#prompt outsider's pov

[edith-moonshadow]

Love Was Only True In Fairy Tales Part Two

Summary:

Every girl at Hawkins high wanted Billy Hargrove but Tracy was determined to be the one to capture his attention.

This chapter isn't a continuation but an accompaniment from a different character's POV. (Part One)

Written for the March 2023 Billy's Birthday Bonanza Harringrove Week

For the prompt Lesley Gore Passing The Crown: Outsider POV

Billy Hargrove swept into Hawkins like a breath of fresh air. Living in a small town meant that everyone knew everyone else. Everyone came with history and connections. Being a teenage girl could either be heaven or hell in these circumstances. Tracy had experienced both. She had only had two steady boyfriends but she had admired many from afar yet due to the intricacies of high school dating many were off limits. Being a cheerleader it was expected of her to only date within a certain group of people. However many of the boys in this group were either taken or had once been someone else's. Both were off-limits.

She'd seen first-hand what happened to anyone who broke the rules and it was never pretty. Girls who weren't popular, didn't care about their reputations or their friendships were in abundance but it rarely worked in their favour. Tracy's mom had been a cheerleader and now was involved in PTA and various charities around town. She was expected to follow in her mom's very prestigious footsteps which left little time for relationships. However, she was only human and she wanted what Betty had. Betty and Ryan were high school sweethearts. They had been together since they were juniors and they only had eyes for each other. They were confident in their feelings and weren't afraid to show them.

Betty had been her best friend since their kindergarten teacher Mrs Jones had paired them together to paint on their first day. The arts and crafts section of the room had two easels and they had stood side by side, sharing paint and something cemented between them. They would cry if separated from each other and became known as the twins even though she had light blonde hair and grey eyes and Betty had dark brown hair and green eyes. They continued being inseparable throughout school even though they had other friends independent of the other.

Tracy found love first. It was silly puppy love. A boy called Jack who she had English with. It only lasted a few months and they did little more than share lunch and hold hands. She had dates in-between but it wasn't until high school that she met Paul. He was on the basketball team and a friend of her friend Carol's boyfriend Tommy. By this stage, Betty was so wrapped up in Ryan that she didn't want to admit it but she was jealous. So when Carol suggested a date with Paul she accepted. This relationship was a lot more hot and heavy. He had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the world. They were serious for around six months but it was a relationship that burned hot and fizzled out quickly.

They broke up a few weeks before Billy came to town. Betty had been trying to get her to go on a few double dates with her, Ryan and another jock called Richie. She came very close to accepting anything to get Betty off her back and move on from Paul who was already with someone else. Everything changed when she saw Billy in the hall talking to Tommy. He was tall, muscular and blonde. There was a look in his eyes that drew her in like a magnet. His arrival didn't take long to spread through the school. He had a car that roared through the parking lot. He dressed in a way that showed off his amazing physique. Best of all he was a complete mystery. He felt like a puzzle that she needed to solve. The only problem was she had competition.

Hawkins' rules didn't apply to Billy. He didn't care about the well-established hierarchy that dictated who you could and couldn't date. As long as someone was single and interested he didn't have a problem. He caused a lot of girls to break the rules. He became very popular especially after he joined the basketball team and showed up Steve Harrington on the court.

Soon cheerleading practice started to overlap with basketball practice and she couldn't help watching him as he delighted in messing with Steve. He seemed to come alive on the court. Most of the time he was so intense and didn't speak much but every time he took the ball from Steve his entire face would light up. He was a very aggressive player constantly slamming into Steve and whispering things in his ear to throw him off his game. It was a strange sight to see him so flustered at how much better Billy was than him. She knew Steve more by reputation than personally but she knew that he wasn't thrown off balance easily.

The more she watched him play the more fascinated she became. She would daydream about all that intensity being directed her way. She couldn't help listening closely when the girls he'd been on dates with talked in hushed tones. A date with Billy wasn't a universal experience. Some girls would blush and bite their lips as they talked quietly about how the date had gone. Others with shame as they admitted that he didn't seem that interested and cut the date short with barely a glance back. Over time he started to slow down but he didn't pick anyone to go steady with. He seemed to be preoccupied with something else. It didn't stop Tracy's dreams that she could be the one who finally caught his eye.

Billy's rivalry with Steve seemed to bleed out from the court into the halls of Hawkins high. He could be seen staring him down as though always waiting for a challenge. She didn't understand why. Steve was pitiful after the whole Nancy debacle. He'd chosen someone less popular than him over everything else and she had humiliated him by abandoning him for the school freak.

She'd heard all about it during history with Carol. Tommy was livid and he wouldn't forget easily. He had turned everyone else against Steve who was practically an outcast at this point. Billy had well and truly taken Steve's crown. He probably could have taken it even if Steve hadn't embarrassed himself in front of the whole town. Yet Steve seemed to command all of Billy's attention as though he were waiting for something. Amongst the cheerleaders, the prevailing theory was that Steve had done something that had royally pissed Billy off. Maire thought he'd cut him off in the parking lot. Clare was convinced that they'd had a confrontation in the locker room. The least popular was that Billy had developed a thing for Nancy and was jealous that Steve had gotten there first.

Tracy held on to the belief that Billy wanted to be the best at everything he did. This included basketball and even though Steve had lost a lot of his popularity he was still the closest thing he had to a rival on the court. She watched him closely and patiently waited for her chance. It took most of the school year but finally, she got her chance. It was a Tuesday afternoon when she found herself trying to muster up the courage to tell him he was leaning on her locker. He was too busy looking past her to further down the hall where Steve was getting something from his locker. Billy's eyes seemed to burn brightly as his tongue ran over his teeth. In one hand he had a lighter that he ran through his fingers. She knew he smoked and wondered if he was waiting for an opportunity to slip out for one. She took a deep breath.

"Um…Billy?"

He grunted at her his eyes never leaving Steve.

"It's just I need to get something from my locker."

He glanced her way. She thought she saw annoyance flash behind his eyes but she hoped it was just a trick of the light. He moved a few lockers down but kept looking forward. She meekly walked to her locker and quickly changed over her books for her last two classes. She watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye trying desperately to think of something to talk to him about. She ran through everything she knew about him. She tried to calm her racing heart. She knew that he hadn't been on a date in several weeks at least not any that were known about. So if he had the girl in question wasn't bragging because it had gone badly which gave her hope. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand and turned towards him. Just as she opened her mouth to speak he took off down the hall and out a side door. She quickly looked around her feeling her face heat but no one was paying her any attention.

That afternoon at practice he was strangely absent. She couldn't help noticing that Steve was also missing. She discreetly asked around wondering where they were. No one knew but after some discussion, they decided that Billy had finally confronted Steve and it must have gotten physical. The coach must have benched them both and they decided to skip rather than face the anger of the team.

That night she couldn't stop thinking about her humiliating experience by her locker. She rationalised that he didn't realise that she wanted to speak to him. She'd seen how distracted he was and if they were right about him and Steve fighting he probably needed that smoke to calm him down. Next time she'd be ready.

It happened almost like fate. She was walking out of school with Betty who was talking about some movie she was going to with Ryan when Billy appeared. He was walking towards his car and she knew it was now or never. She told Betty she'd be back in a minute and ran after him.

"Billy?"

He turned towards her with a bored expression. She smiled nervously at him.

"Are you busy this weekend?"

He sighed and leaned back against his car.

"Dunno Sweetheart what did you have in mind?"

She motioned over her shoulder at Betty.

"That's Ryan's girlfriend Betty and they're going to see a movie at the drive-in, I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"

He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and placed one between his lips. He lit it almost absentmindedly as though more through habit than want.

"So like a double date?”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. His eyes became unfocused as though he were transported somewhere else. The silence between them stretched on for so long that he had to tap the accumulated ash from the end of his cigarette onto the ground. His eyes ran over her as he seemed to consider his words and her heart started to sink.

"Sure thing…"

He looked at her expectantly. She laughed nervously.

"Tracy."

"Tracy right. Can you catch a ride with Ryan and I'll see you there?"

She had never felt such relief.

"Yes, that's perfect. The film starts at seven so I'll meet you there around six?"

He took a long drag on his cigarette and nodded before he turned and got into his car. She watched as it roared through the parking lot. She ran excitedly back to Betty to tell her the news.

She couldn't sit still in Ryan's car while they teased her. It was six-twenty five and she worried that she'd be one of those embarrassed girls on Monday who had to admit that Billy found her wanting. Just as she was losing hope he appeared at the car window and she practically leapt from the car in her excitement. His car was practically at the back of the drive-in and her heart started to race at the implications. She slid into the passenger side and smiled at him. He looked so good dressed up just for her. In school, he was generally a little more conservative but she'd heard about how he looked on dates and she wasn't disappointed. She moved closer to him, desperate to feel him close.

He ran hot and cold over the next several months. His mind was always somewhere else and he seemed distant until he showed her some affection and then he took her straight home. He never wanted to hang around after he'd gotten what he wanted. When he was affectionate he left her breathless and wanting more but his coldness made her think she wasn't the only person he was seeing. She'd been sure that she'd spotted his car down the street from her house long after he'd dropped her home or stood her up.

On more than one occasion she'd heard something that suspiciously sounded like Stacey muttered into her neck. However, the only Stacey in their group was currently taken but that only made her more suspicious. If he was going to cheat it made sense that he'd pick someone unavailable as it would be a shared secret. She was so angry that she could barely sleep wondering if Stacy was getting passionate with Billy while she spent the night alone. He never mentioned it which only infuriated her more. She sometimes wondered if he really wanted Stacey and if she was just being used as a smokescreen.

Soon everyone accepted them as a couple and she pretended that everything was perfect to the envy of half the squad. She would talk loudly about their dates near Stacey but she never reacted any differently. She was determined to at least make it to the end of the school year. At least that way they'd be old news by the end of summer. Betty continued to persuade her that he had to be serious. To this point he hadn't cared about decorum so why start now? She held onto that hope tightly.

Soon graduation was fast approaching and the annual senior parties started. She bought herself a new dress and lacy lingerie. Billy had been growing more distant lately. Their dates were becoming few and far between and she feared he'd finally grown bored of her. She saw him more at school than outside. She would slide under his arm relishing the warmth of his body but he barely acknowledged her. He was always looking down the halls or buzzing with excitement to get on the court. He seemed his happiest on the court and she couldn't help the nagging feeling that it was because she couldn't follow him there.

She was determined to make tonight special. She would get them back on track. Billy seemed on edge that night. It was like he was filled with a mixture of excitement and dread. She couldn't understand why as they had been to dozens of parties before. They arrived late but she could feel the envious stares of many girls at the party when they arrived. She knew she looked good in her dress and Billy was wearing his favoured jeans that he looked so good in and his still-tanned skin was on full display. He looked like he'd also put in extra effort tonight and she hoped against hope it was because he knew things were bad between them and wanted to fix it too.

She followed him to the drinks table even though she wanted to dance. She watched him closely waiting on tenterhooks for something, anything to show he still wanted her. She leaned closer to him and wrapped her arm around his. He took a long sip of his beer. Suddenly his body stiffened and his attention was stolen by someone walking through the party. She tried to look around the people in front of her to see who it was but she was too short to see past them. Billy threw down his beer and pulled his arm free.

"I need a smoke."

He walked briskly towards the front door and was gone before she could protest. She poured herself a drink and watched the other people dance. She watched the door intently but he never came back. Finally, she swallowed her pride and decided that she would go and get him. It was better than standing here all alone. She expected to see him standing out the front either passively smoking or engaged in conversation with someone. However, he was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he'd left his cigarettes in his car and walked in the general direction he'd parked.

She stopped when she heard hushed voices that sounded as though they were arguing. She moved as silently as she could and hid between two cars. Steve Harrington's back was pressed up against his car as he was cornered by Billy. He had a desperate look in his eyes. She couldn't believe he'd left her all alone at the party to fight with Steve. The words out of his mouth shook her to her core.

"Billy let's not draw this out…it was good while it lasted but…"

Billy moved so quickly that she let out a small gasp as he pinned Steve to the car and kissed him with more passion than she'd ever seen outside of the basketball court. Steve whimpered desperately and she felt acid swirl in her stomach. Billy kissed his way down to Steve's throat and whispered something against his skin which made Steve's eyes widen in shock. Suddenly he laughed. It was relief mixed with joy.

"We're both idiots."

Billy pulled back to look at him and she would have given anything to see the look on his face. She could feel bile rising in her throat as she realised she didn't need to see his face. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had that same intense expression on his face that he always had when he looked at Steve. His eyes filled with yearning at one end of the hall in the school. Filled with delight on the court. She heard his strangled groan against her skin and heard Steve loud and clear. Billy's car was parked a few doors down from the Harringtons. She had been a distraction for everyone else so that he could have the one thing he wanted above everything else. It had always been about Steve.

"As long as we can keep being idiots together."

She felt envy like she never had before when Steve smiled softly and leaned in to kiss him. She turned abruptly and stormed back into the party. She purposely stamped her feet hoping it would disturb them but she couldn't resist glancing back to see them completely lost in each other.

She stormed through the door and straight into someone causing them to spill their drink. She took a strange satisfaction that someone else's night wasn't going according to plan either. She looked up and into the bewildered eyes of Richie who gave her an uncertain smile.

"Tracy…I…where's Billy?"

She shrugged.

"Probably getting drunk with the other asshole basketball players."

Richie laughed nervously. His face flushed as he watched her closely. She leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear.

"Meet me at the top of the stairs in five minutes."

His flush deepened as he nodded enthusiastically. She gave him a sweet smile and walked towards the stairs. She paid a lot of money for this lingerie and someone was going to appreciate it.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Talk (Silence)

~

Danny has gotten used to not having to watch what he said as the years went by.

In Amity everyone basically knew he was Phantom and just treated it as normal, and he had already told his parents what had happened,

They did a total 180 on their opinions, now chasing after ghosts to question them about everything they could squeeze out of them.

They were very proud of Danny too, often helping him with their technology.

Having said that he got used to not watching what he said in Amity, everyone knew so why bother right?

Unfortunately he was not in Amity

He was in Gotham visiting Jazz, who had moved for University.

They were currently in a cafe catching up, talking as their used to.

Not realizing that their conversation without context sounded very worrying.

~

Jazz: " So how are mod and dad?"

Danny: "Oh you know the usual, they're making new weapons, hopefully this time they wont target me, getting shot sucks, but I prefer it over getting electrocuted "

Jazz: " Good luck!"

(TOPC)The other people in the cafe: What the fuck

~

Danny: " Vlad keeps putting cameras in my room, so I went and confronted him about it again, I don't care that he's the mayor! "

Jazz: " He really needs some therapy"

Danny: " He's a fruitloop, he's beyond help"

TOPC: *concerned side eye*

~

Jazz: "You know I was a bit more worried about the criminals here, but honestly weak, I miss actual competent villains"

Danny: "I told you!"

