#tv static lives in my head and goes for walks sometimes :)

[keeps-ache]

hehe. crackling

[whyareyouhere66]

TV - Mighty Ducks x GN Reader

“Don’t know where you are right now…did you see me on TV?”

“Maybe I, maybe I, maybe I’m the problem…”

-TV, Billie Eillish 2022

Mighty Ducks 3/Adam Banks x GN Reader

Fem or Male, I imagined it as Male but it works either way. Y/n’s sport is not specified either.

Warnings: Angst, jealousy/comparing yourself, implications of depression, might sound a bit dramatic and kinda me projecting just a wee bit , and no real implications of romance.

3-8

The other team was up by 5 points, and the score board only 3 minutes to sounding. I could see people rushing around me, eyes trained on the ball. But I was just too tired to move my legs. 

My mind was swimming, the people sat on the bleachers were screaming into my ear like fuzzy, TV static. But my brain dampened the noise, putting a soggy blanket over my ears. My eyelids were heavy, and the rim of my eyes were feeling warm and heavy like I was gonna cry;  but I wasn’t crying. 

People whiz past me again, and I turn and try pushing myself to follow them. They were getting too close to the goal; I saw them rushing towards it. But for some reason my dampened ears and brain weren’t letting me comprehend what was truly happening, only faintly reminding me that some of the staticky-screams were from my teammates yelling at me. 

The buzzer blares, overlapping with the ‘end of game’ alarm that sounds right after it and I feel my shoulders slump. 

3-9.

Next to me there’s grumbling, a few mutters to “go after it next time” as my teammates go past me. To think I’m the captain, absolute shit. 

Their condescending tones and energy are enough to shove me away, stumbling over my feet as I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I was crying, maybe that’s why the ground below me felt so unstable and blurry. 

I walk over the the sidelines with my head hanging low and fists clenched as one thought echoes through me;

I want to go home. 

The air in the locker room was suffocating, coach’s after-game talk doing nothing more than stirring the annoyance everyone felt. His words felt like lukewarm water against my fizzling ears, skin melting away like foam. It felt as if every look, word, glance was pointed towards me, and the ‘C’ on my jacket burning until I felt I needed to cover it; hide it away from them all in shame. 

No one spoke to me when we all poured out into the afternoon’s air, the near-empty parking lot giving plenty of space for me to duck into my car without speaking a word. 

****

“The Eden Hall Warriors, though nicknamed the “Mighty Ducks” are on the ice again as they face their neighboring school, the Brookefield Bears…” 

The TV echoes through the living room, only a portion of the screen visible to my eye as i sink further and further into the cushions of the couch. 

Scraps of food, left on my plate that now sits on the coffee table accompanied by a singular soda can. I wasn’t hungry enough to finish it.

“Player Adam Banks goes for the puck, with years of experience under his belt! Oh and boy is it showing tonight, with a slick pass to Conway…”

The familiar name makes me narrow my eyes at the tv screen, thinking back to that name. 

Adam Banks. 

I knew him, once. Back in elementary school we’d all gather together on the playground to play whatever game was most “popular” at the time. 

It’s a weird feeling, seeing this random boy from years ago suddenly on television. 

He was always talented, passionate. Sometimes I wonder if he’d recognize me, on the slight chance we’d ever see each other again. I mean, it’s not like we were best friends or anything, but when he seems to be on television as often as he is it’s hard not to think back on him. 

My head was still cloudy, from todays events. Seeing the Ducks, how they so easily glide across the ice in such a synchronized manner it really makes me wonder - what the hell have I been doing?

Todays game was not unique, the flaws to our skills showing with ease. 

What was he doing right, that I wasn’t?

I sit up, shakily moving my head away from the scratchy pillows as I analyze the game through the TV. 

It’s always easy to compare yourself to someone. Just a quick thought, able to bring all sorts of insecurities that you hadn’t thought of before. 

I never thought I’d be sitting here, in this dark, depressing living room comparing my skills to Adam Banks of all people. 

Though maybe it wasn’t all about skills. 

Maybe it was the fact that someone my age, from my town, could’ve evolved into this successful athlete in just a few years while I had no choice but to watch. 

Maybe I should be happy for him- he was always nice to me, after all. But then again comparisons are just so much easier for the envious, greedy bystanders like me. 

How does high school hockey even end up on the television? What channel am I on again?

‘-it goes in! Another point for the Ducks-‘

I groan, letting my head fall back and rest on the couch’s back. I crane my neck to look at the ceiling, unmoving fan casting a shadow on the plain white area. The announcer’s voice pricks my ears, as I try blocking him out to think. 

But as hard as I tried, the thoughts had more static to them than the TV itself. And so I tried to stop, but it didn’t go away. 

A mix of comparisons, jealousy, images from sports fails bounce around in my head until they overlapped in the most obnoxious way possible. 

That damn announcer’s voice screamed, echoing in the back of my head like a bad song being repeated over and over. 

“Oh, shut up…” I groan, hitting my hand against the pillow as a wave of exhaustion washes over me.

The thoughts fade in and out, volume turning up and down, up and down, like an echo.

 “Banks steals the puck, bringing it back up towards Brookefield’s goal-!”

God, could this guys voice be any higher in pitch…

“Mendoza follows up, he’s got the puck now!”

“He’s going for it!”

I flinch as the buzzer goes off, echoing through the speakers and wafting through the living room. 

“And there it is, folks! Yet anoth….

I roll over onto my side, loosely hugging myself as my fists unclench and my eyes squeeze shut once more.

I could hear the announcer rambling off into the microphone, people on the bleachers going wild in the background. 

It was so loud.

“Maybe I’m the problem…”

.

I let the remark hang in the room for another moment, all my thoughts suddenly going quiet. It felt like a sort of confirmation, in a way. Something agreeing with me- yes, you are, the problem.

I slowly open my eyes, letting them wander towards the screen. Hockey players in red jersey’s celebrating, skating laps around the rink. Of course. 

I move my gaze back to the scratchy pillows and couch cushions.

Maybe I was just being dramatic. After all, that is what it felt like. Such a small comparison to make, though it felt like hundreds of signs, just pointing at me. 

One final, sour laugh escapes my throat, before disappearing. “‘M definitely the problem…”

[primcrdialchaos]

Haven't done a headcanon thing for a while and I've had a few ideas bouncing around in my head for a while, so.

On top of shapeshifting and reality bending abilities, Theo also has mind warping abilities insofar that he is able to control minds, be it wiping them, or rewriting them in the blink of an eye. Given his origins, it is in a way understandable that he would have the ability to do this. I am of course referring to the fact that the closest facsimile Theo has to parents are the pattern screamers.

In all intents and purposes, Theo shouldn't exist. Pattern screamers shouldn't be able to create anything. Pattern screamers are remnants of dead universes, so imagine you are watching an old TV, the sort of with the bunny ears and the static and none of the smart wall mounted shit you see nowadays. When you power it off, the screen goes black except for a small white dot in the middle that slowly fades away. In a way, a dying universe will do that when it dies, except you don't see the blip. It's not a visual thing to see, but it's a thing that other pattern screamers can sense. Millions of life forms in the one universe, millions of forms of life, some visible, some microscopic to humans, from the lowliest of bacteria to the largest of living creatures. Imagine all of that being snuffed out in a single instant, even if all living animals and humans were dead in that universe, there'd be all these microscopic forms of life that died in the blink of an eye. When that happens, when a universe dies, it makes a noise that you can't hear, but it's a deafening noise. It might not be straight away. That universe will persist in a state of unreality and unexistence. It will stare into the void, surrounded by nothing but silence. It won't be able to think, it won't be able to breathe, it won't be able to move, it won't be able to even see, it will just be forced to realise its non-existence, its meaninglessness, its finality. That it is dead and there is nothing it can do. Its very impact on reality as a whole has been extinguished. The universe will despair, and it will despair for an inconceivable amount of time. It might be a second, it might be a million years, but it will be forced to despair on its unexistence, the fact that it can't do anything. And it might take a long time, it might take no time at all. But it will start to protest, and ultimately it will start to scream. A silent scream.

Pattern screamers can exist anywhere, and we wouldn't even know it. But usually they exist in places that humans just have general 'bad feelings' about. Like dark alleyways, or cemeteries, delapidated buildings, some haunted houses, the bottom of the ocean, etc. But sometimes they're just there and we don't know it. When a dog barks at something in the corner of a room, or the bench in the park that nobody likes to sit at, or the swing set of your next door neighbour that always swings as if in a small breeze, even when there isn't a breeze at all.

Not only are pattern screamers inconceivable by humans, they're unable to even be sensed by higher beings like angels or demons or certain Gods either. The only beings that are able to sense pattern screamers are (to a muted extent) animals and certain eldritch beings that exist fluidly along reality and time to the point of existing outside of it. Even those beings don't always understand what they're experiencing. A pattern screamer doesn't look like anything, though occasionally it will shapeshift in order to further its agenda. A pattern screamer is not good or evil, it exists in a form of neutrality in that it doesn't adhere to rules, that is, rules of existence, rules of reality, rules of gravity, rules of sense, etc.

The term 'pattern' is a hint as to what it normally does when it does appear on Earth. If a person wanders into its path (for example deep in the woods at night), it will wipe that person's mind and send it on a loop. The person walks past the stump, steps on a twig, then it walks past the stump, steps on a twig, walks past the stump, steps on a twig, stump, twig, stump, twig, ad infinitum. The person has a degree of cognisance about this, after fifty loops it will realise something isn't right, then after five thousand, it will start to forget its name, then after ten thousand it will struggle to speak. Sometimes the pattern screamers will shift the pattern and let the person walk a little further, maybe make it look like the person walked onto a road and managed to wave by a passing vehicle. A kindly lady pulls over and the person tells them they got lost. The lady laughs and they chat as they drive to the nearby city. The lady shows the person a picture of their granddaughter, whose piano recital is this Sunday and her favourite song is Greensleeves. The person will smile and tell the lady that this is their place right up ahead. The person will walk into their home, hug their partner and child, and sit down to watch Jeopardy reruns. The person will then kiss their child good night after tucking them in, walk past the slightly askew picture frames hanging on the wall, then lie down next to their partner and close their eyes. The moment that person closes their eyes they will reopen them again and be back in the woods, stepping on the twig. After fifty more stump twig stump twig loops, they'll start to hear something in the distance, something they can't put their finger on. They'll keep maintaining the loop, and gradually the noise will grow louder, but still they can't put their finger on what it is. Confused and losing sense of themselves again, they'll notice their ears are starting to ring. They'll keep going through the loops, the ringing in their ears getting louder. And then they'll realise that it's not their ears that are ringing, it's the sound ringing around them, loud enough to make their head pound, yet the woods are still silent, except for when they break the twig, which starts to sound like a bone snapping. After a million more loops, they will start to scream, and even when they stop the screaming continues, deafening around them, making them fall to the ground and press their hands over their ears, curling in the fetal position. A jogger will jog past the woods, close enough to be able to hear them, but they hear nothing because the person exists in a form of unreality, unable to be perceived by anything except the patterns. Millions of loops past and the person keeps walking, fourteen footsteps, crack goes the twig, eight more footsteps, stump. Fourteen footsteps, crack goes the twig, eight more footsteps, stump. Again and again and again. Occasionally the pattern will shift, but the person will not notice. They are a fly caught in a spider's web, wriggling endlessly, and not even the death of the universe they are born into will save them. Given enough loops, they will eventually turn into a pattern screamer themselves.

So, given the fact that they can control minds, wipe minds, rewrite minds and the like, it's understandable that Theo would have this ability. It's unknown how exactly he was created. My personal theory is he was once a pattern screamer himself, but evolved into a primordial being that toyed with the universes and realities as they were first being formed after the big bang like a child would paint on the walls. After time he would curiously watch all these universes starting to grow life, then destroy them and start again. After an innumerable amount of time he stopped destroying the universes and started just watching them. After a while he grew curious enough to fashion a form for himself, sometimes bird, sometimes beast, sometimes human, never standing out and always blending in. He would just watch these different universes, interact with them here and there, always watching, learning, and adapting with them. He would appear in snatches of history here and there, sometimes he would be a strong component of history but not appear, sometimes he would just be a silent watcher, sometimes nudging history in certain ways but only scarcely outright interfering. Sometimes he would interfere more, just to watch the inevitability of universe dying in front of him. He would watch universes be born, then fizzle out. Some remained burning brighter than the sun, others would barely exist before they were gone again.

Theo's been in existence so long that even he can't say when exactly he first started. It's easiest to say he has existed in and out throughout all of time, space and reality, because that's really the way it is.

Much like pattern screamers, angels, Gods, demons and everything in between can't truly perceive what Theo is. Most Gods will see another God, as will angels and demons in some universes. The few amount of beings that could perceive some of what Theo is would be those that are a constant in reality, like Death. As with pattern screamers, certain other eldritch beings would also sense something 'else' with Theo but not be able to describe it, as is the same with some Gods (including the act God of Heaven) and also Satan at his most powerful.

Sometimes, though, Theo will let a little bit of himself out in order to show others that he's more than what he thinks. Doing this to a human might cause them to do a variety of the following: scream and claw their own eyes out, drop into a violent seizure and bite their tongue aspirating on their own blood, kill themselves as swiftly as possible, lapse into a permanent state of dissociation staring blankly and unmovingly into space (also called an absence seizure), etc. Higher beings such as angels and demons would find themselves unable to look at Theo for too long and also unable to find themselves able to violently react. Sometimes they would also find it difficult to remember what it was they were unable to look at, like trying to remember a dream you just had. Eldritch and higher Gods would be able to look at Theo but find the air around him a little fuzzy and ripply, feeling an odd sense of confusion, even for the omniscient. But at the same time there would be a subconscious understanding.

It's difficult to explain and I'm just basically dumping what's in my head lol. Sorry about the word vomit. If you read all this way, you're awesome.

[darlingpetao3]

House of W (Multiple!Wells x Reader, Chapter 2)

Rating: T

Summary: After having to deal with the deaths of an infinite number of Harrison Wells in the Multiverse, you, a magic-wielding meta, have a breakdown and unwittingly create a happy, fictitious sitcom life with some of your favourite men. In a world of comedy and cameos, can Team Flash and an out-of-town magician break through your powers to save you? And what if you don’t want to be saved...?

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234 @pinkdiamond1016 @crissymadlock @ensign-tilly @disneyoncerlover815 @marvel-lady10 @thecaptainsgingersnap @noctvrnalmoth @alexxlynn @dontbedumb3 @heyl0lwhatsup @ryou-cosmos​

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1

Birds tweeting, sun shining…

Big strong arms around you.

“Well, well, Wells,” you say with a scratchy morning voice and twist your body around in bed to see who’s got you in his grasp. Ah. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Good morning, (Y/L/N),” the scientist replies. You just love how strands of his hair stick up in place. Harry arguably has the best bedhead.

“You know dear, since we are married after all, don’t you think it would be more acceptable to call me by my first name?”

Harry chuckles and pulls you closer against him.

“You do raise a fair point. (Y/N).”

“That’s more like it.”

He kisses your nose. Shortly after he does, it starts to feel itchy. You feel like you’re about to sneeze. It wiggles and wiggles until—

“Achoo!”

Suddenly, Harry, who had been clad in his silky pyjamas is now- oh my.

“(Y/N), did you just sneeze my clothes away?”

You can hardly answer the Wells in your bed because you’re so enthralled by his lack of clothing under the sheets.

“Happy accident?” you offer innocently. Harry shakes his head and smiles as if to signify that you’re up to your old antics again.

“Come here, you,” he says and pulls the covers over you both.

* * * *

The scene is really quite comical.

Harry walks briskly with his long legs into work at S.T.A.R. Toys Manufacturing Inc. as you try to keep up with quick little steps and a clipboard… while H.R. trails behind you like a maniac with a tray of coffee.

“(Y/N), I believe you have some explaining to do,” Harry speaks to you over his shoulder. “Can you remind me why you’re at work with me? And why the numbskull, too?”

“Handsome numbskull!” H.R. jokingly clarifies. Harry rolls his eyes.

“I told you, honey,” you begin, “I decided it would be best for me to get a job instead of sitting around the house. Plus, an assistant here was the only position available. I thought that was terribly convenient. We can spend more time together now, isn’t that wonderful? As for H.R., I hired him as my assistant!”

“My assistant has an assistant?”

“Don’t question it, honey,” you tell him and pat him on the cheek. Just then, two young employees walk up to you. They look rather familiar, but you can’t place why at the moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Wells,” the pair greet Harry. “And Mrs. Wells. ...And Mr. Wells.”

“Ah, good morning Garcia. Runk,” Harry answers. “I trust your projects are coming along?”

“That they are, Sir,” the young man called Runk replies.

“We should have them finished and ready by end of day,” Garcia, the young woman, adds.

“I’m glad to hear it-”

“-Well done, chaps!” H.R. interrupts. “You’re all doing such magnificent work. All for the children.”

“All for the children,” Garcia and Runk agree.

Harry clears his throat and whispers to you, “I think assistants to the assistants should be seen and not heard.”

“I’ll have a little chat with him,” you tell your handsome boss husband. “Now, let’s build some toys!”

* * * *

After a long day at the factory, you, Harry, and H.R. all return home. The delicious scent of dinner greets you as you walk in the door.

“Mmm, I wonder what Sherloque and Nash are cooking up!” you think out loud.

“I hope it’s nothing French,” Harry says semi-bitterly.

“H.R., can you go see what they’re up to in there, sweetie?”

“I most certainly can, dearest!” he responds then disappears into the kitchen. You are sure to take this opportunity to have some more one-on-one time with Harry on the couch. As you sit, he sets his briefcase down on the coffee table and removes from it a small rocket ship. After turning it around in his hands, Harry hands it to you.

“I’d been working on this today,” he says.

“Oh Harry, it is so groovy. You do such fine work.”

“The idea came to me in a dream.”

“You make dreams come true for children every day.”

Harry turns to you. “I think I’ve always wanted kids. But I guess it’s never happened for me.” He looks into your eyes. “I think I’d like to have one with you someday, (Y/N). How do you feel about that?”

“I feel… I feel…” Your nose starts to wiggle again. “Achoo!”

“(Y/N), are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m completely and totally, whoaaaa!” You stand up to get a better look at yourself, finding that your tummy has a noticeable roundness to it.

“Are you…?” Harry asks. The rest of the Wells men come rushing into the living room.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

“I heard another sneeze!”

“Jumping juniper, (Y/N)’s pregnant!”

They all group around you in a half-circle to admire your belly and to declare their delight at the very abrupt surprise.

“Is this really happening?” you ask all of them, falling deeper and deeper into your happiness.

“I couldn’t imagine a better life with you,” Harry says and punctuates his final word with a kiss. Everything about this moment just seems… so much more colourful and vibrant.

And perfect.

~ ~ ~ ~

Barry had urgently messaged Cisco and Caitlin to meet him back at the Grand Central City Auditorium, where they had just seen Zatanna’s magic act. The plan—what very little of a plan he had—was to race to find Zatanna, the Mistress of Magic, and ask for her help.

Word on the street was that Miss Zatara’s act wasn’t mere illusions. People have said that she really does possess a special magical power. And if this was the case, she was their only hope to retrieve you from whatever world you’ve gotten yourself into.

