realizing.

  “Hey sweetheart, how you doing?” He folds his arms on the frame of the door, bent down to take a closer look at your head. 

  “I’m fine,” you answer without thinking.

  Eddie’s lips twitch, fighting the urge for the joke, “Of course you are. You okay with Harrington taking you back? Hopper always can? Need me to stay over?”

  You watch Robin grab Steve’s jaw, pushing and pulling him to inspect him while he rolls his eyes and pushes her off. A much more physical approach, but the same as Eddie’s nonetheless. 

  When you don’t say anything, he follows your gaze and sighs. “Yeah, you’re okay. Fucking hell, I gotta figure out where I’m getting three hundred dollars from, thanks a lot you Peter Gabriel loving dork.”

  “Eddie, I-“ you protest and he waves his hand, smiling.

  “Save it, you’re hook line and sunk for him. You have been since the day I met you, fine.”

  He kisses your temple, opposite of your cut, and taps the hood of the car before jogging over to the truck, swapping with Steve again. But he pauses in the middle, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the car, then pats him and jogs off again. 

  Once Steve is back in the car, you wait for him to drive, to say something, but he looks at you expectantly and then you realize-

  Your seatbelt. 

  “Sorry,” you murmur, and then it’s silent. 

  No radio. 

  No talking.

  Just the swish of rain on the pavement under spinning wheels. The rhythmic pit then pat of it hitting his windows, the slosh of the wipers back and forth. Steve’s breathing. 

  You don’t realize you’ve been soothed to sleep from it all, the combination of alcohol and adrenaline fading, until the car is coming to a complete stop, engine off, and your door is being opened. 

  Steve leans over you, unbuckling the seatbelt, whispering, “Come on, trouble.”

  “Mmm,” you protest, eyelashes fluttering, head hitting the headrest with a frown. “Steve.”

  “I know, just a few more minutes then you’ll be in bed, come on.”

  His hands slide into yours, gently pulling you from the car, guiding you towards the stairs. Your lead filled eyelids blink with each step, as you mumble, “Keys.”

  “I got ‘em, come on,” his hand presses to your lower back, then roams higher, pressing lightly when you sigh from the feeling. 

  A door opens, a hand wraps around your waist and a shoulder supports your head. 

  Steve blinks in the low light of your lamp that must be on a timer, taking in your space for the first time. He closes your door, keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you sway while he bends down. 

  He watches you, as he unties a sneaker, patting your ankle as he quietly says, “Lift your leg up for me, honey.”

  You do as you’re told, blinking down at the boy who gently removes your shoe, then the other as you rest your hands on his shoulders for balance. 

  “Steve,” you gulp around his name, blinking back tears.

  He looks up at his name, frowning as he stands, large hands cradling your jaw as he tuts. “Hey, what’s the matter? What’re these for, huh?”

  His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, catching big tears that spill over your lashes as you blubber, “I’m so so-sorry. Everyone could have been really hurt. I hate Peter Gabriel. I’ll ne-never listen to hi-him again.”

  Steve laughs, and you frown, blinking at him through tears, “It-it’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”

  He clears his throat, nodding, “Right. It’s not funny.”

  His lips twitch when you frown more, fingers curling around his wrists that still support your cheeks.

  “Bedroom?” He asks softly.

  “Harrington,” you sniffle, eyes rolling, “I hardly think this is the time to try to make a move.”

  He shakes his head, “I meant so I can set you up before I leave, smartass.”

  You point down the hallway, but then sigh, “Can you get me a glass of water.”

  He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

  “Please?” you pout your lips out.

  Steve nods towards your bedroom, “Yeah, I can do that.”

  He watches you wander down the hallway, and click on a light in your room, before he heads to your kitchen. As he fills the glass up, he takes the opportunity to glance around at pieces of you he’s not normally let in on. Wondering where certain trinkets are from and what they mean to you. He notices the large collection of vinyl. He grins at the stack of Family Video tapes that are clearly over the rental limit, even for employees. 

  And he’s ready to say something sassy to you about it, when he reaches your room, but you’re already laying in your bed, eyes closed and curled up on your side.

  In his sweatshirt. 

  He sets the glass of water on the nightstand, then lifts your comforter, pulling it over bare legs exposed from small sleep shorts. He leaves a quick note about leaving your front door key in your mailbox. 

  Steve hesitates before clicking off the light, taking in your slow, even breaths, the shadows on your face, peaceful with sleep. 

  He kisses your cheek as he turns off the light, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than he probably should have. 

  “Goodnight, honey.”

AN: thanks for your patience in this chapter and the next! This chapter is actually what sparked the core of this whole series, and I’m excited to finally share it with you. It was originally being written in the winter, and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by a moment that happened between my parents before they were married! My dad and mom were in the backseat of a car, an accident happened, and my dad had leaned over to protect my mom, and she says that's when she knew she was in love with him. Take that for this story however you'd like 🤭 So while it’s not exactly what happened anymore, the essence is still there and I hope you love it, it definitely holds a special place in my heart. Also, I simply can’t help myself from including The Princess Bride in all of my series it seems. Thanks for being here!

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[bateman-whore]

Hiiii, I was wondering if you could write a fic where Patrick sees someone get a little too close to reader and murders him? 🔪🩸🫶

You belong with me

(Sorry for the Taylor Swift reference, Im not a swifty but it’s one of the few songs I can stand and I didn’t know what to title this lol, TW: murder, Patrick being Patrick)

Your pov

I sat at my desk, mindlessly typing away at my computer. I wanted nothing more than to get the day over with but the minute passed like hours. As I attempt to finish the paragraph, I hear a knock on my office door.

“Yep” I called out as the door opened, it was Paul.

“Hey y/n, how are you doing?” He asked, taking a seat in front of me.

“Meh, I just want to go home. It’s been a long day,” I laughed with my face in my hands.

“Oh I hear ya,” he says, flashing a grin, his teeth seemed a little too big for his mouth. “Now I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out tonight?” The question was accompanied by another big tooth grin.

“Listen, I would love to but-“ I was cut off.

“Oh come on like you have anything to do after work, pick you up at seven, yeah?” It wasn’t a question. He got up and started for the door.

“Paul I-“

“See ya!” And with that he closed the door behind him.

Before I could process what just happened, there was another knock on the door.

“Yep,” I called out again but instead of Paul, Patrick walked in. He sat down across from me and put his feet up on my desk. “Yes?”

“You and Allen seem to be getting close?” This was more of a statement rather than a question.

“I mean I guess, what does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” he said plainly and got up and left my office.

