#plus these two are both theater kids

[ebenezerboozoo]

Late to the meme but late is better than nothing at all

[sarahplantarthe1st]

Sponge Out of Water parody redraw

I swear I've been thinking about this for weeks and now I finally got a chance to draw this but with characters from mlaatr, aaaa!!! ((I can finally breathe again 🤗))

[headkiss]

maybe this christmas time

pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader

summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!

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Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.

And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.

That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.

“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.

“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.

“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.

He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.

It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.

But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.

“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”

“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”

“Not likely.”

“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”

You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.

That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.

Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.

“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.

“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”

“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”

“At least you look cute!”

You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.

Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.

He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.

And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’

Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.

To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.

There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.

So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.

You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.

“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”

Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.

“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”

He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.

Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.

“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.

“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”

You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.

“Rudolph’s a loser.”

“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”

“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”

“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”

The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.

So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.

“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”

You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.

“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”

He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.

Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.

He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.

“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

-

Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.

Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.

The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.

You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)

Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.

Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Don’t have one.”

“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”

“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”

“How did you-”

“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”

“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”

Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.

Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”

“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”

You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.

“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.

Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.

It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”

Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.

He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.

Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.

“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”

“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”

Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.

So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”

“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.

“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”

Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.

Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.

-

In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.

You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.

He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.

And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.

“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”

The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.

“What is it?” You ask her.

“Can you do it with me?”

You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”

Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.

It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.

“Say cheese,” he says.

The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.

Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’

“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”

You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.

You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.

From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.

And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”

Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.

You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.

Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.

“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.

“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”

Sunshine. That’s new.

“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”

Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.

You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.

Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.

He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.

At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.

“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”

“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”

“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”

“Absolutely not.”

While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.

“Steeeve.”

“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”

“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.

That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.

“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”

“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”

You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”

“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”

“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”

“Well in that case…”

You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.

Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

-

Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.

It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).

“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”

“I thought you had a list.”

“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”

“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“So I’m thinking we go skating-”

“Nope.”

“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”

“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”

“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”

“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”

“Deal.”

And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.

Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.

He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.

Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.

His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.

“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”

“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.

He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.

Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”

“I feel like you’re lying to make me feel better.”

“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”

He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.

“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”

“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.

There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.

Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.

You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.

You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.

Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.

“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”

“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”

“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”

He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.

Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.

He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.

You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”

“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.

When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.

“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”

This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.

He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.

Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.

“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Super sure.”

You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”

On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.

“You okay, sunshine?”

The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.

Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.

And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.

-

Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.

It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.

Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.

Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.

All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.

This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.

He wishes he didn’t.

“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”

“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”

“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.

“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.

This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.

“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Right.”

“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”

And just like that, she hung up.

Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.

At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.

So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.

The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.

You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.

Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.

With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.

Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”

You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”

“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.

Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.

“Um,” you start, voice small.

“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”

Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.

You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.

“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.

“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”

Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.

Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.

He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”

You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.

It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”

“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.

“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”

Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.

“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”

“Oh.”

His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.

“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”

One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”

You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.

“I’m gonna change that,” you say.

“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.

-

Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.

So, you did.

You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.

There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.

You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”

You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.

“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”

He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.

“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”

“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”

“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”

“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”

“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”

You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.

When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”

“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.

You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.

There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.

You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.

“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.

“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”

“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”

You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.

“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”

“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”

“Whatever you say, Steve.”

“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”

You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”

Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.

“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.

“You’re done for, Harrington.”

He only laughs, bright and quick.

Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.

By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.

“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”

“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.

“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”

Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.

His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.

“Sprinkle,” he says.

You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.

And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.

Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.

It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.

He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.

And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.

Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.

And that’s that.

-

December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.

You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.

He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.

But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.

Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.

“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”

“Cheese!”

The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.

If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.

Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.

It’s all because of you.

Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.

You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.

The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”

“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”

You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”

“No, they are not.”

Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.

“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”

“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”

My doses of sunshine.

You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.

That one makes you break character, “really?”

“Really.”

Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.

You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.

“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.

He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.

It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.

You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.

It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.

You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.

He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.

You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.

“Really?”

“Open it, please.”

You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.

“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”

“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”

He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.

You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.

“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.

You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.

He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.

Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.

“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”

Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.

“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”

As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.

Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.

‘Make next Christmas just as good.’

Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3

[its-time-to-write]

masterlist

i figured it was time to make one. it's in order based on when i wrote it. please, please let me know if a link is broken/mislabeled!!

*81 fics*

All of these are Jamie Tartt x reader

dress

Jamie and Keeley buy you a dress for the benefit gala

three times 'cause i've waited my whole life

secret relationship to engagement

you're losing me

first kid

don't make this any harder

Jamie wants to take you to Brazil, you’re both idiots

would hit him in a heartbeat now

Your ex boyfriend is a footballer and also a douche

silent sleepers

Jamie contemplates your relationship on the team bus

what it is

Jamie is sick ft. Roy

don't go wasting your emotion

Secret relationship + you own a bookshop! Ft. Roy and Keeley

you know, you'll always know me

You’re a famous singer! Congrats!

i don't know how you keep smiling/i'm just choking almost constantly

Jamie’s dad is a douche

i'll still be right next to you my dear

Jamie is a dad

can't really say i'm enjoying it now

Yikes it’s a breakup fic, but happy endings only in this house

mine of you with me

Reader and Jamie go semi-public with their relationship

today's a day like any other

The Tartt family thru the years

there's orange juice in the kitchen

Oof ouch period cramps

i can't breathe without you

Nate kisses you w/o consent

damned if i do give a damn what people say

You’re a theater actress! How exciting!

island made of faith

People think Jamie’s dumb, and he’s not

take your time while you're mine

You’re Roy’s other sister ft. all the Kents

honey, i'll give you all my time

Vienna. Enough said.

feeling fragile can't you tell

Jamie gets hurt

wrote all your lines in the script in my mind

Oh no! Some girl kissed Jamie and it wasn’t you! + Colin as the bff

stick together like glitter

Babysitting Phoebe + angst

your mind is not your friend

Angst + comfort after you have a bad hookup

chasing shadows in a grocery line

You’re pretty sure you have a hot stalker

don’t go yet

Tee hee protective Jamie at a club

kicking myself to keep from crying

The morning after your mind is not your friend

i think we could do it if we tried

High school sweethearts reunited after 6 years🥺

i’m glad you exist

You and Jamie go to a wedding

send for me

BREAKING: shit day at work made better by local boyfriend

tell me where to put my love

day off = food + snuggles

bored

The longest angst I’ve ever written. Def not the best angst I’ve ever written.

would it be enough if i never gave you peace

you’ve got baby fever and your pretty sure it’s going to kill your brother

wishing on every one

You own a flower shop. It’s adorable.

lyrical eyes, indigo smile

Bea meets the team for the first time!

something to rely on

You storm the pitch and smooch your bf

flipped the script

Enemies to lovers slow burn (or maybe fast burn, idk)

i fancy you

London Boy by ms. T. Swift

you don’t want to know me

Jamie shows up at your door after s.1 Man City

you’re in the kitchen humming

Post-Mom City

family that i chose

For the child-free girlies!

never wanted you to hate me

Pt. 2 of you don’t want to know me

wonderstruck

BFF Keeley tells you to give her awful ex a chance

in love with an idea

idk it’s like a confession of love? kinda cute

sinking into your worn-out mattress

Touch-deprived therapist! reader

you’re a mansion with a view

just two footballers doing an England promo, nothing to see here

i know what i’m doing

Post-Roy/Jamie locker room hug after Man City

wonder what it’d be like

Jamie tries to win you back

if only love were true

You’re a single mom in dire need of a plus-one

i know now it’ll pass

It’s hard to love someone when you’ve been told you don’t deserve it

the way it goes

The Greyhounds are protective of Jamie

how to love being alive

Idk this one’s like whatever and also supes long

there is happiness

GEORGIE GEORGIE GEORGIE

it’s just wanderlust

Relationship soft launch

glitter on the floor

You like to knit. You also think you’re a comedian.

maybe tomorrow you’ll know

The “he’s a prick to everyone but her” trope

hustling for the good life

I swear this is my last chaptered fic

let’s fall in love for the night

Kent!reader is having a baby

soft hands hit the jagged ground

friends w/benefits

for you, there’ll be no more crying

anxiety at work + bf jamie

smile at me

there was only one bed!!!!

slow motion double vision in rose blush

happy b-day Jamie Tartt

half-moon eyes

it’s just a question!

can’t hear my thoughts (i cannot hear my thoughts)

I’m allowed to write what i want, ok???

here in my arms

more Kent!reader + a baby named George

coffee at midnight

prick coach wakes you up bc of your prick boyfriend

healing me fine

Just a lil engagement fic for ya

i don’t know anything

if you’re interested in Bea

right words at the right time

It’s a wedding fic

move fast and keep quiet

boxer!reader + smitten Jamie

not saying you’re in love with me

You meet over Bantr!!!

we could be so good

Jamie comforts you after a bad date

i hold it like a grudge

i don’t even know how to describe this one but u might cry

there for you

sick fic

before you go

physio!reader

you’ll probably date her

chronic illness + childhood friends. gotta love it

feel it burn

Gym anxiety

play it back

Old movies of bb Jamie

ours

Thanksgivinggggg

light in the hallway

MORE Kent!reader

stuck by you

Bad family + good Jamie = fic

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | wc: 790 | tags: established relationship, former jock Steve, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, in fact he's so in love he would do anything for love | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy (@forgottenkanji) | AO3)

At first glance, Steve and Eddie weren't meant to be.

At first glance, they were two opposites, one the antithesis of the other. While Steve was the sun, Eddie was the moon. Day and night, summer and winter, light and dark.

But despite all the differences between them, they still worked. They complemented each other, creating a precious balance that made them both better. It's as if they only made sense with each other by their side.

There was only one difference between them that tested their love for each other: Steve's love of the outdoors and Eddie's utter hatred of it.

Steve, a former jock with a physique to match, found solace in the rugged beauty of nature. He relished the adrenaline of a challenging hike, the satisfying burn of muscles pushed to their limits, and the sweet exhaustion that followed a day spent under the open sky. Eddie loved that Steve's body was a true testament to his enduring love of the outdoors: the sun-kissed skin with constellations of beauty marks and freckles an invitation for adventurous hands and lips, his thick thighs and impressive stamina God's apology for Eddie's hardships.

Eddie, on the other hand, had always lived a different kind of life. A theater kid at heart, he thrived in the world of imagination and creativity. Dungeons and Dragons was his favorite realm, where he spun tales of fantasy and daring escapades. Physical activity, however, was a realm he hadn't quite embraced.

Early Sunday mornings were his sworn enemy, and the thought of a hike sent shivers down his spine. And yet, it was exactly what he had apparently agreed to do.

The soft morning light seeped through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room that Steve and Eddie shared. Steve, already dressed in his hiking gear, couldn't contain his enthusiasm for the adventure that awaited them. He leaned over and gently nudged Eddie, who was wrapped in the warmth of the blanket.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Steve whispered, a grin playing on his lips. "Time to rise and shine. We've got a beautiful hike waiting for us."

Eddie groaned, a muffled protest escaping from beneath the covers. "Can't it wait? It's Sunday morning, Steve. I need my beauty sleep."

Steve chuckled, his fingers lightly tracing circles on Eddie's back. "Come on, love. The early bird catches the worm, or in our case, catches the breathtaking sunrise over the hills. Trust me, it's worth it."

Eddie peeked out from the covers, one eye squinting against the morning light. "Can't we catch the sunrise from the comfort of our bed?"

Steve's laughter filled the room. "As tempting as that sounds, there's something magical about witnessing it from the top of the trail. Plus, fresh air and the sounds of nature – it's the perfect way to start our day together."

Eddie sighed dramatically, dragging himself into a sitting position. "You and your love affair with fresh air. I swear, it's a conspiracy against my cozy Sunday mornings."

Steve leaned in, planting a soft kiss on Eddie's forehead. "I promise it'll be worth it. And hey, I'll even let you pick the playlist for our drive to the trailhead."

Eddie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Anything I want?"

Steve nodded, a playful glint in his eye. "Anything. As long as it gets us up and moving."

With a theatrical sigh, Eddie finally relented. "Fine, fine. But you owe me breakfast at that little café we passed last time. And I get to pick what we do for the rest of the day. Deal?"

"Deal," Steve agreed, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Now get dressed and let's make this Sunday morning one for the books."

As Eddie reluctantly began to accept the idea of leaving the warmth of their bed, he let the warmth of Steve's smile envelop him instead. It wasn't that he suddenly liked Sunday mornings or breaking a sweat for anything other than what he had planned to do with Steve once they were back here in their bedroom. He knew he would hate the burning in his legs and lungs every step of the way, but all that seemed like a small price to pay for Steve's joy and happiness. What was an early morning and the discomfort of working his untrained body for a few miles if it meant sharing moments with the person who made even the earliest of Sunday hikes something Eddie would look back on fondly.

So when they finally reached the top of the hill, Steve turning to him with sparkling eyes and asking, "Didn't I tell you? It was all worth it," Eddie couldn't help but kiss him, long and deep and sweet.

Everything was worth it for Steve.

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Flames - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader- Part 2

Summary: You have your friends to help you through your pregnancy as Ethan gets the help he needs.

Part 1, Part 3

Contains: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of pregnancy

A/N: HI! I'm currently in the process of trying to update all my fics to include what's in the fic because I'M AN IDIOT and completely forgot about that😅

When you found out Ethan had something to do with what was happening a few weeks before, you were devastated. The kind, sweet Ethan that you first met when you were thirteen and went to visit Dewey and Gale in New York. You tried to have a long-distance relationship with Ethan until you met Amber in your sophomore year. Then you realized that you needed to be with someone that could physically be there with you, and you were wanting to explore your sexuality. Ethan was sad about it, but he understood. When you reached back out to him after everything happened with Amber, you’d learned that he’d lost his brother around the same time. You leaned on each other to grieve your losses, and you started to get your feelings back.

Your mom was so close to Gale, and after everything happened to Dewey, she flew out to New York for a while because Gale took it really hard. That’s when Gale suggested that you going to college there and getting out of Woodsboro might be good for you. You and Tara both decided to apply to the same school, keeping your fingers crossed that you’d both get in. Mindy and Chad did the same, and after a few months, you all got your acceptance emails on the same day.

Ethan was so excited when you told him you got into the same school as him. He was hoping the two of you had a chance to pick up where you’d left off years before. But then his dad came up with a plan. Ethan felt sick as he listened to his dad talk about you being one of the targets.

“I won’t be a part of this if you want to hurt her,” Ethan said, as his dad eyed him curiously. “I know her, okay? I really care about her.”

“You can’t be serious…you want us to spare a girl that had something to do with Richie dying?” Wayne questioned, “How do you know her?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know her, you aren’t going to hurt her,” Ethan had a scowl on his face, “And, Amber stabbed her first. She didn’t hurt him.”

“Fuck it, she can live…but everyone else dies.”

Ethan nodded at his dad’s words, “She doesn’t know you or Quinn, so this could work.”

Ethan spent days trying to hack into the university’s computer system after he realized that was a way to get close to Chad. Once he was in and was able to select him as his roommate, he started to search for ways Quinn could help. He talked to you about your plans and where you were going to stay. When you mentioned that you were moving in with Tara and Sam, and were hoping to find a fourth roommate, he knew that he needed to make sure Quinn got that extra room.

Wayne made it clear to both of his kids that they were to act like they didn’t know each other, and that Quinn was to be the only one to interact with their dad. Ethan started to get nervous when you got close to Quinn, but she felt like she could get close to you, because you weren’t going to die. Plus, she really grew to like you. When she found out you were pregnant, she couldn’t tell Ethan. She knew that he would probably back out of the plan, and it would ruin everything they’d been working towards.

When you left, Ethan was rethinking everything. All he wanted was to be with you, and when you went back to Woodsboro, he thought about hopping on a plane and leaving his dad and Quinn to do all the work. He knew he couldn’t, because they’d come to find him, and you wouldn’t be safe.

As Ethan and Quinn snuck into the abandoned theater that night, she knew his head wasn’t in it.

“Ethan, pay attention! We don’t have much time,” she whispered, observing Tara, Chad and Sam explore around the theater from the balcony.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he sighed, pulling the mask off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, “You’re going to ruin everything!”

“I have to stop this,” he said, standing up.

That’s when Quinn pulled the knife out, stabbing him a few times. His eyes were wide in pain and shock, not thinking his own sister could do this to him. He started to groan when she put her hand over his mouth to muffle him, not wanting anyone else to hear him.

“I’m really starting to understand why Richie was dad’s favorite son,” she said, as Ethan lost consciousness.

Quinn and Wayne tried to finish the job that night, ultimately losing their lives as they attempted to kill the Carpenter sisters. When the detectives discovered Ethan’s body in the balcony, he was immediately considered a suspect, because he was wearing the robe and the mask was on the floor beside him. He miraculously had a faint pulse and was able to be saved.

As you kept up with your friends and what was going on with Chad, Tara started to bring up Ethan.

Tara: I just wanted to let you know that Ethan’s going to be okay. He’s going to be getting the help he needs. I don’t know if you wanted an update, but I thought you would because of the circumstances.

You: Have you heard why he was a part of it? I haven’t seen anything new about it.

The details surrounding the situation were kept quiet. They wanted to verify all the information before it was released to the public.

Tara: I asked about it…and I don’t know if you want to know.

You: I need to know…I’m literally pregnant with his child.

Tara: Have you told your mom yet?

You: Yes, already had my first appointment. Everything’s looking good so far.

You: Quit trying to change the subject

Tara: Alright…Quinn was Ethan’s sister, and detective Bailey was his dad.

Your heart was pounding as you read the message. You started to feel like you didn’t know Ethan at all. He’d mentioned his dad a couple times, but you’d never met him. And he definitely never brought up having a sister, even when you were younger before all of this started.

Tara: They did it for Richie. He was Ethan’s brother.

You: What the fuck?

You started to sob as you held your tummy. As much as you wished the condom hadn’t broke that night, you still loved the tiny little person that was growing inside of you. You knew you’d do whatever you needed to, to make sure they’d always be safe.

The months passed quickly, your belly getting bigger by the week. Your friends flew back to Woodsboro for your baby shower, and decided to stay until after you had the baby. Yeah, you had your family, but you were so thankful to have your best friends by your side, too. Your parents decided to convert the large office they had into a nursery, which you were so thankful for.