They say sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.

Well, now Team Flash is going to fight magic with magic.

It took a bit of making a scene inside the venue with the security guards for Zatanna to finally come out of her dressing room to see who was causing the commotion.

“Hi, excuse me, what’s going on here?”

“Zatanna? My name is Barry Allen,” your brother introduces himself. “I was at your show tonight.”

“Flawless,” Cisco can’t help but add.

“Sure,” she says, probably very much wanting him to get to the point. “How can I help you, Barry Allen?”

“We have a bit of a magical issue. My sister has gotten herself into a situation. We need your help.”

Zatanna’s big round eyes squint slightly, but whatever she sees in these three strangers surely isn’t threatening.

“Your sister, you say?” The Mistress of Magic always did have a soft spot for family. “Where is she?”

“You better come with us and see for yourself.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Wow, this is quite the setup,” Zatanna says, taking in the Cortex upon her arrival. “Now, you said that your sister is broadcasting her own sitcom?”

“That’s right,” Barry confirms. “I switched on the TV earlier, and there she was in black and white. But the weird thing is that her set looked almost identical to her home, except not because her real home exploded-”

“Yeah, that’s the weird bit,” Cisco pipes up sarcastically. “Definitely not that she’s married to four different versions of the same man.”

“What?” Zatanna looks entirely confused. “Okay, you guys are going to have to catch me up.”

“No problem. The episode is streaming online. On repeat.”

“Cisco, pull up the show on the monitors,” Barry orders. The engineer does so, and the crew proceeds to analyze the sitcom episode.

“This man... or these men, rather—you said they died?” Zatanna asks the room. The rundown the gang gave her on the way to S.T.A.R Labs was quite rushed, so naturally it would only generate more questions.

“That’s right. I saw them disappear before my eyes,” Barry confirms. “They sacrificed themselves for us.”

Zatanna hums in thought. “Whether they’re truly dead or not, she must be using an incredible amount of magic to create this world and broadcast this across the airwaves.”

“Guys!” Caitlin raises her voice. “We have an incoming broadcast!”

The monitors change after a bit of static. Now, instead of the episode Team Flash was watching, a brand new jingle comes through the speakers.

“Is this…?” Barry starts.

“She released Episode Two!” Cisco cheers. Everyone in the room shoots him a look. “What? I’m invested.” As they watch the new episode, they take frantic notes, searching for any kind of clues.

“Look!” Barry points at the screen to the familiar faces.

“How did Allegra and Chester get in there?” Caitlin wonders.

“They have a guest-starring role…” Cisco notes, possibly with a hint of jealousy.

“And who are they?” Zatanna inquires.

“They’re our friends,” Barry clarifies. “At least, I think they are. They can't be illusions, can they? Created by (Y/N)?”

“I’ll call them and see if we can hear their phones ringing in the show,” Caitlin suggests. As she attempts the call, the rest of the team stands and stares at the screens hoping for some form of ringing sound. This episode seemed to be styled more in the Sixties, so it was unlikely that they’d actually see Chester and Allegra pull out a cell phone.

Nothing. No sound.

They must not have their phones on them…

A little while longer passes, with even more analyses by Team Flash and Zatanna studying your power on screen. Once in a while, she’ll ask Barry for background information about you. Which brings her to ask the all important question:

“How did (Y/N) get her powers?”

Barry goes on to explain your origin story, which coincides with his own. It was that one fateful night where Barry was in his CSI lab at CCPD, and so were you. You had stopped by to see how he was doing after the whole debacle of Iris getting her laptop stolen and Eddie saving the day instead. (To Barry’s credit, he tried really hard to catch the criminal, he just wasn’t fast enough). But you were checking up on him when the Particle Accelerator exploded and sent a wave of extraordinary, uncontained power across the city. You saw the lightning in the sky and tried to get Barry away from holding that metal chain, but in doing so, you also got caught in the crosshairs of the accident. Your brother fell into the shelf of chemicals as the lightning struck at the same time you knocked over a box of evidence—stolen ancient crystals from the Central City Museum.

Zatanna takes in the story silently, nodding in the right places. She’s deep in thought when a voice comes from the entrance to the Cortex: “Hey guys, what’s going on in here?”

Barry rushes to the two younger members of Team Flash, Allegra and Chester. “How did you two get in there? How did you get out?”

“Get in where?” Allegra wonders.

“Come on! In (Y/N)’s sitcom,” Cisco says. “Did she send out a casting call or did she just tell you that you got the parts?”

Chester and Allegra glance at each other with identical furrowed brows.

“You really don’t know what happened, do you?” Caitlin asks them.

“What happened?” they reply in unison.

Cisco stands up immediately. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

As he replays the footage, both of the ‘guest stars’ shake their heads in disbelief.

“Wow, nope, don’t remember any of that,” Chester says.

“No,” Allegra agrees. “One minute I’ve got my feet up in the Lounge, and the next I’m here walking into the Cortex.”

“Interesting,” Caitlin muses. “Interesting, but beyond strange. It’s like they’ve been mind wiped of the experience. We need more answers.” The rest of the episode plays out to reveal the big cliffhanger at the end.

“(Y/N)’s going to have a baby?!” Cisco shouts. “Oh man, things just got real. I wonder who’s the father... You don’t think (Y/N) would turn her show into a Maury episode, do you?”

“Zatanna, is there anything you can do?” Barry asks desperately. “This is getting out of hand.”

“I can cast a locating spell. All I have to do is say the words of what I wish backward for it to take hold.” Zatanna readies herself. “(N/Y) etacol,” the magician utters with her eyes closed. Everyone in the room stands silent in case making any kind of noise would ruin whatever spell she has cast.

They hold their breaths.

“I’m getting something…” Zatanna says eventually. “It’s like a signal of sorts. I can see it in my mind. And it’s coming from… here.”

“What do you mean, ‘here’?” Barry presses.

“Here. As in S.T.A.R. Labs.”

[raven-drabbles]

Everything Will Be Okay... Eventually (Pt3)

Summary: Lately, Tubbos has been having these strange nightmares about this 8 foot tall black and white creature. And he isn't sure why. The past week every night without fail he wakes up in a cold sweat and panting. At first, he thought maybe he's been stressed out as of late. Maybe he needs to take some time for himself... Except he finds out it wasn't some normal nightmares.

One night, this creature visits him. And well...it all goes downhill from there.

WC: 881

Ships: Ranboo/Tubbo, Dream/George

Warnings: 

(Let me know if you want to be on the tag list!!)

~

"It's...what?! I remember you telling me about this monster from your dreams. And how you'd get night terrors and sleep paralysis sometimes and you'd see this creature at the corner of your eye. But I thought that was just in your head! Like any other nightmare! How... How is that creature real?! Is that what I was hearing in the background? That screeching? It sounded...awful... Like static from a tv, almost. It's... What are you telling me?"

"I didn't think it was real either! I thought it was just some nightmare too! Sometimes I do have sleep paralysis like that where I see monsters at the corner of my eye. Or I get those night terrors. But they've never come to life! This... It wasn't just some person in a costume, I know it wasn't. Its mouth opened like some sort of fantasy creature! And...when I splashed water on its face, it actually burned! Steam came from its skin, Tommy! Actual steam! It was boiling! Like when you boil water and... It's still in my house. I gotta call the cops..."

"Steam came from its skin?! So that was the yelling too... Wait! Wait, Tubbo... What do you think the cops will do? The dispatcher will just laugh at you and hang up. Stupid Americans... But, even if they do get to your house... What do you think they'll do..."

"I gotta do something!! I can't just have some weird freaky Slenderman creature walking around my house! What do you suppose I do?"

"Kill it."

"What?! I'm not going to kill it, Tommy!!"

"It just tried to attack you, right? Or at least it sounded like that... You can call it self-defense!"

"I'm not going to attack an innocent creature! I'm sure it was just scared, that's it! If it wanted to kill me it could've done so already, but instead, it walked away! Clearly, it was just scared and now is hiding away, I'm not going to kill something that attacked cause of fear! That's wrong!"

"Than what do you purpose you do?"

"I'm going to talk to it... See if I can reason with it...and gain information."

"Talk to it?! Is it even capable of talking through that screeching?"

"I'm about to find out. Good luck in school, Tommy. I'll talk to you soon."

"Wait! I-"

Tubbo didn't wait to hear what else he wanted to say as he pressed the end call button and sighed. He could still hear the creature, but now it was a lot more quieter. As if it was sulking through the darkness... Like a spider...waiting to catch its prey... He shivered at that before standing up. Okay... He can do this... He can do this... He should...grab another water bottle just to be sure... Yeah... Though he doubts he's going to use it.

He ignored the call notification from Tommy as he stepped into the dark hallway, he clenched the bottle in his hands tightly. He was waiting for something to attack, anything to attack him right now. And he was scared. Very scared.

As he entered the living room, he gasped at seeing... Glowing red and green eyes on the...ceiling? What? He frantically pulled back the water bottle. "Stay right there! I'm not going to hurt you again...unless you give me a good reason too! I just...want to know what you are... But first...I'm going to turn on the lights... Okay? Stay where you are."

There was a small click in response. He... He figured that was a yes? Yeah? He isn't sure. But tubbo slowly moved over to the light switch anyways, he kept a very close eye on those glowing beams of light for eyes. If it moves... He's going to throw this. Even if he doesn't want to. He flipped on the light without the creature moving, thank goodness. And then he gasped at the sight.

The creature was hanging on to the ceiling, upside down. Its sharp claws dug into the drywall keeping its body hung in place. Its head was completely flipped around, like an owl, staring down at Tubbo. And he could see the long thin black and white tail hanging down and it wagging back and forth. It looked like...a spider. He couldn't...read what sort of expression this creature had. It's...so hard to read it. But the creature did appear...nervous. Even though he couldn't read it, it gave off the impression that it was scared and fearful... It was on the ceiling to get a higher ground and to keep a very close eye on Tubbo...

"I... H-Hi... It's...lovely to meet you...officially like this. It's... Um... Can you speak English?"

The creature continued to stare for several long moments, and just as Tubbo thought that the answer would be no, the creature's thin mouth opened. Revealing sharp fangs in its mouth, sharp enough to chew through bone.

"Y... Y...es... B... B.... Bare...ly... Nice...to...m... meet....you...too?"

It sounded like...hissing. it was hard to understand even what it was trying to say past the harsh hissing and screeching. But...it knew English! That's amazing! That's one step forward, okay.

"That's great! And thank you!" Tubbo squeaked, clearly happy and excited that he could communicate with this weird lanky creature, "What's your name, if you...have one that is."

"Exper...iment... 106...."

[misterewrites]

Intro Casey 101 (Mirror’s Edge)

Hello everyone, E hoping you are all doing good! Here it is! The next chapter of the side project that's now my second major one. Because I have a problem and cannot be stopped! Haha stay safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, keep yourself, your loved ones and each other safe, get the vaccine if you can and remember to take care of yourselves.

Feel free to share this with your friends, leave me comments, feedback, reblogs. every bit makes me happy and helps! Have a great week and stay safe! E is out!

If you want an easier time to read it or to read it from the beginning you can follow the link below. Tumblr hates links and will probably shadow block my tags but you know what? Tumblr hates me in general so oh well

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/78163523

Summary:  Casey is the head of the local Neighborhood Watch (and by head, he means only employee) Whenever not helping his best friend take down corrupted, evil jerkbutts, he spends his time running, maintaining and helping the magical/supernatural residents of Willow's Brook. Life is never static but Casey sometimes wishes it was a little less hectic. Just because he can handle it doesn't mean he wants to.

-----

Willow Rook was a peaceful neighborhood suburb located on the outskirts of Newton Haven, just within the city’s boundaries. Rows of mismatched houses and apartments spread out across the maddening maze that was suburbia. Fernspeaker Drift park was nestled in the heart of the neighborhood, its magical and mundane flora bringing a peaceful harmonic nature to the urban sprawl of man. The towering skyscrapers of downtown could be seen far into the distance, a reminder to the residents the city was never too far away.

The sounds of children screaming and shouting is what awoke Casey. He let out an unhappy groan as he rose from the hard wooden desk he accidentally fell asleep on. He rubbed his aching jaw, trying to loosen it from the rough night he had.

“Fuck” He yawned groggily “I really need to have a pillow here or something.”

He ran his hand through his normally wavy dark brown hair as his sea green eyes glanced about his “office”.

Office was much too generous a word for what he worked out of: It was tiny bungalow with barely enough room for a desk and chair, a case file drawer and the tv that sat ontop of it. Casey mentally prepared himself as he pulled open the curtains and allowed natural light to hit his face.

“Ugggggggh” Casey shielded his eyes from the harsh gleam of the morning “Why must the sun punish me?”

Casey stretched the crick in his neck while keeping an eye on the outside world: The neighborhood was particularly lively today with people out and about. The elderly elf Mr. Thistlebush was complaining about something or another to his dwarfish neighbor Mrs. Boulderfist who politely nodded and humored the old elf. Evan Starsunder, a muscular orc with dark green skin, tipped his mail cap tiredly to everyone he passed as he made his way into his cozy abode for a well earned rest. The newly married halfing (similiar but legally distinct from hobbits) couple Mr. and Mrs. Tealeaf took a stroll across the grassy field where Casey’s office stood, hand in hand and very much the picturesque ideal of young love.

Casey opened the window to let everyone know he was open for business.

“Good morning Mister Remington!” Mr. Tealeaf waved with a smile.

“How are you doing this morning?” Mrs. Tealeaf asked, half curious and half cheerfully.

“Great!” Casey lied, trying to stifle a yawn “Just great. Keeping on eye on the neighborhood, same as usual.”

“Keep up the good work!”

“We appreciate everything you do for all of us!”

“You’re welcome!” he gave a halfhearted wave after the retreating couple.

He sighed, mindlessly fiddling with the engagement ring on his finger.

“I should take it off” Casey spoke to no one in particular “She probably isn’t wearing hers anymore. I shouldn’t give people the wrong idea. I should just take it off and that’ll be it. That’ll be it. Yep. One slip and….yeah.”

His voice trailed off as he was unable to finish the thought.

“CASE!” A voice shouted.

Casey leaned out and squinted, trying to see through the glare of the sunlight to find the person who demanded his attention.

“CASE!” The voice called out again, the blurry far off figure slowly shifting into a more recognizable shape.

Casey rolled his eyes “What is it Kay? I’m working!”

Kasey Remington or, as most people called her, Kay was Casey’s twin sister. Nearly identical face with the same wavy dark brown hair and sea green eyes except Kay had gotten their mother’s button nose out of the deal. Growing up, the twins often questioned why their parents had named them Casey with a C and Kasey with the K but the only response they ever gave was it was funny.

Well not to the twins but they were used to it by now.

Kasey, in her mommy cardigan and white blouse, flagged down her brother to come outside.

“Yeah I’m good up here.” Casey smiled from his slightly elevated position.

“You’re tall for like 5 minutes and you’re already being unbearable about it.” Kasey huffed, shooting her twin a stink eye.

Casey chuckled “Mad with power. Classic story troupes.”

“Cliche you mean.” Kasey laughed “Sorry to bother you but….did you sleep in your office again?”

Casey rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he realized he was still wearing his purple tank top and black basketball shorts from the other day.

“Umm well you see….”

“Is your office still a mess?”

Casey glanced at the half crumpled burger wrappers and scattered papers that littered every inch of desk.

“Pfft, no.”

“That’s a yes” Kasey replied with a knowing smirk “Case….”

Casey fiercely pointed at his twin “Don’t.”

“Case, you can’t keep…”

“Yes I can. Watch me.”

Kasey rolled her eyes “I have better things to do.”

Casey scrunched up his face with false hurt “Better than hanging out with your brother? Alright I see how it is. See if I get you anything for Christmas.”

“No! Not my possible Christmas presents!” Kasey fell to her knees dramatically “You monster! How could you do to this to me?”

“Like this.” Casey spoke with a grin, closing the window without another word.

And made his way out of the building a moment later. He offered a hand to his sister and the twins burst out with laughter as Casey helped Kasey to her feet.

“So what’s up Kay?” Casey asked with genuine interest “Where’s Chester?”

Kasey scratched her chin thoughtfully “He’s...got...a….little league game today.”

“Wooooow took you a full five seconds to remember what your kid’s up today.” Casey snickered “Finally stop signing him up for everything?”

“Ha flipping ha.” Kasey shook her head mockingly “It’s not my fault he wants to do any and everything. Besides it’s not the worst thing in the world to enable my son’s interests. I just wish he slowed down a bit.”

“True. Did you thank him for the house he made for me?”

“Yes and he said you’re welcome. Still got it?”

Casey scoffed as he pulled out his necklace: The simple shape of home clasped carefully onto his chain.

“As a cleric of the hearth nothing is more important than a family’s love.”

“Except” Kasey murmured softly “Maybe your fiancée?”

“Nope!” Casey threw his hands in the air and turned away from his sister “Not having this conversation. Byeeeee.”

“Case! Casey you’re acting like a child!”

“Would a child do this? Hey Seth!”

A gawky human teenager with dark black clothing and every skull accessory imaginable flinched uncomfortably at the sudden attention.

Casey nodded his head in confirmation “Yeah you! Curfew’s 2:30 A.M. The Hallow spell won’t work during the witching hour so I want you back here before 3. Got it?”

Seth gave a low mumble and wandered off as quickly as his legs could take him.

“Casey.” Kasey laced her voice with a firmness only a mother could muster.

“Whaaaaaat?” Casey whirled around irritated “Look I made my choice and she made hers and that’s it.”

Kasey raised an eyebrow “You two have been in love with each other since we were kids.”

“Don’t you…!”

“Case, why don’t you ask her again?”

Casey said nothing, opting to gesture to his office to answer his question. Written in bright white letters across the walls of the building were the words “Neighborhood Watch.”

Kasey rubbed her arm guiltily “Case…”

“You gonna take over?” Casey questioned, his voice soft but controlled “You gonna take over for mom? Cuz she retired and unless there’s someone running the watch, all of this...”

He motions to the families walking, playing, living their lives together in harmony. A magical community at peace.

“All this goes away. We’re going to have to move everyone into other magical neighborhoods and under their Neighborhood Watches. And that’s not fair to them.”

Kasey let out a sad sigh “It’s not fair to you.”

“I’m fine” Casey lied “I’m okay I promise. It’s for the best.”

Kasey shook her head “You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me. See you for dinner?”

Casey hugged his twin tightly, pouring as much love as he could into the gesture.

“Of course. I’ll bring fries.”

Kasey made a face, playfully pushing him away “Would you bring something else, please?”

“Fine, mashed potatoes.”

“Ugh. Bye Case.”

“Bye Kay!”

Kasey eyed the engagement ring for a moment before taking her leave.

Casey ran his hands through his hair, wondering how much worse today could get.

He turned to make his way back to his office when he spotted a familiar face nearby.

His heart began to thunder loudly in his ears, the phantom sensation of lips pressed against his own ran chills down his spine while his cheeks flushed a bright red. His legs felt weak and butterflies filled his stomach as he took in the sight of Jaime casually walking down the street.

Jaime looked as beautiful as ever: Her long dark red hair was tied into a single braid that hung over her shoulder and shimmered in the soft glow of the morning. Her light brown eyes gleamed with a thoughtfully gaze as she looked at her phone. She was wearing his dark purple hoodie with dark blue jeans and sneakers. Her glasses were cutely askew and Casey felt the overwhelming urge to run over and fix them for her.