Patrick’s POV

I don’t know why but it does matter to me. For some reason I can’t live with the thought of Paul being so close to y/n,

“Hey Paul,” I leaned up against his cubicle walls, I took note of them, “nice set up you got there.” I picked up what seemed to be a family photo and examined it.

“Uh thanks I guess,” he took the photo out of my hands and placed it face down on his desk.

“God I can’t remember the last time I sat in a cubicle let alone worked in one,” I let out a laugh.

“What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you could stop by my place-“

“Nu uh uh uh, can’t. I got a date with y/n tonight,” he interrupted.

God he really has a problem with interrupting

“Yeah yeah, I’m sure you do, look it’s about your report, there’s something I need you to change.”

“Why can’t we talk about it right now?” He asked, confused.

“Because how can we discuss work matters without a drink or two?”

“I guess, as long as you make it fast,” he finally gave in.

Later that night, there was a knock on the door. When I opened it, it was Paul.

“Ah Paul come in, come in,” I stepped aside to let him in.

“Thanks for inviting me, but really we have to make it fast. I’m supposed to pick up y/n in 45 minutes,” he walked in taking his coat off, “are you renovating?” He asked taking note of the plastic sheets that cover every part of my living room.

“Sure. Can I get you a drink Paul? You look like an old fashion kind of guy.”

“Uh sure.”

I walked to the kitchen and poured him his drink, but before I went back to the living room, I crushed up a handful of downers and dissolved them in his drink.

“Do you like Huey Lewis and The News?” I asked him.

“There ok i guess,” he replied, taking a drink.

“Their early work was a little too new wave for my tastes, but when Sports came out in '83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor.” I started to ramble as I popped a CD in the player.

“Hey Halberstram.” I could tell Paul’s speech was beginning to slur. The drugs were taking effect.

“Yes Allen?”

“Why are there copies of the style section all over the place, d-do you have a dog? A little chow or something?”

“No, Allen.” I was in the kitchen at this point pulling on a raincoat. My ax was hidden behind the door frame.

“Is that a raincoat?” Allen laughed.

“ Yes it is! In '87, Huey released this, Fore, their most accomplished album. I think their undisputed masterpiece is "Hip to be Square", a song so catchy, most people probably don't listen to the lyrics. But they should, because it's not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it's also a personal statement about the band itself,” I took the ax and walked up behind Allen. I raised it above my head, “Hey Paul!”

He looked behind him at me as the ax came crashing down into his face. Blood splattered all over my face and body.

“TRY TAKING Y/N ON A DATE NOW, YOU FUCKING STUPID BASTARD! YOU, FUCKING BASTARD!”

I caught my breath and regained my composure. I cleaned up the scene, took a shower, did my skin care, and went to bed.

Part 2??? I’ll probably do a part two. Sorry if it’s not entirely accurate yk, I need to rewatch the movie. If you have a request my inbox is open and as always the gif and divider are not mine.

Mastearlist

[alex31624]

Duck Comic Reading Club Week 3: The Son of the Sun

I was excited for this one, since the McDuck clan traveled to Peru for this story. I have no complains in the way it was represented, Don Rosa actually investigated our history. Except for a minor detail that's not that important.

Scrooge is proud of his collection, but the only thing I could think was, "dude, you stole that from countries around the world". You may be scottish, but you have the manners of the english.

My boy Donald, he can't catch a break.

The first panel in Huey's story is spot-on, a bit of our real history in a Scrooge comic. Love to see that. In the next one, we enter in the fiction field, but it make me think, what would had happen if the ransom had not been paid.

This comic was written in 1987 and it breaks my heart that the people who live near Lake Titicaca are now as poor as they were back then.

I laughed hard with how easy was for Glomgold to fool Scrooge. That's a Team Rocket level disguise.

In the plane, they mentioned that they were over Vilcabamba, and they started their journey in Lake Titicaca (or Titicoocoo). The thing is, Vilcabamba is in Cuzco and Lake Titicaca in Puno, but those places are not so far away to be honest. In plane might be an hour.

But, I see that as an obligatory error in order to make the story work. Is nothing compared to the absurd Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull that puts the Nazca Lines in Cuzco, when they're most than 700 km apart, and the Nazca culture predates the incas by most than 1000 years.

Anyway...

Imagine Glomgold having a gun in The 87 Cent Solution!

Now you are truly dead Scroogie!

Glomgold took Donald and HDL hostages and they all arrive at Temple of Manco Capac.

The temple look a more maya the inca, but, is 1987. How many references Don Rosa had?

Is not like he had a $185 million budget and the internet to help him know the difference.

Anyway… good old Scrooge outsmarted Glomgold and keep the gold for himself.

How many politicians in Lima did you bribe, Scrooge? That gold is part of Peru national treasure! You can't keep it!

And like if stealing all our gold wasn't enough, they blow up a millenary temple and sunk it in the lake. The destruction of our patrimony has gone to far! Scrooge McDuck needs to be put behind bars!

And when I was thinking, at least he's going to make the life of the people a lot better with that station…

He claimed that he bought the Lake! And for one peso! That's not even our currency! We have never used peso, our currency at the time was the inti.

This was the straw that broke the camel's back. I declare Scrooge McDuck as Peru's number one public enemy!

The comic ends with one declaration I can't agree more.

You speak for us, anonymous andes man.

Jokes apart, it was a really good and fun adventure. Great debut from Don Rosa. I need to read more of his work.

I need to read Paperinik's Xadhoom! now.

[tiathecreator]

SWEET. - s. gojo. established relationship. sfw. black reader. banner info.

gojo knows you better than you know yourself.

he knows when you're tired by the twitch of your eyebrow. he knows when you're irritated by the look that you give him, signaling that you're about to verbally ( and possibly physically ) violate who ever is the source of your irritation. he knows when you've come up with a joke by the way you start to smile and attempt to hide it with your hands as you wait to tell your joke.

he knows how you take your coffee and tea. he knows your favorite foods and where to get them from. he knows your favorite colors, artists, authors, brands, and movies. he knows your values and aspirations in life.

he knows even smaller things like you prefer to write in pen because pencil can fade and smudge over time. he knows that you like to keep your thermostat at 70 °F regardless of the season. he knows what you're doing that day based on your shoes.

and he knows that you're in love with him.

he can see it in your eyes and your smile. he can hear it in your voice and your laugh. he can tell by your actions. so he knows it without you telling him.

he still loves it when you do.

it's well after midnight when he enters your shared apartment. there's a stream of light coming from the kitchen and low voices coming from the living room. he knows it's too late for you to be awake and assumes you left the tv on before going to sleep. he shakes his head amused and switches to his slippers before traversing through your apartment.

he stops in the kitchen first, taking note of the meal you prepped and put aside for him before "closing" the kitchen for the night. you even left a note for him, telling him what it is and where he can find more if he needed it. he smiled at the notion before putting the container in refrigerator, not having an appetite for anything other a deep slumber.

as he entered the living room, he was greeted with the sight of you struggling to stay awake as you watched reruns of boondocks episodes. he leaned against the archway, admiring you as you tiredly giggle at one of huey's one liners. you were prepped for bed, dressed in a camisole and boy shorts with your silk bonnet covering your coily afro.