“I’m happy you aren’t doing the stereotypical ‘everything must be pink��� thing,” Mindy said, as you walked through the baby section of the store with her and Chad. “What color are you thinking for the walls?”

“I think I want gray, but a light gray. I am going to have a little bit of pink in the room, and I think it’ll go well together,” you said, holding one of your hands against your belly as you felt your baby girl kick.

“Is this the crib you want?” Chad said, attempting to lift the heavy box. You nodded as Mindy helped him grab the other end and put it on the large cart.

“Please be careful. I know you’ve been going to physical therapy for months, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you said to Chad, his face still wincing from the weight of the box. He still had some muscle damage that he was hoping could be fixed.

Chad was especially helpful. He built the crib, painted the room, assembled the changing table. Tara and Mindy took you shopping for baby clothes and all the little things you’d need for the tiny new person when they made their way into the world.

“Everything is so tiny,” Tara said, as she helped you fold the freshly washed baby clothes.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a mom soon,” you smiled, adding a stack of clothes to a basket.

“I know we don’t really talk about Ethan, but do you think you’re ever going to tell him?” she asked, looking over at you.

“I thought about it, but I’m going to keep her safe. I don’t want him to know,” you sighed, “I know he’s getting help, but I can’t put her in danger.”

“It makes sense. She’s got all of us, anyway. You won’t ever have to worry about doing this alone,” she smiled, “We might be transferring back here.”

“What?!” you squealed, before you started to think. “You guys can’t do that…you’re about to start your second year.”

“Yeah, but the core five has to stick together,” she said, as Chad’s head popped into the room.

“I just hung the shelves and the pictures you wanted on the walls. Wanna come check it out?” he asked, a huge smile on his face.

“Yes!”

You walked into the room and immediately started to tear up. You noticed that Chad had finished everything, from the fitted sheet on the crib mattress and the white fluffy rug on the floor, to the light pink curtains that looked great with the light gray walls.

“Chad…thank you,” you cried, as he pulled you into a hug. “These pregnancy hormones will be the death of me,” you laughed.

“You’re welcome. Now everything is ready for the little lady,” he said, as Tara walked in with the basket of folded clothes.

“Almost, we just need to put these away,” she said, walking over to the dresser.

Not even a week later, when you went with Mindy to make sure the car seat was correctly installed, your water broke.

“Oh fuck,” she said, your eyes wide as you looked over to the older gentleman that had just finished looking at the car seat. “Uh, I think we need to go.”

“Well, the car seat is good to go. Just in the nick of time too, it seems,” he chuckled, looking down at the wet spot on the ground. “Don’t worry about that, go have that baby.”

He was nice enough to bring a towel out for you to sit on as you made the trip down the street to the hospital.

“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be screaming in pain right now?” she asked, as you rolled your eyes.

“The contractions still feel the same way they have all day,” you sighed, as Mindy drove about ten over the speed limit in the residential area. “Slow down.”

“Slow down? You’ve been having contractions all day and didn’t think to tell someone?” she asked, her voice raised as she panicked.

“I’ve been tracking them on the app. They aren’t close enough yet. Now that my water broke, I think we should get to the hospital, though,” you said, so nonchalantly that Mindy was confused.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, as you started to laugh.

“Yeah, but I don’t really need to show it when you’re freaking out enough for the both of us.”

The truth is, part of you wished Ethan was there with you. You couldn’t help but hate him a little, his shitty decisions leading to you doing everything without him.

When you made it to the hospital, and Mindy called your parents and friends, everything moved quick. Mindy opted to be in the waiting room, as Tara and Chad stayed with you until Chad started to get a little squeamish.

“Okay, uh, I think I need to get out of here,” he said, feeling dizzy.

“It’s fine,” you groaned, before looking at Tara. “You can’t leave though.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you’ve got this,” she encouraged you as you started to push.

It only took twenty more minutes for your baby girl to make it into the world. When the nurse asked you what her name would be, Tara perked up, dying to know what you’d decided. You didn’t want to tell anyone the name you’d picked out until she was born, but you were also nervous about everyone’s last name reactions.

“Um, River Judith Landry,” you said, Tara’s eyes going wide.

“Your last name isn’t Landry,” the nurse said, as she wrote it on the whiteboard in the room.

“It’s her dad’s last name,” you said, “He couldn’t be here.”

You wanted to avoid the awkward conversation. How do you explain to someone that your child’s father was in a psychiatric hospital for plotting to kill your friends? You knew you didn’t want him to be around your daughter, but you also didn’t feel right just pretending that he didn’t exist.

As the nurse walked out, Tara looked over to you, “Landry?”

“Yeah, hopefully she doesn’t hate me someday for giving her that last name,” you said, looking down at the tiny human in your arms. “I guess we could always change it one day if she does.”

“Maybe one day when he’s better, things will be different,” she smiled, looking down at your daughter.

“Maybe.”

You’d been home from the hospital for a few weeks. Your friends all got the transfer to the local college, even though you begged them to go back to New York and live their lives. They made the trip back to get their stuff, so you’d been doing almost everything on your own while your parents were at work.

As you shushed your daughter who’d just woken up from a nap, you heard a knock on the door. You walked over to it, your eyes not leaving her. You gently bounced her in your arms as you opened the door, instantly filled with fear the second you saw who was standing there.

“Ethan?” you said, your voice shaking. “What are you doing here?”

He had a million things he wanted to say to you before he made it to the door, but when he saw you standing there with a baby, his brain stopped working.

“I think you should go,” you said, starting to close the door.

“Wait,” he said, “is that baby yours?”

[chrollohearttags]

it's ☃️ here again and I have more questions but reverb edition bc I love how 3 dimensional the characters are...

1. Now what is rapper!connie's true IDEALL type (if he actually has one). like he's immediately folding and falling to his knees because she's everything he wants type shit.

2. Do any of the pole assassins ladies swing the other way perchance...? IDK if you mentioned this but i'm getting a vibe...perchance.

3. What are mika and jean's favorite things about one another?

4. How would eren react to being posted on the shaderoom and having them get in his business? I recently saw a video of summer walker flipping the shaderoom off and I screamed 😭😭

5. IDK if you didn't go into detail but is sasha an influencer here as well or an artist?

6. Does eren like any other forms of art besides music/writing in this universe? I don't feel EJ is the type to like go walk a museum (or maybe he is) but I feel he definitely holds some appreciation for like visual arts yk??

7. Is influencer!y/n any good at games? I remember you mentioning him being a gamer and I had the idea of him teaching her to play madden or COD or some shit and her being sooo bad to the point where he gets a little upset bc no way you're this bad at the game.

once again that is all the questions my brain has come up with, until next time *fades off into background*

hello again, snowanon!! 🤍 I swear you always come with the best asks. I’m actually working on reverb right now so thanks for this! (sorry these took so long btw!)

1. now Connie isn’t the type of dude to discriminate when it comes to the ladies. He loves them all but he will undoubtedly fall in love (and maybe propose on the spot) for a tall women or BBW. he loves him a girl who’s taller than him or a plus size lady. I’d say his range is anywhere from Meg to Lizzo. But he really just a loves a woman who can make him laugh. Somebody he can clown with.

2. Yes 3/5 do in fact! 😭 our girl (y/n) is bisexual. Eren is honestly the only man she loves. Niesha is pansexual + Syrai is lesbian. Kelley and Brianne have only ever dated men but they’re not against the idea of being with a woman!

3. omg I literally love these two so much and I hadn’t had a chance to elaborate yet but Jean and Mika are each other’s saving graces, dramatic as it sounds. Jean helped Mika stand up for herself when she felt powerless and she helped him realize his dream and that he was worth more than being on the sidelines. I think Jean’s favorite thing about Mika is her determination and how smart she is. If she wants something done, nothing can stop her. She’s headstrong but she’s soft in the same turn. Not in a weak way or that she wants to be babied but she’s so compassionate and emotional about the things + people she loves. As for Mika, she loves how much of a natural leader Jean is. He’s dominating but in the best way possible. He knows she can handle her own business but she doesn’t have to when he’s around. She can be comfortable in her feminine energy without feeling weak. All in all, they just compliment one another so well!

4. LMAO! the day Eren ever ends up on the ShadeRoom, everybody’s getting their feelings hurt. 😭 what makes it so bad is that it would probably be for some dumb shit, like them trying to messy about he and (y/n)’s relationship and now he gotta cuss everybody and their family dog out :(

5. so the next few chapters are going to feature Sasha heavily but my baby is actually Mikasa’s assistant for the time being. Her ultimate goal is to do music, more so as like a country hip-hop artist. She’s basically mentoring under her and Jean both.

6. Eren does have a great appreciation for other art forms. He has a few unique and expensive paintings in his home and he himself loves to draw. Many of his tattoo pieces are artworks of his. He also enjoys stage plays, shockingly! (he’s really a theater kid cosplaying as a delinquent, don’t let him fool you 😭😭) but he enjoys reading from time to time as well.

7. okay listen! my sis be giving it her all to beat this man LMAO. Eren is so damn competitive that he can’t just play shit for fun, he makes everyone want to fight him. But the one game he does NAWT want to see her in is Tekken. That’s been her favorite series since she was a kid and she gives him the work every single time.

[ilovescaredysquirrel2]

What I'm excited for coming soon (TADC episode 2, SpongeBob, and Wallace & Gromit and more)

Okay, I'm going to start with The Amazing Digital Circus episode 2 since it's all my friends and I are thinking about. Just when I didn't think it was going to be better than the first one, I really trust Glitch and Gooseworx with this! I saw the trailer and I'm way more excited, in fact, maybe a little too much. I just know it's going to be fun and hilarious! Although I'm worried that Pomni might get abstracted, I don't want her to abstract. She's one of my favorites but I don't want anyone to abstract really. I'm too attached to these characters! Also, I saw those moments with Ragatha and Princess Loolilalu meeting each other and I love to see girls supporting girls in anything. I find it very healing to my inner child, and also I just like the girl power, it's so refreshing to see! Also, I heard that this will focus more on Jax, who's kind of a jerk sometimes and maybe they'll give him a softer side here, or something to make people feel bad for him, and I like that idea to show that not everyone is all bad or all good. Also, Jax has been stuck in the digital world since he was a teen so you can't help but to feel bad for him. Another thing, that candy elephant thing looks cool and I really hope Gumigoo is voiced by Tustin Macafee. If he's not, it's fine, but I can't think of anyone better for the voice role than Tustin!

As for the new SpongeBob movie, it's gonna be released in theaters and the OG team is going to come back (except for the creator, who sadly passed away a while ago). I heard something that one of the directors said that there will be nudity in the new SpongeBob movie, but I hope he was joking.

Also, I love that they're making fun of AI with this new Wallace & Gromit movie. As an artist, I think people overdo it with AI and that I think we should stop using it for art purposes unless it's only to mess around with and not actually use. I hope they make fun of Disney too. Imagine making fun of both AI and Disney, in an Aardman movie! That'd be awesome! Also, I heard Nick Park wasn't going to work on it at first but he decided to come back (I think he changed his mind after the new Chicken Run 2) and I really hope Wallace & Gromit makes more money than Chicken Run 2.

Also, I'm not much of a Disney fan so I don't care much about the Inside Out sequel or Moana sequel. I think they're really unnecessary, however, I have more hope for the Inside Out sequel than the Moana one, even though I do like Moana better. I feel like Disney should just stick to Kiff and that Molly Magee show or whatever its called, because those are the only two good things that Disney still has left. (Obviously, I'm religious and don't watch shows with ghosts, so I'm just more interested in Kiff but both shows are better than Disney's movies rn).

Finally, the last Bluey episode... I haven't watched it yet and I hear it's really emotional. I don't think I'm prepared for that so I'll stick to watching my favorites, like the beach one. I just hope they don't end Bluey yet, it's the only good kid shows that's still running. Plus, it's from Australia and they deserve to make a lot of money off this show, even though greedy Disney is involved in airing it in my country. I support the foreign shows all the way!

Tell me your thoughts! PLEASE CHAT WITH ME IN THE COMMENTS, ESPECIALLY YOU TADC FANS! DON'T HIDE!

[redladydeath]

Some Vox human life headcanons that have been developing in my head over the past few weeks

He was born Vaughn Oxright in the late 1910’s/early 1920’s to a well-off, show-biz couple from Philadelphia

Was a child star from the ages of about 5 to 9, mostly doing live dance acts at mid-sized theaters across the US. That phase of his life was ended by a leg injury that never healed properly (neither he nor his parents wanted to slow down long enough for it to fully heal and he kept dancing on it until long-term damage was done), and his family had no choice but to settle back down in Philly.

First realized he was interested in men at age 11 when he became super attached to an older boy in his church’s youth group. He became very clingy and started sending the boy dozens of increasingly intense totally-not-love letters, which made the boy uncomfortable and got Vox switched out of the group. The fact that this was obviously a crush went unsaid, but not unnoticed by those involved. The rejection was devastating for Vox, and he swung hard into homophobia and petty displays of masculinity afterward.

He stayed out of show-biz during his teen years, but still participated in dozens of events and competitions— any opportunity to perform and receive praise.

Was drafted into WWII as a young man. Never saw combat on account of his old leg injury, but was instead assigned to work as an electrical engineer, building radar tech and other telecommunications materials. It was outside of his intended field of study, but he took to it quickly and became very close with the other men on his team. It was the last time in his life he could remember feeling truly happy.

Realized he was really, embarrassingly into BDSM (or at least the 40’s/50’s equivalent) via pulp novels, plus how excited he was made by the head of his team being cold/condescending towards him when he first joined. Took this secret to the grave, but always kept a stash of retro-style erotica wherever he was living.

After the war, he decided to get back into show business. Started dating and quickly married a girl from a wealthy, well-connected family. Things started off okay, but only took a few years to devolve into simmering animosity. He was self-absorbed and inattentive, she started using pills to cope. Neither of them had any interest in getting a divorce though, given the times and the damage it would do to both their reputations. They had two kids who were basically raised solely by their nanny. Their parents both loved them in their own ways, but were too wrapped up in themselves to pay them very much mind.

Vox quickly got involved in the television industry, using his good looks and charm to rapidly climb the ranks and land a job as a presenter. He was a pain to work with for anyone he deemed beneath him, but he was a great networker and could schmooze with the “important people” like nobody’s business.

Despite running in some pretty elite circles, his TV career never quite reached the heights he wanted it to. He was, objectively, quite successful, making good money and being the face of his own show, but he wanted to aim higher. He managed to finagle his way into a film role, hoping it would kick-start a new phase in his career, but despite being a great performer, Vox just wasn’t an actor. The film bombed. He didn’t take it well.

When he walked into the studio one day in the mid-50’s, ready to shoot another show, he had no idea it was to be his last day on Earth. He was just supposed to introduce a musical performance alongside his co-anchor, that was it. But for whatever reason, the crew decided that this time, they wanted them to do it using standing microphones. However, due to a mistake by one of the tech guys, Vox’s microphone was not properly grounded. When they started counting down and Vox put his hands on the mic, several hundred volts of electricity went coursing through his body. His heart stopped almost instantly. He didn’t have time to even register what had happened to him, just the sound of screams and the faint smell of burning flesh.

[lunar-wandering]

Concealer

finally. the long shadowpeach pride month fic. i honestly cant believe i managed to finish this on time.

anyways. welcome to the post s3 special fic where Wukong drags Macaque into helping him with his glamours. Oh, and also a few other things happen, but they’re not important. Probably.

TW: Panic Attacks, talk of scars and injuries

Word Count: 13.4k

Read on AO3

Macaque woke up that morning to the dawn shining through his curtains, the sounds of the city starting to wake up, the birds calling out the song of the day, and the horrifying realization that Sun Wukong was climbing in through his window.

“Oh good, you’re up.” Wukong said, casually, like he wasn’t literally breaking and entering into Macaque’s bedroom. “If you weren’t I was going to have to throw you into a nearby mountain. Saves me the energy I guess.”

Macaque continued to sit in his bed in complete and utter disbelief for another two seconds, slowly registering the situation. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my house.” He deadpanned. Wukong didn’t seem to care about his less than stellar reaction to his grand appearance, instead choosing to investigate the room, Macaque watching in continuous disbelief and offense as Wukong opened one of his drawers and started rummaging through it. “Wh- hey- Wukong that’s my stuff-” 

“The kid wants you to hang out with him and the others today, for some reason.” Wukong said, ignoring Macaque’s protests as he opened another drawer to dig through. “Something about going to a theater? I didn’t pay that much attention.” 

“Same old Wukong, never paying attention to anything unless it involves himself.” Macaque sighed, before flopping backwards onto his bed, rolling over and pulling the covers over top of his head. “Tell MK I’m taking a rain check today, will ya? I’m not in the mood for him and his friends’ sickening optimism.” 

“Oh come on now, I was told to fetch you no matter what, you know.” 

Macaque felt a light tug on the edge of the blanket, and dug his claws into both it and the mattress below him. 

It wasn’t enough to stop Wukong from yanking both the blanket and him off of the bed though. 

Macaque let out a yelp as he slammed into the floor of his bedroom, Wukong whistling innocently, turning to investigate yet another drawer as Macaque untangled himself from the mess of blankets to glare up at him. 

“You-” 

“I’m sure it’s obvious you can’t take a rain check now.” Wukong interrupted, his hands pausing for a moment in the middle of rummaging before starting back up again. He wasn’t looking at Macaque. “You better get ready to go and hang out with them, or I will drag you there, even if you kick and yell.” 

“...Yeah yeah, whatever.” Macaque huffed, slowly pulling himself to stand up, attempting to fix the crinkles in his pajamas, glad that he slept with his glamours over his scar on last night. He ran his fingers through his hair, reapplying the glamour over the white streaks that had started to break through from the glamour loosening as he slept, before lightly tracing his ears to turn the six into two. Just to be sure, he softly placed a hand over his scar, reapplying the glamour over it with slightly more strength. 

Wukong had gone suspiciously silent. 

Macaque blinked, glancing over. The Monkey King was no longer going through Macaque’s drawers, and was instead just standing there, slightly leaning up against it, staring at him. They held eye contact for a few seconds, and then Wukong shook his head as though ridding himself of a thought, and Macaque glanced down at the floor, subconsciously placing a glamour over top of the rest of his face as well to hide the purple flush.  Wukong started heading back towards the window, easily walking around where Macaque stood. 