The engagement ring on his finger felt impossibly heavy yet light all at once.

He should talk to her. That was okay, right? To talk to someone he’s in love with and desperately wanted to be with. Did she want to talk to him? They left on decent terms. Well maybe. Hopefully. God what if she was mad at him? Or worse, hated him? She could never hate him that was silly. But perhaps she wasn’t ready to speak to him.

He knew he wasn’t ready.

Casey turned to Jaime’s direction then pulled away. He pivoted on his feet to face her again before glancing downwards towards the grass. His hands fidgeted uneasily as a shout threatened to spill out of his mouth.

Casey returned quickly to his office and shut close the window. Resisting the urge to stare at Jaime, he opted instead to reach for a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out and began mindlessly scrawling upon its surface, drawing nothing in particular.

It was comical how automatic Casey’s responses became while he worked in this building: Upon hearing the knock at his door, he rose to his feet and opened it without a second thought.

Casey’s heart leapt to his throat at the sight of Jaime standing at the base of the steps from the bungalow. She smiled shyly, pushing up her glasses further up on the bridge of nose before giving a friendly wave. Her other hand was tucked deeply in the hoodie’s pocket.

“Hey sweetie” Jaime paused, pursing her lips for a moment “Case. How are you Case? Doing good Case? Can I stop now?”

Casey let out a genuine laugh “Hey swe….Jaime. You can stop. I’m good. I’m good. Good.”

He caught sight of his engagement ring gleaming in the sunlight. He quickly shoved it inside his pocket.

“That’s good. That’s good.” Jaime nodded “I’m glad to hear that.”

Casey caught her wandering glance across the office and quickly shifted his weight to block the view.

“So how’s the new job?” He crossed his arms in an clumsy fashion “Everything okay at the Grimoire?”

Jaime dug at the grass with her shoe “It’s good. Chaotic as usual but hey what do you expect for a magical library, right?”

The two chuckled together and locked eyes for a moment. As one they broke off their gaze, their cheeks slowly turning a pinkish hue.

Casey recovered first “How’s your brother? We talk but ever since last month he hasn’t recruited me to topple any corrupt bosses lately. I’m getting bored.”

“You sure you bored?” Jaime rolled her eyes “There’s no way the Neighborhood Watch is getting that soft.” “Haha I wish.”

An awkward silence fell over the couple as the realization of what subject they landed on washed over them.

“Finn’s good. Busy but good.” Jaime spoke with a fragile softness in her voice “You know my bro, always trying to save the world.”

“Right...”

Casey couldn’t help but noticed Jaime’s body language: She tucked both of her hands into the pockets, her frame shrunk like she was mentally kicking herself as she gawkily fidgeted back and forth.

“Hey.”

Jaime glanced upwards towards Casey, her light brown eyes shining brightly in the sun’s glow.

Casey could feel his heart ache with love and longing as he spoke simply “Don’t worry about it beautiful.”

Jaime said nothing. Instead, she closed the distance between them, gently cupping his cheek in her hand.

“Take care of yourself sweetie. Please. For me?”

Casey could feel his ache worsen but he just nodded, murmuring softly “For you.”

Jaime’s smile was sad but lovely. She pulled away slowly, allowing her fingers to linger for a moment.

“Bye for now Casey.”

“Bye Jaime.”

She left without another word and Casey felt exhaustion rush into every fiber of his body. He closed the door reluctantly and took a seat. He stared unhappily at the drawing of Jaime he hadn’t realized he’d be sketching.

“Fucking hell.”

He slumped deeper into his chair, feeling much too drained to face the rest of the day.

-----

“Shit, shit, shit” Seth muttered to himself as he raced through the night. The normally inviting, homely suburb was cold and distant: The shadows moved in eerie unnatural ways and once or twice Seth could soft pattering of paws follow closely behind. The modest homes and apartments were silent, basked in the darkness as they towered over him in silence.

“Just a cat” He mumbled to himself, glancing at his phone and wincing at the 3:30 AM it showed in a white font.

Seth entered Willow Rook proper and paled at the lack of comfort he normally felt in the air. Casey had warned him the Hallow spell, a powerful ward of holy magic that protected the neighborhood and hid it away from the world, would not work between 3 and 4 AM. Seth assumed he was merely attempting to scare him to return early. It never occurred to him that Casey was telling the truth.

Seth fumed silently “It’s fine. I’m late, it’s fine nothing followed me here and it’s fine.”

A chill ran down his spine as something rustled nearby. He whirled around in time to see something lunge straight for his chest.

He was ashamed how quickly he flinched, closing his eyes shut while raise his hands in a poor attempt to defend himself. He made quick prayer to whatever deity who happened to be on duty at the moment.

Something thudded against his chest. It didn’t stay long, instead quickly making its way up his shirt and tucked itself comfortably on his shoulder. It wasn’t too heavy but it was big whatever it was. Seth was surprised how warm and fluffy it was and swore it was purring in his ear.

He cracked open his eyes and found himself staring at an orange tabby cat: it was a fat cat with stripes of white and orange running down its body. Its dark green eyes stared curiously at him. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought it was asking him a question.

“Hey buddy” Seth breathed a sigh of relief, scratching the cat’s chin “What are you doing out here? Scaring the shit out of me?”

The cat pawed at his face rather roughly and with enough force to actually make him turn his head.

Seth felt the blood drain as he saw something approach in the shifting shadows: A monstrous thing, thin and skeletal. Its skin was a dark shade, almost as black as the darkness it blended in with. It crawled forward slowly on all fours, thick talons digging up and cutting through the pavement with ease. A bloody wrap covered its eyes and two thick, elongated fangs protruded from its lower jaw. The rest of its face was smooth and featureless.

The words died in Seth’s throat. The best he could do was a pathetic croaking noise he was grateful no one could hear in the dead night.

The creature tilted its head as if listening for any sign of its prey.

Seth couldn’t move, the fear gripping him tightly in its thrall. His breathing hitched and he could feel his body shake beyond his control as the creature inched closer and closer.

The cat leapt off his shoulder, silently landing onto the grass and bolting into the night.

Seth’s stomach churned and twisted anxiously as the creature stared in his direction, a growling rumble escaping its mouth. It let loose a maddening shriek, one that shook Seth’s very bones. It stood on its hind legs and grew to an inhuman height. Its mouth lowered, stretching impossibly wide as it leapt forward.

Seth felt cold and empty as the sight of the monster filled his sight. The fight ebbed out of him and left only an overwhelming sense of dread and finality.

This is how it ended.

It was an odd sensation to feel at the end: the warmth and glow of the sun at his back. Perhaps some higher being was taking mercy on him in his last moments on this plane of existence.

Wait, no the warmth was getting brighter and hotter. An unbearably stuffy and blazing with an intensity of a summer day that grew each passing moment.

Seth groaned, wincing in pain as a sudden flash of light zoomed past with incredible speed. It burned brightly, dispelling the silhouetted shadows with a burning flame despite it being no bigger than a baseball.

The creature reared back and thrashed about, too caught off guard by the sudden glow to realize it was coming straight for it. The orb collided with the creature’s chest and sunk deeply into its chest. The creature howled and buckled in pain, bending and twisting at unnatural angles.

The light faded and the orb with it but Seth could see the fist sized hole it had burned through the chest of the creature.

The creature weakly swayed, seemingly weakened by whatever hit it.

“Not in my neighborhood you punkass bitch.”

Seth weakly turned to find Casey standing there, the fat orange tabby at his feet. The head of the Neighborhood Watch finally changed his clothes: He wore a purple jacket with a black shirt that read “Neighborhood Watch” in faded white lettering. His gray sweats were wrinkled and his feet were adorned with two different sneakers. Outstretched in his hand like he had taken a swing at something was a glowing metal baseball bat that pulsed with radiant power.

“Casey, I…” Seth mumbled out but Casey motioned with his head.

“Go home kid. This ain’t the minor leagues.”

Seth was ashamed to say he ran, frantically and as fast as his sore legs could take him. Whatever just attacked him was out of his weight class.

Luckily Casey was in a league of his own.

The creature clicked its tongue unhappily as it moved uneasily on its hind legs. It bent and twisted its neck in a way that would’ve broken it if the creature had been human.

Casey rolled his eyes as he gripped the bat tightly in his hand “Drama queen much, aren’t you?

The creature said nothing. Instead it threw itself forward full force towards the cleric.

“Here we go.” Casey murmured tiredly as he drew his bat back.

The creature took a swipe at him but Casey already moved out of the way, dodging to the side and allowing the creature sail past him. It twisted its head around only to get a face full of metal: Casey’s swing caught the creature in the cheek and sent it reeling backwards.

The creature shrieked in pain as smoke curled off its face, the cheek swollen and charred an ashy black. It didn’t hesitate to attack once more: It stood up and tried to crush Casey under its full weight.

Casey just shoved the bat directly into the hole he made earlier.

The creature hissed and retreated away from the holy infused weapon. More smoke bellowed from the now enlarged hole.

Casey raised his bat threateningly “Go back to wherever the hell you came from or I will beat you out of existence you flipping abomination.”

If the creature understood the threat, it made no indication. Instead it doubled down on its poor choices.

It sat back on the balls of its feet, tensing its legs in preparation for a mighty leap.

Between helping the inhabitants of the neighborhood with their requests, talking to Jaime and frankly being awoken to a fucking demon attack at 3 am, Casey was just done with all yesterday and evidently today.

Casey’s hand glowed with a dazzling radiant light as he spokes the words of faith. Magic formed and condensed into a single ball of pure sun in his palm.

The creature sprinted forward, tearing up the grass underneath its feet while it desperately made one final dash towards the cleric.

Casey lobbed the ball high in the air and fell into a batter’s stance.

The orb hung in the air for a moment like a blazing sun then fell back to earth.

The creature leapt, talons aimed for Casey’s neck.

Casey let out a mighty swing. There was a loud crack as the bat made contact with the orb. The ball of light sped off and shoved itself down the creature’s throat. The bat follow through connected with the head of the creature and knocked it cleaned off.

The ball gleamed bright in the beast’s stomach before exploding outward like a supernova. The creature flaked away into blacken ash, head and all.

The gleam of light vanished and Casey found himself under the cover of night once more.

He wiped at his eyes tiredly as his phone beeped. He glanced at it to see it was now 4 in the morning.

There was a soft hum as the Hallow reactivated: the air shimmered with an unseen power and grew warm with comfort.

The ashes vanished without warning, the unholy remains cleansed by the sanctity of the neighborhood.

The cat drew closer to Casey, its eyes peering at him thoughtfully.

“Hey Julius” Casey greeted the cat politely “Long night?”

Orange Julius meowed in response.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him. I knew he’d stay out late but hopefully he understands why we have a rather generous curfew.”

Orange Julius nodded.

“That’s been like what? The third demonic hell beast/ abomination this month. That’s a lot for a month.”

Orange Julius meowed in agreement.

Casey pursed his lips thoughtfully “Hey, did you see Finn?”

The cat tilted his head quizzically.

“I mean all this time you. He. Well you aren’t around whenever he comes by” Casey scratched his neck sheepish “You are his dad’s cat. You sure Fernspeaker wouldn’t want you to be with him?”

The cat paused for a moment before shaking his head.

“It’s not because Jaime’s folks adopted him after…..well that happened, is it?”

The cat pawed the grass below him.

“Right.” Casey nodded in understanding “Neighborhood’s your responsibility. I get that.”

Orange Julius meowed then vanished into the darkness.

Casey glanced at the statue of Fernspeaker that stood tall in the center of park. It had been erected the same time the park was named after him, both shortly after his and his wife’s death 22 years ago.

Fernspeaker Drift, Finnrick’s biological father, was once a powerful druid, deeply in tune with nature and a firm believer in helping others. This neighborhood was his passion project. The Neighborhood Watch was formed after his passing.

The Neighborhood Watch was created because of his passing. Nobody wanted a repeat of what happened all those years ago.

Finnrick told him it was okay for Casey to not to take the job but it felt like such a disrespect to let this whole place dissolve and scatter its residents.

Casey sighed and wandered back to his office. Office hours were closed but the Neighborhood Watch’s job was never done.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 12

happy Chronicles update! I know I waited a while to post this one, but I feel like I’m in a good place to share it now. so, I hope you like it! it’s... an interesting one.

from: itsdjbubbles 29 July, 19:30. La Tortue. you and your group got a setlist?

to: itsdjbubbles i… could have a setlist. and we’re more of a band than a group.

from: itsdjbubbles hell yeah, dude. you’re in.

–––

just saw adrien agreste in person. In Person. i don’t think i can even afford his aura. or, like. the CO2 he’s breathing out?

no, i’m not going to say where. i’m not a total dickwad. just sometimes. mostly because my sister would come for me if i didn’t say so.

also, fellow parisians, who hopefully are not or have not been as much of a dumbass as me: watch this space for an announcement, maybe.

Adrien Agreste is right. There. In all his swoopy-blond-hair, thousand-euro-smile, million-euro-clothing glory. Hanging by the doorway, and seeing him standing at the register like an actual human being, and laughing like an actual human being, and paying with a debit card like an actual human being, is like looking into the goddamn sun. Or like standing in the weird static, plasma dimension that exists between the TV screen and real life. Or both.

Okay. Luka will admit that, for a time that now feels both distant and delirious, he… probably entertained a celebrity crush on Adrien Agreste. But it was short-lived, and it felt more like a warm fuzz in his stomach whenever he passed by those radiant advertisements for perfume, men’s clothing, even underwear. Really, the more he thought about it, the more he was just admitting that Adrien Agreste had a certain charm and attraction because he, like many people in Paris, had a functional pair of eyes.

It was… fantasy, really. Self-indulgent. The way most infatuation tends to be. Observation with a cause; he heard it once in a song.

Adrien Agreste is still standing right. There. At the register. And Luka hasn’t moved from the entrance. Not even when the door hits him unceremoniously in the back and the bell above it mocks him as it announces his arrival.

And then Adrien Agreste turns on his heel, slipping his wallet into his back pocket with one seemingly perfect hand and gripping a pastry box with the other, and Luka’s body reminds him to step aside. He does, still dumbstruck despite how Adrien Agreste literally smiles at him and says good morning, and the door closes behind him again, and not for the first time in his life, Luka forgets what words are or how to string them together.

When he comes to his senses and makes peace with the fact that he just shared the same breathing air as a real-live supermodel, he notices—even from this far away—that Marinette is wearing that expression again. The one from the park. The one he wishes never existed—because even if this is another observation with a cause, he at least has the good sense to know that Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not deserve to look so sad, no matter how many smiles she layers on top of it.

Until now, it seems like Marinette’s only been looking past him, but when her eyes finally settle on him, she perks up a bit from her place at the register. “You dyed your hair,” she says by way of greeting, and he swears her face starts to glow. Or maybe it always was glowing. Maybe it wasn’t because of him.

“Uh,” he replies, because when has he ever been smooth when she’ s looking at him like that? or at all? “Technically, Jules did.” He says it hurriedly, so neither of them has to worry about it or talk about it, but then she has to go and tell him that it looks good on him, and his words have to get stuck on his tongue again when he says, “Thanks, I grew it myself.”

Kill him. Now. He’s ready. Juleka can have his guitar.

“So,” he goes on, a little perkier than he means to, but it’s probably for the best. “That was, uh… that Adrien Agreste guy, huh? You know him or something?”

Marinette’s expression is almost unreadable. It is hard to tell if she regrets knowing Adrien, or if she thinks Luka must be living under a rock because everyone knows who Adrien Agreste is. She snaps back to herself soon enough, and she’s browsing the pastry cases as though it’s her responsibility to find something good for him. “We used to go to middle school together,” she explains. “Just for a while. I even used to have this mondo crush on him. Can you imagine?”

“Yeah,” Luka says, because he can’t count how many times he’s imagined her in love, much less how many times he’s imagined other people in love with her. “Huh. I pegged him as the type to get homeschooled or something.” He tosses a glance behind him, just to see if the limo is still there, but it’s long since peeled away. “What… happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You…” He pauses. “You said, ‘used to?’”

“Oh,” she says, half-flippant, with a sheepish laugh to match. “Y’know.”

Luka narrows his eyes. “No, I don’t,” he says. “That’s… why I asked?” Even though he maybe, definitely shouldn’t have because it maybe, definitely isn’t his business.

Marinette shrugs, busies herself with boxing up a selection. He doesn’t even have to ask. (Is it good that he doesn’t have to ask?) “I switched schools. That’s all. Turns out absence doesn’t really make the heart grow fonder after all.”

It doesn’t sound like that’s all, especially if the bittersweet look on her face has anything to say about it, but who is he to push? Who is he to do anything but peek into her life and feel grateful, privileged, for what she’s allowed him?

“Anyway,” she goes on; it’s mesmerizing, watching her multitask. The grace with which she can open herself up, so clipped, while taping a box shut. “Our friend is making this music video for a summer class he’s taking. He’s really into film, you know? And we’re playing opposite each other in it. I guess he wanted to come by and chat about it, but I think he had something else in mind.”

Luka’s brow furrows.

When Marinette turns, box in hand, her lips scrunch up awkwardly. Like she’s the one who doesn’t know what to say this time. “Now he’s the one who…”

Oh. Well. Fuck.

“I turned him down,” she adds with a shrug. “In high school. And we’re still… sort of friends. We text and stuff, have a couple of mutual friends. I just get the sense those feelings—his, I mean—never really went away. There’s just… something I can’t shake. Do you know what I mean?”

Does he know what she means? Does he feel? He nods, dumbly, and maybe this moment separated by a counter and a cash register isn’t supposed to be as deep and twisted and thorny as it is. But it is, and it feels that way because he feels, and he wonders if she feels it, too. If there are parts of her that never went away, either.

“Sorry,” Marinette blurts out once the moment ends—too soon, as far as he’s concerned. “You didn’t ask to hear all that.”

“I don’t mind.” Luka offers her a smile because it’s the best thing he has on him. “Life stories, remember?”

She smiles back. It’s slow, and knowing, and it makes him melt in his shoes. “Are you gonna make a song about it, Music Man?”

Okay. Okay. Wow.

Maybe it was worth staying alive for literally this one moment.

“I could write a song about it,” he says; it’s a miracle he doesn’t stammer. “Would you come and listen to it?”

“In the park?”

“At a gig.”

Marinette looks surprised, and then impressed, and damn if he doesn’t want to keep doing things that make her make that face. “Maybe I will,” she says, almost demure, like he asked her on a date or something. (Did he? Ask her on a date?) She looks just past him, and when he follows her gaze it lands on a bulletin board by the door. “Maybe you should swing by with a flyer or something.”

“Maybe I will.” Wow, two for two. He takes the box, reaches for his wallet. “I’ll watch that video, too, we’ll call it even—”

Her hand is on his before he can even pull out his card. And it isn’t until after she’s pushed his wallet back toward him that it finally registers that she’s touched him. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s on the house. Just bring the flyer, and then we’ll call it even.”