TOPC not sure if they should be offended or wary of where they live

~

Jazz: " You know I kinda miss the food back home"

Danny: "What that it would come back to life and fight you to the death?"

Jazz: " I mean that too, but I was talking about the taste"

Danny: " Oh yes the chemically contaminated food really has some extra flavor compared to this" *gestures at his plate*

~

Danny: " I went to the park to play with Cujo and got kidnapped and they almost cut me in half"

Danny/Jazz: "Typical Friday!"

TOPC recording on their phones to make sure they're not hallucinating, someone is live tweeting.

~

Just an Idea

[puppetmaster13u]

Because it is Mermay:

Originally did this art for one of @radiance1 prompts/story ideas, which also gives an idea of colors so.

[stiltonbasket]

emperor!lwj au - I feel so bad for the staff, seeing this random young woman come into the emperor's quarters, call him by a pet name a bunch of times, and be very familiar with him. Also she's happily cuddling the prince and giving him a bath? the staff are (•ิ_•ิ)?

This ask made me laugh for a very long time, and since the fic is entirely from Wei Wuxian's POV, here's a short snippet from the staff's point of view!

--

"Steward Ling," a nervous young manservant from the Emperor's palace says one afternoon. "This one requests entry to the storeroom where Zeming zhang-gongzhu keeps the late Empress's belongings."

Ling Jun—the second chief steward of the present dynasty, and the son of the head of staff who served Emperor Qingheng upon his accession to the throne—glances up from his account-book to find two boys in their middle teens wringing their hands at the door to his office.

He sighs. His Majesty's servants are difficult to bear with—not because of any of them are overbearing, but rather because any extended span of time spent in the young Emperor's company seems to rob the boys of their wits.

"What for?" Ling Jun asks. "Huangshang and her Highness are both busy with the selection today, and Her Majesty's things are not due to be aired out until next month."

The elder of the two serving-boys shakes his head.

"Huangshang did not go to the selection," he whispers. "He is still in his room, with the little highness—and a woman. He asked us to fetch the cloak the late Emperor gifted to Her Majesty, so that he could give it to the lady."

Ling Jun nearly faints away on the spot.

The cloak that Xiao Yun is speaking of—a splendid garment made of thick wool, weighted down with pearls and shining silver beads sewn along the borders—was made for Empress Haoxian shortly after the young emperor was born. It delighted the late Emperor to see her in it, especially when the little taizi dianxia was with her; and after she passed away, the staff assumed that the cloak would be given to Grand Princess Zeming. But Zeming zhang-gongzhu laid the cloak away with the rest of her mother's things, insisting that it should be held in storage for his Majesty.

Since she would not wear it, Ling Jun expected that Empress Haoxian's cloak would never be worn again—and then, when it was made known to him that her Highness had given it to the young emperor, that it might be worn by the future Empress.

And if he was asking for it today, that meant—

"Who—who is the lady?" Ling Jun asks, bewildered. "The last I heard, the bridal candidates were waiting to be presented in an antechamber in the outer palace. Huangshang ought to have seen them by now, and if he is still in his quarters—is he with one of the maids?"

That would mean trouble in court, to be sure, but the nobles who sent their daughters to the selection would simply have to bear it. After all, Lan Wangji is only the second emperor of his line; and before Emperor Qingheng took the throne, his forefathers were known for disregarding all matters concerning rank when they wed. The late Emperor's own mother had been brought into the Lan estate as a nursemaid to one of his older cousins, and his father had stumbled upon her playing with the child in the Cloud Recesses' famed magnolia garden and fallen in love at first sight.

Perhaps it is one of Zeming zhang-gongzhu's maidservants, Ling Jun thinks hopefully. The Grand Princess's maids are sensible girls, and most of them have known his Majesty since they were children themselves: and though it might cause some difficulty if her Highness were to be suddenly outranked by one of her servants, such a girl ought to do well as Lan Wangji's Empress if she were properly educated for the role before her wedding.

"N-No, Lord Steward," mumbles the younger of his Majesty's serving-boys. "From what Xiao Tong overheard, the maiden is one of the xiunu from the selection. But she ran away and met Huangshang in his quarters instead of waiting to see him in the reception hall."

Ling Jun's vision blurs. "What?"

Xiao Tong nods furiously. "He called her Wei-guniang, so she must be a lady of rank. And—and Huangshang has her calling him by his birth name, just like Huanghou-niangniang used to! No one else has called him so since she died—even her Highness calls him by his courtesy name! He told me to fetch luncheon for her, and he wants to give her the mantle that the late Emperor gave her Majesty: so that must mean that she is the bride he has chosen."

"Wei?" There are no families of note called Wei living in the capital. "Whose daughter is she?"

At this juncture, one of the maids materializes on the threshold with a wild grin on her face. "Have you heard already?" she whispers, delighted. "About the girl in Huangshang's private quarters?"

"Gossip is forbidden, Xia Ye," Ling Jun snaps. "Do you have any proper business here?"

Xia Ye rolls her eyes at him. "He ordered her a fish clay-pot and braised zhusun with bamboo shoots," she says conspiratorially, before turning to Xiao Tong. "Guess what she's doing now, Tong'er! She's giving his little highness a bath!"

At this, Ling Jun nearly swallows his own tongue. His little highness—that is, his Majesty's ward, and a cousin of his on the late Empress's side—is a good child, with only one fault: a terrible fear of water, whether warm or cold. He suffers no one but his imperial father to bathe him, much to his nurse's distress—and if he had permitted a stranger to give him a bath less than an hour after meeting her, Huangshang might as well put the palace staff out of their misery and marry the girl tomorrow.

"And what's more, I know who she is," Xia Ye declares, before making a smug face at Ling Jun. "She's Jiang Fengmian's yang daughter. The older daughter is already married to Lord Jin's di son, so she couldn't attend the selection—but I heard that the yang daughter fits every one of the requirements Huangshang insisted on when he gave up trying to delay his marriage. She's older than Huangshang, I think—twenty-four or twenty-five, at the least—but Xie Li's mother is a cook at the girls' academy in the city, and she says that Wei Wuxian is the most brilliant scholar that the Grandmaster has ever taught."

All this means little to Ling Jun. The only noblewoman he has more than passing knowledge of is the Grand Princess, Lan Xichen; and his late Majesty thought it meet to educate her in everything from the six classical arts to swordsmanship and military history. Certainly the court found it absurd that Huangshang wanted a wife who was at least as well-learned as the scholars beginning their last years of study for the imperial examinations, but Ling Jun merely found it rather sensible.

"Then do you think he truly means to marry Young Mistress Wei?" he asks warily. "I suppose he must, or the lady would object to spending time with him without a chaperone."

"I don't know about that," Xia Ye says, shrugging. "He hasn't asked for Wei-guniang's hand, so who can say how matters will go?"

Ling Jun frowns. "What do you mean? She was invited here as a bridal candidate, and Huangshang clearly likes her better than all the rest, so—"

"Huangshang is currently pretending to be one of his little highness's attendants," Xia Ye informs him. "Wei-guniang doesn't know that he's the Emperor, and we're not supposed to tell her so."

"His—his attendant? Wei-guniang thinks that his Majesty is a servant?"

"Yes. And until he sees fit, nobody is to tell Wei-guniang otherwise."

With that, Xia Ye tosses her braids back over her shoulder and flounces out of Ling Jun's office, looking more gleeful than ever.

Ling Jun reaches into his desk with trembling hands and pulls out the key to the storehouse devoted to the late Empress's belongings.

"Here," he says hoarsely, handing the key to Xiao Tong. "Fetch the cloak and bring it to Huangshang. And mind how you speak to Young Mistress Wei; with any luck, she will be the new Empress before the year is out, and the first thing she will do after her wedding is choose which of the servants attending the inner palace are permitted to remain there."

"I wouldn't mind being dismissed, to be honest," Xiao Tong mumbles. "Huangshang looks just as much in love with her as the late emperor was with Empress Haoxian, and they've only just met. I don't fancy getting caught mistaking any of Wei-guniang's orders after she's married."

"Bite your tongue!" scolds Ling Jun. "Now deliver the cloak, and be quick about it. If there is so much as a speck of dust on it by the time it reaches Young Mistress Wei, I'll send you off to the laundry bureau before the madam has the chance to say a word about it."

Xiao Tong yelps and disappears, taking his hapless friend with him; and Ling Jun leans back in his chair with his eyes tightly shut, wondering if Wei Wuxian will change at all after she becomes the Empress.

"I am too old to serve such a spirited Empress," he mutters to himself. "Perhaps it is time for Ling Yan to take my place."

But it will be many months before Ling Jun's son can succeed him as the head steward. A change as great as that must wait until after Huangshang's wedding, and then for the new Empress to grow accustomed to her role as master of the inner palace; and all told, Ling Yan cannot hope to take Ling Jun's place before this time next year.

And if Ling Yun must remain until then, well...

"I suppose I might as well stay," he grumbles. "And by then, perhaps I will decide that there is no need to leave."

(Little did Ling Jun know that he would decide nothing of the kind. By the following summer, he would be driven half out of his wits by the newly-wed Wei Wuxian. But Ling Yan would have resigned his post and retired to the countryside under the duress of serving such a mistress; and as such, Ling Jun was forced—not too unhappily, for Wei Wuxian was as kind as she was flighty—to remain in his position as chief steward.

Xia Ye, on the other hand, would be swiftly elevated to the position of Wei Wuxian's chief maidservant: but the less said about that, the better.)

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Pt. 3 I combined the prompts: Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an Idiot (affectionate), Everyone is Queer Because I Said So, and @c0olness's hyper-specific Wayne's Boyfriend Owns a Gay Bar in Indianapolis and Introduces Steve to a Drag Queen. :)

Angel Reyes has loved Wayne Munson about as long as he’s loved himself. The timing is not coincidental.

Which is why he’s willing to wait for him, even when Angel’s patience is worn thin like the shirt he stole from Wayne three years ago and wears like a prayer to bed.

Some nights, when Wayne calls at the end of his shift and Angel is wiping down his own bar at closing, he’s tempted to say: we might not have much time left—shouldn’t we spend what we do have together?

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

Because the same reason he fell in love with Wayne is the reason Wayne won’t move to Indy. The man is loyal to a fault and when he gives himself to people he gives all of himself and there’s no force in the world that would convince Wayne to leave Hawkins if he thought Eddie still needed him there. Because Wayne loves Angel. But Wayne loved Eddie first. And Angel can hardly begrudge him of that.

So he repeats a well-worn mantra, only slightly comforting: not today, but someday. And he hangs up the phone and he checks the calendar and he looks forward to the time he is allowed. If there’s one thing he learned over the years, it’s that he can’t get greedy when he already has a good thing.

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

So when he’s locking up for the night and the phone rings, he expects the conversation to take a familiar path. 

“Evening, handsome,” he says, canting his hip against the counter. “You tell him yet?”

It’s been his standard greeting for close to a year. Why the man won’t just tell his gay nephew that he is, conveniently, also gay, is beyond Angel. But then, listening has always been Wayne’s strong suit. Talking, not so much.

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

“I did, actually. After I walked in on him and Steve kissin’ last night—“

“Finally!” Angel crows. The saga of Eddie and Steve and their will-they-won’t-they relationship had quickly surpassed even his favorite telenovela’s dramatic storylines. The pretty jock with hidden depths and the nerdy metalhead falling in love? Hospital vigils? Protracted pining while sharing a bed? Impeccable. 

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

“Darling,” Angel says, not for the first time, “I’d like to remind you that you are not paying per word for this call.”

Wayne huffs at him, also not for the first time.

“Steve didn’t know liking both boys and girls meant he was bisexual. He thought there was some sort of…threshold he needed to pass to be queer enough to date a man. I suppose Robin set him straight––or, not so straight as the case may be––” he chuckles a little at his own joke, “And he came over to declare his love as soon as his shift ended.”

Angel takes a moment to digest that. “...Maybe they use Eddie as the sperm donor if they want kids,”  he suggests.

“Ease up, it’s not like they teach this shit in school. Bet I’d been a lot more confused too if I had the luxury of liking both.”

“Alright, I won’t pick on your future son-in-law, promise.”

“ Speaking of school,” Wayne says, sidestepping his implication. “Eddie got his diploma in the mail yesterday.”

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

“Actually, we thought we’d take a trip to Indy this weekend.”

Angel twists the phone’s cord around his finger. “…you’re supposed to come next weekend.”

“So you’d have to see me two weeks in a row, if you can bear it.”

“A trial, to be sure. When you say…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to clarify without breaking his own heart. “When you come this weekend. Would you want us—would you want me. To meet them?”

He closes his eyes and bangs a fist against his forehead because that is not the safe way to ask that question. 

“It'd be pretty weird if they didn’t meet the person hosting them.”

“Oh, I see. You’re just using me for my five star accommodations,” he says, because he’s apparently determined to dig his own grave.

“No. Wayne says, “those are nice. But mostly I just want to introduce them to my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“And saying shit like that makes me think you’re trying to compete with Steve in the stupid Olympics.”

Angel makes an outraged noise but Wayne talks over him which is unique enough an occurrence that Angel lets him get away with it.

“See,” Wayne says. “The boys have decided they don’t want to stay in Hawkins long-term. They figure they’ll stay another year. Save some money. Make sure the kids are settled. And then Eddie’s set on New York or California and I think Steve’s just set on Eddie, wherever he is. I thought we could at least make a case for Indy, though. ‘Cause if Eddie isn’t staying in Hawkins, I’ve got no reason to.”

“Ah,” Angel says again. “And you don’t have any interest in New York or California?”

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll mop the floors and clean the windows. Give them the best showing I can. Should we plan to take them to one of the…heavier… music venues? I can probably have Frank cover for me, I’d just need to ask him now.”

“Nah. I figure I’ll help you out Saturday night and let them explore on their own. Eddie’s already making a list of options. But Friday is drag night at your place, right?”

“It is.”

“We should start them with that, I think.”

Angel grins. “Their debut in queer society shall be heralded by Dolly Parton and glitter.”

“Mm.” 

Angel is familiar enough with Wayne’s thoughtful noises to know that he’s smiling.

“Enough about my boys,” Wayne says. “Tell me about your day.”

Angel does.

When Angel hangs up ten minutes later, for once, he’s grinning. He thinks, as usual, not today but someday. Only ‘someday’ suddenly feels tangible in a way it never has before.

***

Eddie Munson is exactly what Angel expected him to be when he comes tumbling out the driver’s side door of the van parked half on Angel’s driveway and half on his lawn. Angel has been hearing about him through the rosy lens of Wayne’s affection for close to five years and as a result, Angel loves him immediately upon first sight. 