“Well, I’d better head back to the mountain, MK’s going to come over for training later after he finishes hanging out with you and his friends, and I need to get a few more things ready. Plus, you know how the baby monkeys are like if I’m gone for too long-” 

“Sun Wukong.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why are you trying to steal my makeup case?” 

Wukong froze, one leg out the window. The sunrise shone behind him, illuminating him. The wind blew in through the open window, rustling both the curtains, as well as Wukong’s hair and fur, making him look almost otherworldly. 

It didn’t change that he looked like he’d been caught in the act of stealing from the cookie jar though. 

“I. Have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I can literally see it tucked into your side pocket.” 

Wukong’s tail moved to cover the edges of the makeup case that weren’t hidden within the folds of his pocket. The two of them stood at a stalemate, maintaining eye contact, waiting to see who would be the first one to break. 

“Peaches, your eyes are turning pink.” 

Macaque smirked with victory as Wukong swore, breaking eye contact, but his expression slowly turned into one of horror as he watched Wukong reach up and forcibly pull down on something that to the normal eye was completely invisible. 

“Holy shit- Don’t treat your magic like that you idiot-” Macaque stepped forwards and down into the shadows, popping up directly in front of Wukong and grabbing hold of his wrists. Wukong let out a noise of protest, about to break free- “Do you want to unleash all your magic and destroy everything within a 100 kilometer radius? Fuck your magic is all taut like a bowstring it’s a miracle it hasn’t snapped already-” 

Wukong stopped struggling, blinking in confusion as Macaque led him over to sit on his bed, already in full magic analysis mode. Reaching up, Macaque grabbed hold of the magic around Wukong’s head, a lot more gently than Wukong himself had. Wukong shivered, the sensation weird, as Macaque’s unglamoured eye flashed purple, golden strings manifesting, most of them pulled tight and almost looking like they were starting to fray. Macaque tsked, seemingly not thinking too deeply about his actions as he ran his fingers along them, glowing purple magic swirling around his fingers as he fixed the fraying bits, before moving and slowly undoing the knots that were pulling them tight. Wukong didn’t protest, simply stunned at Macaque’s sudden amount of…gentleness and care. 

“Your magic doesn’t work the way mine does.” Macaque said, mostly talking out loud to himself as he continued to work on the knots. Taking a moment to pause as Wukong’s glamours came down, before continuing his work, not commenting on it.  “Mine is more loose, it waves and folds and easily bends around me to create perfect glamours. Yours, on the other hand, doesn’t bend as easily, it’s meant to be used for stiff bursts, offensive, forceful spells, and trying to make it bend to make glamours like mine isn’t good for it.” 

“I know that.” 

“Then why is your magic so out of whack right now then, oh Intelligent Stone Monkey?” 

“Because I don’t have a choice.” Wukong hissed, “The kid can’t know I look like- like-” 

“Like this?” Macaque asked, and twisted his own magic around himself to perfectly mirror the way Wukong looked at the moment. The small scar cutting through his eyebrow. The scar on his cheek. The burn marks around his deep red eyes. The freckles going over his cheeks and nose. The old and new singe marks in his fur. 

Not to mention the blue streaks running through his hair. 

Wukong blinked as he registered his own image before him, before his eyes narrowed as he growled, reaching out and smacking Macaque on the nose, knocking the disguise off of him. Macaque gave a little yelp, before sticking his tongue out at him. Wukong huffed. 

“Stop doing that.” He said, crossing his arms as he looked away, his eye twitching as he felt Macaque get back to work on the magic threads. “...I know bending my magic isn’t good. I was going to start looking into other solutions…” 

“Such as stealing my makeup kit?” Macaque asked, and Wukong’s tail moved back to once again cover the kit from Macaque’s view. “Please, I don’t think the stuff in there would’ve helped you hide all of this mess anyways.” 

‘Mess’, as though Macaque wasn’t still maintaining that glamour to keep the purple blush on his face from being noticed. It was times like these that he was glad that Wukong’s golden vision couldn’t see through his glamours…

His glamours…

“If you want to hide this from the kid, your glamours aren’t gonna cut it.” He said, removing his hands from the threads of Wukong’s magic, finished with untangling them, letting them fade out of view again. “He has golden vision, remember? One look and he’ll see right through you.” 

“Well- what would you suggest then? It’s not like I can just hide away from MK, he’ll just get suspicious and drag me out forcibly. I don’t really have many options here, if you haven’t noticed-” 

“Let me do it.” 

“Huh?” 

“Your glamours. Let me do them.” 

Wukong continued to stare at Macaque in disbelief, his brain seemingly shutting down as he tried to process the idea. Macaque rolled his eyes, moving forwards, and gently cupping Wukong’s face with his hand to start applying glamours to his face. 

“Wait- hold on-” Wukong’s hand shot up to grab hold of Macaque’s wrist, stopping him in place. “How do I know you’re not gonna curse me-” 

“Please. I just spent the past ten minutes touching your magic threads, y’know, the stuff connected to your soul? If I was going to place a curse on you I would’ve done so already.” 

Wukong…seemed to accept that as a reasonable excuse, slowly letting go of Macaque’s wrist, but not without leveling Macaque with a suspicious glare. Macaque rolled his eyes. 

(Even if he still really wanted to curse Wukong, he didn’t think he had the right magic level to do so now anyways. No, most of his own magic, outside of his own glamours, was going towards making sure he remained alive and well, currently. After losing the backup of the Lady Bone Demon’s magic, he wasn’t sure how much magic he could use before he would…

That didn’t matter. His magic would reform and rebuild to the point where he could use it without worrying about that anyways). 

Letting out a breath, Macaque leaned forwards slightly, getting started on gently moving Wukong’s magic to create a glamour that even the best true vision could not see through, while being careful not to bend said magic in ways it wasn’t supposed to. He ran his thumb over Wukong’s cheek, the freckles and scar vanishing underneath of his touch. Tracing the freckles and burn marks on the rest of Wukong's face, he made them vanish similarly, before moving up to run his finger over Wukong’s eyebrow, removing that scar from view as well. 

“Close your eyes.” He said, Wukong surprisingly still and obeying, as Macaque brushed his thumb over top of Wukong’s eyelids, sticking his tongue out slightly as he focused. “Open.” 

When Wukong blinked his eyes open again, they were back to their false gold. 

“Last one.” Macaque whispered, more to himself than anything, as he reached up and lightly pinched parts of Wukong’s hair, glamouring the blue streaks and singe marks away from view. Leaning back, he inspected his work, humming. “Anything else?” 

For some reason, it took Wukong a moment to answer, and when he did so he did it non-verbally, simply holding up his tail so that Macaque could see it. There were similar streaks of blue and singe marks running through the fur. Macaque simply nodded, reaching out and running his hand along Wukong’s tail, glamouring it as well. 

“Right.” Macaque said, “Okay. All done.” 

Wukong was silent for a few more moments, before he shook his head, snapping himself out of whatever funk he’d been in, smirking up at Macaque. 

“Do I not even get a mirror to make sure you didn’t horrifically ruin my beautiful face?” 

“It can’t get more ruined than it already is.” Macaque bantered back, but still reached to the side and pulled a mirror out of one of the drawers Wukong had left open. “This good enough?” 

Wukong made a non-commital noise as he took the mirror out of Macaque’s hands, inspecting the other’s handiwork. Macaque watched patiently as Wukong’s eyes flickered to a much brighter gold, checking to see how well the glamours held up in the face of true sight. He did a low whistle when he found he couldn’t see through it, and Macaque smirked, proud of himself. 

(And no, his tail did not wag at receiving the smallest hint of praise from Wukong. It didn’t.) 

“You really can’t see through this at all.” Wukong said, putting the mirror to the side, before staring at Macaque with an odd expression. The blush Macaque had almost forgotten about, hidden behind glamours as it was, started to return the longer the Monkey King stared at him. Getting slightly nervous, he started to shift from foot to foot. 

“...What?” He eventually asked, “Why are you staring at me?” 

“Ah- no reason.” Wukong said, breaking the eye contact, standing up, walking back over to the window. “Well- you have that whole hang out with the kid to get to, and I have to go get things ready for training, so-” 

“Hold on one second-” Macaque said, once again making Wukong freeze with one leg out the window. “Just…that glamour isn’t the best. Your magic isn’t meant for it, I’ve done it as gently as I can, but the glamour itself could shatter very easily. I don’t really want to have to do this again, so try not to overdo it.” 

“Please, when have I ever over done it.” Wukong laughed. Macaque leveled him with a Look he’d seen MK use when Wukong said something really stupid. Wukong winced, and, without another word, hopped down out of the window. 

Macaque walked over, pulling the window shut, looking out, just barely able to see Wukong’s cloud getting further away in the distance. 

It took another two hours before he realized Wukong had still taken his makeup kit. 

-

“Time to wake up, buttercup!” 

Was the yell that woke Macaque up in the early morning the next day, quickly followed by his blankets being torn off of him. Panicked, he jumped up, standing on his mattress in an attack position, ready to fight. 

Wukong’s loud laughter snapped him out of that fast enough. 

“Wh-” Macaque briefly glanced at Wukong, then at the closed (and locked) door and window. It didn’t look like either had been opened at all, so- “How did you-” 

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” Wukong waved him off, stepping up onto the bed to stand in front of him, ignoring Macaque’s quiet complaint about him getting his mattress dirty with his shoes. “Anyways, I was wondering if you could maybe give my glamours just a little touch up.” 

“What are you-” Macaque started, before blinking, finally seeing what he had missed in his earlier brief glance at Wukong. The blue streaks in the Monkey King’s hair had returned, and the freckles on his face were starting to reappear. “Seriously? Already?” 

“It’s not my fault you didn’t clearly explain just how fragile this was.” Wukong huffed, ruffling his own hair. “The kid landing one hit was enough to make it crack. Thankfully the dust covered most of it up, so he didn’t see, but I can’t exactly fix it on my own, so.” 

“I am not your personal makeup artist.” Macaque hissed, before groaning, rubbing his eye with one hand, all the tiredness that comes with waking up too early in the morning suddenly hitting him all at once. “Damn it- how fucking early is it anyways?” 

“Eh, suns up.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question, Wukong.” 

“Anyways,” Wukong said, ignoring how Macaque was glaring at him. “Could you hurry up and fix this, please? Sandy needs me to go and hold his boat out of the water so that he can repaint the bottom.” 

That brought forth the image of Wukong single handedly holding up an entire boat into Macaque’s brain, and he made a small noise, moving his hand away from his eye to cover more of his face instead as he quickly put a glamour to hide away his blush.  

“Macaque? Come on, you’re not that mad that I woke you up, are you?” Wukong asked, leaning closer into Macaque’s personal space. 

Well. The sooner he could get Wukong out of his house, the better. 

Thinking only about wanting to get Wukong out of his room so that he could maybe get two to six more hours of sleep before actually having to start the day, Macaque quickly reached out and ran his fingers through Wukong’s hair, starting to glamour the blue streaks away. 

Neither of them were expecting for Wukong to lean into the touch. 

They both froze, Macaque’s fingers still in Wukong’s hair, only the tips still blue, but neither of them were paying attention as they stared at each other, Wukong with shock, Macaque with flustered confusion. 

“Um.” Wukong’s eyes faded from gold to pink. Macaque tsked, pulling his hand out of Wukong’s hair, glamouring the final bits of the blue away, distracted by the colour change. 

“You’re making more work for me.” He said, tired and irritated, not even bothering to tell Wukong to close his eyes as he placed a hand overtop of Wukong’s face, not caring enough to do it as slowly as he did last time, simply putting the glamour over Wukong’s face on all at once. “There, done, now leave me alone.” 

“Wh- hey, there’s no way you did it that fast-” Wukong started, but got cut off as Macaque roughly shoved him back. Taken off guard, he stumbled back, tripping over one of the pillows and falling backwards off the bed. Macaque reached his hand out a few seconds too late, cringing at the sound of Wukong’s back slamming against the ground. Wukong slowly sat back up, rubbing his head, and Macaque winced as he saw that the knock against the ground had cracked the glamour again, leaving Wukong’s freckles entirely visible. 

Well… It wasn’t the worst thing Wukong could be revealing about himself. 

Macaque decided not to tell him. 

“I can’t believe you pushed me.” Wukong said, standing up, for some reason avoiding eye contact. “Geez, if you want me out of here so bad, you could’ve just asked.” 

He bent down, scooping up the blankets, gathering them into a little ball, before tossing them directly at Macaque’s head. 

Macaque let out a muffled shriek as he was knocked back down onto the mattress. 

By the time he managed to pull the tangle of blankets off of his head, Wukong was gone. 

The window and door were still closed and locked. 

“Seriously, how did he get in here…” He muttered, before fixing his blankets, laying back down on his side and pulling them over his head, letting his glamours down, the purple blush on his face now visible but slowly fading as he tried to calm himself down enough to try and get some more sleep. 

In just ten minutes, his phone dinging with a new text message completely dashed that idea, and he groaned, rolling over, to see a new message from MK. 

…How had the kid even gotten his phone number?

The message contained one word, “sunspots!” and a picture- 

Macaque dropped his phone, his face reigniting in a purple blush that almost rivaled the gold one of the Wukong in the picture, who was trying to hide his very obvious looking freckles from the view of the camera, and, overall, succeeded in looking very cute. 

There proceeded to be another ding as he got another message, a jumble of words- 

And then MK was calling him. 

Macaque stared at the screen for several seconds before he realized that he should maybe actually answer. 

Hesitantly, he pressed the answer button. 

And immediately had to lean back, his ears pressing against his head as the loud noise of arguing on the other side came through. 

“Monkey King give me back my phone-” 

“Macaque! I can’t believe you just let me leave like-” 

“Why were you with Macaque anyways? Monkey King come on-” 

“No reason- MK this is a talk for grown ups-” 

“I’m 21 years old- what- did you two kiss or something??” 

Macaque buried his face in his hands as Wukong’s flustered shriek made its way through the phone, before the click of the call being hung up rang through. Macaque was vaguely aware of his own tail smacking repeatedly against the side of the bed. 

His phone dinged again. 

~did you two actually kiss?? Monkey King won’t answer me~

Macaque was silent for a few seconds too long. 

~hoLY SHIT DID YOU TWO ACTUALLY???~

Macaque grabbed his phone and quickly typed out a response before the misinformation could spread any further. 

~NO!! FUCK NO- I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE YOU GOT THAT IDEA FROM~

~Awwww. :( i thought you’d finally acted on your crush on him~

Macaque blocked MK’s number.

-

MK found Macaque in the downtown market later that day, a hood over his head, his scarf pulled halfway up his face, keeping him almost entirely out of view as he stuck to the shadowed corners of the daily crowd, a basket of fruits and other foods he’d purchased from the vendors being carried by one arm. Slowly, MK left Pigsy’s side, sneaking up behind Macaque as quietly as he could, raising one hand, preparing to startle the monkey. 

Only to get startled himself as Macaque spun around, knocking his hand away, and pointing a dagger made of shadows at MK’s throat. 

“Kid!” Pigsy yelled, having noticed MK’s disappearance, and subsequently seeing MK with a knife at his throat. Macaque blinked, his ear flicking, before recognition lit up on his face, and the dagger vanished as Macaque’s position relaxed slightly, his hand moving to hold onto his other arm as Pigsy ran over to the two of them. 

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, bud.” Macaque said, turning to walk away, but got stopped, letting out a small choked noise as Pigsy grabbed hold of the back of his scarf. 

“Not so fast.” He said, “What was that? You almost killed the kid!” 

“He startled me!” Macaque protested, yelping when Pigsy pinched his arm. Waving his arm around in a way that clearly indicated he was searching for a good excuse, Macaque turned his scarf into shadows, stepping out of Pigsy’s reach, but turning around in order to be able to face him. 

Pigsy glared at him. 

“Being startled isn’t an excuse for pointing a knife at someone’s throat.” Pigsy said, gently grabbing onto MK’s arm and pulling him forwards to stand beside him, before resting a comforting hand on MK’s back. “Macaque, apologize to him.” 

“Pigsy, it’s fine, I really did startle him-” 

“I’m not apologizing for a little knife- I didn’t even cut-” 

“Apologize.” Pigsy repeated, an undertone to his voice that made both Macaque and MK straighten their backs. MK relaxed slightly as Pigsy rubbed a comforting circle on his back, reassuring him that he wasn’t mad at him, but Macaque remained tense. 

“...Fine.” He eventually said, crossing his arms, his basket lightly bumping into his side as he moved. “I’m….sorry.” 

“Was that so hard?” Pigsy asked, and Macaque rolled his eyes, turning away again and starting to march off. 

Pigsy and MK shared a look. 

Within seconds, they had started walking too, matching their paces to Macaque. Macaque let out a low growl, but they ignored him, instead starting to talk to each other. Macaque kept his face in a scowl, but after a bit, his expression started to soften, as he started to tune out their conversation, focusing on getting his own shopping done, almost forgetting that the other two were there at all. 

…Almost. 

He was kinda forced to remember when MK bumped into his side, almost knocking him over. 

“Woah- sorry!” MK said, though the slight smirk on his face made it seem like he wasn’t actually all that apologetic. “I wasn’t expecting you to slow down.” 

Macaque glanced at him, and then looked away. 

“What do you two want?” He finally asked, wanting to get rid of them so that he could continue his shopping in peace, thank you very much. 

“Just following the Mama duck around.” MK joked, and upon the twin looks of confusion and befuddlement from both Macaque and Pigsy, laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, had the thought and couldn’t resist making the joke. Nah, we actually want to ask you about Monkey King.” 

Macaque, unprepared for the mention of Sun Wukong and the sudden resurgence of the memories of that morning, did not glamour his face in time. 

“Are you- are you blushing?” MK asked, laughter in his voice, Pigsy snickering as well as the purple colour on Macaque’s face darkened. “Wow, the phone call from this morning really messed you up, huh?” 

“Shut up.” Macaque hissed, putting a hand over top of his face to glamour away the blush before he could incriminate himself any further. Taking a breath to try and compose himself slightly, he opened his mouth to speak- 

“Did you just glamour away your blush?” Pigsy asked, and MK startled cackling as Macaque’s shoulders involuntarily hiked up to his ears. “Oh boy, you’re a lot worse off than MK thought.” 

“Than MK thoug- did he tell all of you about his stupid little theory- never- never mind.” Macaque chewed the bottom of his lip, crossing his arms again so he wouldn’t have the urge to reach for the edge of his scarf, he decided to try and change the subject. “S-so, you wanted to ask me something about Monkey King?” 