Luka looks between her and the box a number of times, too many questions on his tongue to get any of them out. Why is she being so nice to him? why does she insist on giving him things he hasn’t worked for, or finding loopholes to prove that he did work for it? Is she flirting with him? Or does she pity him? Or is she just being nice because he’s one of her parents’ regulars? Or does she… does she, maybe…

He holds his breath, and searches her eyes, and gets lost in the music he’s still sort of trying to place. He slips his wallet into his back pocket all the same, and he takes the box from her, and it’s ridiculous how fiercely he wishes he could feel her fingers brush the back of his hand again. “You got a deal,” he murmurs—mentally kicks himself for sounding so out of touch. He backs out of the store like it’s illegal to tear his eyes away; it feels like it is, when she’s smiling at him like that. The Not For Customers smile.

Admittedly, he wonders if she ever gave Adrien Agreste that smile, once upon a time.

Maybe he shouldn’t have wondered, because his back bumps right into the door, and the bell above it jingles as though it’s annoyed. But Marinette isn’t; in fact, she giggles behind a hand, and she gives him a little wave like she’s going to keep the memory safe in the pocket of her apron. He manages a weak laugh, and a wave of his own, and then he’s stumbling out the door and walking his bike to the first open bench he can find. He needs to sit down. Put his head in his hands for a while.

Because he thinks she just flirted with him. And he thinks he flirted right back. And he knows she just touched him, in spite of everything she told him about Adrien, in spite of him being right. There. And it’s all finally, finally sinking in, and the world is spinning in a way he’s not really used to, and…

Maybe he just needs a sugar boost.

Shaking his head and sighing, he pops the seal on the pastry box, fully prepared to find a half dozen napoleons inside. There aren’t—only two pastries.

One napoleon.

And one pear tart.

His heart stutters. Makes up for how he didn’t before.

That’s how it gets him.

hey mom? mr. president? deity of indeterminate gender?

how do i go about legally changing my name to Music Man?

you know. hypothetically.

[petals42]

Coach - Part V

Hello all. I know in my major fics I’ve made Coach and Suzanne not very nice people, but after the latest updates I figured I’d try my hand at writing canon-compliant Coach. This is in his POV so obviously Coach-centric and he is not magically a perfect ally. He’s trying though. 

3.6k; canon-compliant; content warning: homophobia; post- Coach IV

It’s Sunday. Which means Church for Suzanne always and Church for Richard when he has the time. Or about every three weeks when Suzanne starts asking him on Thursday whether he is going to make it this week instead of waiting til the morning-of. It’s his signal to go with her so she can show him off or introduce him to new folks or just re-establish that they are together and happy and she can still make him go to Church whenever she wants. 

Either way, it’s not bad. He doesn’t mind listening to the sermons, even if he’s not quite sure how much stock he puts in all of this, and the music is good enough, even if he’s not one for singing himself. 

He doesn’t even mind the post-Church chitchat. In the fall and winter, the traditional spread of baked goods made by the women of the Church is usually served in the small auditorium. It’s cold when you first walk in and then all the bodies heat it up so that by the end Suzanne will be complaining that if they don’t want to put the AC on, they could just open a window or something.

Richard knows his role in this too. He stands off to the side with his plateful of baked goods, making sure to take the ones baked by Suzanne’s friends and avoid the ones made by anyone his wife is currently feuding with. He chats with some folk who wander over, always polite, but mostly people know him well enough to let him be and wait for Suzanne to finish talking with everyone. 

They have a good system. They walk through the line of food together which is when he puts on his best smile. Then he goes to a corner, she claims she has to use the restroom but takes her plate with her and stops to mill and chat with everyone on the way to the bathroom. She’ll finish her plate before she gets to the bathroom, throw it away, and then talk to many of the same people on her way back. He’ll wait and watch and when she starts looking a little tight around the eyes or flexes her left hand in that certain way, that’s when he’ll walk up and ask if she minds leaving. She’ll say of course, they will make their goodbyes, and that’s that. 

Sunday morning. 

Usually his time in the corner is almost meditative. He lets his eyes unfocus and eats just steadily enough that people can see he is eating and lets his mind drift. It may be a weird place to meditate, in a room filled with other adults, but it works for him. Coaching is a loud job, filled with the noise of teenagers and yelling and grunts and sounds just of working in a high school, really. And then Suzanne is not loud in the same way and he loves listening to her (for as little as he inputs, really he does), but she’s not a still person. She’s light and movement and laughter and she fills up a room enough that usually he is content to just bask in her presence. It’s more joyful than meditative. 

This, though. This is just right. His brain is already a little fuzzy from spacing out during the sermon and he’s bored enough that usually he would pull out his phone, but standing and relaxing in a corner is fine. Playing on your phone in a corner is rude. According to Suzanne. And he doesn’t disagree. So he’s a little bored, unable to do anything to fix that boredom, happy to turn the chitchat around him into a sort of gray static he doesn’t have to pay attention to and just… relax.

Of course, this week relaxing is a bit difficult.

He’d been busy in the week he’d gotten back from Samwell. He had booked that flight a bit last minute so it was fly out late, late on Tuesday and then leave Thursday midday to try to make it back for Thursday’s practice because he was the head coach of a football team and, goodness Junior better make it late in the playoffs when there is plenty of time for him to actually go up and see more of the games. 

So it was practice and then cram all the strategy and tape he was supposed to do Tuesday and Wednesday into Friday and game Saturday (a win, but a sloppy one if he is being honest) and it is now, Sunday, as he stands and watches people try to eat while holding a small paper plate filled with too much food, that he is finally able to think about it all. 

About the car ride and Junior telling him that he wasn’t acknowledging his relationship and getting upset and telling him that he needed to know he wasn’t messed up, like Richard would ever think he was messed up but the fact that Junior had to even ask was--

He blows out a breath. Not angry just… annoyed. At himself. And maybe a little but at Junior even though he shouldn’t be and he isn’t, he just--

Sometimes he feels he never got credit for the things he did do. He paid for all those ice dancing lessons even though he didn’t understood a bit of it. And then when it became obvious Junior was good, he paid for that private coach and went online to learn at least some of the terms even though he was never going to be able to give Junior any actual advice on anything. Which had… well, he could at least admit that that had been a bit of a disappointment. He loved teaching and coaching and yes, see, don’t rely on your elbow so much. Power’s in your shoulder-- there you go, feel the difference? He loved being a coach. But with Junior and ice skating… he looked up enough to sometimes manage a weak Remember to pull your arms tight and Junior would look up at him and smile and nod when he was little but he got older and better and eventually he had to stop trying. Because Junior was more advanced than any of the little tips he could find and he had that private coach to tell him what he was actually doing wrong and he didn’t want to look like a fool and certainly didn’t want Junior to get annoyed with him so…

He’d moved too. He and Suzanne. Packed up their house and he’d gotten a new job away from the kids he’d been coaching for years and they never talked about it with Junior, never wanted him to feel like it was his fault but his son wasn’t stupid. He would’ve thought that he made the connection between the bullying and the change of scenery, as it were. 

And then there was hockey, another sport for him to learn enough so he could at least understand what was going on and offer tentative tips, and Samwell and taking out a loan to cover what Junior’s scholarship didn’t and flying up to see at least some of the games and he’s tried to keep things as normal as possible after Jack. Tried to make it obvious that nothing had changed. That he viewed his son exactly the same. But even that hadn’t been enough.

He looks down where he’s holding his paper plate filled with post-Church snacks and realizes he’s crumpling it. But he can’t quite get his hand to loosen. Kids these days. And even thinking that made him feel old but it was true. Kids these days want everything spoken aloud, everything talked about, all mushy, like actions don’t count for anything anymore. It just-- he could count on one hand the number of times his daddy had ever said anything like “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” but he still knew it was true. Of course he knew. His father attended as many of his football games as he could and shook his hand on his wedding day, offered him a cigar when Eric was born...

And, really, he thought he had been being pretty obvious. Right after the Cup, he had started talking about Jack’s goal and his great game and congratulating him and he thought that was clear enough. That if Jack was important to Junior, than he would care about Jack’s sport as much as he could. And then he flew up to see Junior on a week where he could see Junior’s game and they could watch Jack’s game together too. Sure, he referred to Jack as Junior’s friend, but he… he didn’t know if boyfriend was the right word or if they were using partner and, okay, okay maybe it was easier to say “friend”, at least at first. Which, okay, was wrong. But also Junior didn’t even seem to hear the rest of what he was saying. He had gone up there and complimented Jack and Jack’s team and how Jack and Junior worked together and had thought he was being obvious about starting to invite Jack over for Christmas and somehow Junior still ended up yelling at him in the car. 

His mouth twists at that. That had been… not good. Not only because Junior had been hurt and crying, but because he’d been angry and yelled and he was pretty sure he mentioned that he had had to find out through the TV, like some stranger and he…

You weren’t supposed to tell your kids when they hurt your feelings. He knows that. He’s… he’s not allowed to get his feelings hurt, anyway, from the sounds of it. From the reading he’s done in the days he’s been back. The internet says that coming out is a personal thing and everyone makes their own decision and, according to most websites, it’s probably his fault. His and Suzanne’s for not being more openly supportive of people when Junior was growing up. For making him feel like he couldn’t tell them. And he doesn’t-- well, he doesn’t remember ever saying anything blatantly rude like that, he figures he’s usually a live and let live type, but apparently all those little things-- microaggressions, the internet calls ‘em-- apparently those add up. 

So, again, his fault. 

He shifts and swings his head to find Suzanne. It only takes him a moment; his eyes are long used to flicked through a crowd to find someone just her size with that specific hair color. She’s laughing, chatting with Ruby, and from the looks of it, he’s still got a while. Which is fine. He could go find one of the guys to chat with and, as the local football coach, there’s plenty of chatting he could do but he--

He looks as Suzanne and wonders instead. If her feelings are still a little hurt by Junior’s way of telling them. If she feels old and forgotten and replaced by all those friends he’s got up at college. The ones who knew first.

He pops a cookie in his mouth. Feels his stomach twist up as his mind flashes once again to that dumb car ride. And really, how was he supposed to know Junior even cared about his opinion anymore? He had all those friends and Jack and all the Falconers who all spoke out about it afterwards and there had been pictures with Jack’s parents who were there and clearly knew and Eric hadn’t even called them after. Not for hours and hours. 

He can’t help but think it wasn’t right. Suzanne had been beside herself with worry and called him over and over and Richard thought he was pretty okay, but he didn’t like when someone hurt Suzanne. Especially not Junior. Those two talked nearly every day, it seemed to him, and it was a hell of a time for his son to suddenly be so irresponsible with his mama’s feelings. 

He takes a breath. Lets it go. Those two have clearly made up and there’s no point in fighting someone else’s battle especially if they didn’t seem too torn up about it anymore. 

He wishes he had remembered that during the car ride. That he was better at not reacting with anger sometimes. At not getting all defensive. Then maybe the car ride would’ve gone smoother. Maybe that whole mess could have been avoided. And he wouldn’t still feel so embarrassed and guilty about it even though he thinks that maybe he’d finally gotten the message through on his way to the airport. 

Yes, thank God, at least that went well. He’s pretty sure. So Junior’s good with Suanne and good with him and Jack is coming down for Christmas so that’s that.

To be honest, he isn’t quite sure what to do next. Junior seems to watch him to talk and ask about Jack, but the internet said to treat the relationship just like any other and he isn’t sure he had been planning on talking to Junior much about girls except for maybe a quick check that they were being safe and he was being honorable and perhaps a “Is she expecting a ring?” or “Seems about time you went out and got one” talk. That’s about all he and his daddy had done. 

Other things he’s doing now-- reading up about things on the internet and planning to maybe pop over to the GSA at the high school when he thinks the other coaches can run the beginning of practice without him -- those things don’t come up in conversation much. At least not naturally. So there is no way to tell Junior. Not that he wants to. Would sound too much like bragging or trying to get points for doing the basics. Which, again, the internet tells him is bad. 

Watch gay movies (queer cinema, he says in his head, trying it out from what he’d read) is next. He has to make sure he looked completely comfortable with Junior and Jack kissing and the like when they came for Christmas. Luckily, the internet has a list of ones available on Netflix. Though, he’s not sure he’s supposed to talk to Junior about those either. He found one tweet or something in his search that seemed to imply that parents telling or asking their gay children about gay movies is awkward. Like assuming they all know each other. 

There seems to be a mighty fine line between not acknowledging that your kid is gay enough and talking about it too much and making them feel all different. It’s a shame he can’t ask Junior for some advice. But he’s already done enough damage. He’ll have to figure this out on his own. He had spoken disparagingly of parades and rainbows in the car because, sonuvabitch, that seems like a hellish way to spend a Saturday, what with the noise and the heat and people all crammed into a small area like that, but if… well if it would help Junior feel better, he could probably do it. For a couple hours. Maybe. 

He’ll have to talk to Junior directly more, he decides. Not just wait for major updates to come through Suzanne. He’ll have to--

“Hey, hon,” Suzanne says, stepping in front of him. He blinks and refocuses his eyes and wonders what brought her over. He doesn’t think it’s been as long as she usually stays. “You okay?”

“Wha- yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“Just checking,” she says. “You were just looking pretty intense, that’s all.”

“Just thinking about plans and stuff,” he replies. Not a lie. 

“Plans?”

“Football stuff,” now he’s lying. “Game was sloppy yesterday. Gotta tighten up.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says, patting his arm. She knows more about football than people assume and she can talk strategy with him when he needs to, but she’s not about to do it in Church. Sometimes she gets enough gossip here to last her the week. 

“You ready to go?” she asks.

“If you want,” he replies. “I can stay longer if you want to talk to--”

“No, no,” she says. “You were up at Samwell this week. Let’s head back.”

He nods and accepts it when her path to the exit leads them through the center of the room rather than around the outskirts. There are hugs and kisses on the cheek and he nods and says goodbye when prompted and they are just about out when--

“Oh, the Bittles!” It’s Martha. Her last name escapes him at the moment but it’s not a big deal. He waits for Suzanne to finish her hug and then he leans down and gives her a polite hug as well. “How are you two holding up?”

“Just fine,” Suzanne says. Richard bobs his head up and down in agreement. “Did Todd make it today?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s got that new job so he’s just been busy, busy, busy!”

“Oh well, send him our love,” Suzanne says effortlessly. “And we certainly know what it means to be a bit busy. Especially this time of year!.”

“Oh yes,” Martha says. “It’s always like school starts up again and then suddenly it’s Christmas!”

“With somehow a thousand stressful football games in the middle.”

“Seems the weeks get shorter every year,” Richard adds which is what he always adds during this conversation. 

“And the football games get longer,” Suzanne stage-whispers to Martha where it gets its usual short laugh and Richard shrugs to say ‘What can you do?’ and he’s pretty sure they have a clear shot to the door once they finish this one. 

“Speaking of,” Suzanne continues and here it is, her exit strategy. “This one’s got to get home to plan for next Saturday so…”

“Of course, of course,” Martha says, waving them on. “Good luck!” and that should be the end of it, except Martha leans in one last time to Suzanne, speaks softly enough that Richard knows the comment wasn’t really meant for him at all, and says:

“We’ve been praying for you, you know. You and little Dicky.”

Suzanne’s smile goes a bit off-center but she is turning the lean into a quick goodbye hug already and moving and--

“Praying for Junior?” Richard finds himself saying. His blood has gone a bit cold somehow. “Why?”

Maybe he meant it to come out confused and dumb-like. It doesn’t. It comes out like he actually meant it: accusatory. Barely polite. 

Martha freezes. Suzanne sort of looks at him, her eyes flashing a bit of a warning. He doesn’t know if it’s to not cause drama or to just ignore it but he does neither of those things. He just stands and waits for her answer. 

“Well,” Martha says, glancing quickly around, probably to check who is listening. No one really appears to be so far. He hadn’t actually spoken that loudly. “Well, you know, with the… the… you know.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. Suzanne is definitely glaring at him a bit now.

“We’re not judging,” Martha is saying, voice almost a whisper. “We love Dicky. We do. We’re just keeping him in our prayers while he works through…”

She fades out or at least Richard doesn’t hear if she says more because all he can hear is his son worrying that he is messed up somehow, that he needs to be fixed, that he’s anything less than perfect.

“My son,” Richard starts and it’s a bit of a fight to keep his voice even. He clears his throat and tries again. “My son is the captain of his college hockey team, is graduating this May, and is currently dating someone who makes him very happy. A man. His boyfriend. My son’s boyfriend makes him very happy. He just told me. He is very happy.”

Richard takes a breath. Now people are looking. Not everyone, he hadn’t been talking quite loud enough to cause that, but people near them are looking and Martha’s mouth is sort of hanging open and, actually, Suzanne looks a bit shocked himself and suddenly Richard is very aware that he does not want to be the center of attention anymore. If ever. 

“I- Well I--” Martha tries to start up again but Richard cannot even express how much he does not want to hear it. 

“I reckon you should save your prayers for those who actually need ‘em,” Richard says. “Which doesn’t include my boy.”

He moves then. He doesn’t care what she has to say or what anyone else has to say, and, God help him, he doesn’t even know if he cares what Suzanne has to say, not if it’s something negative or worried about the gossip he just started. He just nods one last time at her because that’s what he does when he walks away from someone and takes a few quick strides out of the room. Then it’s down the hall and hang a left and there.

Outside. 

That’s a bit better. Suzanne is right. It does get too hot in there. 

He’s just sort of standing there, taking deep breaths, calming down, hands on his hips, when suddenly an arm links through his. 

He waits a beat before looking down at Suzanne.

Her grin is blinding.

“You are brilliant,” she says, standing on her tip-toes and that’s his cue to lean over for a kiss on the cheek and he can feel a blush coming on (Junior thinks he gets that from his Mama, but that’s all Bittle). “Brilliant! I wish I had a picture of her face. God, she’s been saying that shit-- excuse my language, Jesus-- that shit for months and I’ve just been ignoring it and you! You just… Brilliant!”

She is bouncing and happy and they walk to the car, arm in arm, like back when they were dating and, alright, let’s not throw a parade or anything, he tells her, well aware that he’s still blushing, but--

It’s a start.  

[justacouplebandfics]

We’ve got scars on our future hearts (Jalex) - Chapter 1

Description: Alex dealt with self harm when he was younger, that's over now though- he's better, until he's not. Struggling with the idea of self harming as an adult Alex keeps the issue to himself, but living on a tour bus with your band there's only so long you can keep something a secret.

Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of self harm

It’s also available here on Wattpad, and you can find the masterlist here. 

Disclaimer: All self harm is valid self harm, all notions of 'real' self harm discussed in this fic come from a place of internal struggle.

Alex's POV

I flopped down on my bunk, exhausted from tonight's show- it was amazing, the crowd, the lights, I never get tired of it- looking out to the sea of smiling fans I'm always reminded how lucky I am to have made it like this. I couldn't ask for better band mates, the tour is going incredibly well, which is why it's just so hard to comprehend why I feel so down sometimes. It feels so selfish. There are people who have genuine problems who get up every day and get on with it and I'm sat here miserable for no good reason.

Pulling the curtain to my bunk closed I reach up to the little shelf and grab my sunglasses pouch, opening it and reaching into the little back pocket I sit and look at the small collection of blades. There's a couple I jimmied out of a pencil sharpener years ago and a new box cutter blade I brought the other week, I let out a tense breath as I pick it up and set it down on the duvet in front of me.