Then again, he’d be difficult not to love. Eddie is a bright, frenetic, presence, all hair and chains and affected airs, who shares Wayne's smile, though he dispenses smiles much more freely than his uncle. He is unashamedly himself as he shakes Angel’s hand, tells his uncle he approves, and then asks for a tour of the house.

Steve Harrington is somehow simultaneously exactly and nothing like Angel expected.

Exactly, because he looks the part: a cropped Hawkins Varsity Basketball sweatshirt, tiny athletic shorts, and the well-built frame of someone who regularly works out. His hair is verging on ridiculous. His face is…well-suited to the body, he’ll say.

But the kid also has a hyper-awareness to him, a quick-eyed, assessing, vigilant posture, that Angel has only ever seen in war vets twice the kid’s age. He puts his back to a room’s farthest corner. He keeps doorways in sight. And he constantly, constantly, orbits Eddie like the world's most unsubtle protective detail. 

There are also the scars. Terrible, still-healing, scars. On one exposed thigh, the side of his neck, and his right forearm. On the slice of skin between his waistband and the frayed cut-off hem of his sweater. He wears them unapologetically, with the composure of someone who is neither proud nor embarrassed by them.  

Angel suspects, only a few minutes into their first meeting, that Eddie may have similar scars beneath his torn jeans and bleach-speckled band shirt. One of his arms has some sort of medical sleeve on it—the pale fabric covered in black bleed-fuzzy Sharpie drawings of bats. Angel considers the mangled half-moon-shaped lines decorating Steve’s thigh. Unless earthquakes have suddenly developed teeth, Wayne has clearly been editing his stories. 

But despite their significant aesthetic differences, the two boys are well-suited, if painfully young and unpracticed in the art of subtlety. They touch each other constantly; unthinkingly. Hands. Hips. Shoulders. Elbows. And the way they look at each other—well. They’ll need to work on that if they don’t want to accumulate more scars. Granted, they hardly have to hide their relationship in the sanctuary of his home, but he gets the feeling they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. 

It’s both sweet and more than a little heartbreaking.

“So,” he says, “ I need to get back to the bar before the opening act at 8. It’s drag night.”

“Robin is going to be furious she didn’t come,” Steve says.

“We’ll bring her next time,” Eddie says. 

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

He can’t take credit for the name, but he can take credit for the atmosphere. It’d been a dark, sticky, hole-in-the-wall when he started working there at 21. When he’d bought it from the former owner a decade later, he’d cleaned it up, regulated the jukebox hours, and started live music, drag, and deejay nights. A few years after that, in 1984, when the mayor issued a proclamation declaring the new city policy to no longer discriminate against queers, he’d taken the boards down from all the windows. 

It’s still dark in the back where the stage and dance floor are tucked away, but the front windows with a clear view of the street are big and unashamed. He keeps the windows clean.

There’s a copy of the proclamation framed above them, along with pictures of Angel and noteworthy patrons of the establishment over the years: Wakefield Poole; Tom Higgins; Bayard Rustin; Freddie Mercury, and Jim Hutton. 

A lot has changed in the last two decades that he’s worked there, but some things, like the old oak-wood bar where all the pictures were taken, stay the same.

He brings Wayne and the boys in through the back to scattered shouts of hello from regulars. He and Wayne slide behind the bar to start helping Frank, and the boys sit on stools with wide eyes.

It’s nice, to see the place from their perspective. The magic of it is never lost on him, but sometimes he does forget exactly how magic it is: a bar that looks like most other bars but where men look and touch and kiss without concern, where there’s art and magazines and conversations that wouldn’t be permitted by common society a scant few feet outside the door.

After fifteen minutes, they get brave enough to explore—admiring the posters on the opposite wall: Bijou and Boys in the Sand; Passing Strangers, Forbidden Letters, and A Night at the Adonis.

They play a round of darts near the front windows, the boards covered in shitty black-and-white copies of Anita Bryant’s face.

They sit at a table near the stage when the show starts. They pull their chairs together. They hold hands on the tabletop. They laugh and shout and sing along and kiss when invited.

After, when they’re back at the bar, flushed with alcohol and the subtle worldview shift that Angel remembers well from his first visit to a gay bar, a few of the queens come over to introduce themselves. Leslie, currently in her Cher era, steps up to the bar, accepts her drink from Wayne with a wink, and gives Steve a clear once-over.

“Aren't you out a little late for a school night, baby?" she says in her customary baritone.

“Uh, no ma’am. I graduated last year. Sorry. Sir?”

"Sugar, do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?"

“Take it easy on him, Les,” Angel calls. “He’s new.”

“No kidding.” She purses her lips at him. “Ma’am is fine unless you meet me on the street. But here I’d prefer ‘honey. Or ‘darling.”

Steve swallows. “I promised I’d reserve pet names for my boyfriend. So. I’ll stick with Ma’am.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer. And where is this boyfriend?”

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

“Do you know what that color bandana means in that pocket?”

Eddie glances down at his back left pocket; at the black bandana hanging against his thigh.

“Ah...that I’m into S&M but that I like to be the  submission one? Like the one getting tied up?”

“You what?” Steve says.

Angel notices that Wayne has made a hasty exit to the bathroom, which is probably for the best.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Leslie says, “it means the opposite on that side, so maybe switch pockets.” She considers Steve’s pink face. “And also maybe talk to your boyfriend. The whole point of flagging is to find someone to meet your needs and you've got a pretty one right here who seems like he’s awfully willing.”

Steve pulls the bandana out of Eddie’s pocket and, using his teeth, tidily rips it into two. He tucks one half in Eddie’s right back pocket. He tucks the other in his left. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow like he's expecting Eddie to argue. Eddie does not argue. Eddie doesn't do much of anything except stare at him with wide, hungry eyes.

“Well,” Leslie says, sounding pleased, “My work here is done. Honestly, kids these days.”

She gives Steve a little pat on the shoulder as she pushes back into the crowd. “I’d dance while you have the chance, boys. Life is short and sometimes so is love. Capitalize on that shit!”

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

Eddie is still watching Leslie with a bemused smile. “I don’t know how to dance to this music.”

“Well I won’t know how to dance to yours tomorrow, but I’m planning to let you show me.”

“Fair enough, King Steve." Eddie affects a curtsy, offering Steve his hand. “I suppose I can allow you to take me for a turn about the dance floor, good sir.”

Steve bows low over Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles, looking up at him with a grin. “An honor,” he says solemnly, and then drags Eddie, laughing, into the throng of moving bodies.

***

The next morning, Angel wakes up early for no reason he can determine. He’s not good at sitting idle, and he doesn’t want his fidgeting to wake Wayne, so he elects to take his book to the garden. Only, as he slips into the hall, careful with the door behind him, he can hear the quiet, indistinct lull of voices in the kitchen.

Angel moves down the hall on sock feet, avoiding the creaky bit of flooring where the original foundation meets the master addition he added four years back. 

The boys have opened the double doors to the patio and Steve is leaning against the jam on one side, coffee cup in hand, looking out at the garden. He’s shirtless, wearing only the shorts from the day before. Warm, tree-diluted, sunrise rays cast him in sepia, making the scars that traverse his flank to his thigh look less gruesome and more artistic. Poetic. He knows more than one photographer who would kill for a shot like this. Something about the coexistence of beauty and pain. Something about a commentary on perceptions of strength; the allure of imperfection resulting from battles survived.

Eddie joins Steve, sliding under his open arm like a habit, dragging a hand down Steve’s side to cup the puckered line of recently-stitched skin at Steve’s hip. 

Eddie is also shirtless—wearing jeans and a riot of bed head that Steve presses his face into, murmuring something low and clearly funny by the stifled laughter it produces. 

Angel wasn't wrong with his initial assumption: Eddie’s back is littered with shallow scars as well, but he also has a fair amount of tattoos, which makes the other marks less incongruous. There’s something about Steve’s otherwise flawless skin and sculpted muscles that make his injuries feel more visceral.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Steve suddenly looks behind him, like he has a preternatural awareness that he’s being watched.

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

And Angel realizes that Steve’s injuries pale in comparison to Eddie’s.

Because Eddie’s chest and belly is a brutal mess of scar tissue.

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to stop himself until Steve slides a proprietary hand over the worst of it, spread fingers against what has to still be an agony of healing skin.

He meets Angel's eyes and all but dares him to say anything.

“I think,” Angel says, turning abruptly to enter the kitchen, “the occasion calls for french toast. Thoughts?”

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

His hand covers Steve’s and presses, not a dismissal but an invitation to linger. 

“Your diploma,” Angel says, “Steve’s first time making a fool of himself in front of a drag queen. Whatever excuse is sufficient for the making of said french toast.”

“See, we’re sort of trying out this new thing lately,” Eddie murmurs, looking at Steve, “where we don’t need excuses for things that make us happy.”

“No guilt in our pleasures,” Steve agrees, voice soft, expression reverent. He tucks an errant curl behind Eddie’s ear.

Angel resists the urge to sigh at them. Instead, he toasts them with a carton of eggs. “French toast for the pleasure of french toast, then. You two go sit on the bench in the garden. The sun should be hitting it right about now and that is surely a pleasurable experience. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”

Steve meets his eyes again, this time less challenging, more thankful. 

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[talanashta]

Sept Stobin Extravaganza Day 12: Codependent

Rated T | @sept-stobin-extravaganza | 2,183 Words (it's a long'un) | A lot of this story is inspired by this post and some of it's comments/reblogs/etc

The kids hadn’t noticed how close Steve and Robin were at first after Starcourt. Sure, the two were glued together constantly, but Dustin was fairly certain they were dating, and couples spent a lot of time together, right?

And he thought he was being proven correct in his assumptions about their relationship status when he headed over to Steve’s one Saturday in October. He didn’t bother knocking on the front door, just headed straight inside. “Steve?” he called out.

He didn’t hear a response, but he had seen the BMW in the driveway, so he took a look around. The ground floor was empty, and he didn’t see Steve in the backyard, so he headed upstairs. Once he reached the landing, he heard water running from the direction of Steve’s bedroom and ensuite. Honestly, maybe Dustin should have knocked or waited for Steve to come out, but he and his friends didn’t have a lot of boundaries, and also, Steve was like his big brother, so he didn’t think before opening the bathroom door a little (he didn’t look! He knew better than that!) and calling in.

“Steve! I need a ride! Hurry up your shower!” Dustin said.

The voice he heard back was… decidedly not Steve. “What the hell, mini-dingus?” Robin’s voice replied. He heard the curtain rustle, so he peeked his head around the door and met her eyes.

Her hair was all soapy, and she had the most disgruntled look on her face.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped.

Steve’s head popped up over top Robin’s in the gap. “Dude, just go wait in the living room. I’ll be down in, like, twenty, and I can give you a ride then.”

Dustin nodded frantically and hurried out of the room and downstairs.

He waited twenty-two minutes exactly (he kept checking his watch) while wearing a hole in the living room rug before Steve came downstairs, dried and dressed, followed closely behind by Robin.

“I thought you weren’t dating!” Dustin accused them.

Steve had the audacity to look fed up with Dustin. “We’re not.”

Dustin sputtered for a second before saying, “Then what were you doing showering together?”

Both of them just shrugged and didn’t answer his question. And they kept not, for the entire ride to the arcade, where he met up with the others.

Of course, when Dustin told the rest of the Party, none of them took it as seriously as he thought they should.

“So what?” Lucas said. “They’re dating but saying they’re not. What’s it matter?”

“What’s it matter?!” Dustin said, flabbergasted.

Of course, they didn’t realize that wasn’t the end of Steve and Robin being a lot. There were all sorts of things that they started to notice that indicated something more.

Like, one day Mike went into the Family Video to rent a movie to watch that weekend, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, when he went to check out, he saw Robin was wearing Steve’s name-tag. He didn’t say anything about it to her, but a couple days later, Dustin brought it up at lunch.

“I went to get a movie after school yesterday, and I get there, and Steve’s wearing Robin’s name-tag!” he told them.

“Yeah, I saw Robin wearing his name-tag on Saturday,” Mike replied.

“Really?” Dustin asked. “I asked Steve why, and he said Robin was sick. Like, I get it; he’s covering her shift or whatever, but why is he wearing her name-tag?”

“Was Steve sick on Saturday?” Lucas asked, thoughtfully.

Dustin thought it over for a minute. “I think so? When I called his house, Robin answered the phone and said something about him having a stomach bug.”

“Hm,” was all Lucas said in response.

Another time, when Lucas called Steve’s house, Robin was the one to answer again.

“Hey, Robin,” he said. “I was calling to ask Steve a question.”

She didn’t even pause before saying, “Sure, what’s up?”

“Um… Well, I wanted to know if he’d help me practice for basketball tryouts, but if he’s not free, I can call back.”

Robin hummed in thought for a moment. “He’ll be by to pick up up on Saturday just after lunch. Like 2-ish. Does that work for you?”

“I… guess?” he told her. “Are you sure that’s fine with him?”

“Yep!” she said, popping the P.

The two sat in awkward silence for a few moments too long. “Okay, bye,” he said quickly and hung up the phone.

Well, Steve showed up at 2PM on the dot Saturday, so Lucas just rolled with it. His mom agreed to stuff for his dad all the time, so this must’ve just been like that.

Now, Max wasn’t around Steve and Robin as much as the boys so she hadn’t been having as many weird experiences as they were, but she definitely had one that stuck out so much that she broke her month-long avoidance to tell them.

It happened when she’d been about to skate home from school and she passed Steve’s car in the parking lot. He raised one hand to her as she approached, Robin at his side.

Max just gave him a tight smile, so Steve let her be and turned back to Robin.

But when he did, Robin just opened her mouth, and he reached in and pulled out her gum and stuck it in his own mouth. What the actual fuck?

Max just straight-up stopped and did a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and headed back to the entrance of the school where she waited for the boys to come out.

“Max!” Dustin cheered upon seeing her. “What’s up?”

“Have they been super weird around you guys too?” she asked them.

“Who?” Mike asked, brows furrowed.

“Steve and Robin.”

Lucas looked at her carefully. “What’d they do now?”

She paused before telling him. “I just saw Steve pull gum out of Robin’s mouth and put it in his own to chew.”

All three boys chorused, “Ew!”

“Why?” Dustin cried out.

Lucas told her, “We’ve been keeping track. They’ve been insanely weird lately. Dustin thought they were just dating, but this goes way beyond that.”

“Yeah,” Mike chimed in. “Like, we’re not sure if it’s a new thing or if they’ve been like this the whole time, and we just didn’t notice.”

Max hummed, “Hm. Keep me looped in. I wanna know what’s up too.”

Lucas gave her a bright smile. “Sure!”