"what're you doing up, baby?" he said, seeming to have just alerted you of his presence as you looked over at him in surprise. he smile widened at your startled expression before walking over to stand in front of the couch.

"was waiting for you. haven't seen much of you lately, so i wanted to make sure you were okay," you mumble out, looking up at him from your seated position.

"aww, worried about little ole me? y'know i'm always okay," gojo assured you, taking your chin in his palm before bending down and placing a chaste peck on your lips. you chased his lips, kiss ending too soon for your liking, but he pulled away and stood straight. "do you do this every night?"

"would you believe me if i said no?" you smiled sheepishly, knowing that he wouldn't be happy to know how often you waited up for him. sometimes you'd even fall asleep on the couch, waking up in the early morning hours to retire to your empty bed.

"baby..." gojo sighed, hands trailing down your arms and to your hands. he grasped your hands, pulling you from the couch and into his arms. you rested your head against his chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart as he led you to your bedroom.

"i know, i know. i only do it when you don't say when you'll be home. i just miss you and want you safe. that's all," you mumble out, wrapping your arms around him and shuffling closer. gojo felt what was left of his stress melt away as you secured your arms around him. he paused in his walking and gazed down at you.

as a sorcerer, there were many times when gojo wouldn't be home for days at a time. he always made his best effort to inform you and would even give you updates during meal times. there were a few instances in which you'd send him a video of you doing any little task and would talk as if he was there with you. there wasn't a lot of time for calls, so these video memos were the perfect way to see you and hear your voice.

"hm?" you look up at him, chin resting on his chest. gojo smiled softly at you, bending down for another kiss. this one was a bit longer and much deeper as you pushed yourself towards his lips. it was still soft like a sweet whisper, the silence screaming the unsaid love confessions. gojo pulled away, observing you again before continuing to walk.

"you're so sweet."

© tiathecreator — do not repost, plagiarized, or falsely claim my work. likes, comments, and reblogs are welcome!

[ratlordsarah]

absolute ton of wg music HCs because I am obsessed with music

dr two brains/ steven

-obsessed with the 80s

-favorite song is between careless whisper, and out of touch by Daryl hall & John Oates

-most certainly goes on summer night drives with the window rolled down listening to songs like everybody rules the world and other various 80s songs

-favorite band is between queen and abba

Amazo guy

-obsessed with the 90s

-secretly loves Britany spears, but won’t tell anyone

-favorite songs are starman by David Bowie, everybody by the Backstreet Boys, and his secret third favorite is baby one more time by Britany spears

-favorite bands/artists are David Bowie and the backstreet boys

becky

-doesn’t listen to music much, but really likes come on Eileen by dexys midnight runners, and livin la vida loca by Ricky Martin

-will listen to about everything except rap (out of spite towards Toby)

toby

-Eminem fan

-absolutely loves counting stars by one republic, the ceiling can’t hold us by Macklemore, and nearly any imagine dragons song

-probably would be a lemon demon fan

lady redundant woman

-favorite songs are definitely 9 to 5 by dolly pardon, bad romance by lady gaga, and dancing queen

-favorite song by frank Sinatra is definitely strangers in the night

-favorite band is abba

-probably cries to dancing queen each time that song plays

the butcher

-favorite songs are sweet home Alabama, fortunate son, and stayin alive by the bee gees

-favorite bands/artists are lynyrd skynyrd, Elton John, Bon Jovi, and Billy Joel

-goes nuts over you may be right by Billy Joel and will talk about it for hours

-old time rock n roll by bob seger is actually his ultimate favorite

invisi-bill

-favorite songs are counting stars by one republic, and centerfold by the j. Geils band

-half his playlists are energetic songs from movie soundtracks

-quite literally floats of the ground listening to free bird

-if the song’s not energetic, he doesn’t like it

miss question

-favorite song is without a doubt killing me softly with his song by fugees and ms. Lauryn hill (based)

-Whitney Huston is her hero

-other favorites are funky town, super freak by Rick James, cake by the ocean by dnce, and just about any Michael Jackson song

-her and two brains probably have the best music taste for a long late night car ride

chuck the evil sandwich making guy

-listens to mostly video game soundtracks

-favorite songs are nearly every remix made of megalovania and buddy holly by weezer

-loves 80s music but doesn’t know it

-will listen to nearly anything

-listens to emo music when people don’t find the “deeper meaning” behind him nearly crushing a school under a sandwich press over a hair net (same bro, same 😔)

Miss power

-favorite song is holding out for a hero by Bonnie tyler

-enjoys just about any song with the word ‘power’ in the title

-secret that handsome devil, and Katy Perry fan

Leslie

-likes anything abba

-favorite song is lay all your love on me by abba

whammer

-literally any loud and energetic song

-likes 2econd 2ight 2eer by will wood, but hates the lyrics for no reason

mr. Big

-Huey Lewis and the news fan

-really likes the 60s

-really likes loud music

Am I a little too hyper obsessed with music? Absolutely 👍

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 22

chapter 38:

1. “"Right, so, your stylist?" Marlene asks, settling in as they continue to sway. "The one who looks like a fucking goddess? Yeah, so get this, she says we're friends…"”

james and marlene gossip sesh <3333333

2. 😧 MCGONNAGAL??????????

3. wait i think mcgonnagal is good. i’m pretty sure she’s from the phoenix. i’m not sure. i’m hopeful. i’m so hopeful

4. aww huey is kinda sweet. i like that’s he’s reg’s breath of fresh air when it comes to talking to the hallows

5. reg, i understand your anger, but please don’t make one of the only good sponsors feel bad

6. jealous james >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

7. “"I like your tea," James offers. "Maybe I'm biased, but it tastes better than anyone else's. What do you do to it?"

Regulus hums and lightly says, "I spit in it."

Without missing a beat, James replies, "Ah, that explains it."”