I struggled with self harm when I was younger, honestly I'm pretty sure with how the world is nowadays you'd be hard pushed to find someone that didn't at least think about it at that age. By younger I mean high school, your so-called glory days, even though it's only the privilege few who seem to get to actually enjoy it. It was never anything terrible- cat scratches really, yeah my thighs are absolutely riddled with scars but I can't remember ever cutting myself in a way that was any kind of impressive.

It got better after high school, All Time Low kicked off and I didn't even think about it for a while, kind of just forgot it was ever a thing- every now and then things got a bit too stressful and I'd return to it but I'd knock it off within a few days. I'm an adult, this isn't the way adults deal with their problems, it felt embarrassing to do it, childish.

I don't even remember what brought it back this time- I was alone on the bus one evening, a rare occurrence, and I just did it. I wasn't even particularly sad or angry, the urge just came out of nowhere and overwhelmed my mind. I never got rid of the blades from high school, they sat unused in an old sunglasses pouch for some glasses I hadn't picked up since high school either, so it was just too easy to go back to my bunk and slice up my thighs. I know I should have thrown them out, or not brought them with me, but a little part of my brain kept telling me at some point I'll relapse again and need them, and I guess it was right.

It wasn't anything awful that time either, three shallow cuts at the top of my thigh, on the clean scar-free skin I hadn't touched in my high school days. The clean up process was so familiar it was almost comforting, wiping up the blood, sticking on a bandage, pulling up my skinny jeans trying not to let them drag against it. I sat back down in the front lounge all too aware of the pain on my right thigh as Jack and Rian walked in, all smiles from meeting some fans. I plastered on a smile too and pretended everything was fine.

After blankly staring at the blade in front of my for what feels like forever I let out another tense breath and pick it up, pressing the sharp corner into the pad of my thumb, trying to find a reason for wanting to do this tonight. I can hear the guys' voices faintly from the front lounge, laughing about something; I think to myself for a moment that I could just put this away, I could go out there and laugh and have fun, I don't have to do this, but almost immediately the overwhelming urges drown those thoughts out.

I feel like I'm running on autopilot as I slip the blade into the back of my phone case, get out of my bunk and grab my towel from where it's hanging. Walking towards the front of the bus I crack open the door to the lounge, peeking my head around "Hey guys, I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick- was anyone waiting?" With only one shower on the bus and some venues not having any in the green room you can very quickly find yourself 5 deep in a queue to get clean after a show. My brain might be overrun with urges to slice my thighs open at the moment but I'm not about to be a queue-jumping asshole.

"Nah, you're all good" Jack pipes up from the couch, giving me a toothy grin that makes my stomach twist up. It's not that I feel guilty about them being sad or worried if they find out, it's the sheer embarrassment of it- this is something I did when I was younger and didn't know any better, it's not something you're meant to do as an adult. I can just imagine the looks of judgement if they ever saw, the mocking pity, I just couldn't do it.

After some sounds of agreement from the other guys, way more interested in whatever movie was on than who was in the shower, I shut the door and pick out a pair of joggers from my wardrobe as I head to the bathroom. Locking the door behind me I reach into the shower and turn it on, facing the shower head towards the wall. After shimmying out of my skinny jeans I put the toilet lid down and take a seat, pulling the blade out from the back of my phone case, balancing it on my thigh.

I bite at my bottom lip as I try to conjure up a reason for doing this again, coming up completely blank. My mind just feels like static at the moment and this is the only way I know how to stop it.

Fuck this is so stupid.

I pick up the blade and press the corner into my thigh, just below the ones from yesterday, slowly dragging it across my skin. The familiar pin prick pain lights up my thigh as I see little beads of blood start to form. Grabbing some toilet paper I wipe it away, repositioning my blade at the start of the cut again and going in for another swipe. I carry on like that for a little while- swipe, bleed, wipe, until there are 4 cuts, definitely not deep enough for any kind of medical attention, but deep enough to gape a bit.

I sit and admire them for a moment, I'm almost proud- the cuts now are so much deeper than they were in high school, they feel more like real self harm, but they still aren't deep enough. I press a clean piece of tissue to them to soak up the blood while I clean off the blade, drying it and slipping it back into my phone case. I pick up the paper and take another look, now the blood is wiped up I can see the 4 white lines, the gaping showing off the exposed dermis clearly.

Standing up I pick up all the bloodied tissues and throw them into the toilet, checking to see if I accidentally got any blood anywhere in the bathroom. Satisfied all the evidence of my sins is in the toilet bowl I step into the shower, mentally bracing myself for the stinging sensation that will come when I turn the shower head onto myself.

I stand under the stream for a while, having already showered earlier I don't feel the need to wash myself again, just wiping away any of the already dried blood on my thigh. I let the slightly-too-hot water burn my back as I press my forehead against the cool shower door, the shame starting to set in. At least my head feels clearer now, calmer.

I step out and dry off, grabbing the medical kit stashed under the sink and securing a bandage over the new cuts- trying to avoid placing the tape over the assortment of scabs already present. Throwing on the joggers and the t-shirt I came in with I flush the toilet and head back out to my bunk, making sure the curtain is shut firmly behind me before transferring the blade back to its rightful place.

I make my way to the front lounge, sitting myself down next to Jack who's sprawled out over one of the couches. Matt and Zack are sat on the floor, eyes glued to the TV, and Rian's taking up the other couch, half dozing off as he tries to follow the movie. I don't recognise it, and I don't bother to ask either, it looks like it's a fair way in and I hate being the person who keeps interrupting the movie to ask people to explain what's happening.

Instead I look to Jack, flashing him a quick smile which he promptly returns before turning back to the TV.

---

I'm not sure when I dozed off but it must've been a while ago because when I open my eyes it's just me and Jack in the lounge, and the TV has been switched off.

"Hey, sorry I didn't want to wake you, you looked so tired" I hear Jack say from above me- it's only now that I realise I've been lying with my head on his shoulder. Not that that matters, we've been best friends for years, we're ridiculously comfortable around each other.

I sit upright and shift to face him, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch, still a bit groggy "When did the others head to bed?" I ask.

"I dunno, maybe an hour ago?"

"Hmm," I hum, blinking away the fog of sleep and looking around.

"So two showers tonight, huh?" Jack asks, still looking down at his phone, mindlessly scrolling through twitter. I try to sus what he's getting at, my mind instantly jumping to 'he knows', I must have taken too long to respond because he looks away from his phone for a minute and gives me a slightly puzzled look "Lex?"

"Oh, yeah! Sweaty one, small venues are so nostalgic but damn do they get hot" I finally get out, playing off the delayed response as plain grogginess, laughing a bit. Jack chuckles and goes back to scrolling, I'd hoped nobody would've noticed I took two showers- I was one of the first back on the bus so I hopped in first right after the show, despite Jack's goofiness though he can be pretty observant sometimes. I push the question out of my mind as I stand up and stretch.

"I'm gonna head to bed, I'll catch you tomorrow" I say to Jack as I start walking towards the door.

"Night Lex" Jack calls back.

"Night Jack" I reply, shutting the door behind me and slipping into my bunk.

[diamondcamefromhell]

Timeless love

Jaskier x female!reader part 4

[PART 1]  [PART 2]   [PART 3]

Summary: This is an AU, where Y/N is a young woman, trying to make ends meet with her freelancing writing job. She lives in her small Nottingham studio apartment along with her cat Apollo. Things change when one evening as she is waiting for her taxi, she meets what she thinks is Joey Batey, but the man in front of her is convinced he’s Jaskier, a character from her current favorite show. Y/N now has to figure out what to do.

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,124

A/N: first of all, thank u for positive reviews and kind comments on this story so far, again, it is kind of a slow burner, everything is moving slowly but this is what the story really is, as its taking place in our world, where no dragons or strigas exist and the biggest monsters are, well.. humans? ya kno

but anyways, any and all feedback is appreciated <3

I have to cut our loses. We spend a good hour outside, wondering around my apartment building. But we find nothing, not even a smallest hint of what happened to make Jaskier end up here. The bard stays quiet for most of the search, as I can tell he is still very much worried about me.

He only speaks when he sees a car pass by, as it startles him so much he immediately jumps behind me. I explain to him what it is, or try to, and he relaxes a little. Still flinching whenever a car goes by, though.

We rush inside, before Dave decides to visit again, as I lock the door. Apollo comes to greet us, meowing, but I ignore my friend, as anxiety washes over me and I can barely contain it. I know my companion feels it, as he glues himself to me, following my every step as I rush to the kitchen.

I see Jaskier sit at the couch again, not saying anything. I want to break the silence, but know my voice would shake, and I didn’t want to worry him even more. I throw some toast in the toaster, I will offer him a meal as an apology. I put butter and cinnamon on toast, bringing it to him. I set the plate on the coffee table, sitting down.

“I’m sorry.” I apologize, as the man looks at me. I can’t put my finger on it, but his expression makes me feel weird.

“Don’t be, I over-stepped.” I shake my head, pressing my lips together. I am willing to swallow a bit of my pride for this man.

“No Jaskier. I just… I made a promise. To the stars.” I close my eyes, scared of him judging me. This way, at least I don’t have to see it. “That I would make it on my own. Whatever that it may be. I don’t like it when people help me or try to be nice to me. Makes me feel… weak.”

“But everyone needs help from time to time.” There is no judgement in his voice, so I open my eyes. He gives me a kind smile, as Apollo jumps in my lap, purring. “You are helping me, does it mean I am weak?”

“No.” I say, biting the inside of my mouth, trying to stop the water works from leaking.

“Then why are you weak, if I help you a little?” I can’t answer that, so I just look down, at my cat, who is now napping, soundly. He has a point. “You’re being unfair on yourself. Allow me to say this, Y/N, even my great friend Geralt needs help sometimes. And he’s the bloody Witcher. It does not make him any weaker, if anything, it shows strength.”

“I know.” My voice shakes a little, as I wipe my nose. My eyes may be dry, but nose was runny. “It’s just, I prefer to be alone.”

“I used to say that.” His mind drifts far away. I cant help but admire how beautiful he manages to look. “But I hated nothing more than being alone.”

“I have Apollo.” I argue. He sighs, looking at me.

“Y/N.” He speaks to me like I am a child. We lock eyes, and I see so much care in his gaze, I want to run away. But I stay. “You need people.”

“Either way.” I say, ignoring him. I am barely holding back the tears. “Eat your meal. I have something to show you.”

I spring to my feet. Showing him moving pictures may be a good enough distraction for now. Introducing him to some of the great Internet, so we can avoid the sensitive topics. I look down to see my hands still shaking, so I rush to the bathroom.

There I see Jaskier clothes in a pile on the floor. I sigh, folding them, as tears escape my eyes. I turn on the faucet, making sure the bard can’t hear my heavy breaths and sniffling. It takes me a couple of minutes of crying to clam down. I wash my face, avoiding looking in the mirror. I stop the faucet and flush the toilet, purely because I am scared to go out just yet.

When I do, however, he doesn’t look at me, and I feel relieved. I rush to the bed, grabbing my laptop, soon landing next to him. Our legs touch and I feel the build up static shock me, so I jump back. He giggles, but I ignore that, opening up the computer, entering my password in a quick move.

One glance at him, and I see how mesmerized he is, my heart feels like it will burst. I take a couple deep breaths, wondering what I could show him.

YouTube and Netflix both were dangerous, as they could have his show on the main page, I still bite the bullet, turning the screen from his eyes, going to youtube. As expected, my feed is filled with recommended videos from Joey Batey. I stare at Jaskier for a moment, wondering if somehow he could be Joey, just very confused and lost one. But then I remember the Instagram story, and know I’m grasping at straws.

I search for cat videos, not sure what else to show him. What would interest a man who thinks he is from a fantasy world?

“Look.” I say, pressing play. It seems like his eyes are about to fall out as he stares at the screen, I giggle landing my hand on his. “Relax.”

“What is this magic?” I pause the video, pulling my hand away. Our eyes meet.

“This, Jask, is video. Moving pictures, if you will.” He still seems confused. “We have these things called cameras, that can take not-moving images of a moment, so you can cherish it, or can take moving things, like this cat video. There is even more, people create characters and stories and film them.”

“Do you have a camera?” I nod, putting laptop on the table, as I rush to get my Canon. I come back, turning it on. I decide to use the view finder. I sit next to him. “Here.”

“How do I use it?” He asks, twisting it around, before he begins staring at the screen.

I explain. Then he takes some pictures, of my room, me, my laptop and Apollo. I take some of him, and we even try to take some together, as we both laugh, trying to fit in that small space.

Then I show him some films. I start with my personal favourite and a classic – Titanic. Stopping whenever he get’s to confused, explaining things. We move to more and more films, only taking a break when we both get hungry.

I take the chance and sacrifice my wallet and order us some pizza, which he seems to like. He tries his first fizzy drink, Sprite, and at first he hates it, but I see him sip it more and more as the day progresses.

It keeps up for a couple of weeks. We spend days watching movies as he slowly learns more about the way my world works. We spend some of my savings as I order different take out, but eventually he helps me cook some dinner for us. He slowly, but surely adapts.

Until it all crashes down.

I go to use the bathroom, leaving Jaskier at the laptop. When I come out, however, he is on his feet, anxiously walking around. I stop, my heart dropping to my feet. I see Joey’s face on the screen. No, not his.

I see Jaskier. A video of him, in the tavern, signing.  

He probably went to YouTube And found a video of himself. And a whole lot of questions.

My gaze goes from the screen, to the man, who has stopped pacing, and now is staring at me. His eyes burn, as I see betrayal written all over it. I don’t know what he even thinks is going on and I don’t know how I can explain it to him.

“Jaskier, please.” I point to the couch, but he just shakes his head. I put my hands behind my back, so he wouldn’t see them shake.

“What does that mean?” He asks, as his voice breaks. I feel my heart shatter.

“Please, sit down.” I try to plea, my voice slightly shaky.

“Just tell me what it means!” I flinch at his yell, fighting back the tears. No matter how much it hurts me, I know that he was hurting so much more.

“I don’t know.” I say, and that is the honest truth. His shoulders hang low. “Jaskier, I don’t know.”

“I’m a character.” His voice fills with disgust, as a sudden rush of bravery washes over me. I step to him, grabbing his shoulders.

“You’re so much more than that. You’re here.” I plead again, forcing him to look at me. “You’re you.”

“I’m not even real.” He hisses, escaping my grip. I wrap my hands around myself, as I continue staring at him, as he walks around. Looking for something, anything probably. Wanting things to make sense.

“Then am I crazy and just imagining you? Dave saw you too, Jaskier.” I raise my voice, which makes him stop pacing. Our eyes meet. “You are as real as me. This world just isn’t yours. How that happened, I don’t know, and we will get you home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There is so much hurt in his voice that I want to hide under my bed. Run away. Escape. But I choose to stay, for him.

“There is no easy way to say something like this. I don’t even know what this is!” My voice cracks, and that makes Jaskier’s expression soften a little. The storm is passing. “Yes, I recognized you as Joey because he plays you. But you are more than Jaskier we can see on tv. You’re more.”

“Y/N.” Tears escape and that completely washes any and all anger the bard might have had. He comes to me, pulling me towards himself, until we are in an embrace.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” I sheepishly say, as he rubs my back. “Hiding it wasn’t right. But explaining this… it’s just unexplainable.”

“I can’t expect you to have all the answers.” I shake my head, as he hugs me tighter. I hear him sigh. “I’m sorry. I scared you. You were trying to protect me.”

“You had a right to be mad.” I say, as tears finally seem to stop. I wipe my eyes and nose to my sleeve, but Jaskier doesn’t let me go just yet.

“You’ve been nothing, but kind to me. You gave me a home.” He lands a kiss on my forehead, as my heart melts. “I should be thanking you.”

He now lets me go. I wrap my hands around me, as I watch him go to the laptop, give it one final look, as he closes it. My heart breaks and I know he probably will look at it more. When I leave him alone, or at night. He will hurt himself more but he will never show me.

Because he knows it would hurt me too.

“When you said who you were, Jask, I didn’t believe it. I’ve seen the show. That’s how I knew about Geralt and Yen.” I confess, as he looks at me. His face expressionless. “That’s also why it was so easy to take you home. It felt like I knew you. Because if you were who you said you are… I’ve seen you. You were already part of my world.”

“You liked me?” He asks, crossing his arms. I can’t help but smile.

“I did. You were truly my favourite.” That makes him smirk, but his eyes remain sad. “Getting to know you, only furthers that.”

“I want to watch the show.” He says, and I knew he would. I bite inside of my mouth, as I think about it.

“I can’t stop you from watching your own story, Jask.” I say, hugging myself tighter. “I cant try and protect you anymore.”

“Watch it with me.” Our eyes lock as my heart skips a beat. He seems so sad and scared.

“Of course.” I say, swallowing back more tears.

So we watch it. We watch his story unfold. I avoid looking at him during these eight hours, scared of what he may look like. After the finale, I pause the show before another one starts. There is silence between us as I finally look at him.

He has tears in his eyes, and for a second time today, I feel my heart shatter.

[PART FIVE]

~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST [if you want to be added or removed from this list, let me know <3]

@ultracolorfulnerdcollection ; @viyamystic ; @sleepyblossom ; @killjoy-acid-crash ; @halszka-potter <33

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Karma - Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Everything is good. Everything owed to him is being repaid – that’s how he likes to look at it. He’s married. A couple of kids. A nice house in Greenwich Village. It’s all so domestic, he could be sick. But he’s happy. And after taking stock of his entire life for the better part of the night, he’s come to the conclusion that he fucking deserves that happiness, thank you very much Universe.

[GIF isn’t mine. Originally posted by nonartblog]

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes Richie up: which isn’t a first, but it’s not entirely common either. His therapist would be proud. In the past couple of months, nightmares have become less and less frequent. He’s been able to sleep through the night without the need to take anything beforehand. And honestly, that’s all he ever asks for.

It’s five in the morning. He glances to the digital clock sitting on his bedside table. It blinks back at him for a moment before the next minute ticks over. It’s been like that for a while now; him staring straight up at the ceiling of his room, and every so often, he would look to see if any substantial amount of time had ticked by. And it never had.

What woke Richie up tonight was just his brain wandering. Maybe it’s because his therapist is actually good, and for the most part, lets him ramble on and on in their sessions about anything and everything, but since today’s session, he hasn’t been able to switch his brain off. 

Everything is good. Everything owed to him is being repaid – that’s how he likes to look at it. He’s married. A couple of kids. A nice house in Greenwich Village. It’s all so domestic, he could be sick. But he’s happy. And after taking stock of his entire life for the better part of the night, he’s come to the conclusion that he fucking deserves that happiness, thank you very much Universe.

Everyone else seems happy too. Eddie surely must be: Richie will maintain to the end of his life and then some that he’s the best thing to ever happen to Eddie. And how tightly he’s entwined into Richie’s side right now, buried underneath a heap of blankets in their shared bed, a soft smile curled along his lip, Richie can only assume Eddie is happy. The rest of the Losers have their own lives now. All carved out for themselves and dotted around the country.

And after the lives they had all had, karma was really starting to play catch up in terms of paying them back. Like the universe was saying sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry and kept pushing nice things at them all.