And the boys did. Every couple days, Max joined them at lunch to compare notes of whatever weirdness Steve and Robin had gotten up to lately. Most of the discoveries were from Dustin, who saw Steve way more than the rest of them, but they all had something. So far, they’d discovered that the two would only ever eat sharing a plate, Robin seemingly never left Steve’s house, and they apparently shared a toothbrush (they all found that one even nastier than the gum thing). One time, Dustin even got traumatized walking in on Steve shirtless with Robin popping a huge pimple on his back.

A few weeks after the gum incident, the four kids were gathered in Steve’s living room for a movie night. It’d been a while since they’d all hung out together outside of school, and technically they still weren’t. The absence of two of their Party members was sorely felt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dustin saw Steve watch them mope for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and suggesting, “Okay, you know what, why don’t you guys call Will? I’m sure he misses you.”

“Really?” Mike asked, incredulously.

“Yes, really, Mike. It’s not like I pay the phone bill. I’m sure my parents can afford the long distance charge,” he informed the boys.

Then it was a scramble as the three hurried to the phone. Max hung back, though.

“Don’t want to talk to Will?” Robin asked her.

“No,” she told her. “If I could, I’d talk to El, but you know she can’t come on the phone.”

Robin sighed. “Yeah. That sucks, kiddo. Want to get your nails painted while we wait? I did ours earlier.” She patted the cushion next where they were practically glued together on the couch.

Max thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” she agreed and sat on the couch. “Wait.” She went back over what Robin said. “Our nails?”

“Oh yeah!” Steve said cheerfully. “Robs painted our toes earlier.” He wiggled them on the rug, and they were indeed painted; they were even in the same shade as Robin’s toes.

“Yeah! We don’t like polish on our hands, so toes only!” she said. “But I can paint your fingers.”

“… Okay.” Max picked a color from the bag Steve offered her and sat patiently while Robin painted, Steve holding the bottle for her.

When Robin had finished the first coat, she capped the bottle and said to Max, “I need to take a pee break! Let that dry, and we’ll finish it when we get back.”

Max raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s Steve going?” she asked, since Steve got up too.

“… The bathroom?” he said, confused.

“Together?” Max asked them.

Robin just shrugged, and the two headed into the guest bathroom off the living room.

Whatever. If the two wanted to sneak off to make-out and lie very obviously about it, she wasn’t going to say anything.

Eventually, after her second coat was dried and the three of them had started watching TV, the boys came out of the kitchen, finished with their call to Will.

“How’s baby Byers?” Steve asked.

The boys told him all about what was going on in Will’s life, while Steve and Robin just nodded along and listened.

“Cool,” Robin said when they were all done. “Sounds like you had a good chat.”

“Mhm,” Steve added. “Now, what do you all want for dinner?”

All four of them looked at each other before saying in unison, “Pizza!”

Of course, getting all of them to agree on pizza toppings was a nightmare. It took almost 30 minutes of haggling with Steve over what he was willing to pay for. Mike only wanted pepperoni, Lucas didn’t really care but didn’t want too many ‘wet’ toppings, and Max wanted anything but pepperoni to be contrary to Mike.

“I want supreme,” Dustin told him.

“Okay, but no mushrooms. We’re allergic,” Steve told him.

Dustin stared at him for almost a full minute before saying slowly, “You’re not allergic to mushrooms, Steve. I’ve seen you eat them at my house before.”

“Well, Robin’s allergic,” he said matter-of-factly with his hands on his hips. “So no mushrooms.”

“Robin can just have a different pizza, Steve! The mushrooms are important to the balance of the supreme pizza. Without them, both the taste and texture are altered.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s either no mushrooms or no supreme pizza, Henderson. You’re the only one who wanted it, and I’m not about to order a specialty pizza just for you.”

“But-!”

“Nuh-uh. Those are your two options,” he said firmly.

Dustin rolled his eyes so hard they almost rolled out of his head. “Fine. No mushrooms. God!”

When he stomped back over to the Party, he complained to them about what just happened.

“So because Robin can’t eat mushrooms, he can’t either?” Max asked.

The four looked over to where the two were standing at the landline, Steve dialing to order the pizza.

“Maybe it’s a serious enough allergy that they can’t kiss if he’s eaten any?” Lucas suggested.

“Maybe,” Dustin conceded. “But you know, I’ve never seen them kiss… Like even once.”

The rest of the group thought over all the past interactions they’ve observed and agreed.

“They might not like PDA,” Mike said.

Max chimed in, “Maybe they’re really not dating. Maybe they’re just weird.”

“They were showering together,” Dustin said to her.

“True…” she conceded. “And I saw them go to the bathroom together earlier tonight. Pretty sure that was to have a secret make-out session,” Max added.

“Really?” Lucas asked her.

“Mhm.”

“They’re like my grandparents,” Lucas said to them all.

Mike frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like, they’re so in-tune, as if they’d been together forever. But then sometimes they’re so weird it’s not like my grandparents at all,” he explained.

“Like with the name-tags thing?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah!”

“Who even knows with those two,” Max said. “Maybe they’re just trauma-bonded or whatever. And it messed them up along the way.”

“No way!” Dustin insisted. “Steve’s not like that.”

“Gum, Dustin,” she said. “I saw him pull it right out of her mouth.”

“Ew, yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

Mike added, “Too bad El’s not here. She’d be able to figure out whatever was going on.”

The group saw as Robin poked Steve in the chest as he was hanging up the phone, and Steve said, “That was right in the nipple!” and clutched his chest.

“Score!” she cheered, laughing. He started chuckling too, leaning in and resting his head on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Max agreed. “They’re too weird to figure out without superpowers.”

[miraidashinomia]

I think spn fic writers are sleeping on writing time travel fics to the 40s-50s when American Men of Letters were still alive, and exploring Sam and Dean's relationship with Henry, and even meeting Henry's father, and MOL being shocked by the future and by the boys' behavior like Henry was when he traveled to the future, and Sam and Dean hating MOL because of their strict hierarchy and like restricted access to the knowledge depending on your rank, which will INFURIATE Sam... So many unexplored possibilities... Someone write a fic I'm beggin'

[hitlikehammers]

there is a tree as old as me

rating: teen tags: future fic, outside POV, trespassing, established relationship, engaged steddie💍 ✨for @kallisto-k at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra: 'and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust // out in the garden where we planted the seeds // there is a tree as old as me

She catches the trespassers by chance, really.

She’s awake early even for her routine, age doing nothing for the capacity to sleep in on a good day but her hip’s been a trial, and she needs buy a new mattress but Richard’s insistent he can’t bear to sleep on a stone slab, Patricia, good god—she wants to get one of those Select Comforts that splits their settings between two sides as a compromise; he argues those are for lesser mortals, which she’s long learned has evolved in recent years to mean not just that he thinks he’s above something in general, but more now that he thinks he’s better than technological advances.

And Patricia Harrington has standards, certainly, but she can also recognize when

She’s also old enough to remember when ‘new’ was an opportunity to throw her Black Card and gloat a little in the rush of the novelty, the momentary shine until the next new thing appeared to repeat the cycle.

She might be feeling her years, but she doesn’t understand when her husband got so damn old.

At least he’s still savvy enough to the time that they’ve got an airtight security system for the house itself, given the trespassers—more likely would-be-burglars, given the evaluation they’d just paid taxes on for the property—that she spies out the window, hears where she cracked the window in the kitchen to light a cigarette as she brews an early coffee.

Maybe Richard will agree to motion sensors for the yard, if she tells him about these…miscreants.

They’re moving carefully, like they don’t want to be seen, or more likely caught—suspicious, obviously—but they’re also moving like the know where they’re headed, as if they’re familiar with the space they’re traversing even in the pitch dark: even more suspect, really, and she wonders if they’ve cased the home, adds full-property camera surveillance to her list of proposals for reevaluating their security.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to—“ she barely catches the hiss from one of the criminals from across the yard, but it doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last because the second party drags the first close and: the lighting’s horrible, the moon’s crescent at best, but there’s really only one thing to be doing when two bodies press close, and then break apart with a pop she makes out on the breeze and, well. She was young, once.

“Believe it, baby,” the second trespasser rumbles low, and, oh, good god: “we gotta hit all the landmarks.”

They’re men. They’re both of them men and they were just—

“Landmarks?” the first one hisses sharper, this time, and Patricia…she doesn’t care nearly as much as Richard does about what people do in their bedrooms that she personally doesn’t agree with.

But this isn’t anyone’s own bedroom. This is her lawn.

“Of our story,” the second one, he—he—has got such curly hair she likely would have assume it was a very tall women, if it weren’t for the voice; “all our highlights.”

“What, exactly, was—“ the first man, he sounds a little exasperated as he whispers, but…fond. Fond like Patricia hasn’t heard in…well.

A very, very long time, at least.

“Here,” the curly haired fiend traipsing her property stops at a redbud tree Richard had always despised, said it looked tacky, common. Patricia canceled every removal service he’d had whichever secretary he instructed to send.

The second man turns, moves slow toward the tree before reaching, placing a hand on the trunk almost carefully, reverently. There’s something…familiar about him. The shape of his face, the way the the coif of his hair catches in shadow—

“My nanny used to tell me this tree was planted the year I was born, that it grew up with me,” and oh, oh, that’s, he’s—“so that I’d have to eat my vegetables and stuff, if I wanted to see it grow.”

He sounds so nostalgic, so soft at the edges; Patricia doesn’t know if she’s ever heard her son sound like that.

Because that’s who it is; why he seemed familiar even at a distance.

Even if she hasn’t seen or heard from Steven in nearly twenty years.

“And look at you both,” the other man, with the curly hair, he’s holding Steven by his arms, and the motion, the body language is…tender even before she hears the words filter over:

“Big and strong,” the man says, and then he’s cupping Steven’s cheek and Steven leans in so quick, like he trusts deeply, here: “fuckin’ beautiful.”

She can’t see it, not in the dark, but something tells her Steven’s smiling for the words. It makes her feel…uncomfortable.

Because it’s not as if they hadn’t seen it; she doesn’t know where Steven’s moved, where he ended up when he moved out while they were gone, left his key and a simple, terse little note about the furnace needing looked at—she only knows he’s nowhere near here, anymore, and she suspects there are some, like the former police chief and his wife, who know where he went but she never asks. She’s too proud for that.

But the point is: Steven doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore, and likely lives nowhere near Hawkins. But when The Post ran the engagement announcement it had only been implied, she’d never have been able to place is, but: when and S. Harrington and E. Munson announced their happy news in print, in a town that didn’t house people by those initials, even if it still housed residents by those family names?

Well. Patricia had suspicions. And she remembers the Munson boy largely because his hair was an unmistakable mess.

Apparently some things didn’t change.

“This,” the Munson boy, because that’s who it is, that’s who’s still cradling her son so close and so gently: “this was the first place I knew you wanted me.”

Steven’s head, she sees, still tilts just so when he’s baffled.

“What?”

“I knew you loved me like I love you, I knew that way before but you,” and the Munson boy, he pulls his hand across his face like the night isn’t doing the hiding for him. Preposterous, really.

“The urchins were inside, we were going to grab more pop to bring in and you pushed me up against this very tree,” and the boy—man, they’re men, they’ve long been men and Patricia doesn’t want to pry up the implications of how she saw no part of the becoming part of that process with her own eyes—but the man’s voice is so warm, so…smitten.

It should be nauseating. Another thing she doesn’t want to pry at is why it…isn’t. At least not quite.

“Couldn’t wait, you said, couldn’t keep you hands off me,” and he’s turning Steven, walking him back against the tree as he speaks the words, like he’s reenacting something nigh-sacred.

“And I knew that I was out of my mind with wanting you like that, on top of loving you more than fucking life baby, but,” and Munson, she can see the way he breathes in his deep for the heave in the line of his back, and she can see the way he…brushes the line of his nose back and forth against Steven’s.

Who still has her father’s nose.

“You were hard as soon as you pinned me,” and Patricia frowns at the glass, when she hears that; and she barely hears is, in fairness, it’s pitched low even as they think they’re alone which is the least they can do but they are not alone and Patrician does not need to be subjected to—

“And it was like a light switch, or a lightning bolt,” the Munson boy—they’re boys they are still boys—but the Munson boy whispers it, and sounds like he’s wondering at it;

“He loves me,” he breathes, the line of his back breathing so deep again; “and he fucking wants me.”

And no, Patricia does not need to hear that at all, but.

There is a part of her, buried somewhere, who…does miss the idea of wanting. Of being wanted. In the abstract.

“You’re absurd,” Steven snorts and oh; oh, she remembers that tone, that testy little snark that always riled Richard enough that he’d largely stomped it out of the boy but oh: Patricia did love when Steven failed to rein it in.

Because it always reminded her that Steven was her son.

She doesn’t intend to start rubbing at her chest, but it…it feels kind of tight, there, just now.

It aches, there. Just now.

“I love you,” and Steven’s voice, she’s never heard him speak with that much feeling, and it’s difficult not to…to react to even just overhearing, to eavesdropping, though in fairness: it is, again, her property.

“And I want you,” Steven leans in, and kisses at Munson’s cheek with such affection, a devotion that’s obvious, near-blinding even in the dark; “just as much now as then,” and then Steven, Steven—

He laughs.

He laughs and it’s such a light and carefree sound and it’s so foreign to Patricia’s ears that it almost makes her anxious, or something of the like.

“But then so much more, baby,” and the warmth in those words: those are foreign too.

Those feel strange to hear, not least in Steven’s voice which…

She thinks she may not have recognized, if the first thing she hear were these words, in this tone.

She’s not wholly sure how to sit with that suspicion.

“Ten days,” the Munson boy’s hands go to Steven’s hips and he rocks them back and forth a bounce in the motion, a levity.

“Ten days,” and Steven…no.

No: she would not have recognized that voice.

She would not have known her son.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” the Munson boy whispers, Patricia only hears because she’s trying to, now, she…she wants to even if it hurts unexpectedly, the tightness under her hand in her chest a pain, now, a small little stab when this man cups her son’s cheeks, cradles him so careful and so…so loving, undeniable even like this, and says what she suspected from that notice in the paper.

Steven is getting married. Steven is getting married and he is proud enough to flaunt it in a town who could never prove it, where he no longer has tied; to a a partner who is proud enough to do the same just as brazen, and she doesn’t know if she’s proud or put-off, but she does know here, now—

Steven is in love. And he is loved deeply in kind. And the person who loves him sounds in awe at the idea of pledging forever not as a contract, but maybe more as a privilege.

She wasn’t paying attention for a strand of seconds as she acknowledged this, and decided ultimately to stop trying to do anything deeper than just that.

But she sees them pull apart; they’d been kissing the entire time she’d been thinking it through.