😭😭😭😭😭

8. “"Would you—" Regulus chokes on another relentless giggle, gasping a little. "Wait, would you actually drink my tea if I spit in it, James?"

"Love, I would let you spit directly into my mouth," James announces with absolutely no shame in his tone whatsoever.”

😭😭😭😭 james i love you

9. awww i love that barty is the most consistent part of reg’s life. i love barty

10. 😬 riddle is unconvinced in their love story. i- yikes

11. okay, right, mcgonnagal is good. thank god

12. dorcas wants to keep marlene out of the war, but only one of them has had a pov so far, so i’m not hopeful

13. oh shit marlene sounds hot

14. also, to add in, i’m so fucking glad there’s like no homophobia (that we know of) in this world

15. i do NOT want dorlene to be a tragedy in this universe

16. 😟 she gave back the ring. AHHHH

17. oh no. shit shit shit shit shit what did riddle do

18. “Riddle didn't even grant the liberty of leaving bodies behind for them to bury.” 😟😧

(but also, orion and walburga were dicks, so like, i’m not sad, just scared)

chapter 39:

1. aww regulus finally invites james in for tea

2. “On the day he accidentally kills a bee while tending to his flowers, he goes through the five stages of grief in less than an hour, which has nothing to do with the bee and everything to do with Vanity.” STOP! THE VANITY MENTION HURTS TOO MUCH

3. “When Regulus wants more time with him, he adds bagels, which James has now unconsciously been Pavloved into thinking of as his favorite food for that very reason.” STOP THATS SO GAY

4. sirius being dramatic about james and reg liking each other is TOP TIER in this fic, in the most realistic, aggravated, obnoxious, and completely loving way

5. BWAHAHAHHAHA JAMES GETTING A PIGGY BACK RIDE FROM SIRIUS IS GOLD

6. oh shit, (i’m not the best comprehensive reader, but i should have figured this out sooner), but from sirius’ perspective, he has to do the back and forth with remus his whole life. he doesn’t have the knowledge that i do, that a war is coming and they’ll finally get a chance to live together. he thinks he only gets to see remus once a year for two weeks at a time. this- this shit is heartbreaking yall

7. “”I watched him stand to his feet and tip himself into a river of blood in an act so tender that I'll never again be able to look at him with anything less than pure love. Every other member of the Black family, including you, fought and clawed their way home to their family, oftentimes to a family that never truly made them feel loved at all. Regulus? He fought and clawed through that arena, the entire time, for James. He's far more gentle than anyone gives him credit for."”

y’all, i’m crying over this. this is so lovely. effie is right, and i’m crying over how right she is

8. 😒 i know what’s coming. riddles a bitch. a right bitch. he’s gonna announce that previous victors are competing and i’m PISSED

9. so far, all three potters offered reggie food. they’re so hospitable, i love them

10. “He hasn't forgotten what it is to long for James. He still knows what it is to want him so badly that he'd be willing to kneel at the altar of James Potter and beg; he'd drop down on his hands and knees and crawl if that's what it took, if that would prove his devotion. He is the manifestation of longing built up with nowhere to go, and he craves, he yearns, he covets.”

both of them are so down bad

11. omg reg is so horny. his inner monologue is literally only like “”””“rip my clothes off please, read my mind and rip my clothes off”””””

12.AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I KNEW IT WAS COMING! BUT IM SO MAD!!! FUCK RIDDLE

13. effie is a queen. she is a godsend. and i’m so upset right now

14. not effie making them promise not to volunteer, and immediately james and sirius arguing over who’s gonna volunteer for her

15. i’m seething. i’m pissed beyond belief. i’m so angry it’s indescribable. my babies are going back into that arena. honestly, fuck riddle

[zixinyu]

Hi! I know this is kind of embarassing of me, but your DonOdin art gives me life, especially that Howls Moving Castle AU art you made, those artpieces are like beautiful paintings! I know you made art about them like four years ago, but I still appreciate those artworks so much! DonOdin for life!!! 😁💙💚

asfsajfhkjsaf??? thank you so much for your kind words @bullfinch-lover! I adore them, they're such an iconic duo, your honour they have my entire heart- duno absolutely for life!

I've been in an art funk for a while and irl things are busy, so I haven't been around but thank you much for loving my art! Has it really been four years aaaa??? I remembered had other funny ideas for that au like how the triplets were cursed to be one person, and Donald finding it out by meeting each of them at different hours of the day (Huey in the morning, Dewey in afternoon and Louie at night) but I wasn't sure how to draw it out so that idea had to be left behind. Maybe one day I'll be inspired to draw for that au again, especially the swallowing star scene!

Meanwhile though, please have this smol doodle as my thank you for your sweet message! Have a good day and thank you again!

[knuckles-junior]

@webbyweek2023

Webby Week 2023 Day 7: Family/ Comfort

Plus a bonus to give this drawing some context by giving y’all a sneak peek of what’s to come for my ducktales fanfic!

•••

After Scrooge found out what Webby was doing at the beach house, he decided to have a serious talk with her. The family was gathered around the table. Webby has her head down.

“Webbigail, It’s summer break. Why are you working at a place like this? You know you’re way too young to get a job!”

“Dad, I’m sorry. I just want to be like you. To become more independent..."

“Do you have any idea how worried I was? We were all trying to look for you! I was afraid that my little girl would get hurt again.” Scrooge sighed. “But, thank goodness you’re okay. Now, please change out of those clothes so we can relax.”

“This place is going out of business.”

“Wait. It is?”

“It’s true, Mr. McDuck.” The manager said. “If I can't get any customers, then my restaurant will close its doors.”

Scrooge raised an eyebrow on the manager. “How do you know me?”

“Webby told me everything about you. I have heard your name a few times back when my restaurant was alive.”

The rest of the ducks were all facing the manager with their eyes widened.

“In the past, I had a group of amazing employees that kept my customers happy. We were known for our famous breakfast.”

Webby raised her hand. “Are we talking about pancakes? There’s this friend of mine that loves them.”

“I was going to mention that we were mostly popular with our pancakes. Everyone loved them. Especially when it’s topped with chocolate chips and maple syrup.”

“Yum. Now I want some.” Webby giggled.

“But, now that the nearby club is open, my group of people left me behind, and nobody wanted to come here anymore.”

After hearing the manager’s backstory, Scrooge puts his arm around Webby. "I'm sorry sweetie."

“Dad?”

“I didn't realize that you were trying to help out this kind man.”

“Well, I always love helping the people I love. One time, Dewey and I helped Penumbra with her homesickness problem. I got her to try a hamburger for the first time!”