The arm slung over his waist tightens and Eddie shuffles closer. His nose presses into Richie’s neck, hot puffs of steady, constant breath wetting the join of Richie’s neck and shoulder. And Richie’s heart just about grows ten sizes. Eddie had been a brief segment of his session today with the Doc. He always manages to be. But then again, Richie still can’t believe that he’s able to have what he has. He’s able to have it and not feel afraid.

He wants to go back to his younger self, have him stand in front of him, and say “Hey, that thing you’re scared of? Well, listen to me; it’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be fine. The kid you like likes you too, and you’re going to get married, and adopt the cutest little gremlins you’ve ever seen. And that dickhead will insist on getting a Pomeranian just because, but you’ll end up loving it. And he’s going to be angry because that rat with a fro will love you more than him—”

A crackle of noise goes through the air. Turning his head, Richie adjusts his glasses and blinks at the baby monitor sitting next to his clock. It’s quiet for a moment, before the lights ripple again.

On his other side, Eddie hums against Richie’s shoulder. He makes some sort of noise – maybe even a word – but Richie hushes him. “I’ll get her,” Richie whispers, “go back to sleep.”

Eddie slips back under within seconds. As Richie slowly untangles himself from Eddie’s grasp, he tries not to cry at the sight of his husband shuffling into the warm space Richie left behind. It takes every ounce of willpower that he has in him to step away from their bed and not fall back into it. But the monitor’s lights blink again. This time, it’s followed by a static mumble of words. He turns down the volume and goes to see what the problem is.

He puts his hand against the wall and wanders out into the hallway. He’s been awake for a while now, but that’s not to say that the rest of his body is. Stumbling down the hall, by the time he gets to the last bedroom before the stairs, he’s met with a gummy grinning face peering over the railing of a crib. “Whatcha doin’ kiddo?”

Even without the lights on, Richie watches the kid’s face light up and disappear behind two tiny hands. Richie reaches for a small lamp on a nearby dresser. The lancet windows of the room look out on to the street, and although the main city never sleeps, the village is still dozing. And he doesn’t think the neighbours would appreciate having the lights of his house on at this time in the morning. Striding over to the crib, Richie adjusts his glasses. “What’re you doing up, hmm?”

The girl giggles behind her hands. A smile overtakes Richie’s face. If there’s anything that can make him laugh, it’s this kid.

“Come on then, tyke.” Richie fishes her out of the crib and into his arms. She’s a tiny thing, just coming up on three, but she’s still small for her age. They think it’s because of life before them. The social worker explained that she didn’t have the best life: that she could be difficult because of past traumas. And that was when they decided to have her. Because they understood. They could help. They could look after her. She buries her head into Richie’s shoulder, chewing on her closed fist. Richie turns off the light. “Let’s go see what’s on TV.”

She isn’t their only kid. Richie walks past the rooms of two others. But through their slightly ajar doors, he sees that they’re still sleeping: and even if only one of these kids got at least eight hours sleep, then he’ll count that as a win.

Their house is one of the bigger ones in the village. If Eddie insisted on having a big family, then it had to fit in the house. And two adults, three kids, and a small but monstrous dog needed space. Richie walks them both into the living room. It's open planned with the kitchen, and plates from last night’s dinner are still stacked in the drying rack. Richie tries not to groan. Eddie’s going to be annoyed that they weren’t put back: because steadily, he’s turned into that kind of husband, and Richie loves to poke fun at him for it.

Next thing he knows, he’ll be dragged to PTA meetings where Eddie will be throwing hands with Karen and Susan from Soho. And he’d be lying if Richie said that he didn’t plan on Instagram-living it for all of his fans to see.

Under the kitchen island, their little gremlin of a dog is snoring peacefully. As Richie grabs a couple of throws from the back of the main couch, the girl in his arms spots the dog.

“Alfwie,” she waves her hand at the dog. The dog, to Richie’s surprise, actually wakes up. It regards them both for a moment before huffing, and curling back into a ball in his bed.

“Leave Alfie be, Soph,” Richie sets her down on to the couch while he sees what they can watch. TV in the twilight hours is just weird. Reruns of shows he hasn’t seen in decades play, followed by shows that probably shouldn’t have been made in the first place. Richie manages to find an old rerun of Peppa Pig, and settles down with Sophie by his side. She’s managed to burrito herself in a cocoon of blankets.

The TV is quiet, but Sophie must be able to hear what’s going on. She’s content to watch what’s happening. As Richie watches her, he sees her eyelids start to droop, before her head starts to dip. Within a couple of seconds, she’s managed to claw back consciousness and focus back on the TV.

His phone buzzes against his thigh.

Bevvy: So I know why I’m up at 5:08 am, but why are you?

Richie stifles a laugh, making sure that the kid didn’t catch on that he wasn’t watching the TV.  

Trashmouth: Sophie decided that sleeping wasn’t really her thing. We’re watching Peppa Pig now until she realises that she does actually need to sleep.

It takes a minute for a reply to come back.

Bev: Good luck with that.

Trashmouth: So why are YOU awake at this hour?

Bev: Caleb has a fever. I gave him some medicine so just waiting for him to go back to sleep.

Trashmouth: Where’s Haystack?

Bev: Out cold in bed.

Trashmouth: Same with my man...

Bev: They really are useless, huh?

Trashmouth: I mean the sex must be amazing or else we wouldn’t bother.

Bev: Beep Beep, Richie. Kids are present.

Sophie feels that bit heavier by Richie’s side. He glances down at the tiny bundle of blankets, with blond, wild, curly hair sticking out from the top of it. Yeah, he thinks. She’s gonna drop in the next few minutes. As long as Peppa or the rest of her friends don’t suddenly go on some roughhousing adventure, Sophie will fall asleep.

Trashmouth: Well sucks to be you, Bevvy, because I think this kid is on her way to Dreamland.

Bev: Fuck you, Richard. Fuck. You.

And Richie watches her go. He’s learned to wait at least five minutes before trying to move a sleeping child: because sometimes, that child isn’t sleeping, and they’ll wake back up and insist on staying up. But when it’s clear that Sophie is out for the count, he fishes her and her cocoon of blankets back up into his arms.

With the TV turned back off, and an unimpressed Pomeranian staring at them for bothering him at this hour, Richie starts to walk back upstairs towards the bedrooms. His phone buzzes again in the pocket of his sweatpants. With Sophie held firmly in one arm, Richie fishes it out.

Bev: Ben and I need to go to New York for a work thing. Wanna hang?

Trashmouth: Sure! I’ll let the husband know

Trashmouth: Oh my God. We can double-date. I call dibs on Haystack.

Bev: I mean, we can’t get a sitter for Caleb, so the kid is coming with us

Trashmouth: Don’t worry about it. Eddie has a harem of sitters that have all been vetted and screened and interrogated. The kids can have a sleepover here. Nothing is getting in the way of me and Benny Boy having a romantic, candlelit date <3

Richie gently sets Sophie down in her bed. She snuffles for a second, fingers tightening their grip in the front of Richie’s shirt, but he eventually untangles her and she slips back off to sleep.

FaceTime sessions are once every two weeks. In between those, they’ll text and berate each other on social media, and it’ll be to the surprise of everyone that yes, that famous author Bill Denbrough is childhood friends with that comedian Richie Tozier-Kaspbrak, who married a risk analyst called Eddie, who seems to be the source of most of Richie’s new material. And they know that famous fashion designer and women’s shelter manager, Beverly Hanscom – who married an architect, and didn’t he work on that apartment block in New York—

But sometimes seeing each other on a screen isn’t enough. Eddie is the first to greet Ben and Bev when they get to their door. Caleb ducks under Eddie’s arm, offers a quick Hi! before running into the house looking for the twins. He passes Richie on the staircase, fresh off the phone to the babysitter. She’s on the way, thirty minutes out from their house. Just enough time to make sure the kids are settled before they go.

Sophie toddles by his side, hand firmly caught in his. She doesn’t always like when her dads leave, but she likes Megan the Sitter. And hopefully, Richie has been able to ply her with enough promises of that chocolate cake she likes from the bakery on the other side of the Village.

Eddie brings both Bev and Ben into the kitchen. The dog is at his heels, as is usual. Always following and watching, making sure that whoever is in the house isn’t trouble. Then again, Richie can’t imagine a nine-inch tall dog can put up much of a fight.

But Eddie has always seemed capable of defending himself, so maybe Richie should cut the dog some slack.

“There she is!” Beverly spots both Richie and Sophie stepping into the kitchen.

“Aunt Bevvy,” Sophie scrambles over and wraps her arms tightly around the woman’s legs. A high-pitched giggle escapes her as Beverly untangles her arms and hoists her up into her arms.

Eddie slides a beer bottle over to Ben, standing at the other side of the island. “Is Megan on her way?” he asks Richie, uncapping a bottle for himself and his husband.

Richie nods. “She’ll be here in thirty minutes. The trains are apparently backed up.” Sophie is eventually let back down, and as soon as her feet touch the ground, she scampers over to Eddie’s side. Richie hugs Beverly. He nods a greeting at Ben. “So what’s the plan? Are we tearing up the town?”

Ben laughs into his bottle. “The only thing you’ll be tearing at this age is a muscle, Trashmouth.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “There’s a table at Bella Italia booked for eight, and we can go for drinks after that if everyone is game?”

Richie watches his husband comb his fingers through Sophie’s hair. It’ll be a struggle trying to get out of the house without her attached to either of their legs; but that’s a problem they’ll deal with. Probably.

By the time the babysitter comes, Eddie has already explained to her everything that she should do if something happens; the emergency numbers are pinned to the fridge, the kids should be in bed at a certain time, one of the twins could have the beginnings of a cold and there are about seven types of cold and flu mediation in the bathroom cabinets—

Eventually, Richie loops his arm with one of Eddie’s and hauls him down the steps of their house. “Bye Megan!” He calls over his shoulder.

Eddie has some sort of blanket rule across all three of the kids that none of them are allowed to look at Richie’s comedy until they’re eighteen.

It’s a bullshit rule. Richie knows for a fact that even though they’re only nine, one if not both of the twins have definitely Googled something. No kid learns that many swear words in an afternoon; especially since Eddie has tried to rein in the swearing around all of the kids.

But it was pretty funny when Allie caught the left side of her hip against the edge of the kitchen island and yelled fuck in front of both of them.

Richie hasn’t stopped laughing since.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie asks one day, putting the last of the washed plates back into the cupboards.

Richie blinks. “Sure,” he says. Almost as soon as the word is out, he tries to keep his heart beating at a steady beat.

Eddie dries his hands and turns, leaning back against the countertop. “Do you think...?” His brow furrows in that way it normally does when he’s confused. Or thinking too hard about something. Richie tilts his head. He hasn’t seen it for a while. “Do you think that we’ll...ever be like our parents?”

There it is. Something in his mind whispers. He shakes it off. “What do you mean?” Richie closes the space between them. He stands in front of the other man, fishing out one of Eddie’s hands from his crossed arms. He might have been emotionally stunted at one part of his life; but he guesses that something must have changed along the way. Something Doc must have said switched something in his head, and he’s able to address things better than before. He’ll still crack a joke: that kind of trauma-response doesn’t just go away. But looking at Eddie now, the fear that’s starting to creep back into his eyes, he knows that if he tried to say something funny now he’d get a fist right into the teeth.

“Where’s this coming from, huh?” Richie lets their fingers tangle. “What’s going on in that head, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie snorts. “A couple of bi-weekly sessions with a shrink and you think you’ve got skills.”

Richie shrugs a shoulder. “You’re going to one too, babe.” And Richie is only slightly bitter that Eddie’s psychiatrist is hotter than his. Is it something they’ve talked at length about before? Yes. Is it something that Eddie holds over his head at every available moment? Yes.

Eddie looks down at their hands for a second before sighing. “I don’t know. I just...I guess I look at everything we have and just feel...guilty? I feel guilty. Like we shouldn’t have it. Wait, no. Like I shouldn’t have it.”

Richie’s hold on his hand firms. But he doesn’t interrupt.

A streamline of thought comes rushing out of Eddie’s mouth. Something that has apparently been brewing for a while. “I mean, everything has just been so good in the past couple of years and I just wonder...what I did to deserve it.”

“You got fucking stabbed by an alien-clown-thing, is what.” Richie sighs. “You had a pretty shitty life, Eds. We all did. And you fucking died. You were killed. And when you came back, when we killed that fucking clown, and we hauled your ass out of that place, and you started breathing again outside, that was the start of it.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “The start of what?”

Richie makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Karma starting to pay us back for everything. And I didn’t believe in that shit until you came back. And when everything after that, when everything was so bad and dark, everything started being good, I thought to myself; surely this is it. Someone Upstairs is definitely paying off some long overdue dues.”

Even in the minimal lighting they have in the kitchen, only used when it’s the two of them and the kids have been spirited away to bed hours before, Richie spots tears starting to form in the corners of Eddie’s eyes. “Don’t you dare cry, dude,” Richie sniffs. “Because I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Eddie says, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m just...confused.”

“We’ve both been through so much shit. Well, one of us definitely had it worse,” Richie grins. He takes it as a minor victory when a ghost of a smile ghosts Eddie’s lips. “Don’t you think it’s time we got good things?”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. “I suppose.”

Richie frames Eddie’s face with his hands. Brushing his thumbs along his husband’s cheekbones, he doesn’t mention it when he feels a small drop of moisture underneath his thumb. He doesn’t mention that Eddie’s eyes are getting more bloodshot as the minutes pass. “Do you want to call your Hot Shrink tomorrow and talk it out? I can take the twins to school.”

Eddie catches Richie’s wrists. The smile trying to tug at the corners of his lips eventually succeeds to appear. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “I got a free shrink right here.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Yes, but with Doctor What’s His Name you’ll be getting eye-candy too.”

“You’re hotter.” Eddie slides his hands up Richie’s forearms. “And free.”

Richie balks. “Edward.”

Eddie lifts his chin. “Richard.”

A challenge if ever Richie saw one. “You know,” he says, “if my back wasn’t in a constant threat of being thrown out any second, I’d have carried you to our bedroom already.”

Eddie laughs. A light little thing. “You don’t need to carry me anywhere,” he nods towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be carried? You’re so little.”

“I wouldn’t want to explain to paramedics why you’re on the ground with a broken back.”

“I’m sure they’d get a kick out of it.” Richie gapes. “Imagine the headlines? Famous Comedian’s back blown out by his Sexy Husband. There are all kinds of ways to read into it.”

“Oh my God, stop.” Eddie wiggles out of Richie’s hold and walks towards the hall. He glances over his shoulder. “Turn off the lights when you decide to stop dicking around and join me.”

Originally published on AO3

[batbirdies]

NaNoWriMo 2019 Batfam Fic Part 2

Part 2 of my Jason Todd Batfam fic where Jason eventually agrees to dog sit Titus, there are some deep seated issues, unintended animal therapy, snarky text messages between robins and eventually some reconciliation between father and son. Takes place in a murky in between time sometime after Damian was resurrected.

(This is a very rough draft, I switch tenses and make lots of mistakes, you are warned)

Part 1

Jason was exhausted. He was dragging so hard that he’d fallen asleep on his couch while attempting to drink his damn coffee.

When you only slept for three hours after getting some pretty heavy exercise in the freezing rain, woke up from terrorizing nightmares and then spent an hour fighting off emotions you didn’t want to have it meant that as soon as he had calmed down enough to sit, the comfort of his couch was enough to put him out in minutes. He’d fallen asleep sitting up with his head lolling back in the couch cushions and he woke with a start to the sound of his ringtone coming from the kitchen, where he’d left his phone charging. His neck screamed when he picked his head up off the back of the couch and he groaned, reaching a hand up to rub at his aching vertebrae.

Standing up he nearly falls over, having to shake the dead limb feeling out of his legs before shuffling into his kitchen. He catches sight of the clock on the microwave and groans again, because it’s 11am and he still feels like he just crawled out from under a rock.

It’s the grogginess, he thinks later, that’s to blame for his absentmindedness. Because he doesn’t pause to check the caller ID before pressing accept and holding his phone to his ear.

“Yeah?” His voice is gravelly with sleep and he barely stifles a yawn before he suddenly feels like ice is pouring down his spine.

“Jason.” It’s Bruce, and he sounds surprised, like he wasn’t expecting an answer. Jason wants to laugh because yeah you shouldn’t. And for the life of him he nearly hangs up without another word but that would just be weird and as far as anyone else knows everything is normal in the status quo. He can just picture Dick showing up to his apartment acting all chummy just so he can get the scoop on what’s up with the black sheep of the family.

And maybe there’s a little bit of him still aching on the inside over a book and a damn movie.

“...Jay…?”

“Yeah, Bruce, what’s up?” He clears his throat awkwardly, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at his shitty linoleum floors wondering if the falseness in his voice can be heard over the phone.

“I um...how are you?” Jason blinked, feeling his shoulders crawling up to his chin.

“Fine.” His voice is clipped, but that ache goes a little deeper. He’s not...used to being asked.

“That’s….that’s good.” There’s an awkward pause on the line and Jason stands away from the counter and forces his shoulders down, stretching his neck back and forth before he walks back into the living room and perches on the edge of the couch. He doesn’t know what to say back, doesn’t know if Bruce is even expecting a response ‘cause it’s not really the typical way their calls go. If there even is one, considering he can’t actually remember the last time they spoke on the phone.

Sure he’d get a contact over comms during patrol on occasion but never a phone call in the middle of the day. There’s a weird, tight ball of anxiety hovering just below his ribs and Jason grinds a thumb into his sternum. Bruce was the one that cleared his throat then and Jason tries to imagine what he’s doing on the other end of the line. Is he at work? Sitting in his study at the manor? Down in the cave?

“I know this is...a little unusual, and very last minute, but I was wondering if you might be able to do me a favor.”

Ah, there it is. Jason feels the tension go out of his frame and ignores the twisting knife sensation in his stomach. It’s a Batman thing. That’s fine. Jason wasn’t expecting anything else.

“What can the Red Hood do for you?” He asks back, trying to keep the casual tone but hearing just how flat it sounds. Doesn’t matter, Bruce will never say anything.

“Actually….this isn’t a...cape thing.”

“Well then maybe you should spit it out.” Jason barely resists biting his tongue. It wasn’t exactly the unaffected tone he was going for. He’s usually a much better actor, he puts it down to the lack of sleep as he rubs his eyes, noticing a small chip in the finish of his coffee table when he opens them, ignoring the unexplained acrobatics his insides are doing, pushing down the thought of the gift stashed in the bottom of his dresser.

“Right...you see, I’m going out of town for business starting tomorrow. I’m taking Damian along with me, he….wanted to come.” Bruce pauses for a long moment to the point that Jason begins to get antsy, tugging on a loose thread in his T-shirt until it tears before he bites off a sigh.

“And?”

“And...he is concerned about Titus.”

“Titus.” Jason slumps back in his couch, scowling at the blank screen of his TV. “Who the hell is Titus?”

“...His dog.” Mouth open, Jason stops.

“...His what?” Somehow the conversation isn’t going anywhere he was prepared for and Jason is thrown.

“Titus is Damian’s dog. A Great Dane.” The statement makes sense, in an abstract way but it still doesn’t make sense.

“And….you’re telling me this because?”