She isn’t even interested in acknowledging the…niggling little feeling of that kind of prolonged affection, let alone the way they reach for each other, steady each other in the coming apart, as if they have no desire to wholly come apart.

The idea of trusting another pair of hands like it looks as if they do, in the dim of these early hours, is…another foreign thing.

“Okay, okay,” the Munson boy laughs, no, giggles; “let’s get out of here before the owners notice.”

And he turns, would meet her eyes if he could see her; she knows he can’t, knows she’s standing just beyond the capacity to be caught and how absurd, caught inside her own house.

But then he’s turned away again; the house, and whatever it holds, far less compelling than the man at his side.

“Wayne’s place?” Steven’s asking and the Munson boy grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” the Munson boy says so low, so soft and sweet; “we can hit some more landmarks before that bagel joint he likes opens, we can take him breakfast.”

“More landmarks?” Steven sounds baffled, but so very fond and his partner doesn’t let go of his hand once, reels him in to peck his cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the Munson boy nearly…purrs, how ridiculous; “so many. Because we’ve got one hell of a story.”

But ridiculous or no: the moon shifts out from the clouds as they make to scamper off the lawn and Patricia sees her son’s face for the first time in decades, now, and oh.

Oh: she’s never seen him smile like that. Not…not once.

She turns away, because the sting in her chest burns behind her eyes, a little; because the joy on Steven’s face is…

It feels private; like something she’s not meant to see.

She goes to pour herself the coffee she’d largely forgotten, and, well.

She’s still going to talk to Richard about security, but maybe…

Maybe not just now.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

[beatleskinkmeme]

Pov the CIA agent listening in to John and Paul's transatlantic calls

.

[starflungwaddledee]

*caassssuuuaallly slides into your inbox* hey. hi hello 😎

im here for those sweet ol song asks, wanna share any you have for Starstruck and J??

do i have any, well i-- *drops a half dozen mean girlboss tracks all over the place* oh uhhh--

something in the way you're looking through my eyes don't know if i'm gonna make it out alive teeth - five seconds of summer

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 349

(So Dredge has new DLC, which means my Merfolk & Eldritch Ghosts has gained new inspiration) 

Now, if one were to ask what happened to Amity Park, many people would ask what you were even talking about. The city was rather out of sight, out of mind, to say the least- even without the government coverup. 

It was well known, to those that even knew of the town in the first place, that it was a ghost town, abandoned from sinkhole problems, roads diverted and fences put up to prevent people from entering. Of course, if one made it past that first fence, and then the overgrown wall, and then another electrified net, and through the invisible barrier not meant to keep them out but something else in, they’d know that wasn’t true. 

Oh sure, one could claim some sort of sinkhole, what with how the only building not half destroyed was some mimicry of a floating rig, standing strong in the dark waters that now covered everything else. But even a sinkhole should not go so deep, waters turning from pitch darkness to a heavy green… several hundred miles deeper than the deepest trenches. 

And the denizens of the water didn’t appreciate the rig protected by its tower, or the boats of white protected by buzzing barriers that tried to heave them from the waters for study. Yes, what happened to Amity Park was far more a mystery than it should be, unless you were one of those once-humans in the depths. 

But well, it wasn’t the GIW who would be asking them. 

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I found your post about inbox empty and no camp requests literally five minutes after opening the tumblr post episode 8. Were you summoned? Was I? Who cares.

I haven’t had the time to properly comment on your 2buck sexy prompt fill but please do know I will BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN LIVING RENT FREE IN MY HEAD. So fucking well written (pace, words, characterizations, aaaaah). I ramble, sorry.

Back to the point at hand, PROMPT(s) for my two favorite idiots (Buck/Bucky):

- post war bliss, let’s heal the boys a bit and give them their happiness

- set whenever, possessive Gale (boy is 100% unhinged, called it day 1 when Greenland tower control told him to circle back and he just floored it like a goddamn pro)

- magpie behavior John, he just collects stuff for Gale and brings it to him, it’s a character trait (bikes, shit needed to make a crystal radio, boy just does)

- observer Gale, he just loves the physicality John moves in when he’s in Major mode and when he gets the rare chance to look without being seen or having to worry what is seen on his face he just looks and lets himself feel it

- talismans, I love the idea of both of them having something that means ‘I am of my beloved and my beloved is of mine’

- literally whatever other sexy scenario you can concoct, your whiskey one has rewired a couple of circuits in my brain

- soulmarks, on the basis that I’m a sucker for them

Bonus for good ole Benny De Marco as Gale’s keeper when John isn’t around while at the same time John’s handler when Gale’s not there (ngl this is because of the way Buck yells De Marco’s name in the pilot, my boys are MATES™️).

I am afraid I single-handedly murdered your inbox, please forgive me.

Thank you in advance and cheers ✨❤️

(These are all amazing, and I would like to encourage anyone who is reading this and gets an idea from one of these to write you one of the ones I don't [or write the one I did but as your own thing!])

In the barracks, each bed comes with a side table. It has a drawer and a lamp. Most of the boys keep a photo of a loved one on the top, a skin mag in the drawer, and whatever they carry in their pockets each day next to the photo.

Buck's is different because he keeps whatever he carries in his pockets in the drawer, and on the table itself is a collection of random objects that look like he's collecting odds and ends with no real sense. Amongst the clutter are the following things:

A skeleton key with a filigree 'G' carved into the head.

A rock that shines when the sunlight hits it during the day.

A broken bracelet made of blue stones.

A tiny piece of foil shaped into an oak leaf cluster.

The first time a replacement asks about it--because Major Cleven doesn't seem the type to collect odds and ends--Demarco barks a laugh and buys the replacement a drink.

"It's not Cleven's collection. Well, it is. But it's not."

The replacement stares at Demarco. "Uh-huh. Clear as mud."

Demarco sighs. "They're all his, but he didn't pick them, okay?"

"That's no clearer."

Demarco shrugs. "You'll figure it out."

A week later, the replacement is reading in his bunk when Major Egan walks in, giggly and flushed from drinking. He drops hard onto Major Cleven's bed. Major Cleven is--or was--sleeping, but he wakes up and huffs a laugh and says as calm and even as he seems to do everything. "What are you up to?"

Major Egan holds out a hand. "Look what I found!"

Major Cleven squints at Major Egan's hand. "It's a penny."

"No, look closer," Major Egan says. He picks up the penny with his other hand and holds it very close to Major Cleven's eyes. "Look."

Major Cleven grabs Major Egan's wrist and pulls it back a few inches. He squints at the penny, then reaches over and flicks on his lamp. He squints at the penny again. "It's still a penny, John."

"No, it's your birth year," Major Egan says. "See?" He points. "And I found it heads up! It's double good luck for you."

The replacement suddenly realizes neither of them have clocked that he's there. He coughs politely, and suddenly, both Majors are looking at him.

"Is this your first time experiencing Major Egan in his magpie form?" Major Cleven asks.

"Uh," the replacement says.

"He acts like it's silly, but he keeps all of them," Major Egan says, gesturing to Major Cleven.

The replacement expects Major Cleven to scoff or shove Major Egan off his bed. Instead, he smiles and holds out his hand.

"I don't act like it's silly," Major Cleven says and looks at his table for a long moment before setting down very precisely. "I just can't follow your booze-soaked reasoning when you wake me up in the middle of the night."

Major Egan flops sideways so he's taking over half of Major Cleven's bed. "It's only ten, you old man."

Major Cleven stares at Major Egan. "We have an audience, John."

"Eh," Major Egan says and rolls over, stealing Major Cleven's pillow.

"Hey, give that back!" Major Cleven says, yanking the pillow, but Major Egan isn't giving it up.

The replacement doesn't know what to do, so he goes back to his book. The next night at the officer's club, he buys Demarco a drink.

"What was it this time?" Demarco asks.

"A penny from his birth year that he found face up."

Demarco bursts into laughter. "Oh, that's a whole new level of lovesick."

"Are they together?"

"Joined at the hip and a few other parts," Demarco says, then downs his drink. He slaps the replacement on the back. "Come on. I'll let you tell Brady what the latest one is. He'll love it."

[possibilistfanfiction]

For a prompt: honestly, I’d love to see more of outsider’s perspectives of Ava and Bea, like you did with the shopkeeper and her wife.

[tbh this has basically everyone u would want to see!! lol - 10k ao3 here]

//

yasmine

camila and beatrice have been video chatting often lately, and have figured out something encouraging,  you think. you try to understand everything, but it seems like, especially when jillian is on, they're speaking a whole different language. sometimes you're a little blown away by the both of them still: camila is brilliant at anything to do with technology, and kind, and funny; beatrice is brilliant at, well, just about everything, and, even though she's been working steadfastly to research how to get ava back, she still has sunkissed skin now, light hair and freckles. sometimes you see a flash of a tattoo on her wrist.

it hadn't really surprised you, to see ava lean forward while the whole entire world was ending and kiss beatrice — a little awkward, for you, but mostly achy. you haven't ever cared about sexuality, but you definitely don't when it comes to the two of them: because there's harm and then there's duty and then there's love.

one day you're sitting with camila, pretending to read more than actually reading, when beatrice facetimes. you know this because, honestly, sometimes you're a little nosy. it's fine; you helped save the world and sometimes the ocs, with incessant and constant training, gets kind of dull.

when camila answers, beatrice is crying. from what you can see, she's in a sports bra, you're pretty sure; you're scared, for a moment, that she's hurt, or that something really bad has happened, but then she's laughing and say, 'ava's here; ava's here,' and camila starts to cry.

'she's — she's okay?'

and then, a literal fucking miracle, ava's face — the same as you remember; so pretty and with a friendly smile — pops up on screen.

'holy shit,' camila says, and then she's laughing too, her eyes filling with tears. 'hi, ava.'

'hey,' ava says, then crams in next to where beatrice is sitting on the couch, practically on her lap, but you can't really begrudge them. beatrice is in a pair of sweatpants and, indeed, a sports bra; ava has, ostensibly, changed from whatever outfit she came back in, because she's wearing a big soft t-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts. maybe that's what she wore in — wherever she was, but you're pretty certain those are beatrice's clothes. 'yasmine too, hello.'

beatrice is still crying and smiling and ava leans into her side, runs her fingers gently under her eyes to dry her tears.

'— how?' is the only thing camila gets out: are you okay?; do you remember us?; do you want to kill us now?; how long have you been gone?; are you still the ava we know?; what is going to happen to this world now? sits in your chest, but ava just shrugs.

'i heard bea, all the time.' beatrice blushes slightly, but she just tucks her face into ava's arm from a moment. 'and all of you too. but, bea, the strongest. i think it had something to do with her being in the ocean, maybe? and the city of angels.' she turns to beatrice. 'a little on the nose, don't you think?'

'oh yeah,' camila says, 'that's it, definitely the only reason.'

beatrice rolls her eyes but ava just smiles. 'and because she loves me, i suppose.' she scoots even closer to beatrice, who sighs happily. 'something just — spit me out, i guess. right in bea's living room. which, if i do say so myself, is way better than cat's cradle, no offense.'

another miracle in a series of miracles beyond belief. 'wow,' you say, and there's a beat of silence before everyone is laughing again, camila wiping tears.

'anyway, maybe you can come to us, tomorrow?' ava asks. 'i don't — i would like to stay here, if i can. if that works. at least for a few days.'

'you're — you're healed?' you can't help but ask.

ava nods. 'lots of scars,' she says, but then shrugs, and beatrice runs a gentle hand up and down her spine. 'but yeah, i'm good, as far as i can tell. not old as fuck, either, which rocks.'

'we can come tomorrow,' camila says, then starts crying all over again. 'i can't wait to see you. both of you.'

ava grins. 'yeah, don't come too early, though. i have plans.'

beatrice really blushes then, coughs into ava's shoulder.

'i will be sure to let beatrice know before coming,' camila says.

ava's smile is way too bright, all of a sudden, and beatrice groans and you kind of want to cover your ears before ava says, 'that's what i'll be doing tonight.'

'goodbye, ava,' camila says, even though she laughs. 'i love you, so much.'

ava leans into the camera, like she wants to reach through it. 'i love you too. i am — there are no words for what i feel, seeing you all again. and how much i missed you.'

'well, have fun tonight,' camila says. 'please don't tell me any details when we visit tomorrow.'

'this one time, i'll spare you.'

'thank god.'

//

keiko

you meet her on an otherwise unremarkable monday afternoon. you're running through your forms before the advanced adult class you teach, and when she walks in, you notice her immediately: muscular in a cutoff tank, in a way that's unassuming and speaks to years of training specifically in martial art, a calm expression on her face. her hair is back in a meticulously neat bun, and, when she sees the wall of bo you've spent a few years collecting, her shoulders relax and she lets out a big breath. vanessa is at the front desk and, while she's the best to go out in weho with, she's not the most knowledgable.

'hi,' you say, stepping up beside the desk. 'i'm keiko.'

she offers her hand and shakes firmly, calluses similar to yours. 'beatrice,' she says. 'pleasure.'

'can i help you with anything?'

'i'm hoping to join a dojo.'

'well,' you gesture to, in fact, the dojo behind you, 'you've come to the right place.'

she grants you a small smile.

'we have classes, all levels. would you like me to show you around?'

'that would be wonderful, thank you.'

and you had shown her around; you had sold her a monthly trial membership — a few advanced adult classes and some time for open practice — and a gi and obi — she'd calmly informed you that she's a black belt, and when she came in the next afternoon for the advanced class you teach, you had felt immediately embarrassed when she runs through forms with the kind of power and ease you had only seen a few times in your life, even at the olympics and world championships.

'that was a great class,' she says, far too kind a compliment for someone who is probably the one person you've met since you retired a few years ago who could beat you in a competition.

'you are — incredible.'

she shoulders the compliment with reluctance. 'i haven't trained in quite a while.'

'that is honestly insane.'

she laughs, after a moment. 'a much needed mental health break,' she says. 'but it felt good, to return to this, in this way.'

'do you — i saw you looking at the bo the other day,' you say, and you don't miss the way her hands twitch. 'would you like to use one? i have to clean and close up, anyway.'

she hesitates, but then, 'are you sure?'

'absolutely,' you say. 'pick any one you want; you can train over there, it's got the best view of the ocean.'

'that's very kind.' she's solemn, and a little quiet. 'thank you, keiko.'

she walks, barefoot and at home in her gi, and runs her hands gently over each bo. she picks a medium length one, black and sleek and heavier than your favorite, and then takes a deep breath and starts moving so beautifully you can't even quite follow it. it's mesmerizing, and you watch until she slows and then sets the bow on the ground and, to your surprise, sniffles. she wipes tears off her cheeks and you quickly start cleaning, granting her as much privacy as possible. she takes a deep breath and then takes the bo and walks back over to the wall.