“It’s always the old saying that to get one’s heart is through their stomachs. Beakley always worked around the kitchen back at the mansion. She always puts her heart into making delicious food. If your granny can do it, so can you." Scrooge winked at Webby.

Webby looks at Scrooge and the rest of the gang. She's come this far into who she really is, and it was all thanks to her family.

“You’re right, dad. I want to make all these dishes with all of you. And maybe, we can all eat them together!”

“That’s the spirit! As long as we work together as a family, we can lure those people into trying our own food.”

“You mean, a new recipe?” Huey asked.

“Ooh! I like the sound of that!”

“How about we serve chili dogs?” Della suggested.

“I have something that will blow your mind: Dewberry pancakes!”

“I think people want Pep.”

After hearing each other’s ideas one by one, Webby thought it would be a great idea.

“We gotta clean up the place first, and maybe do some decorating before the restaurant even opens.” Huey also suggested.

“That’s exactly what we’re gonna do. The restaurant opens at 10’ am sharp. And we have about three hours to get everything ready.”

Scrooge smiled once more, and he stood up from his chair. Everyone gathered and put their arms in. “Alright, everyone. Let’s do this!”

The family raised their hands in the air. “Yeah!”

•••

DuckTales: Adventures in Duckburg! Coming Spring 2024!

[general-klumpp]

DuckTales THEORY: Team Who?

Hello Duckblr! We know that in DuckTales 2017, Huey, Dewey and Webby have their own definite cliques, but what if this idea were to extend to each of the six Duck children in hypothetical future seasons?

TLDR: If DuckTales kept going on, we would have seen more Louie/Doofus/Goldie episodes. May's interrogative side can blend her in with the Rescue Rangers.

Team Science (Huey)

Huey's group of allies usually revolves around working on scientific breakthroughs and his hero, Gizmoduck. Huey stories would usually involve these specific characters:

Gyro Gearloose

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera (Gizmoduck)

Manny

BOYD

Gandra Dee

Huey's enemy is usually Mark Beaks, a businessman who makes his living off dumb and/or stolen ideas, which is totally against his moral code. If executed better, Dr. Akita could make a better contender.

Team Action (Dewey)

Dewey's group of allies usually revolves around getting into dangerous situations, definitely not due to the influence of Launchpad or his very own mother, Della. Dewey stories would usually involve these specific protagonists:

Launchpad McQuack

Della Duck

Drake Mallard (DW)

Gosalyn Waddlemeyer (an extension of DW)

Kit and Molly

Dewey's enemy is usually Don Karnage, a deranged air pilot who will go to any lengths to gain vengeance on him. Falcon Graves has also appeared in Dewey stories, a serious contender for his showboating.

Team Scheme (Louie)

Despite being shown to be a charmer in the show, Louie falls flat when it comes to making secure friends, especially when it's in his nature that he is the 'evil triplet' of the Duck boys. However, the cunning antihero, Goldie O'Gilt is quite fond of him. Louie stories would definitely involve these specific characters:

Goldie O'Gilt

Doofus Drake

Ottoman Brothers (placeholder because they're always in the background of Louie stories)

Although Louie completely destroyed Glomgold in S2, I'd love to see Rockerduck as his enemy, as the Wild West Swindler has a more interesting way to battle - with his words, instead of his fists.

Team Magic (Webby/April)

Webby's group of allies usually revolves around trying to fix the curses laid out from Scrooge's adventures, or his most powerful enemy, Magica De Spell. Webby stories would usually involve these specific characters:

Lena Sabrewing

Violet Sabrewing

Blackarts Beagle (redemption arc??)

Phantom Blot and Pepper (maybe they're forced to team-up??)

Morgana (placeholder because they don't have a grown-up hero)

Webby and Lena's enemy is usually Magica De Spell, a witch who wants to use her powers to abuse and take advantage of others, completely opposite to how Webby wants to play.

Team Mystery (May)

Despite the wishes of her current guardian, Donald Duck, I could see May get into contact with her ilk, also experimented on by FOWL - no other than the Rescue Rangers themselves!

Chip and Dale

Gadget Hackwrench

Monterey Jack

Zipper

...and maybe Detective Gokart from the comics (a loser that May could help to become a better person)

Perhaps the Rescue Rangers have found a larger FOWL experiment gone rogue and they need a heroine around their size to help bring the experiment to justice.

Team ??? (June)

Team Sports? Team Wellbeing? Team Theatre? Team Adorable? It seems that poor June is the only one I can't think of for a team.

By process of elimination, the only frequent group of protagonists without a child character to support them are the gods/goddesses of Ithaquack.

Bum Bum Ghigno, an everyday person from the comics might help her appreciate the normal and might draw parallels between the clone twins and his relationship with his brother.

I'd love to put the Idle Hour Club from Donald's first ever cartoon somewhere, but those stories wouldn't be fun.

[study-with-aura]

Saturday, March 30, 2024

It felt weird doing school work on a Saturday, but I have done it before. I featured more of the yummy candy I received in the photo. I have eaten a little of it already, but I think it's going to last me several weeks, if not a couple of months. I do not eat candy much at all, which is strange because I love things that are sweet! Still, it's nice to have a treat at the end of the study day. I don't agree with giving food as a reward, but it feels that way, even though I would still eat it whether I finished all of my studying or not.

Tasks Completed:

Geometry - Reviewed simple probability, basic probability terms, and sample spaces and tree diagrams + reviewed the counting principle + practice

Lit and Comp II - Read chapter 47 of Emma by Jane Austen

Spanish 2 - Listened to Spanish speakers + answered questions in Spanish

Bible I - Read 1 Samuel 1

World History - Watched second half of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich + added to my timeline

Biology with Lab - Completed dichotomous key assignment

PE/Health I - Read a health article about lead and the body

Foundations - Read the definition of sincerity + completed the next quiz on Read Theory + looked at more advertisements

Piano - Practiced for four hours in one hour split sessions

Khan Academy - Completed High School Biology Unit 7: Lesson 3 (parts 6-7)

CLEP - Completed Module 11 reading "Europe: 1918-1945" 13.10-13.10.2 + Watched Module 11.4 lecture video

Streaming - Watched Hitler’s Circle of Evil episodes 3 and 4

Duolingo - Studied for 15 minutes (Spanish, French, Chinese) + completed daily quests

Reading - Read pages 109-157 of Beneath the Wide Silk Sky by Emily Inouye Huey

Chores - Deep cleaned refrigerator, stove and kitchen counters + put away groceries

Activities of the Day:

Personal Bible Study (1 Corinthians 12 + Week 6 reflections)

1 hour gaming

2 hours yoga/stretch (split into one hour sessions)

Journal/Mindfulness

-

What I’m Grateful for Today:

I am grateful for smoothie bowls!