“Don’t think I’m forgetting about that so easily, sir.” MK said, “That’s going on the whiteboard.” 

“The what-” 

“Anyways, yes! We did want to ask you something about Monkey King!” MK continued, “Mainly about his secret freckles. Which we didn’t know existed until today. And he seemed to get very mad at you specifically when we pointed out that they were visible. So, uh. What gives?” 

“Oh, that.” Macaque debated for a moment on whether or not he should answer. On the one hand, Wukong would probably be pissed if he did. On the other hand, it wasn’t like the Monkey King had made him swear to a vow of silence or anything… “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t tell him that I’m the one who told you, okay? I’m not intent on getting killed again any time soon.” 

Pigsy raised a concerned eyebrow at the “killed again” comment, but MK brushed past it entirely. 

“Of course! My lips are sealed!!! Now tell me.” 

“Right. Okay. So. You know… my glamours, right?” 

“Like the one you just used to hide your blush, yes.” 

“Please forget about that completely.” Macaque hissed, before coughing awkwardly. “Um, anyways, so, Wukong uses some glamours too. He was uh, doing it wrong though, so I’ve been kinda…helping him. Not that I wanted to, he practically forced my hand into it, he broke into my room early this morning and everything. I just uh. Was so tired I forgot to do the freckles?” 

“You were pissed off at him for waking you up so early so you didn’t glamour away his freckles, huh.” MK surmised, and Macaque awkwardly coughed again, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. Thought so.” 

“Well- I answered the question so- you happy now? Will you finally leave me be?” Macaque asked. 

Pigsy and MK shared another glance. 

“Well, actually, we were going this way anyways, gotta pick up some new supplies for the noodle shop and everything, y’know?” Pigsy said, and Macaque groaned. 

Two hours later, when Macaque finally managed to get home, drop his groceries on the kitchen counter, and flopped onto his couch, letting out a bone tired sigh, his phone dinged. Groaning, he rolled over, digging in his pocket to pull his phone out. 

A message from MK was what greeted him. 

~I have other pictures of Monkey King’s sunspots if you want them, but they come at a price.~ 

Macaque squinted at the screen for a solid three minutes before responding. 

~....i blocked u. how  did u….~

~stole your phone then returned it when i bumped into you~

Macaque blinked. He didn’t know the kid knew how to do that. 

His phone dinged with another message. 

~anyways, are ya gonna take the deal or what?~ 

Macaque had to think about it for a moment. He could take the deal, despite not knowing what it was, and possibly suffer humiliation just to get some extra pictures of Wukong with freckles. Or, he could block MK’s number again, take a nap, and not receive any pictures of Wukong. 

The amount of time it took for him to make his decision was embarrassingly short. 

~done deal kid~

He didn’t have the time to possibly regret his decision before MK responded. 

~great!!!! I’ll call ya with the price sometime this week, but for now, here~ 

…And maybe, hypothetically, if Macaque spent the ensuing hour and a half giggling and purring over the photos as his tail smacked lightly against the couch, he definitely would not be telling anyone. 

-

Wukong had a problem. 

He paced back and forth in the hallway outside his bedroom, debating pros and cons, pausing every few minutes to turn and look in the mirror that hung on the wall beside him. 

It had been 3 days since he’d last gone to Macaque to get his glamours touched up, and subsequently had accidentally revealed his freckles to MK and the others. 

(He still mentally cringed at how Mei had poked his face, double checking to see that they were real, before the playful teasing started. It was all friendly and nothing was really meant by it, and it was mostly compliments anyways, but Wukong hadn’t actually been actively complimented in… a while. 

Was it a bad thing that he couldn’t remember the last time he got complimented before the past week?

…Probably. 

But that wasn’t the issue here). 

His glamours had slipped more since then, his eyes now seemingly permanently pink, even when not flustered, small bits of burn scars starting to appear around the corners of his eyes. Three streaks of blue had made their way back into his fur, and the scar mark from where Nezha’s spear had sliced him on the cheek had returned. 

Wukong looked down at the makeup kit on the table, and let out a sigh. 

Bending down and opening it up, he pulled out some concealer. 

It wouldn’t be the best, but it would just have to do. 

…The real problem here though, was what he should do about his hair and his eyes. 

He knew that hair dye and coloured eye contacts existed, but he didn’t want to risk hair dye in case he fucked his hair up further, and with how easily his eyes got irritated, there was no way in hell that he was going to be putting coloured lenses in them. 

But.. he couldn’t exactly avoid MK or the others. They expected him to actually hang out with them now, if he suddenly called a bunch of rain checks, they’d definitely get suspicious, especially now since his freckles had been revealed. 

Which was exactly why he wasn’t going to Macaque. The shadow monkey had already betrayed him once, letting him walk out with his freckles fully visible, what if it happened again, with something even worse this time? 

He wasn’t going to risk it. 

An idea striking him, Wukong turned and scrambled to his closet. He only had about 15 minutes before MK would show up to fetch him to go and hang out with the others, so he might have been rushing. Just a little.

He’d just barely managed to find what he was looking for when there was a knock on the door. 

“Monkey King! I’m here!”  

“Ah- coming!” Wukong called, slamming the closet door shut, wincing as the wall beside it cracked a little, he’d have to fix that later, he turned and ran out to the living room, skidding to a stop just before he accidentally ran into MK. “So what’s the plan for the day- why are you staring at me.” 

“Your freckles are gone.” MK noted, and Wukong’s easy going smile twisted into a more nervous one. “Did you go visit Macaque this morning?” 

“Wh- I- No, of course not! Why would I?” 

“Oh- nothing. What’s with the hat?” 

Wukong’s fur bristled, as he reached up and pulled the brim of the hat lower to better cover his hair and shadow his eyes. 

“It’s sunny out.” He said, avoiding eye contact. “Plus, it’s just in case we go somewhere with a lot of people. I don’t really want to get swarmed because I’m the Monkey King, y’know? Popularity has some drawbacks.” 

MK hummed in a tone that indicated he didn’t fully believe him, and Wukong’s nervous smile arched higher, before he walked forwards, brushing past MK, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. 

“Anyways, the others are probably waiting for us, huh? What is the plan for the day?” 

MK gave him another suspicious look, but moved to fall in time with Wukong’s step as they walked down the mountain. (Wukong could summon a cloud to take the both of them down to where Sandy’s boat was waiting for them, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of accidentally blowing his hat off. He knew MK would make note of it, but as long as he could keep the kid distracted, it should be fine, right?). 

“We’re going to the arcade.” MK said, putting his arms behind his head, seemingly choosing to just be silent and observe what Wukong did. Wukong didn’t know if that was better or worse than being called out. “There’s apparently a new game system there that Mei wants to test out.” 

“Neat!” Wukong said- and then started rambling about the episode of the Monkey King animated series he had watched last night. He knew that MK knew he had watched the show several times, and that MK had as well, so really there was no new information being shared, but MK had a special interest in the show, and talking about it managed to dispel some of the suspicion in MK’s eyes and replace it with a spark of energy instead. The conversation managed to last all the way down the mountain, up until they were walking onto Sandy’s boat. 

“‘Sup, Monkey King!” Mei yelled, jumping over the railing to greet the two of them, picking MK up in a hug and spinning him, before moving to do the same to Wukong. Ever since the dragon had accidentally found out about how touch-starved the Monkey King was (in a situation Wukong really didn’t want to think about but had involved Sandy surprising him with a hair ruffle and maybe a small amount of crying), she had made it a point to give him just as much affection as she gave MK. 

Which of course, meant, in this situation, picking him up and spinning him around. 

Wukong’s arms, pinned to his side by Mei’s own arms, didn’t even get the chance to move up to make sure the hat stayed in place.

Wukong tensed as the wind blew through his hair, out of the corner of his eye being able to see Sandy catch his hat with one hand. Mei stopped spinning, setting him down, and Wukong winced as she and MK looked over him with scrutiny. 

“Are your eyes…pink?” 

“Is your hair… blue?” 

One of those questions was said with slightly more concern than the other. Wukong shielded his eyes from the two of them, reaching up with one hand to pull one of the streaks of blue down in front of his face so he could look at it with fake shock. 

“Oh- wow, it really is blue!” He said, “Guess that colour changing spell really does work huh, the more you know!” 

He brushed past the both of them and up onto the boat, gratefully taking his hat from Sandy, MK and Mei slowly following behind him, neither of them looking very impressed. Wukong was very aware that they could see through his bullshit lie, but he really didn’t want to address the subject. 

…Maybe he should’ve given in and gone to Macaque that morning instead of stubbornly refusing to go see him. 

Wukong walked over to lean against the railing of the ship as Sandy started them off moving towards the mainland, keeping his hand on top of his hat so that it wouldn’t blow away in the winds. MK and Mei joined him, one of them standing on both sides of him. Even though he was keeping his eyes on the water, he could very much feel their twin stares analyzing him. 

“...Well? Aren’t you going to explain, Mr. King?” Mei asked, after a moment, “You know that we know that your colour changing spell excuse is absolute bullshit.” 

Wukong didn’t answer, his tail swinging anxiously as he continued to stare down at the waves that lapped against the side of the ship. 

MK’s hand settled onto Wukong’s shoulder. 

“Monkey King.” He started, the incredibly serious tone to his voice making Wukong’s muscles visibly tense. “If you don’t tell us what’s up right now, I’m going to throw you off of this boat.” 

The grip of MK’s hand strengthened, and Wukong was very aware of the fact that, even though MK tended to joke to lighten up serious moments, his successor was one hundred percent going to throw him off of the ship if he didn’t say something now. 

“You seriously don’t need to worry about it kid-” Wukong cut himself off with a strangled noise as MK started to adjust his stance. “Wait- WAIT okay alright I’ll talk about it do not throw me off the boat I sink-” 

MK’s stance relaxed slightly, but his hand remained on Wukong’s shoulder. On his other side, Mei snickered at his reaction, and Wukong tilted his head to glare at her, though it didn’t do much. The dragon girl wasn’t affected by Wukong’s attempts at intimidation at all. 

“Well Mr. King? Go on.” She said, “Explain the pink eyes.” 

“To be honest I’m more concerned about the blue hair.” MK said. 

They both stared at Wukong expectedly. 

Wukong pulled the brim of his hat down to shield his face from view. 

“The pink eyes are natural… kinda. The blue streaks are…not.” He muttered. After a few seconds of silence, MK poked him in the side, prompting him to continue. Wukong pulled the hat down lower. “My eyes are… red. Being… possessed had…side effects…” 

Both MK and Mei gave a shiver at the memory of Wukong being possessed, and Wukong cringed, slouching down a little. MK’s grip on his shoulder changed from jokingly threatening to comforting as he felt Wukong’s movement. Mei’s hand gently found it’s place on Wukong’s other shoulder, a soft warmth radiating off of it. Faintly, Wukong could hear Sandy start humming some song or other. He had no idea if the river demon was able to hear their current conversation, but the small song was somehow reassuring. 

He let out a breath, relaxing slightly. 

“...If your eyes are red, why are they pink now?” Mei asked, and Wukong tensed back up again. 

“It’s because of the glamour right?” MK said, and Wukong lifted his head to look at him in shock. 

“How did you know about-” 

“Uh, lucky guess!” MK removed his hand from Wukong’s shoulder as he waved both arms around in a sort of nervous gesture that Wukong couldn’t help but feel was familiar. “But- yeah, you wear a glamour, right? It’s because it’s slipping a little that things are starting to come through.” 

Well. MK was right, and Wukong let him know as such. But still… how did he know? Wukong had never brought up glamours around him before, and, even though he knew MK had read most of his legends and watched most adaptations of his story, his successor had never brought up glamours before either, not even to ask about learning how to do them. 

Grip tightening against the railing, Wukong went back through the events of the past few days, trying to think of a moment where he might have slipped up- 

“Did you go visit Macaque this morning?” 

Wukong blinked, remembering MK’s comment when he’d first seen him. 

Then slowly, he turned back to MK, who had started mimicking his position of leaning against the railing as he was conversing with Mei over top of Wukong’s head. 

“MK.” He said, interrupting him mid-sentence about… some arcade game. Wukong hadn’t been paying attention. “Have you talked with Macaque recently?” 

“What? No.” MK quickly denied, before leaning forwards, crossing his arms against his chest as he smirked. “Are you wearing makeup just to hide your freckles?” 

Taken off guard by the sudden change in subject, Wukong leaned away, bumping into Mei, who took the opportunity to reach up and steal his hat away again. Startled, Wukong tried to lean backwards even further in an attempt to grab his hat again, and ended up losing his balance, flailing, Mei barely managing to step out of the way in time as he slammed down onto the deck, the breath getting knocked out of him from the shock. Mei knelt down beside him, observing his face, before licking her thumb and rubbing it against his cheek, Wukong still too shocked to even think of stopping her. She let out a hum, looking at where the makeup had smudged. 

“Looks like you’re right MK, he is covering up his freckles.” She noted, and Wukong snapped back to reality as they both snickered. Growling, he pulled himself back up to stand, stubbornly refusing to look at either of them. 

“Oh c’mon Monkey King, it’s just freckles.” MK said, placing an arm around Wukong’s shoulders. “It’s not like you’re hiding anything else, right?” 

Wukong remained silent. 

“...Right? Monkey King?” 

Wukong continued to avoid both MK and Mei’s gazes, seeing the city start to appear on the horizon, estimating that they’d be about another 10 minutes before they’d pull into the docks. The wind felt nice blowing in his hair, and he debated how he would convince Mei to give him his hat back once they arrived on dry land, continuing to ignore the two friends as they continued to badger him about the makeup he was wearing. 

…MK’s arm over his shoulders shifted. 

And that was the only warning Wukong got before MK was tossing him into the water. 

He was fished out by Mei before he could sink too far, but that didn’t stop the damage from being done. 

Macaque’s makeup was not waterproof. 

Shaking the water out of his fur, glaring at the two of them as he wrung water out of his clothes (Sandy assured him with a yell from his position of steering the boat that he had an extra set of clothes that would probably fit him in a box somewhere), it took the fact that neither MK nor Mei were laughing for Wukong to remember that little fact. 

He moved his hand to cover the scar on his cheek. 

He forgot about the burn marks around his eyes though. 

“Did…. did I do that?” Mei asked, and it took Wukong almost a moment too long to realize what she was talking about as she shrank away from him and MK, taking a small step backwards. MK reached out to grab her hand before she could take another step back, running his thumb over her fingers reassuringly. 

“Wh- no! This? No!” Wukong paused for a moment, trying to figure out how best to explain it. “These are from- they’re older, they’re-” 

“From the furnace, right?” MK said, sounding a little bit resigned, even as Mei relaxed a bit more beside him. “The one you were trapped in?” 

“Yeah. That.” Wukong said, fidgeting his hands, his tail swinging as a nervous smile appeared on his face. “Look, can we just…drop this conversation for now? Yeah, yes, let’s not talk about this, I’m going to go get some new clothes-” 

Wukong walked off to go inside the ship, Mei and MK moving to the side to let him walk by. 

“Don’t think we’re going to forget about this!” MK called, “If you’re hiding more stuff under those glamours, you should just tell us!” 

Wukong winced. 

The way Mei had backed away in fear at his appearance and at herself just moments before replayed in his mind as he remembered the more recent singe marks throughout his fur. 

No. He wouldn’t be telling them about it anytime soon if he could help it.  

For their sake. Not his. 

-

It was barely another 3 days before Wukong encountered his next dilemma. More blue streaks had started showing through, which MK had thankfully not commented on when he came over for training. The cut through his eyebrow was starting to come through, although as of right now it simply looked like the hair there was thinning. 

Wukong wasn’t deeply concerned with these. Not really. MK and the others already knew about them, for the most part. He definitely didn’t spend a lot of the previous night laying in his hammock, completely awake, worrying about it. 

Definitely not. 

…His red eyes had finally broken through the glamours, leaving them no longer pink. He wasn’t sure if the others had noticed that. Like with the other blue streaks appearing in his hair, there had been no comment about it. 

He would admit he was a little worried about his eyes. People had called them scary before. Including Tripitaka. He’d started glamouring them to a softer gold for a reason, after all. 

That wasn’t Wukong’s dilemma though. 

Or, well, it was still part of it. But it wasn’t the biggest problem. 

No, the biggest problem lay in the fact that when he had woken up that morning, he had discovered that the glamours over the singe marks in his fur were starting to break. 

Wukong absolutely could not let the others see those marks. 

He couldn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

Standing in front of the mirror, Wukong let out a breath. 

Carefully, he reached for his hair, trying to replicate the way Macaque had ran his fingers through it, bending the strings of magic to glamour away the burn marks. Vividly, the memory of leaning into Macaque’s touch came back into his mind, and he huffed, feeling flustered, choosing to ruffle his hair around instead of actually glamouring it, leaving his hair looking somewhat a mess. 

Closing his eyes, Wukong tried to reapply his glamours the way he used to. 

Something pulled, and Wukong let out a hiss, feeling like he’d just pulled a muscle. He dropped the glamours quickly, letting out a sigh of defeat. 

There were no doubts about it then. He’d have to go visit Macaque soon, preferably before the next time MK came around for training. 

Speaking of MK, Wukong’s phone picked that time to ding with a text message. Wukong reached over to pick it up, swiping it open to his messages, reading what MK had sent him.

And then he stiffened, still like a stone, his phone falling out of his hands, thankfully landing in the full laundry hamper instead of on the hard floor. 

Screw seeing Macaque “soon”. He needed to see Macaque now. 

Grabbing some looser clothes, pulling them on quickly, not caring that he still looked like a mess, Wukong grabbed his phone with his tail, leaping out his bathroom window, summoning his cloud and zooming to Macaque’s dojo, the wind rustling his hair, making his eyes water as it stung slightly, but he didn’t give himself a break to stop and rub them. 

He barely avoided crashing through Macaque’s roof, only just remembering to stop in time and land gently so as to not create a hole. Walking over to the side of the roof, he carefully clambered until he was dangling upside down outside of Macaque’s window. 

It was after eleven, so Macaque was sure to be up. 

Wukong tried to push the window open. 

…It made a clicking noise, and didn’t budge.

Locked. 

Sun Wukong did not currently have time for locks. 

He swung back, letting go of the rail he’d been dangling off of, spinning in mid air- 

And slamming back, kicking Macaque’s window open. 