'if i find one of my own,' she says, 'can i store it here? it's all right if not, of course.'

'you're more than welcome to do that.' you don't quite know what to say to her, the most talented martial artist you've ever seen in your life, who never competed at any events you know of, randomly in your dojo, who had just cried running through forms with a bo, small and coiled tightly. 'and, honestly, you don't have to feel like you need to come to classes. you're more than welcome, but i think you're beyond anything i would have to teach you.'

she laughs after a few seconds. 'i really did enjoy it.'

'maybe thursday we could spar? i'm here in the morning.'

she seems to weigh it, but then she nods. 'that sounds fun. thank you, keiko.'

you get to know her quickly: the way she moves and her favorite forms and the first time she throws you, you lie on your back in a little bit of shock: you haven't lost in years. she just stands calmly and offers you a hand. 'who are you?'

she just laughs.

you get to know her, as the days go along. you get lunch, one day, and you flirt with the host and the waiter — 'i love cute boys,' you say, 'what can i say?' — which amuses her.

'my partner is a flirt,' she says, but the smile slips from her face before she can stop it. she clears her throat. 'she's very sick, right now,' she says, quickly, as if to avoid your questions. 'but, still,' she says, sitting up a little straighter, gathering herself, 'a flirt.'

you learn not to ask about her partner; you learn that she surprisingly loves pepperoni pizza and beer; you learn that she's rich and lives in a beautiful house on the beach, but she's generous and lowkey, especially compared to everyone else in los angeles. she works in tech for a firm in spain — the details vague, but that's tech anyway — and, when you offer to let her teach a kids class, she smiles gently and accepts. she's patient and seems to enjoy correcting their form and teaching them kata one step at a time; she encourages them and makes sure to teach, quietly, that the goal is never, ever to harm, only to protect. she's one of your best friends, quickly, and is also impossible to beat whenever you spar. she goes out with you and your friends in weho one night, gets very drunk and turns down what feels like an entire club of women, and then tells you, on your couch at home while you give her a glass of water, that her partner’s name is ava, and that she’s kind and smart and beautiful and loves to dance. she doesn’t cry, but she curls up, small and sad; you haven’t mentioned it since.

one day, beatrice texts you, early in the morning, Hello! Ava's treatment worked, so she's back with me now, for the foreseeable future.

it's very businesslike, but she's always a stiff texter, and you know how excited she must be, how relieved.

Hopefully forever, she sends, and you know you're right.

you meet ava a few days later, hanging onto beatrice's side when she comes to the dojo after a few days off. you realize, in one flash of a moment, clear and sacred, that you really have never seen beatrice smile before — not until ava looks at her when she takes her bo off the wall with the softest expression. devotion; adoration. love. beatrice blushes and returns it, a smile in full force so powerful it knocks the air out of you slightly.

you also realize that you've never seen beatrice show off before, and you decide, right then and there, you're never sparring while ava is watching. you can lose, sure, but being humiliated is not on your to-do list. when you tell ava that, as she watches beatrice in a little bit of a daze, she just laughs. 'she's incredible.'

'yeah,' you agree as beatrice swipes the bo along the ground so hard you think she could break an ankle, then stands without a breath in between. 'she is.'

//

ray

the second time you meet ava, she's in a tiny bikini, bright orange, with a wispy gossamer coverup that you're sure beatrice bought just for her. it kind of makes you laugh, and it's barely warm enough to be out without a sweater, let alone in a bikini, but ava waves when you come in from the whitewater. bea is still waiting at the outer break, exhausted this morning for reasons that made her blush and you had laughed, delightedly.

'your girl is taking forever to catch anything today,' you say.

ava almost glows, you think, at your girl. 'we didn't get much sleep last night,' ava tells you with a wink. you grin and high five and then offer her a spot on your towel after you unzip your wetsuit and pull it down to rest along your waist.

ava is beautiful. you had wanted to know her, for months, and finally, she's here — young and so, so pretty; small and surprisingly muscular. you would never say anything, but you know she had been sick, and there are scars all over her body, puckered and angry still, shiny and pink. you know bea doesn't care, and you don't either, but ava moves a little gingerly and you fight the urge to ask if she needs help. she settles, eventually, legs stretched out in front of her and her palms behind, leaning back into the sun, face turned up toward it. she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in, then slowly lets it out.

you notice beatrice about to catch a wave, and you're happy when ava seems, like a sixth sense, to open her eyes just in time. bea is talented: balanced and strong and had learned to surf on a short board and relatively big swells quicker than anyone else you'd taught; when she’d shown you her bo one day — mostly because it was just out on her coffee table — you had been both very turned on and a little terrified. she’s the most gifted athlete you know, and so it’s no surprise when. she rides the biggest wave of the day all the way in, kissing the lip a few times, and ava sighs.

'she's so hot, jesus christ.'

'no comment.'

she laughs. 'we didn't get a ton of time together, really, before i... got sick.' she pauses, looking at beatrice collecting her board in the whitewater. 'she was scared. but now, it's like —' she shakes her head — 'i just love her so much.'

'yeah,' you say, a little teary for your friend. 'i can tell you, without a doubt, that she loves you too.'

ava grins, then stands and walks toward beatrice, who lets ava pull down the zipper of her wetsuit with gratuitous hands, a kiss to the nape of her neck, and then grabs beatrice's hand and laces their fingers together. 'wanna come over for breakfast?'

'i would — yeah,' you say, 'i would really love that.'

you step in, quickly, once ava cracks an egg so hard it goes all over the counter and beatrice only looks on in adoration.

'you're a disaster,' you tell her, but she just shrugs. ava is still in her bikini and cover up, and beatrice's hands sit on her hips while you fry some eggs and chop up vegetables to make a passable pico. she smiles into the crook of ava's neck and they make you a little breathless: a happiness that quiet; a love that big.

//

ayanna

you've been working at this coffee shop for a week now, and every morning, the hottest woman you've ever seen walks in, clearly just from the beach, and orders the same thing in a british accent that makes you want to groan. you're new to this part of los angeles, which is bougie as hell. it's mostly white influencers who order overly complicated drinks for no reason, but the pay is above minimum wage and your manager has worked with your class schedule easily enough.

plus — beatrice.

she's quiet, exceedingly polite and always tips at least twice of what her drink costs. she smiles and has freckles and you burn your hand more than once sneaking a glance at her strong arms and tattoo on her wrist and, eventually, a new one on her shoulder and collarbone that you had seen because she's decided to make your 6:42 am better by wearing a cutoff tank and shorts today.

'good morning, ayanna,' she says, and it's fucking electrifying that she knows your name, even if you have a nametag on your apron — it still counts.

'hey, beatrice. how were the waves this morning?'

she leans against the counter, just slightly, and you will yourself to keep your cool. 'how much do you know about surfing?'

'nothing, really.'

she laughs, not unkind. 'well, in that case, the outer break was far, which means i had to paddle a lot, but the waves were beautiful. can't regret it.'

'uh,' you say, super smooth, 'regular order?'

'yes,' she says, 'and can you add a chocolate croissant? oh, and an olive oil coffee cake. thank you.'

beatrice doesn't seem like the kind of person to eat a croissant and a coffee cake for breakfast, but who are you to judge: that sounds awesome, frankly. you tell her your total and she tips, like always, excessively, and then collects everything with a kind smile.

'have a great day,' she says, and you're too flustered to say anything other than an extremely eloquent, 'same.' mohammed laughs at you from where he's unpacking more to-go cups and you flip him off before you greet the next customer.

/

it's a few days later when your routine gets broken by another beautiful woman, who seems a little in awe of this stupid, trendy coffee shop, but beatrice wasn't in yesterday and it's already 7:19 and she hasn't been in today. it's not that you expect her, really, but she is the best part of your shift, so, whatever. you can have a harmless crush if you want.

'hi,' this new person says, and then reads your nametag. 'ayanna, what's up?'

your mind blanks, because you're pretty much face to face with an angel: she's small and lively and has pretty, delicate features and her hair is pushed back beneath a bright pink beanie, just at her chin. her hands, playing with a small, elegant black wallet, are delicate too. 'nothing,' you get out, 'just, you know, work.'

she smiles. 'yeah, i'm a bartender. opposite end of the day, but i get you.'

you glance down at your screen, just to have something to do other than stare. 'so, what's your order?'

she gets out her phone and reads off iced coffee with cold foam, and then locks it and inspects your pastries. 'can i get one of each? i want to try them all.'

you laugh, something fond and a little ridiculous about that, but you say, 'sure thing. what's the name?'

'ava,' she says. 'thanks.'

mohammed rolls his eyes at you while he gets the iced coffee ready and you put each pastry neatly in a to-go box, because ava is right there and you certainly hadn't needed to get her name. but whatever, she's gorgeous and it's early. ava tucks the box of pastries under her arm. 'ava, tell me which is your favorite the next time you come in.'

ava seems delighted by this. a good sign. 'sure thing,' she says, and then waves.

/

the next morning, it all comes crashing down. there's horrendous traffic, even at 5 am, and you barely make it on time. there's a rush of rude ass customers way too early, and you spill a shot of espresso down your apron.

but, then you see beatrice, and it's wonderful, and perfect, and so great: you're ready today, to ask for her number; you can do it. but then you see ava walk in right behind her after holding the door open, and it's like slow motion when ava bumps into beatrice's side and laces their fingers together and places a sweet kiss to her shoulder. you know there are flowers that sit there, under her hoodie, gorgeous in their greyscale, and ava seems to know as well.

'ayanna,' beatrice says, the biggest, most contented smile on her face, 'good morning.'

you nod and smile, although you're a little crushed. 'hey, beatrice. and hi, ava.'

'hello!' it's way too early for this kind of cheer but it's a little infectious.

'this is my partner, ava,' beatrice says, as if it wasn't horrifically obvious.

'back from quite the business trip,' ava says, looking at the pastries again. 'very remote, no sweets. gotta make up for lost time, you know?'

beatrice blanches a little but ava looks at her sweetly and she recovers. 'can i get my usual, and whatever chaotic order ava wants?'

ava laughs. 'my favorite was a tie,' she says, 'between the chocolate croissant and the olive oil coffee cake. which, i know, beatrice, you had said, but whatever, okay?'

beatrice smiles. 'okay, ava.'

they both, despite their bickering, are so tangibly happy your spirits lift. you'll take the L, if you have to, for people to have what they clearly do. they overtip, as always, and then take their leave.

'ouch,' mohammed says. '0 for 2 this morning.'

you sigh. 'more fish in the sea, i guess. gotta keep the faith.'

he laughs. 'that's the spirit.'

//

jillian

'okay,' ava says, sitting up as best she can with a grimace, 'if bea can't get into bed with me, what about you?'

you spare a glance for beatrice, who only rolls her eyes in amusement and underlying sadness: ava is in pain, to the point where she can't walk, can barely sit or lie down. she's on muscle relaxers and pain medicine so she's comfortable, but it's complicated and tedious, to try to fix her spine — or, more realistically, stabilize it — without killing her.

'how about we see how you're feeling after surgery?'

ava groans. 'that's so boring, jillian.'

you walk to her bedside and take her hand, squeeze it gently. 'ready?'

ava takes a deep breath, braver than anyone you've ever known in your life, time and time again. she looks at beatrice, who bends down and kisses ava gently. ava tucks a strand of beatrice's hair behind her ear and then cups her face. 'in this life.'

beatrice nods. 'in this life.'

'i love you, bea.'

beatrice kisses ava's forehead, eyes closed in reverence. 'i love you, ava.'

ava looks at you and then nods, teary and afraid. 'ready.'

other than your son, you have never been as determined as you are now. you control all of the tech to make sure ava is fully sedated but still alive, that the halo is dormant enough to allow the surgeons to work on her spine without it healing their interventions immediately. it's kind of a miracle, you think, that it all works — but, then again, it seems that ava is prone to miracles. it goes smoothly, without a hitch. ava will have chronic pain and limited mobility, at least some days, during flares — but it will be manageable. it will be livable.

beatrice is asleep when you bring ava back into the room, wheeling the bed as quietly as possible. she stirs, exhausted, from her chair, and you get to tell her — and then, after, a crowded room of ava's people, ava's family, waiting nervously — that it had gone as best as it could. you were sure she was alive, and that she'd wake up, and that, as far as you can understand, her pain would be significantly reduced. ava deserves more than that, much more, but it's what you can give.

you wake beatrice gently, a squeeze to her shoulder. you tell her first, because ava loves her: 'she did great. everything went as perfectly as it could.'

beatrice sniffles and then stands and hugs you. 'thank you,' she says, strong and calm and trembling with the force of it: the love of her life, safe and cared for.

'hot,' ava rasps from bed, and beatrice laughs and lets go of you and hurries to ava's side, takes her hand.

'hello, darling.'

ava lifts her hand and cups bea's cheek, and then wiggles her toes under the blanket. she grins up at beatrice, then grins at you. 'it worked?'

'yes,' you say, and it can't bring back your son and you can't fix the world, heaven or hell, but this — this — you can do: 'it did.'

//

mary

'hey,' you say, softly, when you notice beatrice start to stir on the couch. she presses her nose into the pillow behind her head, then the couch cushion, and then reaches up and rubs her eyes, scratches above her ear, and scrubs a hand over her face and blinks dazedly.

'a new shift?' beatrice looks around at the walls and windows darkening, trying to gain her bearings. she's in a hoodie and shorts, comfortable and soft, a pair of pale pink socks on her feet, her broken leg in its brace propped on a few pillows. ava had carefully draped a soft blanket over her, but beatrice had thrown it mostly to the side in her sleep.

'we're not working, beatrice.' you say it kindly, though, and offer her a glass of water with a metal straw ava had shown you proudly in one of the drawers in their kitchen. she sips greedily, without any embarrassment — maybe she's on pain meds enough to not care; maybe she's known you for so, so long it doesn't matter; maybe she's been shown a degree of love you have known only once.

she pats your hand. 'i know.' she wrinkles her nose. 'where's ava?'

'i threatened her to take a walk.'

beatrice laughs. 'glad to know she still understands who the best of us is.'

you want to argue with her — you're the best of us, beatrice; you always have been — but her head lolls to the side on the cushion and her eyes are fluttering open and closed. 'i like your haircut,' you offer instead. you wonder, with pride, what she's learned about herself, what she's let come forward that she's always known.

she smiles softly. 'yeah?'

'yeah. you’ve got a great soft dyke vibe going on. looks good on you.'

you’re not sure about the word, but you love her and you understand. and — she grins. ‘that’s the goal. androgynous and comfortable. i — i’ve grown into what i want, i think.’

'speaking for myself, i love to see it. it’s a whole vibe.’