Quote of the Day:

Miracles happen everyday, change your perception of what a miracle is and you'll see them all around you.

-Jon Bon Jovi

🎧SUPERWOMAN - UNIS

[justaboot]

fine okay HBO human DT would be like

(tw blood, gore, drugs, suicide mention)

Beakley's husband was killed by their daughter, who was a FOWL big bad. Beakley loved her more than anything but, in the end, they couldn't stop her, and she locked her in an uncrackable limbo pocket dimension, took newborn Webby, and told everyone she was dead. Every night, she doesn't think about how she's still in there, alive and rotting. (I hc this regardless)

Gladstone signed away his soul for glitz, luck, and luxury when he was young. He rains gifts and affection down on the kids, decked in the best money can buy and bored by all of it, surrounded by designer drugs and sex and fancy friends and desperately lonely when he's not with the fam.

Pre-series, the boys' father was a traitor who sold them out, nearly to Donald and Scrooge's death. Della goes alone to a standoff in an abandoned plane hangar, fucks him good one last time to get close before beating his head in with a socket wrench.

Goldie told her how.

The kids figure out Gyro's fallen into a brutally accelerating addiction to a stimulant chem of his own design, bc its producing incredible results. Scrooge has been looking the other way. Because results.

Actual Scary Girl Webby in a real way. She wants answers, and has no understanding of taboos. Stares at her first dead body way too long. Asks della too many questions about self-amputation, what it smelled like, if she could feel the difference between muscles and tendons when cutting. Did the ligaments snap back? did the bone splinter? did you see marrow? She just wants to know. The next day she asks bentina if they can get a whole pig to pit-roast and if she can be the one to carve it. Watched Scrooge and Goldie from the vent in his bedroom, looked too long at the line of Goldie's back as she moved and thought about it all night.

We see Beakley actually homeschool them. They have a library thats the school room, and Huey and Webby practice cello in Webby's room. They test themselves on new languages they're learning together by talking through music theory in them while playing.

Huey made Della a teak shower bench. Not HBOcore but its true and you should know it. It replaced the chrome one, and on bad nights, she hands out in there in the steam at 4 in the morning bc the room is bright and warm and the fan is loud and beakley'll be up in an hour which means the house wont be Still and Quiet.

Louie actually gets caught up in the underground crime scene. He slowly builds confidence gets too cocky, and gets in deeper and deeper shit until it goes south. Fast. His tricks dont work, because hes TEN, and Goldie has to pull him out of a human trafficking ring. He doesn't think to ask what she was doing there until much later, and she's already gone.

We see Donald's therapy sessions. He loves the boys more than anything or anyone in the world. He tells his therapist that he hates his sister for what she did to his future. His therapist asks if he hates the children, too, and Donald hesitates. He loves the boys.

Magica has Scrooge for weeks during the Shadow War. Plays out all his failures in shadow puppets on the wall for him. The spear, his parents, his sisters, goldie, everything. she was there in the dime for the whole ten years he was alone, and she plays out all the ugliest things he said and did. Shapeshifts through all the friends he's lost to taunt him, spitting words as young Donald. She shifts into Della, asking in her voice why he'd do that, telling him how painful it was, how it feels to freeze to death, what human lungs sound like when there's no oxygen to breathe. You'd think they'd be quieter, but there's a wet crackle that sounds like a sponge. She tells him how he was going to kill the boys, too, because he's too selfish, but it's not a problem now, because they've left again. They're safe now. But she says it all so kindly. He's exhausted and hes starving and hes half out of his mind, so when he asks what she wants from him and she puts a knife in his hands and tells him to end it, he does. Until the knife turns to smoke, he's unharmed, and it's not della but Magica who's laughing at him. Lena sees the whole thing, and later on, when the kids find out, Scrooge omits details, and the kids laugh at how Magica would ever think Scrooge would go through with it, just give up. He'd never give up. Lena doesn't say anything, and Scrooge doesn't look at her, and he has to cope with believing that'll be the last time he'll ever hear della's voice.

Lena Comes Back WrongTM

anyway you get it. everyone has a really rough duality. feel free to add.

(this post got too long, ask me later about the boys' birth and scrooge's secret s1 curse)

[hueberryshortcake]

"And if you ever get a war without blood and gore / I'll be the first to go"; An Exploration of Draft-Dodging Activity in DuckTales Characters

Abstract

Obviously we're all asking ourselves this question: Would Scrooge McDuck be a draft dodger? I endeavor to answer this question to its furthest extent, and to expand upon these implications and the potential actions of his comrades were they in danger of being drafted.

Some notes:

It is past my bedtime and this is probably significantly less funny than I think it is but I'm a history major who knows slightly more about this topic and the "duckverse" as it were than I probably should; additionally, I am using this as an opportunity to pretend that I'm not supposed to be reading Descartes right now. god i love my life

listen to Draft Dodger Rag by Phil Ochs for the full experience. I too have a wracked up back, am allergic to flowers and bugs, get epileptic fits when the bombshell hits, and am addicted to a thousand drugs.

if I get canceled for this at least I'm going out with a bang

I said ducktales in the title as an attention grabber but I'm not working exclusively with dt17 characterization or context. I'll probably use what I know best which is the shows and a smattering of American comics

im american obviously

"what war are they drafting for" idk maybe it's peacetime maybe It's a wwii scenario maybe [elroy patashnik voice] It's Vietnam Baby! maybe I'm making shit up idk use your imagination don't think about this too hard or take it too seriously [<- guy who spent 3+ hours writing + read an essay about Thomas Hobbes to put this together]

Scrooge McDuck

Okay so. Obviously he is technically elderly and also has bad eyesight so like he wouldn't have to. Let's ignore these factors because it's way more fun.

For at least half his life Scrooge has the funds to discreetly buy his way out of military service. However, it is a well-distinguished trait of his that he refuses to use his wealth as a ladder to success. Given this, it is easy to conclude that he would use his hardworking grit or whatever and con his way out of the draft the good old fashioned way. He could fall back on any existing or faked conditions but I'd prefer to think he'd end up doing something round-about and ridiculous because it would be way funnier.

Additionally:

if my meaning is caught here.