“Apparently he hasn’t been getting enough exercise since the weather’s been getting worse. Damian usually walks him twice a day, normally Alfred would handle it for him while we’re gone but his knee has been bothering him and I don’t want him doing it.”

There is a very obvious connection Jason feels like he should be making that just isn’t coming to him, like he’s looking at a puzzle missing a single piece and yet he still can’t figure out what he’s looking at.

“I….was hoping you might walk Titus while we’re gone.”

Ah, there it was, the last piece slotting into place. And Jason can see the picture now, but it’s a bizarre one.

“You want me to walk the demon’s dog.”

“I….” Jason is waiting for some sort of scolding for calling the boy names but it doesn’t come. “Yes, if you’re available.” If he’s available? What the hell kind of question is that coming from Bruce?

This whole conversation is throwing him for a loop.

“If I’m available.” He hears an odd shuffling noise in the background and he can just picture Bruce turning away from the phone to give a heavy sigh so Jason’t can’t hear it.

“Yes Jay, if you’re available.”

“Because you don’t already know if I’m available or not.”

“Jay.” And now Jason can hear that signature frustration peaking through, and really, he is being a little shit about this whole thing but his brain is still stuck at the beginning of this conversation like he’s hit a wall he can’t find his way around. He slumps back into the couch cushions, scowling at his blank tv screen, staring at his own reflection. He looks like a pissy preteen and it just makes him more annoyed.

“I don’t understand why you’re asking me. What about Dick? Or Tim? Or Cass?” Because since when has Jason been top of the list?

“Dick is living in Bludhaven again, the distance makes it difficult, it’s just not really doable for him. Cass is in Hong Kong until just before we return. Tim…” Here Bruce does let out an audible sigh, it comes out like a burst of static on his end of the line and has Jason flinching away from the phone. “Tim and Damian don’t get alone well. Damian would not be….agreeable to leaving it to him and I’m reluctant to ask Tim for a favor in Damian’s behalf at this point in time.” Jason watches his own face contort in the reflection on the TV.

“Reluctant to ask Tim, but not me.” Jason hadn’t forgotten the time the kid had snuck into his safe house and tried to stab him.

Not that Jason hadn’t returned the favor. He supposed they were even.

“That’s - I thought you might do it more for the dog.” The heavy resignation in Bruce’s voice almost makes Jason laugh.

“Why can’t this mutt just go outside on its own? Not like the manor grounds aren’t massive, he can run around and exercise all her wants can’t he?” And he’s just being difficult at this point, maybe, but he’s rolling the request over in his head looking for some kind of ulterior motive because things are rarely ever this simple with Bruce and he wants the full picture before he agrees to anything.

“Damian is insistent that Titus hates the rain and he won’t go outside longer than he has to without being walked.”

“And what, exactly, is going to happen to this dog without his twice daily walks for a week? Sudden death?”

There is silence on the line for a long moment and Jason thinks maybe he’s pushed it just that bit too far that Bruce is going to give up and try to get Dick to do it after all but then finally, he responds.

“Apparently the Breed is prone to weight issues and heart disease and he’s been gaining weight. Damian get’s….a little overprotective of his pets. If we can’t find someone to walk him while we’re gone I think he’s going to end up staying home and I’d….I’d like him to come with me.”

Jason gets this weird, unexpected twist in his stomach that makes him swallow. Bruce’s voice is quiet, earnest in a way Jason barely recognizes.

“Thought this was a business trip.” He mumbles in response, feeling suddenly tired again.

“It is…we won’t get to do much sightseeing but he expressed interest in coming along and I know he’ll be disappointed if he ends up staying.”  Jason wants to bite back something about being around more instead of leaving on stupid business trips and Justice League missions, maybe the kid wouldn’t care so much then.

But he doesn’t. Instead he thinks of Bruce calling Jason out of the blue, the kid he can barely talk to, in order to ask him a favor for the brat because Bruce wants the kid to come along.

Remembers being that kid, wanting nothing more than to follow Bruce wherever he went even if it meant spending 8 hours a day in a stuffy office while Bruce was in meetings, barely catching glimpses of him until the end of the day. That or holed up in a hotel room by himself. Living for the evenings when it would just be the two of them and they could go on some short little adventure to somewhere new. Even if it was just to try a restaurant they couldn’t go to at home.

And then he thinks of the crumpled up card stashed in the base of his dresser and it feels like there’s a weight on his chest, something keeping his lungs from expanding all the way. He looks up at the ceiling, staring at cracked plaster and poorly addressed water damage before he can manage to muster up the energy for a proper response.

“Fine. I’ll watch the damn dog, but I’m not going to the manor every day. If you want me to walk him then you’re gonna need to drop him off with me and he can stay here.”

“That…seems reasonable. Damian probably won’t be very happy about it but I think he’ll live.” There’s a hint of good humor in Bruce’s voice and Jason tries to smash down the corresponding lift in his own mood. “Thank you Jay, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah Whatever. Just text me when you’re gonna bring him ‘round so I can make sure to be here.”

[loudhouse-genderbent-headcanons]

Can we have a situation where one of tge brothers misunderstands a conversation shes having with claire on the phone about a group of 10 somethings like say plush toys or tv characters abd says “out of all 10 of them i gotta day he’s my favorite” abd they think she has a favorite brither and theyre all determined to “subtly” find out who it is

I love this ask so much. 

———-

~ It would start on a typical Saturday morning. The brothers are in the hallway, doing their normal things: causing chaos. Luke is rockin’, Lars is sitting on the stairs reading, Lane is telling his jokes with Mrs. Coconuts, Lexx and Lynn are racing, etc.

~ Meanwhile, Linka is in her room, avoiding all the chaos. She loves her brothers’ insanity, but she is deciding to take a break for one Saturday. She’s talking to Claudia on her phone about a new TV show they watched that has ten main characters.

~ After chasing his lizard Lizzy trying to protect her from Lexx’s car, Leif grabs her by Linka’s door. But he stops when he hears Linka’s voice.

~ “My favorite. Out of all ten of them?” Linka says through the door. Leif puts Lizzy in his pocket and puts his ear up to the closed door to hear better. “I mean, if I have to choose it’s gotta be him,” she continues.

~ Leif worries she’s talking about her brothers.

~ [pause for a couple seconds] “Yes! It has to be him. Thinking about it now, the choice is obvious.”

~ Leif, now freaking out, he runs through the hallway and calls an emergency brother meeting.

~ The boys meet in Loki and Loni’s room and Leif tells them what he overheard. The brothers are confused, and ask why she would have a favorite out of them.

~ However, immediately, Luke proudly claims her favorite brother to be him. He says it’s because Linka loves his music and hangs out with him more than any of the other idiots. But Levi rebuttals, saying she likes hanging out with all of them, no matter the length she does so. And that just because she loves his music, doesn’t mean he’s the favorite. Which earns him a scowl from Luke.

~ Loni says he could be the favorite because he’s the only one who willingly does girly things with her. Lexx claims the title because their royal fashion shows are actually her favorite thing. Lane believes it’s him because he knows how to make her laugh. But Lars thinks it’s him because he’s the only one she can go to for deserved peace and quiet and she likes his poems and drawings. Levi states it’s him because he allows her to play with his machines… sometimes. Then Lynn claims to be the favorite, making the other boys laugh because he makes her more angry than any of them, which Lynn retaliates. Leon says “fav Yinka!”

~ The boys start arguing over each other. Loki bangs his show on the table to stop them and get their attention. He asks why they should care because she doesn’t have a favorite, she loves all of them.

~ Leif suggests that they should figure out who the favorite brother is. And states that if she does have a favorite, it will be a younger brother, i.e. him.

~ Loki repeats that they don’t have to, she doesn’t have a favorite. [pause] And adds that even if she did, it’d be him because she goes to him for advice before any of the other idiots and that he helps her instead of bothers her.

~ The idiots continue to argue about the reasons. Loki bangs his shoe again and asks them if they really care about figuring out who Linka loves more than the rest of them.

~ The boys say they should. And Leif tells Loki to admit he cares as well.

~ …Loki then asks them what they should do to “subtly” figure out who the favorite brother is.

~ “Subtly” in quotes.

~ Their first plan: the boys ask their sister subtle questions, definitely not having to do with the favorite brother topic.

~ Linka walks around the house talking with Claudia. And she gets pestered by her brothers.

~ “Hey, little sis! I got a question. Take yer pick: would you rather spend yer whole day jamming’ to music or-”   “On the phone, Luke.” [Luke sadly looks down as she leaves]   “Hey, Linky! Wanna help me with a debate about-”   “Lexx. I’m talking to someone.” [Lexx looks down frowning]   “Hey, Link! About our playing sports together-”   “Lynn! On the phone!” [Lynn looks after her worried]   “Hey, Linka! Out of all of our brothers, who do you-”   “Oh my Gosh, Loni, I’m on the phone! Tell the others that, too, stop interrupting me!”

~ Plan A doesn’t work. The boys are in Loki and Loni’s room again. As they talk about their next plan, Levi suggests he could build something to get the truth out. Loki is hesitant, thinking Levi will electrocute her or something. But Levi assures them she’ll be alright.

~ Loki still doesn’t trust him, but whatever.

~ Levi spends a few minutes building and comes out with a satellite-like gadget. He explains if it corresponds with her phone signals, they’ll be able to hear what’s happening on the phone.

~ Loni is against this, saying it’s bad to spy on her phone call, even for a very important answer. But Levi ignores him and prepares to set it up in the living room.

~ Linka walks into the living room from the kitchen, still on her call. When Levi sees her, he starts using a controller to the satellite to turn it on and point it towards her cell.

~ It immediately gets a good signal, and Levi’s smile grows a bit sinister.

~ However, the curious sister spots the machine and delves in for a closer look. She touches the antenna and her phone starts getting staticy. The squealing of the phone rings in her eardrum, causing a stinging in her ear. Holding her ear with her left wrist, she spots a button. Out of curiosity and thinking the satellite is responsible for the static, she presses the button. Before walking into the kitchen.

~ Panicked, Levi runs down to the machine and right after he arrives, it explodes, leaving him hurt and dirty.

~ The boys run down and see Levi all messed up. Leif adds injury by punching him for installing a dang self-destruct button.

~ They grovel over how their stupid plan B didn’t work. Suddenly, Luke’s ear twitches and pokes his head in the kitchen doorway.

~ “I don’t know, Claudi, it’s hard to choose a favorite.”

~ Luke pops back in the living room, telling the boys he’s heard Linka talking to Claudia about her favorite. They all gather round to listen to her.

~ Linka mentions the musician, making Luke smile and pose in triumph… before she says he’s cool, but he is super loud and obnoxious. Luke looks down heartbroken. The other bros secretly smile at each other.

~ She states the goth should stop being dreary once in a while and smile for once, making Lars gasp, thinking she doesn’t like him more.

~ She says she ain’t a fan of the sporty one, thinking he’s a jerk and dumb, making Lynn gasp in anger.

~ She complains that the dirty one is way too disgusting for her, making Leif scoff.

~ She says the funny one needs to work on his comedy cause he barely makes her laugh, replacing Lane’s smile with a frown.

~ She thinks the prince is a selfish brat, infuriating Lexx.

~ She says the small one does nothing but cry and whine, which makes Leon put his pacifier in his mouth to keep him from crying.

~ She mocks the “dumbest of them all,” making the boys look at the oblivious Loni.

~ She’s annoyed that the smart and gifted one should shut up about his intelligence, everyone knows already. Levi furrow his brows.

~ That leaves Loki. The oldest brother stands and smiles smugly, believing his prediction as the favorite brother to be true, while the other boys are left shocked and hurt.

~ However, Linka suddenly says the phone talker could put down his phone and actually act like being with his loved ones. This angers Loki, knowing it to not be true, but still hurts him. The boys look at each other disappointed and sad.

~ But then, she starts another odd chain. She says while the musician can be obnoxious, he’s still cool and fun; the dark one deep and creative; the sporty one tough and strong; the dirty one knowledgeable and cute; the comedy one clever and potentially very funny; the prince fierce; the small one adorable and huggable; the dumbest one open and honest; the smart one inventive and intelligent in a good way; and the phone talker does care about his loved ones and looks after them well. The boys are cheered up, but they’re back to square one.

~ They meet back up in Loki and Loni’s room and sit in silence for a few minutes with disappointed smiles. In the middle of their silence, they hear Linka’s footsteps on the stairs and down the hallway to her room. They’re salty and upset they weren’t able to figure out which one of them Linka favors. She said both negative and positive things about them. So they have no idea what to do.

~ Which one of them could their sister love more than the others?

~ One of the boys breaks the silence saying how much time they wasted to come up with nothing. Soon enough, all of them start to argue why they would and wouldn’t be the favorite. Though, they don’t notice they also argue about why she would have one in the first place.

~ The brothers then all get into a fight cloud that leads out into the hallway by the stairs.

~ After that, Linka leaves her room, hears her brothers and greets them, but notices their fighting. She gets annoyed and asks what they’re fighting about this time. The brothers stop fighting and look up at her. They then confront her and ask her who her favorite brother is.

~ Linka asks them what in the heck they’re talking about. Leif tells her he overheard her telling Claudia who her favorite brother is, angering Linka for eavesdropping on her call, and they all argued today about who it could be. And they want to know who it is.

~ Linka laughs and tells them she wasn’t talking about them. She was talking about a new show she and Claudia discovered that has ten main characters and she was trying to choose a favorite out of them.

~ Standing dumbfounded for a couple seconds. Lexx punches Leif and Luke berates him for misunderstanding her.

~ Linka teases them, thinking it’s sweet they felt insulted that they thought she had a favorite out of them. The boys stand awkward and embarrassed by their fatal mistake.

~ Linka looks at them with a sad smile, and she tells them she could or would never pick a favorite out of them. She thinks they’re all awesome idiots in their own ways and she loves them all equally. Leif hugs her and the boys have small smiles, all secretly satisfied their sister loves them so much.

~ They settle that and Linka threatens them to never eavesdrop on her calls again, and heads downstairs.

~ The next morning, the brothers are causing chaos in the hallway again. Linka is in her room talking to Claudia again. She tells her about her brothers’ crazy thoughts the previous day.

~ “Don’t you have a favorite?”   “Of course I don’t! Why would I?”   “I mean, you do have a lot.”   “Well, they’re my brothers, not cartoon characters.”

~ Hearing the insanity outside her room, Linka bids Claudia goodbye and hangs up. And happily joins in on her brothers’ chaos.

———-

So sorry this took so long! (this is one of my favorite stories) Hope you like it :)

P.S. this is definitely a canon scenario

[dr-gloom]

You’re Scared

Summary: Based off this AMAZING prompt from @britbrodcast​! 

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairings: Platonic LAMP? what’s it called when Dee’s in it??? Who knows

Words: 4,774

Tags/Warnings: Virgil is spoopy but also a dork so it balances out, Patton is Concerned(tm), I guess this could be considered Sympathetic Deceit?, Idk, But he isn’t a bad snek so, mild swearing, angst, panic attack

Read it on AO3

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((i listened to all of Folie A Deux on repeat while writing this cause that’s like my default Virgil playlist honestly))

It was no secret to Thomas and the other sides that Virgil didn’t exactly get around like them. It’d been proven that he was capable of sinking out, but he always just, as Logan put it, “appeared”. Roman was convinced it was because he was really a Dark Side, but Patton wasn’t having any of that. Virgil was his sweet and sour son and there wasn’t a dark or sinister bone in his body. So no one knew how Virgil did it, or even why, because it wasn’t really asked. Maybe they didn’t mind, or maybe they were scared of the answer. Maybe Virgil really was a Dark Side; if that were true, well, ignorance is bliss. 

Patton was cooking lunch as he hummed along to some song on the small kitchen radio, chopping up some veggies when he turned to grab something and the knife slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor, making him jump with a yelp. He held a hand to his heart, trying to calm himself as he glanced down at the knife now on the kitchen floor. A voice coming from above him startles him even more.

“Jeez Pat, be more careful. You could’ve seriously hurt yourself.” Patton looks around, confused when he doesn’t see anything. “Up here.” Patton looks up, eyes widening a bit as he spots Virgil on top of the fridge. How had he gotten up there? And how long had he been sitting there? “Oh, hey kiddo! You doin’ okay?” Patton remembered Virgil saying something about sitting in strange places on more... stressful days. Virgil shrugs, seeming to not have considered that. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” Patton makes a small ‘o’ expression and nods. 

“Yep! No knife can hurt this cleaver dad!” He bends over and picks up the vegetable cleaver. Virgil rolls his eyes, swinging his legs to dangle over the side of the fridge. “That pun wasn’t cleaver.” He mutters. Patton giggles, just glad that Virgil is joking along with him. He knows the other is usually a little jumpy, cautious, reluctant to join the other five (the four other sides and Thomas, of course) in any kind of banter or fun-making. “Why don’t you come down from there and help your old man with lunch? Cheese?” 

“That one was just bad.”

“So it wasn’t Gouda.” Patton smiles brightly as Virgil snrks and hops down from the fridge straight to the floor. Patton almost protests - that can’t be good on his knees! - but Virgil seems unaffected. “How long were you sitting up there anyways? You too cool to say hi to your old man?” Patton thinks he hears a mutter of same age before Virgil replies, “I’ve been there the whole time. I just didn’t want to bother you.” Virgil isn’t looking at Patton, but Patton just figures it’s because he’s shy and ‘doesn’t like to be a bother to anyone’. He could never bother Patton! Patton loves his dark strange son. 

“Well gosh kiddo you know you can talk to me whenever! I love our talks.” He grins at the other as he gets a new, clean knife and Virgil moves the cut up veggies to the waiting pan. “I guess... You’re good, though?” Virgil glances over at Patton through his bangs, and Patton’s smile softens. “I’m okay. Thanks kiddo.”

Logan sits in his usual spot at the end of the couch, reading a book while the TV plays on in the background. Roman had started some sci-fi horror film, leaving part-way through when he was stricken with a sudden idea. Of course, this often happened, so Logan didn’t mind the background noise that was more like a quiet static underneath his focus. Judging by the music and increased screaming, Logan would venture a guess that the movie was nearing the climax. He turned the page, further tuning out the movie as he became immersed in the world of Mr. Heathcliff at Wuthering Heights. 

He made it through nearly half of the book before his focus waned again, the sounds of someone - most likely Roman - coming down the hall caught his attention. His suspicions were proven correct when the princely figure plopped down on the opposite end of the couch and picked up the remote, seamlessly putting on another movie without a second’s thought. It goes through the ads, and the dreaded THX sound blares out of the speakers. Logan jumps, dropping his book, looking around. Roman looks just as startled, despite being the one who put the movie on, and mutters an apology. Virgil sits on the back of the couch (when did he get here???) and leans down, snatching the remote from Roman and quickly turning it down. 

“Seriously Princey, you’re going to make us all deaf.”

Roman and Virgil launch into a fit of banter as Logan watches them silently, now feeling calmer and thinking to himself. How odd; he was certain Virgil was in his room just a moment ago. He obviously knew of Virgil’s penchant for Appearing(tm) places, but he almost always walks around like the rest of them when in the Mind Palace. So why Appear(tm) now? They weren’t in any imminent danger. Logan thought of asking, but with how cryptic and vague Virgil tended to be, he doubted he’d get a real answer. Virgil turns to look at Logan, eyebrow raised. “What?” Logan blinks. “Ah, it’s nothing. You just startled me with your appearance, that’s all.”