‘yeah.’ she looks down and fiddles with her phone case for a second, not coordinated like usual. 'hey, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off forever, if you want, but one of my best friends is... basically the best.' she squints, focusing so intently and still producing a mildly incoherent sentence. it’s charming. 'i know there's no one that could — i know, mary. i know. but i think you'd like her.'

your heart aches, because beatrice lost ava but she came back; because beatrice has hurt all the same. and shannon wouldn't have wanted you to shut yourself off from the world. 'she's hot?'

beatrice laughs delightedly, pushing herself to sit up further. 'very, very hot. if you need backup, just ask ava.'

'ava thinks everyone is hot.'

'true. but, most of all, me.'

she says it with such stoned confidence it's hard to even tease her. 'okay,' you say, 'when should i meet your friend, then?'

beatrice gets out her phone and slowly clicks through a few screens, then squints. 'she'll be here in twenty minutes for dinner.' she holds her phone close to your face, not at all steady, but you do make out your name and then ray making the best birria ever (for ava) one right after another.

'should i stay for dinner, then?'

she grins. 'i think i'm falling back asleep. so you should definitely stay. she could use some company.' she stares into space for a minute. 'let me send ava a voice note so they know not to pester you when they get back.'

'maybe a text?'

beatrice just shrugs and sends a meandering three minute long voice note, sort of explaining the situation but mostly proclaiming her undying love, and so you follow up with a coherent text saying, beatrice wants me to meet your friend. if things are going well, can you not third wheel? you owe me, and ava responds with a, FUCK YEAH!!!!! you're the best and ray is the best!! bea is a genius, and then, i'll make up so many totally valid excuses to leave you two alone, and, finally, the patio is very romantic. dig into bea's stash of very expensive wine and whiskey too, in my honor.

you laugh, and tell beatrice that ava was excited about the idea.

'speak of the devil.'

ava puts her tote down when she gets in the front door, a bouquet of flowers poking out from it. 'mm, not quite.' she kisses bea on the top of her head and then proceeds to do the same to you, although you swat her away. 'try god's favorite angel instead.'

'i will never.'

beatrice looks at ava, adoringly, too much for you to stomach sometimes. 'want to go to the balcony? i can nap out there just as easily as in here.'

'totally,' ava says. 'mary, have fun with ray. you can text me when the birria is finished and i'll just pop by to grab some for us. but she really is awesome, even just as a friend.'

'a spontaneous blind date,' you say, although you do have a few butterflies in your stomach. it doesn't feel wrong, to go on a date, although you do feel sad, and longing, because you had something beautiful and it didn't last. but, still: 'this better be as fun as you promise.'

'it definitely will be,' beatrice slurs, and ava looks at you amusedly.

'okay, you're way too high to be trusted in this situation. let's go.'

'i don't need help,' beatrice says, although it's a full task to watch her sit up and get her crutches from their resting place against the side of the couch. but she does it, slowly and unsteadily, and ava puts a careful hand to her low back when she wobbles. but then all is well, and beatrice tries to wink at you and fails, and it makes you laugh. 'have so much fun, mary.'

you promise to try, and you pick up the book ava had been reading earlier, pretending to do something with your hands as you hear them bicker as they very, very slowly make their way up down the hall, but eventually a door closes and it's quiet. hey shannon, you pray, as you often do, i might kiss someone else soon. sorry. but i think you would be happy in this life, especially if she's hot. ava is annoying, but so good; you would be proud of her. beatrice you're always proud of, i know it. i love you, in the next.

it settles something inside you, and when ray lets herself in their front door, your breath catches a little: she has a mess of black curls cut to her ears, and tattoos down both arms, a linen button up only fastened halfway up her chest, a few chains sitting there. she's smaller than you, and she tucks her sunglasses into her shirt and then smiles.

'hey,' she says, 'i'm ray. she/her pronouns. beatrice sent me a very incoherent voice note that her "hot friend mary" was here, finishing out a business trip, and that i should woo you by making dinner tonight.' she holds up her grocery tote. 'hopefully you're mary, because you are in fact very hot.'

you laugh. 'well, i don't know about the last part, but i am mary. beatrice and i go way back.'

'amazing.' she settles, familiar, at the kitchen island. 'do you like to cook? beatrice and ava are disasters.'

'i love to cook.'

she grins. 'good,' she says. 'birria is their favorite, so it's good to know, if you'll be around for a bit.'

she's beautiful, and her forearms are strong and her hands quick when she starts to lay out the ingredients. you tell yourself to be brave: beatrice and ava and their big house full of love, overlooking the ocean. so you stand next to ray, elbows bumping for a moment, and she smiles at you in a way that makes you feel electric. 'i think i just might,' you say.

she nods down at the onions she's setting aside, but her smile doesn't fade at all. 'well, if you want help looking for a place, let me know. unless you want an insane house like this, in which i can't help at all.'

you laugh. 'it is beautiful, though.'

'yeah,' she says. 'i love it here.'

you think, as you let ray explain tasks and her great-grandmother's recipe, as you open a few windows and hear ava's laughter waft in from outside, like the sweet spices you add to the meat, as ray squeezes your hand, just once, after you finish chopping cilantro.

you might kill ava when she comes in to get their plates a few hours later and quips, 'oh good, you're already betrothed. congrats!' before walking away. you throw a chip at her that falls disappointingly short, but she laughs, and you think you just might love it here too.

//

angela

you're finding a table on the patio of your favorite wine bar when you see beatrice sitting at one near the railing, alone, writing in a journal. there's a part of you that doesn't want to interrupt but she's quiet, whenever she stops by for lunch with ava, and she reminds you a little of noel.

she looks up when you stand near, and then genuinely smiles. 'angela,' she says, and stands very properly; it's a breath of fresh air to see young people with manners still. 'what a nice surprise.'

'i can see you're busy.' gesture to her journal. 'so please feel free to say no, but would you mind if i joined you?'

'not at all,' she says, and then pulls out a chair for you before sitting back in her own and closing her journal. 'to tell you the truth, i haven't even ordered any wine yet.'

you laugh, charmed immensely already. 'well, shall we split a bottle? they have my favorite chardonnay here, if you like that.'

'i — yes,' she says. 'ava is working this afternoon, so that would be wonderful. i appreciate your company.'

she's a kid, you realize, all over again with a pang in your chest: when ruth had told you that she had invited someone in her early twenties to come to water aerobics, but then you had met ava and all of your frustration had gone by the wayside. 'likewise.' the server comes, one of your favorites, and asks happily if you'd like your typical glass. 'a bottle, instead, tommy,' you tell him, and he salutes with a grin, which makes beatrice laugh.

'you like this spot?'

'i do,' you say. 'it gets good light.'

she seems to understand what you mean, because she leans back and lets the sun rest on the planes of her face peacefully. ava hadn't stopped talking for days about beatrice cutting her hair, months ago, even more excited than when she herself had shown up with pale purple hair — ridiculous, in a way, but she had been happy and young and so you grant her it all. beatrice's has grown out a bit by now, which ava still talks about, and her muscles, and the freckles across her nose, all exuberant young love — but you can tell, you've always been able to tell, when someone feels comfortable in their skin. the utter joy of being a space where someone can become.

'i love the light here,' she says. 'i grew up in london, and then switzerland, so i've come to appreciate the sun.'

'my wife wanted to move here for that reason alone.' you laugh. 'we met in oakland, but she was so set on los angeles.'

beatrice seems deeply unfazed by wife, and thanks tommy for pouring her wine after you taste yours. 'how long were you together?'

'fifty-four years,' you say. 'married for fifty-two of them.' you roll your eyes. 'legally, for eleven, but i never cared much for that distinction.'

'of course,' she says. 'and, not to sound trite, but i'm sorry, for your loss.'

and it had been a profound one: you had no idea how to get up each morning, until ruth had dragged you to this ridiculous water aerobics class. so you smile, gently. 'noel was a light in this world. the breadth of that love — i wouldn't trade a single minute.'

she swallows, glances down and swirls her wine. 'i can only hope to have the same, with ava.'

you reach out and squeeze her hand. 'if it's all dependent on love, i'm certain you will. ava adores you.'

she sighs, looks into the sun again. 'i used to be a nun.'

you can't help but laugh. 'did you really?'

beatrice nods, and waits a moment before she laughs too. 'it seemed like the only thing that would keep me safe, from — from myself, i suppose. but then, of course, i met ava. a divinity, i suppose, more than i could've ever imagined, really.'

'noel was a reverend,' you say, and remember the benedictions she prayed at your feet: her neat suits and short hair and round-rimmed glasses as she got older, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

beatrice smiles. 'would you like to tell me about her?'

you would, very much so, and so you do: you met at a protest when you were nineteen and she was twenty-one, and you kissed her two nights later underneath an apple tree just starting to blossom. she put you through law school, working three jobs, and when you finally got a job at a firm and ferociously worked your way up — for her — she went to divinity school. you had many children — beautiful boys in love with each other; beautiful girls in love with themselves — pass through your home, often showing up at noel's church with no family anymore. you fed them, and you had to watch so many of them die. and then — and then the world healed itself, in one particular way, and it was never easy; it has never been easy. you married noel once, in your garden, with your friends, and you married her again in her own church, years and years later, the rainbow flag outside and the stained glass the same kind of holy. it has been hard, and sorrowful, but it was worth it. the joy was worth it.

you see the gentle set of beatrice's shoulders, the way her chest is flat beneath her shirt, and you know she understands.

she sniffles and wipes under her eyes and then squeezes your hand tightly. 'i don't quite know what to say, but — thank you, for sharing. what a beautiful love.'

you clear your throat. 'yes. but, noel made me promise not to live a boring life, or to withhold any of my love. so if you have any aunts who might be interested —' you wiggle your eyebrows — 'please let me know.'

she laughs. 'unfortunately, i don't. but i'll be on the lookout.'

you make a big show of acting disappointed. 'well, i know you're taken — not that that has always stopped me before — but i'll take pity on ava. i like her.'

beatrice blushes, all the way to the tips of her ears, and you grin.

you finish your bottle of wine together, and she tells you about judo and aikido and about ava's new interest in geology; she asks about your greyhound rescue, malcolm, and his newest sweaters. she pays the bill, despite your protests — it's a particular joy of mine to use my homophobic parents' trust fund for queer gifts and adventures.

'bring ava, for dinner sometime,' you say. they have a house on the beach and a love that's so safe, so bright — but the world harms and harms and harms, and they are your children too.

'i would love that,' beatrice says, quiet and grateful. 'i would really love that.'

//

dakota

training service dogs is, in your opinion, the absolute best job in the world. your organization focuses on multi-purpose dogs, for medical and psychologic assistance, often both. it's a challenge, especially if handlers aren't fully equipped. but sometimes, it's your favorite thing ever.

when you first meet ava — and beatrice — you're charmed immediately. ava has a cane but sits down on the floor without hesitation to take korra into her lap, who immediately pinch bites but nuzzles into ava's arms anyway. 'bea,' she says, 'oh my god.'

'her name is korra,' you say, and beatrice laughs, just once, when ava perks up. 'she's small enough that you could change it, if you wanted to, but —'

'i love legend of korra,' ava cuts in. 'bisexual heroine! sick back tattoo. hot brilliant rich girlfriend.' she soots beatrice a wink, which makes her blush. 'i am not changing a perfect name for a perfect girl.'

'well then,' you say, 'do you mind if i sit with you and walk you through the plan?'

'oh,' ava says, 'i can get up. i just got excited.'

you wave her off. 'i like to play with her too. she's so sweet.'

'bea,' ava says with a grin, relieved that your decision was exclusively about the dog and nothing to do with her disability, 'you wore your old jeans just for this occassion.'

beatrice sighs, but she sits without any hesitation and melts, a little, when ava puts a squirming korra in her arms. 'hi, sweet girl,' she says, and runs her hand along korra's soft head and her feather-light spine. then she looks at you, 'do you mind if i record you? just audio. i know you'll give us all the instructions, but i find it helpful to have all forms of processing available so i can understand best.'

ava shoots you a glance sideways, trying not to laugh, but you keep it together. 'sure.'

beatrice and ava come in every session, five minutes early, with korra making incredible progress. eventually, ava comes by herself and happily explains that she's learned how to drive with hand controls on the days she needs to, which is fucking awesome. when you tell her that, she laughs and nods.

korra is a rockstar with her positive reinforcement training, and ava reports every time some new milestone she's reached. you'll work with the both of them for at least another year, but — 'you've done such an incredible job already, ava.'

ava shrugs, scratches behind korra's ears where she's happily sitting by ava's chair, calm and panting a little because she'd just worked on some difficult commands. 'i love to learn.' she shrugs. 'and i really love korra. i guess it's just — it is what it is, right? life and pain and whatnot. and, anyway, she helps.'

korra licks your hand when you offer her a small bite of a hot dog, and you swear she smiles at you. 'yeah, i know she does.'

//

marcus

Just do me a favor and look over the project before you roll your eyes at me, ekugbe texts you. admittedly, she is one of your favorite architects to work with, but she's also your ex. It's a good friend of mine, she follows up with, as if that's a plus. whatever. It's something you'll find meaning in, I promise.

it's annoying, because she's probably right, you think, and then she's definitely right when you open her email a few hours later and see detailed, gorgeous plans to redo a house on the water so that's it's ADA accessible. it's sleek and all clean lines, perfect materials planned; the owners, beatrice gu-knight and ava silva, you read, had clearly spared no expense in their plans, and, inevitably, ekugbe's mock ups are beautiful. you sigh. I'll meet with them, you text. you type out, But not because of you and then erase it, mostly because you sister keeps telling you that you don't need to send out more negative energy into the world.

you call beatrice's number the next day, and she's very proper and very british, and when you meet her at the house later, you're kind of in awe at how stunning it is already.

'we bought it as is,' she explains, 'but my partner, ava, needs it to be accessible for wheelchair usage now.' she doesn't sound sad, not a single regret at having to change one of the simplest, most well-designed and amazing houses you've ever seen. she's inches shorter than you but commanding still, straight backed and quietly confident, dressed in simple linen pants and a t-shirt, a cardigan thrown over her shoulders, a dark green beanie and lighter green glasses, barefoot — rich in the understated way that some people in los angeles are, palpably and casually, and you know that anything you need will be there for you, right away.

'i'd like to keep the doors to the patio, for sure,' she tells you, leading you on a tour. they space is designed to be indoor/outdoor, with doors that open all the way to a small hot tub and a giant patio. 'i'm sure you saw the blueprints ekugbe drew up — and, by the way, sorry, i know you have a complicated past, but she really did say you were the best, especially with projects like this.'

'it's totally fine,' you tell her, and when you see the release of tension in her shoulders, you genuinely mean it. she explains that they'll want to move the primary bedroom and bathroom onto the first floor, down a hallway that currently has two offices. you've contracted on many houses this big before, so the space is something of a blessing. 'that won't be a problem, especially since it doesn't look like the wall between them is load bearing.'