There was a loud yell from inside the room, and Wukong winced, aware of the fact he’d probably just scared Macaque half to death, but this was important. 

“Wukong- what the fuck! Why are you-” Macaque started, but Wukong cut him off, quickly walking over the shards of broken glass to grab hold of Macaque’s arms and stare directly into his eyes. “Hey- not so close-” 

“Macaque. I need… your help.” Wukong forced out, before registering how close he’d put Macaque’s face to his, and immediately stepped back again, distracting himself and hiding the golden blush that had appeared on his face by starting to pull up the loose shirt he had quickly adorned before flying over, pulling it over his head. 

Macaque let out a strangled sort of noise, but Wukong ignored it, instead fighting with the fabric as it got stuck for a moment on the back of his head, before he finally managed to pull it off. Letting the shirt fall to the floor below him, Wukong shook his hair out of his face, before finally looking back at Macaque, who was covering his own face with one hand. 

“...Why are you doing that?” Wukong asked, and Macaque’s fur bristled as his hand fell down to rest by his side. 

“No reason. Why did you take your stupid shirt off?” Macaque said, and Wukong refocused on the issue at hand. 

“MK invited me to a pool party!” Wukong said, distress in his voice as he grabbed his phone out of his tail’s grip and shoved it into Macaque’s face, showing the invite in question. Macaque pushed the phone out of his face, leaning back. 

“Congrats. That doesn’t explain shit.” 

“Well look at me!” 

Macaque, who up till this point had been solely making eye contact with Wukong, stumbled a bit as he took a step back, looking Wukong up and down before looking away. Clearly, he wasn’t getting the point. 

The point of course, being that Wukong’s body was covered in scars. Scars he absolutely did not want the kid and the others to see. 

Scars that Macaque was now currently very much avoiding looking at. 

Wukong walked back over to him, grabbing hold of his wrist. 

“Macaque, I need you to glamour me.” 

Macaque startled again at that, finally meeting Wukong’s eyes again. He opened his mouth, and Wukong immediately knew that a “no” was coming. 

He couldn’t afford “no”. 

“Please, Macaque.” He said, making Macaque pause in the middle of forming words. “I can’t- they can’t know. They can’t.” 

Macaque stared at him for an uncomfortably long minute, eventually breaking eye contact as he looked away with a sigh. 

“Fine.” He said, “But you will be paying to fix my window.” 

Wukong nodded, and then turned, walking over to Macaque’s bed, climbing up to kneel on it, wanting a comfortable place to rest, Macaque following him hesitantly. 

“By the way.” Wukong said, making Macaque jump a little as he looked at him. “Did you tell MK about this whole glamouring thing?” 

“What?! Of course not.” Macaque rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I wouldn’t betray your trust like that.” 

“Yes you would. Absolutely you would.” Wukong sighed, “How much did you tell him?” 

“...Not much. Just that I was doing your glamours for you.” Macaque mumbled, then reached his hands out to hover over Wukong’s chest, before he pulled them back, rubbing at his wrists. 

“WhEre-” His voice squeaked, and he coughed before trying to speak again. “Where do you want me to start?” 

“...Scars first.” Wukong whispered, “Please.” 

Nobody had ever looked at Wukong’s scars before, much less touched them. And considering how Macaque had glamoured away the marks on his face… 

Macaque nodded, pausing for a moment to grip the edge of his scarf, bringing it up to his mouth to chew on it, hesitantly looking at Wukong out of the corner of his eyes as he did so, but Wukong made no comment about it, instead staring up at the ceiling, leaving Macaque to do his job however he wanted. 

-

Macaque stared at the scars and marks that littered Wukong’s body, chewing thoughtfully as he decided which one to glamour first. 

Carefully, he placed his hand over top of one that looked more recent, over top of Wukong’s stomach and side. It looked like it hadn’t healed properly the first time, or like it had been reopened by another fight. Or multiple other fights. In fact, it almost looked like it was still healing. 

Macaque had a vague memory of kicking Wukong there when he attacked the airship.

Well… there wasn't much he could do about that now. His time of working under the Lady Bone Demon’s ivory chains was long over. 

He moved his hands gently over top of the scars covering the rest of Wukong’s front, desperately focusing only on his task instead of the actual visuals in front of him, glad that Wukong had been too distracted with the fabric of his shirt getting stuck than to notice the blush that had ignited on Macaque’s face, giving him enough time to glamour it away. Macaque kept chewing his scarf as his hands flickered over a scar that looked like it had come from a sword, his ears twitching as Wukong let out shaky breaths a few times, a wobbly smile on his face (Macaque remembered the tickle fights they had when they were younger. But they weren’t close like that anymore), before moving around to do his back as well. 

Macaque paused. 

There were scars on Wukong’s back too, of course. Marks from where Erlang Shen stabbed him with a spear, marks left over from where the rocks had dug into Wukong’s back during his 500 years under the crushing weight of a mountain. Macaque expected those scars. 

What he hadn’t expected where the bluish-white swirls, patterns that almost looked like frost, that covered Wukong’s back, in a way that almost mirrored the markings that covered the front of Macaque’s chest, a reminder of how the Lady Bone Demon had thrown more power into him, overloading him by force, blinding his mind to everything but one thing; salvation. 

Macaque looked up to stare at the back of Wukong’s head. 

Did…Wukong know these markings were here? 

Macaque honestly had no idea. 

His hands shook for a moment, almost scared to touch the markings, they looked almost… fragile. Like they would shatter if Macaque touched them. Or worse. Like they would make ice spread across his hand again, traveling up his arm and over his chest- 

“Macaque?” Wukong’s voice held a note of concern in it, and Macaque realized he’d frozen for a moment too long. “Are you okay?” 

“..Fine.” Macaque muttered, voice partially muffled from the scarf still held within his mouth. Before Wukong could say anything else, Macaque’s hand made contact with the Monkey King’s back, feeling his muscles stiffen underneath of his touch. 

If Macaque was a bit more gentle with glamouring those marks, well, no-one would have to know. This was their little secret after all. 

The scars glamoured away, Macaque went to work glamouring the blue streaks and burn marks threaded throughout the rest of Wukong’s fur. 

“You uh. You don’t need to glamour away the freckles and scars on my face.” Wukong said, when Macaque started to move his hands up there. “The kids have already seen. You can um. Leave some of the blue streaks too. I’d…still like my eyes and burn marks glamoured though.” 

Macaque rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not your hairstylist or something like that y’know.” He said, letting his scarf fall out of his mouth so that he could talk clearly. “I told you that before, remember?” 

“Yeah yeah.” Wukong huffed, “Just making sure you don’t glamour everything away and make the other’s more suspicious than they already are.” 

Macaque clicked his tongue, before moving his hand to run through Wukong’s hair to glamour away the singe marks. 

Wukong leaned into the touch, which at the least, this time they both partially expected and were ready for. 

This time though, they were both surprised at the soft sound of Wukong purring. 

A soft purr started up in Macaque’s own throat as well at the sound, but he got rid of it by coughing, Wukong doing a similar action, almost sounding like he was choking as he coughed to cover up the sound of the purr. 

They both avoided eye contact for a few seconds afterwards before Macaque went back to work. 

Macaque was close to being done, the two of them starting to space out a little in their own thoughts, when the phone rang, making both of them jump, their fur standing on end. Macaque quickly reached over and picked it up, answering as fast as he could to make the ringing stop. 

“Hello?” 

“Macaque? Why are you answering Monkey King’s phone?” 

They both realized their mistake immediately. 

Wukong quickly snatched his phone out of Macaque’s hand, laughing nervously into it. 

“Macaque? Sorry bud, I don’t know what you’re talking about-” 

“Monkey King? Are you with Macaque right now?” 

“WhAt? Noooo, of course not, I’m on Flower Fruit Mountain, as usual, why would you even think of that?” 

“Because I’m at Flower Fruit Mountain, and you’re not.” 

“You’re a shit liar, Wukong.” Macaque muttered as Wukong stuttered, trying to find another reasonable excuse. 

“ShhhhHHhhHhh!” Wukong hissed, but the phone still managed to pick up Macaque’s voice. 

“You ARE with Macaque!” 

“I’m not!” Wukong insisted, “You’re just- hearing things.” 

“Where are you right now?” 

“I’m- on my way back to the mountain?” 

“I don’t hear any wind from your somersault cloud.” 

“That’s- um-” 

“You’re at Macaque’s dojo aren’t you. I’m coming there.” 

“I’m not- ah shit he hung up.” Wukong stared at his phone in despair, before rounding on Macaque. “This is your fault!” 

“Wh- How is it my fault?!” 

“You’re the one who answered the phone!” 

“Yeah, to shut it up, your shrill as hell ringtone was hurting my ears!” Macaque said, rubbing his ears with a wince to drive the point home. Wukong’s glare didn’t lessen, but his next sentence was said in a significantly quieter tone of voice. 

“Why didn’t you just press ignore?!” 

“I don’t know- instinct??? I was startled, Wukong. Why didn’t you answer the phone?” 

“I was… busy. Focusing.” 

“Focusing on what, I was the one doing all the work-” 

Wukong’s face flushed slightly gold, and Macaque raised an eyebrow, about to comment on it- 

“Why is the window broken?” MK’s voice rang out, making both monkeys freeze, as they slowly turned to see MK crouching on the windowsill. MK looked up from the shattered glass that lay scattered all over the floor, and, upon seeing the shirtless, blushing Wukong, as well as the slightly frazzled looking Macaque next to him, both of them sitting on Macaque’s bed, raised an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting something?” 

“No!” Both monkeys shouted, at the same time, Macaque going as far as to shove Wukong away from him, Wukong flailing as he fell off the bed. Again. For the second time that month. Wukong scrambled upon impact, grabbing his shirt and hurriedly pulling it over his head. The shock from the impact and the entire situation had knocked his eyes back to pink. 

“Are ya sure?” MK asked, pressing his cheek against the staff as he watched the two monkeys flail. “Because I just came to get ya for the pool party, if ya want I can wait another minute or two.” 

“It’s fine!” Wukong’s voice squeaked, but he ignored it. “It’s- nothing was happening! I’m ready, let’s go.” 

“Ah- hold on.” Macaque’s hand reached out, gently covering Wukong’s eyes for a moment, making the Monkey King pause mid-step. Slowly, he pulled his hand back, and Wukong blinked, his eyes back to the false gold. “There you go. Have fun at your little party.” 

Wukong glanced worriedly at MK to see if he had noticed the glamour being put on, but his successor was busy typing…something onto his phone. Wukong let out a small relieved sigh, and started walking over to the window, MK looking up as he heard the sound of the glass cracking under Wukong’s feet. 

“Y’know, you can come too if you wanna, Macaque.” MK said, shifting to the side so Wukong could climb up onto the windowsill with him. “Party’s open to anyone who wants to come.” 

“Sorry, the sun’s a bit too bright for me.” Macaque said, a teasing tone in his voice that made Wukong’s fur bristle. 

“Yeah, sure, and the moon’s light keeps me up at night.” Wukong snarked back, ignoring Macaque’s tsk as he jumped out the window and onto his cloud, MK quickly joining him, flying off in the direction of the beach. 

“...Monkey King?” MK said, grabbing Wukong’s attention. 

“Hm?” 

“Your eyes are already pink again.” 

“Fuck-” 

-

It had been a long time since Macaque had gone to Flower Fruit Mountain. 

He’d imagined scenarios that would bring him back there multiple times, never acting on any of them, but thinking of them occasionally and how he’d react in vivid detail. Some of said scenarios involved fighting Wukong. 

Some of them involved just the opposite. 

But still, none of the scenarios he’s imagined had involved MK pulling in his favor from when he’d sent Macaque those pictures of Wukong’s freckles to get Macaque to come to the mountain and help clean out Wukong’s treasure vault. Apparently, the group had initially all been on Flower Fruit Mountain to play some kind of game, but had switched gears after accidentally once again stumbling upon the mess that was Wukong’s treasure room, and after a good debate with Wukong about the state of it, had decided to clean it up a little. 

Macaque double checked the text message to make sure it was really real. He even went as far as to turn his phone off and on a few times. 

And then he dialed MK’s number. 

“Hey Macaque- Monkey King, do NOT make that pile of stuff fall down just because you think it’s funny- TANG. DON’T THINK I DON’T SEE YOU ABOUT TO STEAL THOSE FIGURINES YOUNG MAN.” 

“MK I’M OLDER THAN YOU-” 

“Anyways Macaque are you on your way over yet?” 

It sounded like absolute chaos. Macaque did not want to go. 

But… He had promised to MK’s deal. And he may not always be the best demon, but he wasn’t going to outright break this promise. 

Still, Macaque didn’t outright answer, instead letting out a tired sigh before hanging up as a loud clatter and yelling started coming through the phone. Running his hands through his hair, he double checked to make sure all his glamours were up, taking a few extra seconds to try and mentally prepare himself for the absolute hell he was about to walk into. 

And then he stepped forwards and down into the shadows, reappearing outside of Wukong’s house on Flower Fruit Mountain. Immediately, his ears were overwhelmed with noise, the clanging of objects falling to the floor, as well as various shouts of anger and fear. They’d probably knocked over one of Wukong’s piles of stuff. 

But that wasn’t what Macaque first focused on. 

Instead, what caught his attention was the pain that came with using his magic, and he collapsed to one knee, panting, having not expected the overexertion from something as small as shadow travelling. He closed his eyes as he focused on steadying his breathing, glad that he had decided to appear in front of Wukong’s house instead of the actual treasure room, so that the others weren’t seeing this pathetic display. 

Finally starting to calm his breathing, feeling the magic in his chest start to settle, Macaque slowly opened his eyes. 

And was faced with the fact that his hand was fading. 

Panic gripping him once more, Macaque instinctively shook his hand desperately, as though shaking it would make it come back into view. 

It took a few more seconds for him to start thinking slightly logically. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Macaque released the glamour around his chest. He didn’t really need it, considering the clothes he wore covered it completely, so really it was just a waste of magic. He could feel the stress on the magic in his chest lessen slightly, and slowly, scaringly slowly, his hand faded back into view. 

Macaque took a few minutes to breath, calming down, and making sure no other parts of him were starting to fade from view. 

He also double checked to make sure that no part of his chest and the scars upon it was visible. He may have clothes over top of it, but he couldn’t help but be a little paranoid. 

Another crash from the treasure room reminded him of why he was on the mountain in the first place. 

Slowly standing up- stumbling a little, slightly woozy before managing to steady himself, he straightened his back, adopting a laid back and relaxed posture, like he hadn’t almost had a panic attack. He still felt slightly on edge, and another crash from the treasure room made his ears ring, but it was fine. This was fine. He could handle this. It’d be fine. 

There were no other ways that this could go wrong. Not in the slightest. 

Well aware that if he continued that line of thought for any longer he’d likely end up jinxing himself, if he hadn’t done so already, Macaque walked over and quietly snuck in through the treasure room door and into a space of complete and utter chaos. 

Tang was surprisingly the first to notice his quiet appearance. 

Immediately, he stopped yelling, slipping out around the pile of stuff he had been partially standing behind, moving over to slide up beside the shadow monkey. 

“Nice of you to join us.” He said, and Macaque raised an eyebrow at the limited edition figure held in Tang’s arms. Tang, following his gaze, shifted to hold the figure behind his back and out of view. “As you can see, things are a little…” 

“Chaotic?” Macaque said, putting a small smirk on his face. Tang took a step back from him, looking at him in concern, and Macaque let the smile slip a little.

“Are you okay?” Tang asked, and Macaque tsked, knowing something in his expression must have given something away. 

“Fine.” He said, turning away from Tang’s concerned gaze, and starting to walk in the direction of some random pile, trying to tune out the yelling from the rest of the group behind him. Tang seemingly made the wise decision to leave him be, as he didn’t follow. 

Macaque rolled his eyes as he looked up at the large pile of magical items laying in front of him. Reaching out, he grabbed the first loose object he saw, giving it a once over, before throwing it into the circle drawn on the ground with the words “non-magical items” written on it. Apparently the others had devised some kind of sorting system before he had arrived. 

He did look at some of the objects in the magical items pile in confusion, mainly the very normal looking blender, but decided he did not want to know. 

Digging in deep into the pile of magic items, rummaging around, he didn’t notice the staff beside him slowly starting to slide towards him. 

At least, not until it knocked him on the head. 

Macaque hissed, pushing the staff away, moving his hand to his head to rub the sore spot where it had hit, before freezing. 

Slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand back, studying it. 

The fur there was white. A little singed, charred at the edges, but still white. Swirls of blue moved down it. 

He was sure that if he took off his shirt, similar swirls of blue would be on his chest as well. Hurriedly turning, he reached into the pile for something- anything that would reflect his appearance. 

Pulling out a normal, if slightly stylished, mirror, Macaque jaw dropped. 

All of his glamours were down. 

All of them. 

Trying not to panic again, Macaque reached for his magic, trying to move the strings to reapply his glamours. 

Something in his chest twinged, and, instead of glamours, the shadows around him started condensing, swirling around him. 

No. 

No- no! That wasn’t he wanted- His magic was already low as it is, he couldn’t afford to over-extend it anymore after what happened earlier- 

Well aware that he was hyperventilating, Macaque turned back to look at the staff that hit him. 

It offered no clues, sitting there innocently. 

Macaque grabbed it and threw it as far away from himself as possible. 

His glamours still did not return. 

The shadows swirling around him were getting stronger. 

One of them swung out, knocking over a pile of stuff close to him, sending the objects clattering over the floor, the sound ringing and echoing impossibly loud in the room. 

Macaque fell to his knees, covering his ears in pain. His chest twinged again, and more shadows started materializing. 

He had to stop. It’d be better to simply have his glamours down then to over-exhaust himself trying to put them back up. He tried to stop. 

His magic twinged. 

…He couldn’t stop. 

H e c o u l  d n ‘ t s t o p. 

-

Wukong hadn’t even known Macaque was there before the blast of shadow magic hit. 

It immediately shut up any and all arguments, MK grabbing onto Pigsy and Tang to stop them from getting knocked back by the blast. 

“What was that?!” Mei asked, but Wukong didn’t bother to answer, hopping up and over a pile of objects, almost slipping as some of them moved underneath of his feet. He had just managed to stabilize himself when another blast of shadow magic hit, causing Wukong to have to hold his hands up to shield his face and eyes, stumbling back, before slipping, rolling down the pile. He groaned as he rolled onto the ground, pulling himself back up, raising a hand to stop the next burst of shadow magic from hitting him directly. 