Conclusion:

dodger

Goldie o'Gilt

Any and every iteration of Goldie can and will dodge the draft by any means necessary. The more dastardly, the more fun it will be for her. She will bribe an official. She will seduce an official. She will claim conscientious objector status despite having little-to-no qualms about violence [citation needed]. Barks' Goldie will be so so so sad and pitiful and say think of the orphans. 1987 Goldie will shoot any government official who tries to come collect her. 2017 Goldie will do whatever is most entertaining to her at any given time.

[Footnote: Maybe she's Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. idk]

Conclusion:

wholehearted dodger

Bentina Beakley

(Within 2017 context) this question is difficult for me to answer. Yes she is old. No she is not physically unfit. No she is not huge on deception. Yes she loves rules. No she probably is not excited about the government or the military. Yes she is, it you will excuse my being so blunt, a girlboss.

My conclusion?

I know she's an elderly British woman but Bentina Beakley IS Captain America

Conclusion:

Not a dodger

Huey, Dewey, and Louie

In the time of Vietnam my grandparents may or may not have snuck drugs to someone so that when the government went to do their medical examination this person was having wacked up symptoms and they were presumed to be unfit for service. Barks' triplets especially would be doing this sort of thing all over the place (see "Gladstone Returns" (1948)). The 1987 triplets could be convinced to act similarly.

The 2017 triplets may also do this, but it would inevitably play out differently, as former incarnations of HDL have generally relied on them as a unit to interact with other characters and plot elements, while the 2017 boys' strength is largely in their interpersonal dynamics; as such, there would be significantly more push-and-pull between the three of them narrative-wise. I could theorize further but I don't really feel like it.

Suffice it to say: No but only because they're perpetually twelve.

[Footnote: the Quack Pack (1996) triplets are more likely to be in the running for the draft (they're old enough to drive by the time the show takes place, so they're likely 16 or 17. The US conscription cutoff was lowered to 18 in 1942. They had better be damn careful). As Huey explained his plans to get out of military service, Louie would say, "Do you guys ever think that by conning our government we're breaking the social contract we've created with our sovereign authority and actually betrayed the self-preservation we're claiming to protect, much like Thomas Hobbes outlined in his 1651 novel Leviathan?" at which Huey and Dewey would look at each other and then say "what's your point" and that would be that. For the purposes of this exercise you may exclude them from your rankings now.]

Conclusion:

Not dodgers but only by technicality

Gyro Gearloose

Much like Leon Theremin Gyro would be pulled from a gulag and forced to create devices to aid the USSR cause.

[Footnote: if i remember correctly the USSR killed all the scientists and or put them in gulags and then got confused when they didn't have any scientists to help them against the US in the cold war. lmao.]

[Secondary footnote: Yes that was the guy who invented The theremin. he also invented a listening device that was hidden in the white house]

[Tertiary footnote: Gulag kermit]

Conclusion:

Not a dodger but mainly on threat of death

Flintheart Glomgold

yeah

Conclusion:

Dodger

Gladstone Gander

Gladstone would dodge the draft if he had to but his luck would result in his lottery never being pulled and/or the government losing his profile. Donald would be so fucking mad.

Conclusion:

fuck I ran out of space for pictures. I'm doing some of these out of order [dodgeball.jpg]

Dodger but on a technicality

Fethry Duck

Fethry is perpetually a college student and also (points to beatnik archetype) probably stoned out of his mind at all times. I claim the "addicted to a thousand drugs" clause.

Conclusion:

dodgeball.jpg

Dodger but not maliciously

Launchpad McQuack

I haven't watched Gomer Pyle since I was like 10 and I remember almost nothing from it but I feel like that would be his experience

Conclusion:

rosie.jpg

Not a dodger

Webbigail Vanderquack

she is 12 years old

Conclusion:

rosie.jpg

Not a dodger

Donald Duck

I'm saving my favorites for last. I know you've all been waiting for them. here are the Duck twins

2017 Donald I'm gonna be real I'm not really sure. 1987 Donald joins the military on purpose. Quack Pack Donald would really really really not want to and would probably try to dodge in the saddest most cowardly ways possible (I support him). he could and would fake an injury, any of those old cartoon-esque tricks. I feel Barks Donald may fall into this category as well.

Donald is Schrödinger's serviceman; he both is and is not a part of the military at any given time. Like the gods of old, his mythos transcends the limits of many labels and characteristics. He would love to serve his country; he hates doing things for other people and being told what to do. He feels a sense of duty; he is beholden to no one but his hammock.

[Footnote: Here the author would encourage the reader to ponder the wonders of homosexuality in the American Navy of yore. Okay cool moving on]

Conclusion:

man idk

Della Duck

Della would have no qualms about resisting the draft. Drawing on the Phil Ochs song for inspiration, possible methods include:

being 18

(pretending to have) bad eyesight

flat feet (all ducks have flat feet....)

asthma

getting a boyfriend

poor old invalid aunt (read: claiming to be caretaker for scrooge, who is soooo old and frail and can't be left alone, come on guys)

college student

working in a defense plant

allergic to flowers and bugs

addicted to a thousand drugs

Additionally,

Straight up just not showing up when conscripted

Claiming to be homosexual (she doesn't have to be lying)

Convincing the medical examiner that she's hysterical

Bribery I guess but it's kind of tactless

Becoming pregnant with triplets

HOWEVER.

and I have considered this extensively.

her ass would join the air force. like for funsies. now to be honest this is like a really really really bad idea in war time because if you've ever looked at the statistics (I have) "As Donald L. Miller writes In *Masters of the Air*: "By the end of the war, the Eighth Air Force would have more fatal casualties—26,000—than the entire United States Marine Corps. Seventy-seven percent of the Americans who flew against the Reich before D-Day would wind up as casualties.""

like. not a great choice

[Footnote: at this point my thought process is almost entirely centered around the 40s]

As a result I feel that Della may let herself get involved in the war effort in some capacity (ie nursing (she would hate this), working in a factory (she would hate this), being a test pilot like the WASPs (she would love this but everyone would hate her bc she's reckless and insane), or being an air force pilot if able. she would do this to be sooooo bisexual

generally speaking I feel the second that she was put into active combat or got bored she would desert immediately

Conclusion:

cupcakeinthemiddleofabarrenwasteland.jpg

Deserter!

In closing,

I spent three hours compiling this and I have more thoughts that I could have added but left out for the sake of brevity (ie thoughts on Daisy and the USO)

I'm sorry that I think draft dodging is funny it runs in my family idk

war is bad

not a huge fan of the draft either

big fan of Phil Ochs though. my mom makes me perform that song when we have guests over

scrooge mcduck says don't trust the government. or do I'm not your boss

this concept got out of hand so quickly. so quickly.