'great,' beatrice says. 'that's what ekugbe told me, so it's good to make sure.'

you go through the rest of the house: they'll need a wheelchair lift along the stairs, which won't be hard to install because it's just one staircase, straight up to a big enough landing that there won't be any issues. she wants to redo their kitchen and bathrooms entirely, so that everything will be reachable and safe. it'll be a huge project, but one you feel — even though your head is spinning at changing a house like this — is important. is a labor of love.

'ava and i will be here for the next two weeks, and then in europe for a few months. what do you think a reasonable timeline is for you? i would like to set up a rental for us, if you need longer than that.' it's not snooty, although the words are. it's matter of fact, just a series of tasks and logistics.

'as long as materials come on time, especially if we order them now, i should be able to do it in that timeframe.'

'wonderful,' she says, and clasps her hands in front of her chest, an endearing gesture. 'well, please send over anything to sign and payment methods, and let me know a start date.'

'will do.'

'also, marcus?'

'hmm?'

'can i help you blow the wall out?' she grins. 'i've always wanted to. i have four black belts, if that helps.'

you just laugh. 'yeah, sure. why not?'

/

ava sits in her chair, pretty, in the same linen pants that beatrice had worn the other day, which is kind of funny and kind of sweet. she looks significantly more sad than beatrice about the state of their house, though, as you lay down tarps in the office to protect the floors.

'i swear i only agreed to this because bea promised you'd let her use a sledge hammer.'

'it'll be beautiful, when it's done.'

she sighs. 'i really do believe you. just, a bummer, you know?'

'my brother uses a chair,' you tell her. 'i like projects like this. and, plus, this house is amazing no matter what. your patio almost brought me to tears.'

she laughs. 'yeah, we fell in love with it right away.'

beatrice walks in in a cutoff tank and work pants, practical boots, and ava groans.

'best roleplay of my life,' she mumbles, and beatrice rolls her eyes.

'thank you for letting me have a little fun, marcus.'

'of course.'

'do i need a hard hat?'

'definitely not,' you manage without laughing, and hand her a sledge hammer.

ava watches, riveted, as you and beatrice go at the wall a few times, and then beatrice pauses and looks toward ava. 'want to get a few hits in? it's very cathartic.'

ava hesitates.

beatrice just pauses, patient, and then says, 'unless your back is hurting, i know you'll be strong enough. it's not that heavy.'

ava grins and wheels forward eagerly, lifts the sledgehammer and then nods. beatrice offers her her safety glasses and then backs away to the threshold of the door. ava swings, just fine, and gets a good chunk of the wall to break off from where beatrice had already been working, and she laughs and looks back at beatrice with a happy, relieved expression.

eventually, your crew takes over, and beatrice and ava take their leave to a rental for a few nights before they go do whatever they're doing in europe. the house comes together beautifully, it really does.

at the end, you call ekugbe, maybe for drinks.

it surprises you, the light you're able to let in.

//

mari

'do you think i'll be faster than bea?'

you laugh, show ava where to put her hands on the wheels of the racing chair for maximum and most efficient torque. 'with practice, for sure.'

'gross,' she says. 'why not right away?'

'it just takes a little getting used to. but i'm certain you will, if you enjoy it.'

'well, you're ripped, so i'm enjoying it so far, that's for sure.'

you roll your eyes; you know both beatrice and ava well enough to know that ava's flirting is fun and entirely harmless. but, still, she's beautiful, so you allow yourself to preen nonetheless.

ava lets out a big breath. 'okay, let's fucking go, right?'

'i'll ride next to you for now, and then you can race beatrice.'

'sick.' she pushes a few times and picks up some speed, and you watch exactly what you'd felt yourself the first time you'd gotten into a chair like this: a big smile spreads across her face as she rounds the corner of the track without any problems. when she slows down you do too, and you're worried for a second before she just sniffles and wipes her cheeks. 'this is... this is so fun?'

'yeah,' you say. 'it's kind of the best.'

'as a kid, after i got hurt, and then, you know, after things started to get worse for me lately, i — i didn't think i could do this, ever. it's just — i feel so full. and so fast!'

'i didn't think i'd get to do this either, after i got hurt.' you'd had a complete spinal cord injury, when you were twenty, a car accident that wasn't your fault. your whole life had changed, in a split second — a track scholarship and rock climbing and snowboarding and judo evaporating, just like that, when you woke up from surgery, or at least that's what you thought. but your big sister had sat by your bedside and researched inpatient rehab, and financing, and outpatient rehab, and then, a fucking miracle in your life: paralympic racing. it's led you to do everything you loved before, just creatively, and, 'now i have four gold medals, so, here we are.'

'yeah,' ava says. 'here we fucking are!'

you reach over and high five her, and you look over to where beatrice is sitting on the bleachers; even from far away you can see her gay ass little smile at ava's joy.

'also, the gold medals?' ava says. 'extremely hot.'

you laugh. 'do you ever stop?'

ava shakes her head. 'hardwired, i'm afraid.' she frowns. 'unless, of course, you're uncomfortable, in which case i will stop immediately.'

'oh, no,' you say, 'keep going. it's fun.'

'i'm an excellent wingwoman, at any time. you just let me know.'

'i'll take you up on that soon, i'm sure.'

she laughs and takes off again, getting the hang of her form and how to lean into turns. eventually, she calls beatrice down from the bleachers; beatrice is probably one of the most terrifying athletes you've ever met, but ava's pretty fast already. they race a few times, laughing by the end, trash talking incessantly, beatrice eventually leaning down to kiss ava, both of them sweaty.

'last one back to the bleachers has to do the dishes tonight,' ava says, and takes off full tilt. she barely stops in time before ramming into the stands, but beatrice is laughing too hard to come anywhere close. it's joy, you think, in the hot sun. real joy.

//

mother superion

'so,' ava says, fidgeting in front of you, shifting from one foot to the other, rocking up on her toes. she's gotten older, a few years enough for you to be able to tell the subtle differences.

'yes, ava?'

'okay, i know this is stupid and antiquated, but, well...'

'is this a crisis of any kind?'

she shakes her head.

'then just breathe.'

she takes in a deep breath and lets it out, then sits on the bench next to you when you pat the space. 'i love beatrice.'

'i know.'

'i, well, i guess i'm asking you if i can marry her? i want to propose, and i'll do it, whatever you think, but — it would mean a lot, to me, to have your blessing.'

you hold out your hands and wait for her to take both. there is something holy in her back, something that you had thought was the most sacred thing in the world until you met her. but there is something holier, consecrate, in the way she loves — beyond the highest order you have ever known. in the way she loves you all, and life, but especially in the way she loves beatrice, one of your favorite people in the world. she died for it. you know, in a way that makes you ache, she would do it again.

but the war is over. the war is over, and you have watched them both become.

'there is nothing in this life that would make me happier than to bless your marriage, ava.'

'oh,' she breathes out, runs a hand through her hair, long now, with the tips dyed pink — just for fun! — and then smiles. 'okay. well, great. just gotta get bea to say yes then.'

you don't want to be unkind — you can feel the halo humming with ava's very genuine nerves — and so you don't laugh. instead, you ask, 'do you have a plan? a ring?'

ava lights up, and the halo's hum shifts to comfortable, warm. they'll go to switzerland, she tells you, and pulls up a picture of the ring on her phone — simple and elegant and handsome, all at once. she wraps you in a hug as you tell her so.

'i love you, ava,' you say.

she sniffles. 'i really love you.'

you feel the halo against your hand, through her sweater. 'please send me a save the date.'

//

'ava,' you say, as ava paces around their bedroom. 'bea is going to be right out there, waiting for you. after everything, you cannot possibly be nervous about this.'

she shakes her head. 'about marrying bea? definitely not.' she's in her dress, flowy lace and cotton, off-white because i'm certainly not a virgin, she had said while she was looking, and than had laughed and winked as you had rolled your eyes. 'i'm worried about the halo going off.'

you want to laugh, so hard, but it actually is an issue: most of ava and bea's friends and family don't know anything about the halo, mostly for their protection. 'i'm sure you can get all the glowing out on your honeymoon.'

ava does laugh, then, relieved. 'that's for sure.'

and it's beautiful: you get to stand in front of the altar your friend built for her partner, and you get to pray for their whole lives to be full of this stunning, soft love. they say their vows, and beatrice cries the entire time, which eventually makes ava cry, and then you cry, and then you all laugh.

'by the power vested in me by god, and the state of california,' you say, 'i now pronounce you wives.' ava laughs, delighted, and turns to bea, then looks at you impatiently. you roll your eyes. 'go ahead,' you say.

ava wastes no time, leaning forward to capture bea's lips in a sweet kiss, which beatrice lets linger long enough for a few good-natured wolf whistles from the crowd. ava kisses bea's forehead and they smile, alone in their own universe, before turning to everyone. there are cheers and you're pretty sure everyone was crying.

you get drunk on champagne at the reception and cry even more when you see beatrice in her tang jacket, when she tells you that you were right: there's no shame in loving ava; there never has been. and, a miracle, ava is hers. there are things more certain to you than faith.

'your marriage is going to last annoyingly long,' you tell her. 'i'm sure of it.'

she holds you tight. 'i'm sure of it too.'

//

salma

your aunts are the fuc—freaking coolest. not only do they visit often, but you get to visit them in california, where they live in a big house on the beach and sometimes take you to disneyland. your aunt bea teaches you to surf, and your aunt ava teaches you how to make a bunch of virgin cocktails — which you find very fun — and they both sit and do puzzles with you whenever you want, even if your brother gets bored.

your grandmother — you guess, you never met her and you've never even talked to her, but she was your dad's and beatrice's mother — dies one day. you don't really care; she apparently was a huge asshole to your aunt when she was little. your dad picks you up from school like normal, and you wait impatiently for asaad to make his way out.

your dad takes you to get ice cream and then tells you that she died. you don't care, which is maybe bad, but you don't owe her anything. people can be mean for no reason, to someone like you, to someone like your aunt bea, so you don't care.

your dad is quiet for a few days, and then your aunts visit. you do a little double take when your aunt bea takes her beanie off and her hair is shorter than you've ever seen it, but you hug her quickly, as tight as you can, your head reaching the middle of her chest — when your cat died in third grade your mom had taught you about grief, how it lasts a long time and it's okay to feel, how different cultures have different ways of expressing it. you hug your aunt ava too, and she ruffles your hair and cups your cheek. 'what's up, beautiful?' she says, and it makes you feel it, from someone so pretty: beautiful.

when you get older, your aunt bea will help you change your pronouns, and pick a new name — peace, you decide on — and she calls you her niece, which you love. when you get older, she'll be even more amazing to you, the way she's so kind in a world that hasn't been, the way she loves your dad and your brother and your mom, the way she loves your aunt ava.

for now, it's late and your aunt ava is asleep in the guest room, and your dad had kissed your forehead and gone off to the bathroom he shares with your mom. you go downstairs to get a glass of water, and you see your aunt sitting on the couch, peacoat rumpled and very still and, if your dad's breath was anything to go by, probably pretty drunk.

she looks up when she hears you, and then smiles gently, a little unfocused. you sit next to her, rub your hand along her buzzed hair with a laugh, and it gets her to laugh too. 'you look cool.'

she kisses your forehead. 'that's very kind.'

you play with her fingers, with the ring there, warm even though it's cold outside. 'you know,' you say, 'you've made the world safer for me.'

the sound that leaves her is between a laugh and a sob. you want to be smaller, just for a moment, so you could climb into her lap like you used to when she was little.

'i'm really sorry your mother sucked balls.'

then there's definitely a laugh: 'did aunt ava teach you that?'

you grin into her shoulder. 'i can neither confirm nor deny.'

she tugs you to her, buries her face in your hair for a moment and then wipes her cheeks.

'i'm glad i'm like you,' you say, the best you can for now.

'oh, darling,' she says, then swallows so she doesn't start crying again, you're pretty sure, 'i'm so glad. you are such a light in this world. don't let anyone let you believe you aren't wonderful.'

'i won't,' you say, a prayer, like you kneel and understand with your mom; a promise.

'and, you can always call me.'

'ew, on the phone?'

she laughs. 'or text, if you must.'

you burrow into her side even further. 'i'll call, aunt bea. i always will.'

//

g-d

of course, if there's anything you know, it's blessings.

you know beloved; you know holy. people call you by different names, all falling short, all trying to grasp at you. you know beloved, and worship, and belief.

you look down on them sometimes, because you can. ava — her name the familiar of eve; the meaning in a sacred language, life; something divine against her will in her back; one of your children who had faced more cruelty than she should have — laughs, every day. even on days that hurt for her, she smiles and she laughs and there is a love there: for your world, for its waves and the sun and stars and moon; she, too, sees that it is good. beatrice, gentle and unsure and certain, prays to you still, and to ava, which you don't begrudge her. she worships every day, the most faithful on earth.

of course, there are things you let run their course, the small joys and small miseries: swimming in the ocean, chocolate cake, the first fall of snow; traffic jams and broken wrists and lilith. there are some things even you can't entire shift: ava's broken back and the heaviness in beatrice's mind sometimes. but you watch them, from time to time, in their house on a beach that brings them wonder, when they visit the mountains and fall asleep in front of a warm fireplace, listening to a record that skips before you step in and turn the machine off.

you'll let them grow old together, of course — greying hair and ava's impatience with politics and beatrice's stiff knees in the cold. there's time, for the halo and for all of it, but ava died to save the world, once. ava died for love, and she lives for it too.

in this life, they say to each other, quietly and often. you let things run its course but you step in, from time to time: you will give them peace. they'll want more of them, greedy, and perhaps you'll let them — and the next and the next and the next.

but, of course, this life, this life — you make sure it's a good one.

[mmoosen]

Lydia Martin Week 2023 = Outsider POV

Lydia Martin is an icon on the MIT campus, a real life Elle Woods, the prettiest girl with the genius to match. Not many on campus truly know her, but everyone knows of the girl destined to be the smartest person in every room.

[hedwig221b]

I have no wips... The possibilities are endless

[lab-trash]

"In order to beat this, you need a natural 20," Eddie said, everyone intensly listening.

Mike took a breath before releasing the di onto the table. Once it settled, everyone looked at it, blessed with the number 20. Everyone started celebrating, but Eddie interrupted

"Wait, wait," Eddie said, turning his attention to El. "Blood check."

Lucas and Dustin, who were sitting on either side of her, lifted her hands, inspecting her sleeves.

"She's clean!"

"Yes!" Mike exclaimed, kickstarting other cheers of excitement.

Jeff and Gareth exchanged looks.

What ?