Distracted as he was, he didn’t even notice that the blast and the fall had knocked all of his glamours completely off. 

Standing up, keeping one hand up to shield himself from the uncontrolled magic, his red eyes flickered a bright gold as he tried to assess the situation. 

He could see Macaque in the eye of the storm, and a flash of anger, of betrayal, rang through him for a moment, before it quieted. 

Something was wrong. 

Macaque was kneeling on the ground, his hands covering his ears, curling slightly in pain. His magic bursting uncontrollably, beating like a frantic heartbeat. 

…He was crying. 

“Macaque?” Wukong called, taking a cautious step forward, the force of Macaque’s magic making it feel like walking through gale force winds. “Mango? Plum? Liu Er?” 

Macaque didn’t react to any of those names. 

Wukong kept walking forwards, his steps almost seeming to echo as he pushed himself through the shadow magic, having to shield his eyes at every burst. But he didn’t stop. 

Macaque needed him now, and Wukong wasn’t going to abandon him again. 

Gritting his teeth, the magic lashing against him starting to sting, forged forwards, reaching out his arm, practically walking blind as the magic made his eyes water and his vision blur. 

His hand grasped onto Macaque’s scarf, and he felt the shadow monkey gasp as Wukong immediately surged the rest of the way forwards, collapsing to his knees and wrapping his arms around him. Macaque continued to let out heaving breaths, practically hyperventilating, but the shadows stopped lashing around, slowly withdrawing into nothing, an eerie sense of calm replacing it. 

Macaque’s hands shook, before they started clinging to Wukong’s shirt. 

Or, well, they tried to. 

Instead, they simply passed through the fabric. 

Wukong shivered at the cold sensation, and Macaque’s breath picked up, still panicking, as Wukong glanced down to see that Macaque’s hands and arms were going wispy, fading in and out. For a moment he just stared at it in disbelief, before looking back up and seeing Macaque’s panicked face, registering that this was real, and that this was not good. 

Both of the monkeys panicking, neither of them were capable of saying any words, Wukong flailing around for a solution while Macaque started curling up again. Wukong’s eyes flickered gold again, as he scoured the piles of stuff in his immediate area, letting out a small noise of distress when he couldn’t find anything. He looked back at Macaque with a sense of fear filling him. 

He was going to lose him. 

He was going to lose his friend again. And this time, there wasn’t anything or anyone that could interfere and bring him back. 

Wukong looked over Macaque again, completely ignorant to how the other’s glamours were down due to the fact that he was now well aware that this could be the last time he saw him. Ever. For the rest of his immortal life. Which he honestly wasn’t sure would ever possibly end. 

This could be the last time he sees Macaque forever. 

No. 

No, he couldn’t allow that. 

He’d only just started getting his Macaque back, he couldn’t afford to lose him so soon. 

Taking a breath as the wispiness spread from Macaque’s hands to his elbows, Wukong reactivated his true sight, analyzing Macaque again. 

The ball of magic in Macaque’s chest was wavering, unstable, unsteady, weak. 

Well. If it was magic that Macaque needed, then Wukong just needed to find some way to feed magic to him. 

…He had absolutely no idea how to do that. 

He was sure there was some spell or something for it, but Wukong had never had to give his magic to somebody before. Sure, he’d had to seal magic, but never give it. He was pretty sure they were two very different processes. 

Macaque’s upper arms started to fade, and the shadow monkey let out a small whimper, making Wukong refocus. 

Well, if he had no other choice, then he had no other choice. 

Face flushing gold at the thought of what he was about to do, Wukong grabbed hold of Macaque’s shoulders, and, before he could think better of it, closed his eyes, leaned forwards, and kissed him. 

Macaque’s fur bristled, and he opened his mouth in a gasp, and Wukong pressed closer against him, biting Macaque’s bottom lip gently so that his mouth would stay open, willing his magic to somehow travel to the other. 

Something in him shifted, a tear running down his face as his magic reached out towards Macaque. 

A line of golden ichor dripped out of the corner of their mouths and down Macaque’s chin, falling to the floor. 

Macaque swallowed instinctively. 

Wukong felt something shift, and he leaned back, wiping the back of his mouth as he stared at Macaque, whose face had flushed a deep purple. Macaque’s arms and legs slowly faded back into view, and Wukong let out a sigh of relief. A soft golden light glowed through the clothes on Macaque’s chest, and Wukong gently reached out to touch it, feeling the steady hum as Macaque’s magic greedily accepted Wukong’s, merging and twisting it to match itself, stabilizing. 

The glow slowly faded away, leaving Wukong to only feel Macaque’s still heaving breaths. Carefully, Wukong started rubbing comforting circles on Macaque’s chest, and then, after a few moments of that didn’t seem to help, wrapped his tail around Macaque’s waist, lifting him up, before adjusting his position so that he could hold Macaque in his lap. Macaque let out a small squeak as he was lifted, and Wukong resisted the urge to smirk, now that the danger was past. He rubbed soft circles on Macaque’s back, breathing slowly, secretly calming himself down as well as Macaque matched his breathing to his. 

They sat there, in complete silence for a few minutes, neither of them saying a word. Macaque seemingly lost in his own thoughts and Wukong just staring at him silently, not wanting to say anything in case he startled Macaque into panicking again. That was the last thing he wanted right now. 

Eventually, the fact he wasn’t fading away anymore finally seemed to register in Macaque’s mind as he stared down at his hands in awe, turning them over, like he expected them to start going wispy again at any moment. Then he brought them gently to his chest, taking a deep breath in and slowly letting it out, his good eye flickering purple, the glamour over his scar reappearing, hiding it from view. 

Wukong gently reached out and touched Macaque’s face, rubbing the glamour away. Macaque jumped a little, somehow having forgotten through all this that he was sitting on Wukong’s lap. 

And then, as soon as the realization came to him, he was squirming, trying to get out of Wukong’s grip. 

“Let go- I can’t believe you just- Gah!” Macaque yelped when Wukong wrapped his arms tighter around him, squeezing him a little. “H-hey!” 

Wukong didn’t say anything, simply resting his forehead against Macaque’s. 

“I thought I was going to lose you again.” He whispered, gently, and he felt Macaque’s surprised exhale ghost over his lips. “I don’t want to lose you again, Liu Er.” 

Macaque’s next breath was slightly shaky, as he reached up to put his hands on top of Wukong’s shoulders.

“Please.” He said, trying to smirk. “You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon. I’ve made it my life’s goal to haunt the shit out of you. Plus this whole living thing has been treating me rather well, so, yeah. Plus, how could I ever leave a world where I get to stare at your face every day?” 

Wukong hummed, well aware that he was blushing gold again, a soft purr forming in his throat, but it was nothing compared to the way the purple blush on Macaque’s face burned, spreading to his ears as he realized what exactly he had said. 

“I- and by that I mean- well- I, don’t take what I just said in a positive way you know!” He said, a flustered purr, louder than Wukong’s soft one, starting up in his throat as he kept talking. “I meant it in a- in a bad way- your face makes me so mad I couldn’t bear to leave a world where I haven't punched it-” 

“Mhm, yeah, sure.” Wukong chuckled, amused, rubbing his forehead gently against Macaque’s as the other let out a frustrated huff. “And I could never afford to lose my best makeup artist.” 

Macaque blinked, processing the sentence, before frowning.

“You’re meant to say best friend you dumbass- I’ve told you I’m not your makeup artist.” 

“I know. I do mean it though. I wouldn’t want to lose one of my most important treasures in the room meant to keep my treasure safe, after all.” Wukong said. 

Macaque let out a flustered sound, finally leaning back from Wukong, having lost their small bantering game, covering his face with his hands. Wukong clicked his tongue. 

“You know.” He said, reaching out and grabbing hold of Macaque’s wrists to pull his hands down. “We really should cover everything with this, I might not have given you enough magic just now. So, unless you say it’s not necessary…what if I give you more to make sure?” 

They both knew full well that Wukong had given him enough magic. 

Still, Macaque, greedy as he was, nodded his head. 

Wukong let go of one of Macaque’s wrists to gently cup Macaque’s cheek before he was leaning in, kissing him again. 

-

Laying down on top of one of the treasure piles, observing the two monkeys, the others glanced at MK as he hummed with contemplation. 

“First of all, I called it.” 

Everyone gave quiet sounds of agreement, Tang going as far as to hand MK a small wad of money. MK pocketed it, before continuing. 

“...Secondly, do you think they know we’re still here?”

[quotidian-oblivion]

I remember way back around October, I was in irl Mrs. Barah's English class, opening up the word document which held a rant I had typed the night before. This was the rant:

Jason blinked. “Who’s Tim Drake?” Jackie shook her head, eyes wide. “He’s only the legend and leader of the school. You know, a lot of people compare him to the likes of a mafia boss?” “Like, here’s a freshman who is an actual 12-year-old. Easy bait, right?” a student piped up. “Wrong. The so-called “12-year-old” is not only academically smart, but also politically smart.” Another student nodded, saying, “It had been barely three months and he already had blackmail on half the bullies in the school. He made deals and truces with the other half of the bullies. The minor ones cower before him, because in a span of three months, he’s managed to become all chummy-chummy with the big guys, when they’ve been trying for three years.” “No one has met a single person in the history of the school who is friends with the bullies, the students, and the teachers,” Jackie added. “Plus, he’s offering homework help and occasionally accepting candy as payment? Well, sign me up. Actually, I did sign up. I’m almost getting all grades above B on my final report card.” Alexander added ominously, “Majority of the girls think he’s adorable. The majority of the boys think he’s cool. The mean girls bend to his every will. The jocks give him hi-fives and fist bumps in the corridors and stick up for him in P.E. Not that he needs much, he’s so smart that he used freaking science to defeat everyone in dodgeball. Something about velocity reducing when standing at the very back? I don’t know, man.” One of the other students said, “The nerds ask him for tips on how to play chess and dungeons and dragons. The older theater kids ask him out for group milkshake parties. The prom queen and king asked him to be a chaperone on their first date. The teachers think he's a charm.“ “And all the janitors keep him up to date on new facilities and latest gossip,” a janitor walking by said. “We even made a copy of every key at the school for him, don’t tell the staff though.” Jackie turned back to Jason, “The kid is a legend. A real legend known under the name of Timothy Jackson Drake."

Obviously it's edited to be more comprehensible and integrated in the fic, but that was the gist of it. And from that rant, I wrote two series (and some fics in the Mafia Files and Packages that other cool writers co-wrote).

Two series that has been going on for a full year now.

But today, they both end. The whole AU ends. And it does so, with this fic:

Thanks for being here

[tomboy014]

It seems like a lot of the DP/DC crossovers I’ve seen have Danny either secretly related to Bruce or Damian or Dick, and if he’s not directly related to one of them, Bats is at the ready with adoption papers.  But if it’s a fic where anyone is related, it’s one of the bats related to Danny, but I think there’s a better candidate.  May I present for the Phandom’s consideration:

Sam Manson.

Hear me out!

Bruce and Sam have a lot in common.  They both

Have black hair

Have eyes in the same color family (Bruce and Sam’s parents are blue, Sam’s are purple)

Are both goth

Come from inherited, generational wealth

Are Jewish

Are intelligent and athletic

Will aggressively fight for causes and the change they want to see

And of course, they both fight superpowered entities that should be beyond their capabilities to handle as normal humans.

The timing also works out for Martha and Ida to be sisters.  Out of ease, the kids use the titles of Aunt and Uncle for Bruce, Pamela and Jeremy even though they’re actually cousins. They don’t really see each other that often, mostly for holidays and big events like graduations or Sam’s bat mitzvah. Every so often, they all get together for more formal galas and charity events.

Plus, it makes it so much funnier if these are the “cousins” Sam refuses to babysit.  Can you blame her?  Would you want to be in charge of keeping Tim and Damian from killing each other?  Plus, the interactions between them and the way they relate would be great!

Bruce (43), Dick (26), Jason (21), Cass (19), Steph and Tim (18), Duke (15-16?), Damian (10), Sam (14)

Dick:  Is the perky ball of sunshine Pamela wishes Sam could be, and she get compared to him a lot.  Sam can’t stand him.  Dick has never seen Sam when her mother isn’t around, so his impression of her is she’s moody and surly.  Doesn’t like being in the middle of their fights or getting his cheeks pinched by Pam every time he comes over.

Jason:  Pamela can’t stand him.  Due to whatever cover story they made up to cover up Jason’s death and return, Pamela is now convinced that he’s some delinquent who’ll wind up a criminal (she’s not entirely wrong?).  Such a shame since he was so sweet as a kid.  His death is what started Sam’s interest in the occult.  Sam’s favorite cousin.  She loves that he’s actually a giant dork and bookworm behind the cool, tough-guy façade.  He keeps Sam well supplied in combat boots.  If they both disappear at a function in Amity Park, they’re probably hanging out at the Skulk n Lurk. 

Tim:  Another problem child according to Pam.  He’s the one who introduced Sam to videogames and Doomed.  Tim changed the Manson’s home theater set-up so they can play videogames on the big screen whenever the Wayne’s come over.  Will go out of his way to piss Pamela off.

Steph and Cass:  Steph doesn’t always come over when the rest of the Wayne’s do, but when she does, she sticks to Cass.  Big sister vibes from them both, scarily insightful, and good listeners.  They’re cool.

Damian:  They have the most shared interests, so you’d think they’d get along, but neither can stand the others’ attitude.  It’s a case of like repelling like.  Sam helped him figure out what kind of vegetarian he wanted to be and gave him a bunch of her favorite recipes.  If the two of them disappear while at Wayne Manor, you can usually find them hanging out with Batcow.

Duke:  The newest addition to the family, Sam is aware of him, but they haven’t met yet.

Part 2

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine the white beard pirates doing a cheesy crew costume

During a failing brainstorming meeting

Ace: uck, who decided that the yonkos should have a crew costume competition every year, Big mom always wins any ways. They're an entire family of theater nerds, and logia users, of course they're going to win.

Marco: It's a tradition Roger started, and there was once an attempt to stop having them, but King's assistant single-handedly secured its continuation by asking if pulling out of the competition would be forfeiting, because all four four of the captains refuse to forfeit. And they did entirely to spite King, who hates the competition, because be has to participate. *Crumples a sketch into a ball and torches it in his fist*

Izou: He deserved it too, from what I hear, but thankfully the other crews aren't much competition though, Kaido always does and animal or monster theme. Shanks's crew can barely scrounge together costumes. And both of them are usually only there for the food and booze.

Thatch: And pops is always so challenging to clothe, since we don't have a place to store lots of fabric. Plus he's too frugal to let us go all out on a costume for him.

You: I have an idea, and I know pops already has a bunch of the clothes we can use for his costume. All we'd need is a pops-sized plastic apron, plastic gloves, and a paper hat. And we could use the project I've been working on.

Izou: *looks over at you slowly, and without blinking, to emphasize his judgement* and what would we be going as?

You: so I think it's time I show you my project.

At the storage room you've converted into a crafts area

You: Behold... bread

Marco: *starts laughing* because's he's looking at two giant plushies that look like slices of bread*

You: yes, there's even a pad of butter pillow *whips it out and chucks it onto the bread* I stuffed it with your feathers.

Thatch: ooh, is this what you were doing with that fabric?

Izou: here I was thinking you were making clothing with that hideously colored fabric. That's a relief, but I still don't get it.

You: imagine pops in a polo shirt, khaki pants, wearing a plastic apron, a paper hat, and plastic gloves holding bread.

Izou: right...and why is pops dressing like a deli worker making a sandwich? What would we even use to go in the sandwich.

You: .... *grins evilly at him*

The day of the costume event

Whitebeard: *excitedly bouncing in his chair and is already wearing his costume* we'll arrive shortly, is everyone ready.

You: *dressed as a slice of tomato* no, they're still trying to wrestle Izou into his jam jar costume...oh there he is

Izou: *waddling around the costume* Look at me, I look ridiculous*

Thatch: *dressed as a bottle of Cesar salad dressing with fake little knives glued in it, like it's being stabbed* No you don't, you look adorable. *boops his nose*

Ace: *dressed as a slice of thick cut salami* Alright let's do this

Whitebeard: *uses the two slices of bread to pick the three of you up, and holds you aloft as he walks off the boat* who wants a sandwich!

The crew: *all dresses as condiments and sandwich fixings flood off the ship to meet up with the other crews*

Izou: *smooshed up against you, is wearing a deep frown and glaring at you,* I'm going to hold a grudge for this....

Ace: oh look Kaido picked to make their theme zombie animals this year!

You: *tries to distract Izou* hehe, and big mom and her kids are dressed as a chicken and a brood of chicks.

Whitebeard: *spends the day scooping up each of his sons and carrying them around in the bread*

Commissions

[shakespearianne]

How is that for a thank you ? || Eddie Munson x fem!reader (part. 1)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!henderson!reader

Warning: 18+smut (minors dni), use of weed, swearing, mention of death, a bit of a spoiler for season 4 (fix-it fic)

part. 2 can be found here

Summary:

“I-I couldn’t sleep.”

That sentence earned her a chuckle as Eddie ran his free hand into his wild hair, the palm laying on the back of his neck. 

“Neither can I. Don’t really know why. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we almost die while saving the world less than 48 hours ago.”

“You almost die. And I saved the world plus your ass.”

“And I am now forever indebted to you, my fearless Lady Knight. But do tell, to what do I owe the gift of your presence at my humble shack?”

“Well, lucky for you my good fellow. I think I know how you can start to repay me.” 

Tags: use of y/n, fem!reader, henderson!reader, reader is dustin older sister, reader saved eddie from the dermobats, and now she can't sleep so she goes to him, you can guess what happens next, use of weed, swearing, mention of death, ennemies to lovers, mild smut in part. 1 (making out, hickeys, hair pulling), heavier smut in part. 2 (dirty talk, oral (both m and f receiving), rough sex, choking, pet names, hair pulling, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tape it!!) switch!eddie, switch!reader, dumbasses in love), angst, but also fluff and tenderness, fix-it fic, season 4 ends very differently, reader is a theater kid and a Shakespeare fan.

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: I haven't written anything in like three years and I'm french so I apologize in advance for any typos or errors! but I just couldn't help myself. I mean... Eddie... Munson... so yeah, hope you enjoy it, and I'll see you for part. 2!!