I hope this post is not a cancelable offense but if I go down for speaking the truth I'll do it with my head held high

I am going to go eat microwave ramen [it is midnight and I have to leave at 8:30 so I'm really cutting it close here]

[quiverwingquack]

to face unafraid, the plans that we've made

(My giftee for @duckblrsecretsanta2023 was @georgiarose! I hope you like it!)

Gyro and Fenton decide to head home together, and are greeted with the first snow of the season.

The lab is quiet. Manny went home hours ago, and Boyd and Huey took Lil Bulb back to the mansion for some kind of sleepover. That was… four hours ago? Five? Gyro’s been too wrapped up in his latest project to pay much attention to the clock. If he just adjusts this dial, and attaches the wiring to the panels just right, it might work better than last time. And Fenton’s part should be finished tomorrow, so they can start beta tests on this version, so–

“It’s, um, it’s getting late, is all,” Fenton stumbles through his sentences. “I guess–I, um, I just think you should get some rest too. And now would be a good time! I–I mean, if you want to, that is, I–yeah. Sleep?”

Gyro looks up from the gizmo he’s been tinkering with, catching a glimpse of a fading blush on Fenton’s cheek feathers. He hadn’t been listening, but the sight gives him butterflies–why, he doesn’t know, they’ve been together for a few months now–and he puts down his work. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go home and get some rest now, anyway. They’ve had a lot of late nights in the lab lately, one too many projects in progress, and he knows they’ll both do better work when they’re well-rested, anyway.

“That sounds great, Doctor,” he replies, watching that blush blossom across Fenton’s face again. He’s usually not one to tease, at least not so affectionately, but Fenton’s a sweetheart, and he loves to see him flustered. “Maybe I’ll buy us something to eat, on the way.”

“Oh! I, um, yeah. I–yes! Food sounds great!” Fenton smiles like sunshine, lighting up the lab as he turns to leave. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get our coats!”

Gyro watches him go with a smile of his own. Sometimes it feels like they’re still learning how to be in love. He definitely is. But Fenton… he’s easy to love, with his nervous kindness and drive to help everyone he can and excitement for new, unknown experiences–Gyro really doesn’t know how he ever found Fenton annoying before. His boyfriend is everything he’s ever wanted.

When he returns, Fenton’s bundled up in a scarf M’ma insisted he wear and a pair of mittens gifted to him by a grateful citizen, and carrying Gyro’s coat. Ever the chivalrous gentleman, he helps Gyro into his own coat and scarf, and leads the way to the elevator so he can open the doors for them.

Gyro shuts off the lights, each bank of bright white lights turning inky black with a click. Then, he takes Fenton’s hand, and they head for the surface together.

The ground floor is quiet, a single row of lights left on when everyone else went home. Gyro’s used to leaving this late, if he leaves at all—usually he’d end up taking a quick nap in the lab or stay up until dawn without realizing it—but Fenton squeezes his hand nervously. Gyro draws circles with his thumb on the back of Fenton’s hand reassuringly, taking the lead toward the lobby.

The front doors are giant, with equally large windows looking out at the empty parking lot. The sky is gloomy and dark, even for this late hour, and as they approach the exit, it becomes obvious that it’s started to snow. The big windows reveal small snowflakes drifting down to the pavement in a silent, sparkling dance.

“It’s snowing!” Fenton chirps excitedly, pushing open one of the doors. “Gyro, look!”

“It sure is,” he agrees, pulling the collar of his coat up as if to hide from the snowflakes. “First of the season.”

“Yeah!” His partner looks to the sky with wide, wonder-filled eyes, then spins around slowly as he looks up. “It’s beautiful! I hope it sticks, we could wake up tomorrow to a winter wonderland!”

“Yeah, beautiful,” Gyro agrees. But he isn’t looking at the snow—he’s focused on Fenton’s hair, snowflakes clinging to it like glitter. Focused on his boyfriend’s bright eyes and wide smile, and his delight over something as small as the wintery weather. Fenton’s enchanted by the snow, and Gyro… well, he’s enchanted by Fenton.

Science can explain many things, Gyro thinks, watching him twirl a slow circle under a yellow parking lot light. Science can explain the way that light glows, and why the snow is falling slowly and softly, and science can even explain why his heart begins to race, watching Fenton pause and turn to look back at him. It takes Gyro’s breath away, looking at the way he’s standing, with a glowing yellow halo behind him and sparkly snowflakes clinging to his shoulders.

Science can do plenty, but this doesn’t feel scientific at all. Leaning in for a kiss, bathed in golden light and silent snow, it feels… magical, instead. Fenton’s warm hand caresses Gyro’s cold cheek feathers, and the world beyond this quiet, empty parking lot seems to fade away around them. Gyro closes his eyes, leaning into the warm embrace and pulling Fenton a little closer.

This moment is not science, but magic, and Gyro wants to remember this feeling forever.

[kickthecan-revolution]

Guess who's back, back again? Shady's back, tell a friend…

I got an immediate sense that Peach’s foster to adopt couple was struggling. They are obsessed with their little kitten, and who wouldn’t be? She is ridiculously cute. Peach is like baby Huey, he’s huge and his playful swat could take a little kitten like that out (that’s an exaggeration but they were afraid of that). They also have a tiny apartment and that was stressing them. I was in denial about it but I knew almost right away from her texts that it was not going to work.

I texted my sister in despair, we’d been confirming her flight down to come see Stevie Nicks with me on the 15th and all of the sudden she said, “I wonder if I could take him.” she is up in Bellingham and has a cat, a dog, a small place and a daughter with mental illness (managed by meds) whose been asking for a cat of her own. All of the sudden we both realized how amazing that would be. She’s as devoted to her animals as I am and she’s also tougher, not freaked about the socialization. And I’d get to see him.

She asked to think about it for a day and the morning after we talked about it, she said she wanted him. That my niece was ecstatic. And an hour later, his foster parents said they needed to bring him back.

I’d asked the universe for a happy ending so I could believe those really happen and I thought I’d gotten it but maybe this is it. He gets to stay in my family with a mom who is as devoted to her animals as I am. And my niece gets her own little love. She’ll fly back with him next weekend.

There’s a small part of me waiting for the other shoe to drop, this could not work at all. My sister's cat is an a-hole but I’m ignoring that today. Today Peach has a beautiful home waiting for him with people who love him and I still get to love him too. And maybe I don’t need a fairytale ending, maybe those are what my fantasy-driven brain says is love but is really just relief.