Y/N Henderson could not sleep. 

She had tried everything, counting sheep, reading, breathing exercises, swallowing half of her mother’s bottle of melatonin gummies and even listening to her favorite Fleetwood Mac record – their second eponymous album, her father’s last gift to her before he passed away. But even Stevie Nicks’ soothing voice was useless. Sleep was determined to escape her and every time she felt like she was on the verge of grasping it, the peaceful feeling would disappear, leaving her more and more exhausted as the hours went by.

A quick look at the electronic clock beside her bed informed her that it was now 1 a.m. and Y/N knew that she would not get any sleep this night, exactly like the one before. Truth to be told, she hadn’t been able to get a decent rest since they had been back from the Upside Down, a few days ago. Memories haunted her. Nancy, with white pupils and a stiff body. Robin, usually so talkative, but quiet as the grave she then believed they would all end into, as the two girls were putting the Molotov cocktails together. Steve, squeezing her shoulder one more time before going to the Creel House to burn Vecna to the ground, with a tender look in his eyes that made Y/N realize that they might not see each other again. Her little brother, her own blood, Dustin, screaming in terror as the dermobats made their way into the trailer. And Eddie…

Eddie, cutting the rope between the two worlds. Eddie, announcing that he was buying them more time. Eddie, riding to distract Vecna’s creatures away from them. Eddie, alone, surrounding by screeching bats, Eddie getting beaten, Eddie getting choked, Eddie tumbling on the ground…

Y/N felt a shiver roaming her entire body and tears started to build up inside her throat. She could not live this terrible moment again. She refused it. But the memory would not leave her in peace. It would find her, again and again, plaguing her. Every single detail was so deeply engraved in her very being that Y/N knew that she could live a hundred years and never forget what had happened that day.

She ran. 

Towards him.

She could hear Dustin calling her, but it was cloudy, as if her little brother was so far away from her.

Nothing mattered.

Excepting him.

Him and his stupid rings, his stupid hair, his stupid guitar solo and his stupid foolish oh so ridiculously heroic ideas. 

Y/N bluntly got up and without thinking, she started to strip from her pajamas (which consisted of an old Bowie tee-shirt and shorts) and started to get dressed. She kept the tee-shirt, put her favorite pair of high-waisted black pants, a jean jacket that once belonged to her dad and laced up her old Dr Martens boots. She knew what she had to do, where she had to go and who she had to see. But first, she needed to get out of her house without waking everybody up.

Y/N had never been happier that her parents decided to buy a one-story house as she carefully opened her window and exited her bedroom. She gently landed on the grass and started to jog towards the garage. She could not use the car; the noise would surely wake her mother up. So, at the ripe age of 18, Y/N found herself using her old bike, to go to a boy’s house. The thought would have made her chuckle in another circumstance, as she rode through Hawkins, finding her way back to the trailer park. The night was surprisingly warm, but as she arrived at her goal, she shivered again. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all, maybe it was a terrible mistake, maybe his uncle was here or maybe he was not here or maybe he would not want to see her or-

But still, she knocked and waited anxiously for an answer. The answer came a few seconds later, as she heard a very distinct voice starting to grunt behind the closed door.

“Jesus H. Christ, who the fuck has nothing better to do in the middle of the night than- “

Eddie stopped as soon as he saw her, the door’s handle still in his hand. His brows lightly furrowed, his full lips parting as the rest of his sentence died in his throat. But it was his eyes that caught her breath. His deep brown eyes were full of an emotion that Y/N could not quite describe – there was surprise in there, for sure, but something else, something unsure, like an unspoken question. 

“Hi.” She simply said.

“Hi.” He responded, his lips now forming a soft smile

“I-I couldn’t sleep.”

That sentence earned her a chuckle as Eddie ran his free hand into his wild hair, the palm laying on the back of his neck. 

“Neither can I. Don’t really know why. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we almost die while saving the world less than 48 hours ago.”

“You almost die.” She observed, folding her arms with a smirk “And I saved the world plus your ass.”

“And I am now forever indebted to you, my fearless Lady Knight.” Eddie bowed as he spoke, one hand over his heart as the other laid behind his back. “But do tell, to what do I owe the gift of your presence at my humble shack?”

His smile was now mischievous, and Y/N felt an unfamiliar knot forming in her stomach. She was suddenly grateful that the night might hide whatever shade of red had now spread out on her cheeks. She mentally cursed herself for being so… responsive and hawked to regain her composure before talking again.

“Well, lucky for you my good fellow. I think I know how you can start to repay me.” 

______________________________________________________________

“Wait, you actually got Mrs O’Donnell to apologize?”

Y/N burst into laughter as Eddie suddenly repositioned himself on the couch, sitting on one of his legs to face her. She took another drag of the joint, enjoying the delicate feeling of the heavy smoke leaving her mouth to vanish into the trailer. A Black Sabbath record was playing, Eddie had insisted that smoking weed and listening to music were indivisible and strictly refused to let her choose whatever they would be listening to. “I provide the weed; I get to choose the atmosphere.” He had said and she had simply agreed, knowing that this battle was already lost.

“And rightfully so! She kept arguing that I did not understand anything about Hamlet’s monologue when it’s that fuckin’ stuck-up bitch that teaches Literature despite being completely obvious to the true meaning of William fuckin’ Shakespeare’s greatest work!”

She was extraordinary pretty when talking about something that was clearly a passion of hers, Eddie noticed. Not that Y/N wasn’t beautiful otherwise. Eddie was not completely blind to the fact that Dustin’s older sister was exquisitely charming. It was not just her looks but also the way she carried herself into the world, confident yet accessible. She was funny, a lot more than Eddie would ever admit out loud, and she was never ashamed of anything. She had proudly defended her little brother when he joined Hellfire, even offering that the club could use the classroom where the drama team created and kept their sets and accessories. Eddie knew that her family, given and chosen, meant everything to Y/N and the past few days had shown him how far she was willing to go in order to protect those she loved. 

So, yeah, the saying “True beauty comes from within” wasn’t a lie when talking about Y/N Henderson. But her beauty wasn’t just the consequence of her good nature. She was smoking hot, especially with that slightly otherwise David Bowie tee-shirt – ok, her music tastes were not that bad, although not metal enough to Eddie’s taste – that was kind enough to be a little loose at the top, offering the sight of a naked shoulder. 

But there was a sparkle in her eyes tonight that Eddie had never seen before. Well, perhaps that wasn’t true. Because the way she was talking – fast, with her hands dancing before her face like she was tracing mysterious shapes into the air and a voice that was higher than usual – her demeanor reminded him of another situation where she had shown a similar behavior. 

She was running.

She was running towards him.

He wanted to scream, to forbid her to come close because he knew, as he saw her figure coming closer and closer to where he was laying, fighting, screaming; he knew that she was also running towards a certain death.

But still, she ran. 

Eddie shook his head slightly, trying to banish the thought. But it was proving incredibly difficult, especially as the person who had occupied the entirety of his mind for the last few days and who had played the leading role in the memory that he was struggling to forget, was sitting so close to him. Even when they had brought him back from the Upside Down, wounded and barely standing, he wanted to make sure she was fine. Even when the cops had interrogated him for hours, finally leaving him be as they decided that he wasn’t so guilty after all, and that Jason Carver might had been the gruesome killer (Eddie did not know who to thank for this sudden change of heart from Hawkins police but he had a gut feeling that the order might had come from superior authorities), Eddie’s only worry had been that Dustin and her would suffer from being with him when he was brought to the hospital. She had been the only constant element in this chaotic moment and now she was smoking with him, more carefree and relaxed than he had ever saw her before. 

How she had picked the shield and the spears from the ground without hesitation and launched herself towards the dermobats.

How she had roared at them, protecting Eddie with her own body.

“YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM, YOU DIRTY FUCKS”.

And how much Eddied had hated himself at this very moment because it was him who was supposed to protect her, not the other way around. He was supposed to be the hero, not a fuckin’ damsel in distress. 

“Earth to Munson? Are you there?” It was her voice who pulled him back to reality.

“Y-Yeah, sorry ‘bout that” He picked the joint from her fingers, feeling the need for a puff “I was just busy thinking… what is the true meaning of William fuckin’ Shakespeare greatest’s work?”

Y/N chuckled, and Eddie knew it was his new favorite sound. She took the joint back, took the last drag before gently pressing it in the ashtray that was laying between them. She mimicked his posture, and they were now face to face, each with an arm laying on the back of the couch and Eddie realized that their hands were so close that, if he wanted, he could graze her fingers without even reaching. 

“Well, Hamlet is… not the happiest dude of Denmark.”

“Understandably.” Eddie assented “I mean, didn’t his mom fucked his uncle and killed his dad?”

“Yeah, yeah she did.” Y/N shot a smile so bright that Eddie mentally thanked his junior self for actually reading the damn play “So, we got this poor kid who, if you want my honest opinion, was already dealing with a lot of shit. But now, he sees his dead father’s ghost and he realizes that everything he thought to be true was a lie.”

“Like discovering that your town sits on the top of another dimension.” Eddie couldn’t help but joking, knowing it would earn him another precious smile, but this time it came accompanied by a giggle.  

“Exactly. Except we have electricity, and you are no Prince of Denmark.” Y/N responded fondly, nestling her face in her hand, resting her elbow on the couch.

“But I am the Prince of Metal, am I not?” He winked and Y/N rolled her eyes

“Shut up Munson, you’re barely a peasant.” But he couldn’t help but notice that she was biting her lips, suppressing another laughter 

“Oh come on Henderson! Don’t tell me you didn’t think that my inter-dimensional rendition of Master of Puppets was out of this world!”

“Yeah, it was-“ she finally admitted

“Aha !”

“-because we were literally in another world, you moron!”

An outbreak of laughter found them as their shared hilarity took over for a few minutes. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so genuinely, so easily. It was not the weed, it couldn’t be. There was something else here, something without a name and Eddie found himself wondering if, perhaps, he had indeed died in the Upside Down and all of this was just a dream. A very nice, extremely pleasant dream.

“Anyway, let’s get back to the Bard!” Y/N exclaimed, clapping her hands

“Wow wow wow, what does Dustin’s D&D character has to do with anything?” Eddie rose an eyebrow while taking a cigarette from the pack that was laying on the ground

“I am not talking about Nog the Noble!” 

Y/N sighed and took the cig from Eddie’s mouth. He would’ve stopped her if it wasn’t for the fact that, contrary to what he had first believed, she did not throw it away like she had done on the boat when Steve was getting ready for his big swim. She simply placed it between her delicate lips and used her hand to signal Eddie that she was waiting for him to light it for her. Which he did, a bit more clumsily than he had wished. But being just a few inches away from her face, along with the fact that she did not tear her eyes away from him as the flame appeared, bathing her in a golden light, that only added to the jitters that he was already feeling. She took a long drag and tilted her head backwards as she slowly exhaled the smoke. The tension that Eddied had been feeling more and more acutely these past minutes was now starting to build up in a very specific part of his body and he looked away.

“You do know that Shakespeare is also known as the Bard, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, I’m not a complete imbecile, contrary to what you obviously believe.”

He didn't intended his words to sound so harsh. A flash of sadness passed into Y/N’s eyes and Eddie cursed himself for it. 

“Well perhaps I wouldn’t take you for a complete imbecile if you didn’t act like one.” She retorted, her voice now cold as ice. “What you did the other day… Fuck Munson, were you even thinking?”

“You mean when I basically saved you and your darling brother from a certain death?” He couldn’t help the words from pouring out of his mouth, despise knowing how wrong they were.

“Oh yeah, because staying behind to play the hero did not put us into danger at all.” She was now standing up, looking at him with her teeth clenched and an anger that made her even more attractive

“Well maybe it wouldn’t have if you two had stayed safe instead of coming back-“

Eddie abruptly rose, walking away from her 

“We came back to save you, you pretentious fuck!” 

“I did not need saving!” He snapped, turning around.

He saw the injuries, crimson patches on her body.

She was hurt. 

She was bleeding.

She was… crying? 

And it was all because of him. 

“How could you be so stupid ?!” She had screamed once the bats had suddenly fallen, a clear indication that Vecna had been defeated. “That was not part of the plan!”

“Y/N…” Dustin had tried to calm her down, but she couldn’t be reasoned “Don’t scream at him, he almost died! For us!”

“And that was completely unnecessary !!!” She was kneeling before him, her hands gripping his shoulders so tightly that Eddie would have winced, where he not already in great pain. “You have no right to do that, Munson! You have no right to decide you wanna be a fuckin’ martyr!”

She would have kept going, yelling at him until her voice went hoarse, if their friends hadn’t stopped her from doing so. Eddie thought that she looked like she was about to kill him herself, and he understood her fury. But what was disconcerting to him was the fact that, more than angry, she had seemed scared. Petrified, even.

But that was just because he had put Dustin’s life in danger by acting so recklessly, right?

She couldn’t be worried for him, could she?

______________________________________________________________

Y/N was fuming. She had come to him to take her mind off everything that had happened and now they were talking about it. No, not talking but quarreling like children. But it was what they did, right? It had always been like that between them, ever since Dustin had joined Hellfire. She would drop her little brother off, share a few cutting remarks with the dungeon master and then pick Dustin up at the end of the session. Eddie would make fun of her for putting so much time and energy into Hawkins High drama club and she would sass back, saying that what they did was like roleplay, except they were all talented at it and the writing was better. Even when they had come together with the rest of the group, in the hopes of defeating Vecna, their feud had carried on. That was their bond. A fragile balance between sarcasm, understanding and a sort of mutual esteem. But they never took it too far, as if they both understood that this equilibrium would be easily shattered if one of them would cross the unspoken line between them. They would jab, but never actually punch. Until today.

“Well you could have said it before then!” Y/N hated how high her voice sounded when she was starting to get emotional but she refused to surrender “So that I would not have bothered to risk my life, and Dustin’s, for you!”

“I risked my life for the both of you!” Eddied hissed, taking a step towards Y/N, who hadn’t realized how close their bodies now were. “I almost died so that Dustin, and you, could get back to your Momma’s house safely!!”

“You were supposed to come back with us, that was the plan!” They were now inches apart and Y/N could feel Eddie’s erratic breath on her face. His eyes, once a warm brown, were now almost black and a small part of her was curious to know if anger was the only emotion that would dilate his pupils that much.

“The plan would have gotten you killed!” His scent was also surrounding her, a blend of cold cigarettes, cheap cologne and something woody that Y/N couldn’t quite name.

“Well not following the plan almost got you killed!” She yelled, the edge of her right fist sharply hitting Eddie in the chest, right where his W.A.S.P. badge was. The pain of the violent contact made her grimace, but she ignored it.

“Lucky for me, Y/N Henderson the Mighty was here to save the day!” Eddie was now provoking her, raising his hands as if he was thanking an invisible deity “But do not lie to me, sweetheart, you and I both know you acted on pure instinct.” In his mouth, as this very moment, the pet name sounded everything but affectionate “I bet you don’t even know why you saved me.”

“You know what, Munson?” The young woman seethed, now gripping his jean vest with both of her hands, fisting the material. “You’re right. I really haven’t the faintest idea on why I risked my life to save your sorry ass, because you can’t even say thank you.”

“How is that for a thank you?!”

Y/N barely had the time to register what Eddie was saying before she felt his lips on hers. The kiss was harsh, brutal, a battle of tongue and teeth, each of them trying to claim dominance over the other. Y/N’s hands found their way into the brunette’s messy mane, her fingers grasping every fiber she possibly could. Eddie wrapped his arms around her, embracing her like he wanted their bodies to melt together and as Y/N urged her frame into Eddie’s, she felt a very distinct bump where his crotch was. The feeling was intoxicating and the crusade restless, neither of the opponents ready to admit defeat. Y/N perceived that the heat that was once spreading on her cheeks was now occurring in a very different component of her anatomy. A familiar sensitivity, that would soon be joined by dampness. And if Y/N was honest with herself, the sensation had lately been caused solely by the very man whose inferior lips she was now biting, earning a growl from him. 

“You’ll have to do much better than that, Munson.” She could barely recognize her own voice, as she parted from him, already drunk on the kiss. She lightly pulled his hair to get a better look at his face – damn, he was really something with pupils so blown that his eyes now appeared almost black and lips already red and slightly swollen, panting as his own hands were now brushing Y/N’s sides. “I saved your stupid life and all you have for me is a kiss?”

“Oh, do not worry, princess.” Eddie’s inflection was dangerously low and Y/N had to repress a moan as she felt his left hand sneak in under the fabric of her shirt, cold rings on burning skin. “This is just the beginning. I don’t think you’re actually ready for what comes next.” His teeth were now grazing the delicate skin of her neck, nibbling and suctioning the soft flesh with lust, his lips mapping a route of delicate bruises.

“I think you’re all bark and no bite, Munson.” Y/N daintily nipped the metalhead’s ear and he growled in response. “I think I should leave and find someone who can actually handle me because I know you can’t.”

“Fuckin” Christ” Eddie snarled, his lips meeting her mouth once again “Don’t you ever shut up ?!”

“Fuckin’ make me.” Y/N spewed, commanding yet also begging. She wanted this, wanted him. There was no point in denying it now, she didn’t came to Eddie Munson for a joint, a night of chit-chat or of shared traumas. She came to him to drop the guard, whatever defenses she had erected around her because, and she was realizing it now, she had been so scared of losing him that she couldn’t bear to keep on living as if he had no effect on her. As if he meant nothing. Because that would have been a lie. A terrible, terrible lie. 

[stardust948]

Twins AU

Sweet 16 Birthday

*Zuko and Azula standing back to back with their eyes closed*

Ursa: My twins can't have separate parties on their Sweet 16! So while you two were at Azula's Kuai ball game, I came up with a Mom-promise! Take a look!

*Twins open their eyes and see the decorations*

Zuko: Wow!

Azula: Awesome!

Ursa: Hold on, you two haven't seen the best part. Turn around.

*Turns around and see the room split into two themes. Theater theme on one side and Spa on the other*

Zuko and Azula: 😬

Ursa: Two themes, one party!

Ozai on the mic: It's Spa day at the theater! *mic cracks* Why isn't this thing working?

Ursa: Azula honey, you wanted to go to Ember Island resort, so we're gonna have one right here in the house!

Ursa: And Zuko, you wanted to see Love Amongst the Dragons live so we give you a personal backstage tour!

Zuko: Mom this is great!

Azula: Yes, I think we're halfway there. The half that doesn't look like a theater's club trash bin.

Zuko: Hey! I thought this was our party!

Ozai, working on the mic: Firelily it's time to come clean. We kept the secret for too long.

Ursa: No Ozai. *mic comes to life* I'm telling them they were born on separate days.

Zuko, Azula, and Kiyi: !!!

Ursa: Uh... *grabs mic* 🎵Secret tunnel! Secret tunnel! Through the mountain!🎵 This karaoke thing works great! Who's next?

Zuko: What did you just say?!

Azula: We have different birthdays?!

Ozai: Kids, your mother and I have something to tell you.

Ursa:

Ozai:

Ozai: Go ahead.

Ursa: *gives him a dirty look* Zuko and Azula, the day you were born was truly the greatest day of my life.

Kiyi: Well that feels nice!

Ursa: But it was actually the days you were born. Zuko, you were born on the 5th at 11:56 pm. But Azula you were born at 12:02 on the 6th.

Azula, gesturing to her Kuai ball uniform: But the whole reason 5 is my lucky number is because I was born on the 5th. I'm a 5.

Kiyi: Apparently, I'm a zero.

Zuko: Wait, so Azula never celebrated on her actual birthday?

Kiyi: What kind of parents are you?! This is preposterous! I say again preposterous!!!

Ozai: I regret buying you that thesaurus.

Kiyi: If they could do this to her, what does that mean for everyone else? Am I six? Am I twelve? I could be nine.

Ozai: You're eleven.

Azula: Are you sure about that considering you both lied to me my whole life! *storms away*

[Later]

Ursa, coming into the twin's room: Hey.

Azula:

Ursa: Azula honey, I'm so sorry. Every year your birthday would roll around and I would get so excited at the two of you sitting together blowing out your candles.

Azula: Then why did you use those trick candles that didn't blow out?

Ursa: We wanted the moment to last forever. Plus a joined birthday party is double the fun! It's also half the work. See, I'm being completely honest with you from now on.

Azula, trying not to laugh: Don't try to be funny. I'm still mad at you.

Ursa: Honey, I am so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. When you and Zuko were little you were inseparable. As your mother, it felt wrong to take that special day away.

Azula: Are you seriously trying to take credit for being a good mother right now?

Ursa: Yes I tried to slip that in.

Ursa: Just tell us what you want for your birthday and your father and I will make it happen. The sky's the limit. Well, there is a budget-

Ursa: See, being honest!

Azula: Thanks mom, but the last thing I feel like doing is celebrating my birthday. I don't even think I want a party this year. I'm sure Zuko feels the same.

Ursa: Well think about it. In the meantime, I made your favorite meal. Komodo chicken and stir-fried rice.

Ursa: Ok, I didn't actually make it. I brought it frozen in a box-

Azula: Mom!

Ursa: Right okay. *About to leave* Remember honey, you turn 16 only once.

Azula:

[thewidowsghost]

hiii can I request an enemies to lovers with Maddox x reader? thank you!

Sure!

A/n: I went with a Season 3 Maddox on the Yellow team vs. R on the blue team :) 

Thanks for the request <3

“Rise and shine, Shallow Lake!” Corbin Bleu yells in the boys’ bunk. 

“Intruder!” Ricky screams. “Get him!” Ricky stumbles out of his bed, and charges towards Corbin. 

“Ricky, stop!” EJ grabs Ricky’s arms. “It’s Mr. Bleu.”

“What if I didn’t have a shirt on?” Carlos exclaims. 

“Looks like you have three shirts on,” Channing, the cameraman, replies.

“You. You filmed me behind the bush,” Ricky says angrily, pointing at Channing. 

“Hey, you,” Corbin blares his airhorn, looking at Jett. “Up.” A stuffed duck tumbles from Jett’s bunk. “Cute duck.” Corbin comments, and Jett jumps down, grabbing the duck off the floor.

“I’m calling it,” Kourtney comments, stepping into the boys’ bunk and looking at Corbin with disdain. “Corbin Bleu has officially lost his mind.” Then she catches sight of the duck in Jett’s arms. “Cute duck.”

“Folks, we’re two hours away from Camp Shallow Lake’s most exciting tradition. Tune in to see a bunch of theater kids get their heads out of the clouds and into the game.”

“I’m praying the game is chess,” Carlos deadpans.

“Report to the amphitheater at 8AM sharp for a day of sports. It’s Color War!” 

. . . 

“And then turn the paddle up near the ceiling near the end,” Maddox tells Gina. “Over and over again.”

“Like that?” Gina asks, mimicking the motion. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Maddox says. 

“Okay,” Gina keeps making the rowing motion. 

“Yeah, got it,” Maddox says. “Natural.”

Gina laughs. 

“You just gotta commit to one side,” Maddox says, and Gina looks over, seemingly bewildered. “Of the canoe. Or else you’ll fall out. You’ll be fine. (Y/n) always is, and she’s so bad at canoe racing.”

“I heard that,” two figures walking through the barn door. Gina and Maddox look at the door, and both girls’ expressions brighten. 

“She isn’t wrong,” EJ says, nudging his sister with a shoulder. 

“Yeah, I hate both of you,” (Y/n) deadpans, but she winks at Maddox. 

“Good morning,” EJ’s gaze falls on Gina. “And ahoy?”

“Oh, brother,” (Y/n) grumbles. 

“Yes?” EJ asks, and (Y/n) lets out a groan. “Come on, Maddie,” (Y/n) says. 

“Good luck, sailors,” Maddox says, and she and (Y/n) head out the back door. 

. . . 

“When I heard that the camp that’s putting on Frozen for Disney Plus has a day that’s emotionally similar to the 2006 to 2008 Disney Channel Games, I and the folks at the Mouse HQ jumped at the chance to include this in our docu-series. Dewey, you wanna explain the rules?” Corbin asks the camp director. 

“Uh, sure,” Dewey steps forward. “Yeah. Every camper is required to participate in a few challenges. There’s two teams . . .”

“And within each team are teammates,” Corbin interrupts. “Okay, I got this. Okay. You know her. You love her. The captain of the Yellow Team, Maddox!” 

The campers cheer, and (Y/n) nudges her friend. 

“Not sure everybody loves me, but thank you,” Maddox says, and (Y/n) cracks a grin. 

“Didn’t say they all did,” Corbin replies, and Maddox takes a spot at the front. “And the captain of the blue team, we’ve got the youngest Caswell, (Y/n).”

“Let’s go,” (Y/n) says, and everyone cheers. (Y/n) steps up beside Maddox. “You know my team is gonna win.” She says. “My team wins every year.”

“And every year, we’re on the same team,” Maddox says, her lips twitching. “Maybe it’s me, and not you.”

“Ha, you wish,” (Y/n) replies. 

“No, with a big smile,” Corbin says, handing (Y/n) the clipboard, “tell the camera which of your Frozen friends are on each team.”

“What about the other campers?” (Y/n) asks. 

“We had to blur their faces out for the doc, so, legally, we aren’t naming any other names unless they’ve signed the release. Yeah,” Corbin replies.

“Okay,” (Y/n) says. She clears her throat and reads. “On my team is Ricky, Ashlyn, Gina, and EJ.” The blue team cheers, and they gather around (Y/n) up front. “And on Maddox’s team, has Kourtney, Carlos, Jett, and Emmy.” When (Y/n) says Jett’s name, Maddox freezes slightly, and (Y/n) notices it out of the corner of her eye. 

“Just so y’all know,” (Y/n) hears Kourtney say, “I’m scrappy. I fight dirty, and I will cheat.”

“Hmm!” Maddox says. “So it’s in the bag.”

“I’m also incredibly afraid of heights,” Kourtney continues. 

Maddox’s smile falters. “Okay, so plus, minus.”

“Guys, if you were on a deserted island and could text one person, who would it be? Your mom? Your ex? Your life coach?” Corbin steps off the stage and up to Channing, who is still holding the camera. Tomorrow, the winning team can text whoever they want when they get their phones back.”

The campers cheer loudly, talking loudly with their fellow campers. 

“Get your team colors from the bins,” Corbin continues. “I’m Corbin Bleu, and you’re watching Disney Plus.”

. . . 

(Y/n), now clad in all blue, runs over to find Jett lying on the ground picking at the glass.

“Hey, man,” (Y/n) sits down beside him. “Gettin’ in the zone?”

“Not exactly,” Jett replies, picking up a yellow and black soccer ball and throwing it between his hands.

“I guess it was pretty intense last night,” (Y/n) says. 

“Do you think I’m the worst? For the stuff that Maddie yelled at me about?” Jett sits up, looking at (Y/n). 

“I’ve done more than a few things I’m ashamed of, dude,” (Y/n) replies. “I’m not one to judge.”

“I thought those texts came from a guy, and I was like, why does she get to date and I can’t. I didn’t even know what I was looking at,” Jett says. 

“Does Mads know this?” (Y/n) questions. 

“Not sure she’d even hear me,” Jett replies. “We used to sing together all the time as kids. Now we barely talk.”

(Y/n) crosses her legs underneath her. “So, I once knew this girl who was pretty mad at me, and I’ll tell you, I deserved it. Um, but the one thing that really helped is that I threw myself into something she cared about. Like, I joined the crew, and I worked really hard.”

“Is being a theater kid the answer to, like, everything in your world?” Jett asks.

“It doesn’t always have to be theater, but . . .” (Y/n) takes a moment, knowing that what she was about to say might make her team lose. “Look, Maddie loves camp. It’s Color War. Maybe help her win?” (Y/n) leans back. “I mean, it’s a fifty-fifty shot, dude. One team wins, or the other does.”

“Or there’s the third option, where they toss the results in a pizza oven,” Ashlyn walks over. 

“I get it, that’s good,” (Y/n) laughs.

. . . 

“How you feelin’, Maddie?” (Y/n) asks, nudging her friend. 

“Oh, you know I’m gonna win,” Maddox replies, turning to face (Y/n). 

(Y/n) looks over and watches both Gina and Ricky miss their practice shots, “Yeah, you’re probably gonna win this one.”

Maddox looks over at her friend, studying her face. She looks away quickly before (Y/n) turns her attention back to Maddox. 

. . . 

“Gina,” (Y/n) shakes her friend’s shoulder. “Gina!”

Gina sits up, her forehead slamming into (Y/n)’s nose. 

“Oh my god,” Gina says apologetically, as (Y/n) clutches at her nose.

“I’m fine,” (Y/n) replies, her eyes watering. “Are you? You collapsed?”

“I’m, uh, fine,” Gina replies and Ricky and (Y/n) help her to her feet.

“You still have a chance to be our hero,” (Y/n) says. “We’re tied. If you make the shot, we win.”

“You got this,” Ricky says. “Probably.” He hands her the basketball. 

“Back up,” Gina says, and everyone takes a few steps back. 

She spins a few times, throws the ball and it swishes into the net.

“Blue Team wins!” Corbin yells and the Blue Team cheers. 

“Nice, G,” (Y/n) offers her hand for a fist-bump. Gina accepts. 

“That was crazy!” Ricky says. 

(Y/n) turns to Maddox. “Nevermind,” she jokes. “Blue Team might just win after all.”

. . . 

“Hey, Dewey?” (Y/n) hops on one foot. “Is Simon gonna sue you for stealing his game?” (Y/n) asks. 

“I don’t know Simon personally,” Dewey replies. 

“Breaking news,” (Y/n) jokes still hopping on one foot. “Dewey Wood locks Simon of Simon Says in his basement.” 

Maddox laughs. 

“Dewey says stop!” Dewey says and the campers stop hopping. “Dewey says dance like you’re at the camp prom.”

The campers begin dancing, except for Ricky and Ashlyn. 

“What he say?” Ashlyn asks. 

“There’s a camp prom?” Ricky asks. 

Peep, says Dewey’s whistle. “You two, out,” he says. “Stop.” Gina stops spinning. Peep, “Out,” he gestures to Gina. “Dewey says spin in a circle,” Dewey says. “Simon says stop.” (Y/n) stops spinning. “Oh! I’m Dewey, not Simon! You’re out.” (Y/n) hops over the line. “Dewey says that is a great victory for the Yellow Team. Congrats, you two.” Jett and Maddox are the only two left. 

“Whoa, hello, new person who’s trying really hard today,” Maddox turns to her brother. 

“Yeah? Let’s keep it going!” Jett says, lifting his hand for a high-five, and Maddox accepts.

Jett passes by (Y/n), breathing a thank you, before he goes to stand by Carlos and Kourtney. 

. . .

“Okay. Hi,” Val steps onto the stage, all the campers having gathered back in the amphitheater, now sitting sorted to color. “Um, it’s a tie game,” Val says, “so the outcome of this cheer-off determines the fate of Color War.

“Wooo!” Ricky cheers. 

“Let’s go Blue!” (Y/n) adds, and the Blue Team cheers louder.

“Okay. So, this year, I have picked It’s On from Camp Rock 2,” Val continues. “And I’ve printed off lyric sheets, but if you don’t know the words, that means something went deeply wrong in your childhood, and you didn’t watch this iconic sequel. Oh, and as a reminder, when I stop singing, somebody has to take over. Here we go.”

“Drums,” Jett starts.

“A little guitar, please,” Val takes over. “One, two, three, four,” Val continues.

“I hope you're ready for the time of your life Just look at me, I put a gleam in your eye Buckle-up, we're gonna take you for a ride”

“Let's go, we gotcha goin' good in a vibe Everybody put your hands to the sky Buckle-up, we're gonna take you, take you high” (Y/n) takes over, passing in front of Maddox and winking. 

“Show me, show me, show me, show me, show what you got Come on, come on, come on, come on, ready or not La-la, la-la, la-la, let me see how you vibe It's on, it's on, it's on” All the campers join in.

“Get crazy, crazy, crazy, take it over the top 'Cause we, 'cause we, 'cause when we rock we let it rock Rock it, rock it, rock it, rock it, dance 'til we drop" It's on, it's on, it's on” All of the campers again.

“Okay now, are you ready? One, two, one, two, three, four” Jett takes over.

“Show stoppin' when I step in the place Before it's done, you're gonna beg me to stay Get on board, come on, let's ride the wave” Jett continues.

“Let's go, let's go, we just do what we do Watch me break and pop, I'll pass it to you You wanna rock like us 'cause we're never second place” Maddox takes over, passing by (Y/n) and doing a similar wink. 

“Show me, show me, show me, show me, show what you got Come on, come on, come on, come on, ready or not La-la, la-la, la-la, let me see how you vibe It's on, it's on, it's on” All the campers chime in once more.

“Get crazy, crazy, crazy, take it over the top 'Cause we, 'cause we, 'cause when we rock we let it rock Rock it, rock it, rock it, rock it, dance 'til we drop It's on, it's on, it's on”

“Okay now, are you ready? One, two, one, two, three” (Y/n) takes the mic. 

“Th-th-there is no competition That's why we in the number one position Your crew can't hang with us, man, we're too dangerous” Jett takes another mic.

“Ain't got the style or the stamina” Maddox takes Jett’s mic. “Just doin' my thing, get hooked on my swing” Ricky and Ashlyn take (Y/n)’s mic. 

Rockin' the place, droppin' the bass, makin' all the girls sing” Carlos and Kourtney chime in. “Yeah, we make the bell ring

It's on, it's on” Jett and Maddox sing together.

“Show me, show me, show me, show me, show what you got Come on, come on, come on, come on, ready or not La-la, la-la, la-la, let me see how you vibe It's on, it's on, it's on Get crazy, crazy, crazy, take it over the top 'Cause we, 'cause we, 'cause when we rock we let it rock Rock it, rock it, rock it, rock it, dance 'til we drop It's on, it's on, it's on Show me, show me, show me, show me, show what you got Come on, come on, come on, come on, ready or not La-la, la-la, la-la, let me see how you vibe It's on, it's on, it's on Get crazy, crazy, crazy, take it over the top 'Cause we, 'cause we, 'cause when we rock we let it rock Rock it, rock it, rock it, rock it, dance 'til we drop It's on, it's on, it's on” All of the campers finish. 

“It's on,” Jett finishes, and the Yellow Team lifts him on their shoulders. 

“America, I am so glad that the missing camper got rescued, because he just won for the Yellow Team!” Corbin announces in his mic. 

Val walks over and hands Jett the trophy-oar, and he shakes it in the air happily. 

“Whooo!” Jett says, as yellow and blue confetti explode from the confetti cannons. He steps over to his sister. “Hey. Don’t tell anyone, but today wasn’t the worst,” he hands Maddox the oar. 

Maddox looks at her brother for a moment. “Quite the turnaround, Jett.”

“We did it together, Maddie,” Jett says as (Y/n) watches the two. “We got the win,” Jett adds.

“Yeah,” Maddox’s tone softens. “Yeah, we did.”

Jett steps off to talk to Ricky and Gina, and (Y/n) steps over to her friend. 

“He’s a very committed young man, huh?” (Y/n) nudges her friend. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m not sure exactly what changed,” Maddox says. 

“Maybe he just wants to show you he cares?” (Y/n) asks. 

Maddox looks up into her friend’s face. “(Y/n), I think I see what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it so much. But we’ve had good days before and . . . I just don’t wanna let my guard down and get hurt again, you know?”

(Y/n) nods thoughtfully, and Maddox wraps her in a hug. 

“I meant it when I said I appreciated it,” Maddox says. (Y/n)’s expression softens, and she returns the hug. 

. . .

(Y/n) heads down to the amphitheater and begins helping pick up some of the blue and yellow streamers off the ground. 

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Maddox says, though her tone is teasing. (Y/n) rolls her eyes playfully. 

“You say that every year, Madds,” (Y/n) walks up to her friend. “And every year I still help.”

Maddox grins, amused, at her friend. 

(Y/n) studies Maddox’s face closely, taking in her friend dirty blonde hair, and splash of freckles. 

Suddenly, both girls surge towards each other. 

Maddox cups her friend’s face, and presses their lips together. She suddenly pulls back, “I-i’m sor–”

(Y/n) snorts, and pulls Maddox back in, cupping her face this time. 

The fireworks go off overhead, and Maddox pulls away, looking at the beautiful colors in the sky. 

“Fireworks,” Maddox murmurs. 

(Y/n) laughs delightly. “Makes total sense to me,” (Y/n) looks back down, looking into Maddox’s face once more. 

Word Count: 2718 words