“Yeah, Edgar Allen Woe, quit popping up like that! It’s so rude.” 

Virgil tenses slightly, and if Logan hadn’t been studying him so closely he knows he would have missed it. “Maybe the valiant prince should learn to keep his guard up if he wants to be good at protecting people.” Roman opens his mouth to quip back when Logan cuts him off. “Now Virgil, you know that’s absurd; you’re the protector of the five of us. Well, I suppose Deceit is as well to some degree, but your role presents in a more physical aspect.” Virgil blows a puff of air and shrugs, slinking off the couch and heading back to the hallway.

“Hold on, Wizard of Odd, watch a movie with us. You’ve been in your room all day.” 

Virgil pauses and looks between the two sides before shrugging just slightly and sitting between Roman and Logan, with a comfortable distance between each. Roman and Logan share a look before they both move to sit so there’s only a few inches of space between each side, Roman grinning satisfactorily and grabbing the remote to put on Big Hero 6 - something all three of them enjoy. Logan isn’t one for physical contact, but he knows that Virgil can be when he’s in the right mood and yet will never ask for it, so he’s more than happy to nudge the boundaries of his comfort zone to help him out. As the movie starts though, Logan’s mind wanders over the information he’d gathered while observing the anxious side. Now to figure out what it all meant...

Dee rarely had the commons to himself. Since his appearance in Can Lying Be Good? the others have... sort of accepted him into the fold. They’re still a bit on edge around him, for obvious reasons, but he can tell they’re trying. And it’s appreciated, really, but it can be... tense, and exhausting. So he tends to stay away unless it’s famILY meal time, as Patton puts it, or if only one sides is in the room. He can deal with any of them on their own, but two or more of them and the atmosphere became too muddled. Too conflicted. 

So Dee preferred these times on his own, knowing that Roman had taken Patton into his strange fantasy realm and that Logan was off somewhere, categorizing memories or... something. He can’t remember. He knew Virgil tended to keep to his room as well, and honestly he wouldn’t mind if the other came to join him either way, so he settled onto the couch and turned the TV on. After a while, he decided to settle on some children’s show Thomas ha been getting into, Duck Tales. Honestly (ha, honestly), Dee didn’t see the appeal, but since he was part of Thomas an this strange famILY, he figured he might as well try. 

He thinks back to the day he revealed himself to Thomas, his mouth quirking to the side. That.... could have gone worse. But it could have gone better, too. He had been trying to help Thomas, that’s always his intention, but even he could see that there was a better way to do so. How was Thomas supposed to trust anything he said if he went around pretending to be someone else, both physically when he looked like Patton and characteristically when he acted the part of the bad guy. 

But it had gone so well for Virgil.

“Half-truth.” Even Dee got caught in his lies sometimes; he had to remind himself of when he was actually lying, and what the truth meant. Sure, Virgil had essentially done the same as Dee, but the other had eventually started to act more like himself around the other sides and began building relationships. The others actually started trusting Virgil and liking him. But Dee? They didn’t know much about him, they had few interactions with him, so how could they possibly feel the same for him as they do about Virgil, who’s been around for years? 

I need them to like me.

“Lie.” He didn’t need their approval to do his job, or even exist. His existence up to this point was proof of that. 

I want them to like me.

“Why?” He was aware he was talking to himself in the middle of the living room, but he honestly didn’t care; it’s not like anyone could hear him.

Because I’m lonely.

Dee’s brow furrowed. “Truth...” And it was. It scared him, but it was true. He’d never admit out loud how he felt, but the feeling was as old and familiar to him as lying itself. Before, he hadn’t paid any mind to it; he’d contented himself on performing to his best, keeping Thomas’ relationships afloat and keeping everyone happy. He lived vicariously through Thomas’ interactions with his friends, found happiness and peace in their laughter and their smiles and their shared jokes. That’s why he fought so hard to keep it that way.

But now? Now he had something to draw his focus, something he could lose. As fragile as it was, he had some sort of relationship with the other sides now and he couldn’t mess it up. If he had to go back to Thomas’ subconscious, alone...

I’m scared. 

“Hi scared, I’m Virgil.” Dee jumped, falling off the couch. He laid on his back in shock, staring up at Virgil who was hanging upside down from the spinning ceiling fan, legs spread as they were each hooked over separate wings. His hair dangled in the air, giving a rare sight of his whole face. Virgil sighed as the fan spun him until his back was facing Dee. “Of all the places...” He comes back around. “You okay, Dee?” Dee stares up at him, sitting up slowly and watching him spin around lazily. 

“How did you-?” 

Virgil smirks slightly, but it doesn’t look snarky or menacing. “I’m anxiety, I know fear. If you’re so scared of being alone, try being yourself.” Dee scoffs lightly. “It’s very easy.” Virgil frowns slightly, brushing a hand through his hair (which does nothing, he’s upside down). “Try taking them to your room.” Dee’s room was one of the very few places he could actually speak the truth without his words being twisted without his consent. He rubs his face with a sigh. “They’ll believe me. I never lie.” Virgil hums as he’s spun away again, answering as he’s brought back to face Dee. “I could come with you. They know that I know you, and they trust me, I could convince them if they don’t believe you.” 

Dee watches Virgil spin around one more time before speaking up. “Why are you up there?” He found out long ago that questions are something he can speak without them being twisted. Virgil shrugs, which looks a bit strange upside down. “You know how this works just as well as I do, Dee. When someone-” 

“Yes, yes. I don’t mean... Why are you still up there? Don’t come down.” Virgil looks at Dee’s face for a moment before curling up to grip the fan, then maneuvering his legs so he was danging upright. He lets go of the fan and lands on his feet in front of Dee, offering him a hand. “Come on, Princey and Patton should be back soon, we can do this together.” 

Dee nods, taking Virgil’s hand and standing up. 

Roman panted loudly as he ran, feet pounding on the solid Earth beneath him, causing small puffs of dust to rise and trail behind him. He was sweating; it was hot out and he’d been running for a good ten minutes, with the monster never showing a sign of faltering or tiring. He curses under his breath as his empty scabbard hits the back of his thigh with every other step. If he hadn’t lost his sword... 

The monster roars, the sound loud and cacophonous, making birds in the surrounding field take off in flight. Roman feels his heart leap as he pushes on past his growing fatigue, trying to remember where he put the door. He runs until he sees the local village, and makes a beeline for it. The door wasn’t far from the other side of the village, he was almost there. Roman stumbles, almost falling and regaining his footing and just barely escaping the monster’s claws. It roars in anger again, gnashing it’s teeth. Roman spares a glance over his shoulder as he nears the edge of the village, paling at the sight of the monster gaining on him. He runs through the streets, calling at the villagers to turn and run as the monster comes thundering after him, carelessly crushing stalls underfoot and ramming into buildings as it passed. Roman swallows around the lump in his throat, his heartbeat deafening his ears, his legs complaining from being pushed so far for so long. 

Roman looks over his shoulder at the monster once again, not seeing the cart in front of him and crashing into it with the right side of his body, sending him sprawling to the ground. He halts himself with his hands, getting to his hands and knees just as a shadow blocks out the sun overhead. 

Roman rolls to sit, resting back on his hands, eyes wide, hair and clothes disheveled, staring up at the monster looming over him, snarling. It’s breath is hot, and reeks of decaying flesh. Roman gags, his heart thundering in his chest and his arms shaking. He feels along the ground for something, anything, as he refuses to look away from the beast. Oh god, he’s going to die. This thing is going to kill him and Thomas will never have an idea ever again and Patton will cry and Virgil will never leave his room and Logan will- 

There’s a familiar scream as the monster goes in for the attack, and Roman looks over to see... Virgil? No, not just that..

Virgil.

Stuck in a stone wall.

Looking absolutely terrified as he watches Roman just lay there as this monster-

Roman tears his gaze away long enough to roll to the side, just missing the jaw of the beast and jumping to his feet, running to Virgil. 

“Virge! What are you-? How did you even-?” Virgil looks like he’d been falling through the wall when it decided to solidify around him; his left arm is encased in stone almost up to the elbow as well as half of his right hand. His left leg is almost completely in stone, the upper half of his thigh the only denim showing. His right leg is free though, dangling at an odd angle due to Virgil being several inches above the ground. Even some of his hair seems to be caught in the stone, keeping him from moving his head too much. 

Virgil isn’t looking at Roman though; his terrified gaze is locked on the monster behind him, clawing at the ground and getting ready to charge. Virgil’s breathing is shallow and uneven, and what Roman can see of him is trembling like a leaf. “R-Roman-!” Virgil screams again as the monster charges, and Roman spins around, summoning his sword just in time to bring it up and block the monster’s claws, pushing it back a step. It roars and Virgil’s breathing does something funny. Shit, Roman needs to end this soon and help him out.

Roman goes on the offensive now, attacking the monster with a vengeance. He can’t let this thing defeat him or hurt Virgil! He cuts the monster’s arm, blood gushing from the deep wound as it screams and rears back on it’s hind legs, then comes down on Roman. Roman runs toward it, sliding down to his knees as the front paws near the ground, and brings his sword up to stab into the monster’s stomach, cutting it open as he slides to a halt. Blood covers both him and the Earth around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, clamping his jaw. Monster blood, eugh. 

Roman takes a moment to just sit there, catching his breath and letting the tremors leave his body before he stands and tries to wipe some of the blood from his face. He turns to look at Virgil, large grin dying on his face as soon as he takes in the other’s appearance. 

Virgil is an absolute mess. He’s shaking uncontrollably, sobbing loudly as tears race down his cheeks, his breathing quick and panicked, eyes wide, staring right at Roman. Roman frowns with concern and raises a hand, taking a couple steps closer, but when Virgil’s breathing gets worse he stops. Shit, what is he supposed to do now? His friend is literally stuck in a wall and having a panic attack and Roman is covered in-

He wants to slap himself for being so stupid. He snaps his fingers instead, and instantly all the blood is gone, along with the monster’s corpse. Roman holds both hands up placatingly as he slowly, so slowly, moves closer to Virgil. Virgil tries to speak, but with how hard he’s crying and how much he’s panicking he can’t form a coherent sound, much less a sentence. Roman gently shushes him and rests a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “It’s alright, Virge. It’s okay. The monster’s gone, it can’t hurt you or me. You’re safe. Everyone’s safe. We’re okay. Just breathe.” Roman stumbles through Virgil’s breathing exercise a few times until Virgil is mostly calmed down, now just crying softly with the occasional soft whimper. “there you go, you’re doing great, Virge. Everything’s okay. We’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Roman feels the stone wall, frowning slightly. It certainly feels like solid stone, so then how did Virgil..? “Virge? How did you get here?” 

Virgil sniffs and looks at his arm poking out from the stone. “I-” No use in hiding it now, “When people- sides- experience fear, if I’m too distracted to filter it out, it summons me. You... You were scared...” Realization dawns on Roman’s face and he sighs softly. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Virge. I’m sorry I scared you.” Virgil shakes his head. “You didn’t know. Besides, you can’t help how you feel.” Roman hums and raps his knuckles on the stone. “How are we supposed to get you out of this?” 

Virgil actually looks embarrassed. “I... I can’t sink out like this.” Roman just looks at him. “You mean...”

“Yeah.”

“Poseidon’s trident. Alright, I’ll go... recruit some help.”

It took nearly three hours for Roman and the village men to chip away at the wall enough to free Virgil, and the entire time the anxious side had been tense, flinching any time a pick came too close for comfort. Roman had been there to reassure him, and once they freed his leg, Roman helped him to the ground. As they were walking toward the other end of the village, to the door leading back to the Mind Palace, Roman spoke. “This is going to make such an epic tale!” Virgil just snrks and shakes his head, earning a quizzical look from Roman. “What?”

“No one will ever believe you.”

((lol did you think we were done?))

On one of Thomas’ rare days off - no videos to make, no plans with friends, no need to visit the store, not even a phone call to be made - all five of the sides were relaxing with Thomas in his apartment. Roman and Patton were playing some old video game on the TV, Logan was reading at the table, and Dee was laying across the other end of the couch, his head in Thomas’ lap and Thomas’ hand carding though his hair. Thomas sighs happily as he closes his eyes, listening to Roman and Patton shout and jeer and make a general ruckus, the occasional page flipping from Logan, and Dee’s soft relaxed breathing. Virgil was around here somewhere... Thomas was honestly bummed that the anxious side hadn’t wanted to hang out with them; even Dee was  trying to get past his discomfort to spend some time with all of them! But he supposed it couldn’t be helped. Virgil was anxiety, Thomas was sure some social settings just weren’t his thing. 

Patton and Roman finished their game and suggested a movie, to which everyone agreed happily. Thomas stood as Dee sat up, making his way over to the TV and looking through his DVDs, grabbing Toy Story and popping it int he DVD player and sitting next to Dee again. The five of them got comfortable as the movie started, Thomas wishing for the dozenth time that day that Virgil felt comfortable enough to be here with them. 

Twenty minutes into the movie, Thomas starts feeling a fluttering of nervousness in his chest. This confuses him, because he doesn’t have any reason to be anxious or scared right now. No one’s arguing, he doesn’t have any deadlines approaching, the movie isn’t even scary. And yet... 

Thirty minutes into the movie and Thomas is feeling anxious. He fidgets, unable to focus on one thing, eyes darting around a bit as his heart starts to speed up. He does the breathing exercise Virgil taught him, and keeps doing it because it doesn’t seem to be working. He hopes his sides don’t notice; he doesn’t want to worry them unnecessarily. 

Forty-five minutes in and Thomas is verging on a panic attack. His heart is beating too fast, and his mind is racing too much for him to even figure out what he’s panicking about. His chest feels tight, and he feels light-headed. He slowly and gently slips his hand into Dee’s and squeezes lightly. Dee glances at him, frowns, and squeezes back. Thomas doesn’t answer his questioning look. He doesn’t know what’s wrong either. 

Fifty minutes in and Thomas is openly having a panic attack. Patton pauses the movie, face etched in concern, and crouches in front of Thomas. Roman sits on his other side, taking his free hand and rubbing his thumb over the back of Thomas’ hand. Logan puts a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that everything’s okay, he’s safe. But Thomas knows he’s safe, he knows everything’s fine, he just doesn’t know why he’s panicking and that’s freaking him out even more and that panic leads to more panic and- 

“V-Virgil-” Thomas gets out, and Patton nods, standing and heading for the stairs. He’s not even on the third step when Virgil appears. 

Except he doesn’t just appear. He falls into the room. Through the ceiling. As soon as his head pops out he’s screaming, black eye shadow streaked down his face - just like Thomas thought, he’d been panicking too. Virgil is screaming, terrified out of his mind. He stops falling, which confuses Thomas and seems to scare Virgil even more, because now he’s hanging from the ceiling by one ankle, his other limbs akimbo. His face is covered in running makeup, his clothes are rumpled, and he’s crying uncontrollably, screaming every time he moves and it causes him to sway a bit. 

In an instant, Patton is moving to stand right below him, trying to calm him down while stretching to reach him. Logan rushes to the dining area, grabbing a chair and bringing it over. Patton doesn’t hesitate to climb on top of it, cupping Virgil’s cheeks and petting his hair, trying to support his head and keep him from moving too much. Dee fidgets beside a stunned Thomas; he wants to help, but he doesn’t know how he can. He can’t reassure Virgil because he can only speak in lies. He’s honestly a little freaked out because he’s never seen this happen before. That is, he’s never seen Virgil come plummeting through the ceiling. Logan goes and grabs two more chairs, both soon occupied by himself and Roman, who are both trying to help Patton calm Virgil down and support his weight so he doesn’t feel like he’s dangling by a foot. 

Logan turns to the two remaining Sanders on the couch. “Please do try to calm down, he can’t calm down if you’re panicking.” Dee bites his tongue and nods, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down. Thomas does the same and the two of them watch as the other three slowly calm Virgil. It feels like hours before he stops screaming and crying, but he never stops shaking. Patton and Roman stay on the chairs, petting Virgil’s hair and keeping his head propped up, gently stroking his cheeks, shoulders, chest, anything to ground him. 

“We need to devise a way to free Virgil’s foot from the ah... Ceiling.” Thomas looks from Virgil to Logan, now standing in front of him. “How? Do we need to... Break it?” Virgil makes a panicked sound and Thomas clarifies. “The ceiling! Not your foot, oh god Virgil, not your foot.” Patton shushes Virgil gently and Roman speaks up. 

“Yeah, we’ll have to free his foot manually. He can’t sink out when he’s like this.” Thomas hums with concern, trying to think if he has anything that can help. 

“Oh!” He runs off, shooting up the stairs and coming back a moment later with a toolbox. Logan’s face lights up in recognition. “We will have to be very careful-” He lowers his voice, “or we may injure Virgil.” Thomas nods and sets the toolbox on the couch, taking out the two hammers sitting within and handing them to Logan. Logan takes them and holds one out to Dee. “I require your assistance.” 

Dee’s eyes widen. “Me?” Logan nods. “The other two will be preoccupied with keeping Virgil calm. It will only take longer if I do it by myself.” Dee nods nervously and grabs another chair, getting on it along with Logan on his chair and he glances at Virgil. “We... We will get you out soon.” He makes eye contact with Virgil, who nods shakily. Dee can tell the truth, if he tries hard enough, but it takes a lot of effort, so he saves it for important moments. Dee and Logan slowly start hammering at the plaster, and when Virgil whimpers Patton and Roman talk to him to distract him. As the ceiling around Virgil’s foot is broken away, Patton and Roman slowly start supporting more and more of Virgil’s weight. Once his foot is finally free, Logan and Dee slowly and gently lower his legs. Once he’s upright, he clings tightly to Patton, trembling uncontrollably. Patton holds onto Virgil protectively, one hand on the back of Virgil’s head. The others get down and put the chairs back, and Logan starts vacuuming up the mess as Patton and Virgil finally get down. Virgil refuses to let go of Patton as they sit on the couch, and Thomas immediately moves to Virgil’s free side and hugs him as well. 

Once everything’s cleaned and put away, the other sides join them on the couch, Logan next to Patton and Roman next to Thomas, with Dee spread out across everyone’s laps. Virgil intertwines his fingers with Dee’s as Roman puts on the Black Cauldron. Virgil falls asleep soon after. 

A/N: The Dee part is my favorite. I haven’t had a chance to write him (aside from one fic where he’s an abusive ass) and I’ve had all these ideas buzzing in my head so I just had to do it. Plus, when I thought “what would scare Dee?” I instantly thought “the truth”. But it’d have to be a truth Dee was at least semi-unaware of; something that he didn’t recognize or dwell on, because he’d be admitting to something he’d rather not acknowledge. So it was part me-wanting-to-analyze and part can’t-rush-the-fear-factor. This was SOOOOO much fun to write!

[mondregen]

 “Have you used a portal before?”  Minchan asks the question like he doesn’t care much about the answer. The click of his heels on the pavement is distracting, a staccato in bright pink. He’s a lot to handle in the group chat, but even more of a handful in real life. Glittery eyeshadow and perfectly manicured nails, he’s a living doll, making mock kissy faces at every person walking by who dares to stare. A force of nature if Lysander ever saw one.  “Hello? Are you listening?”

 Minchan snapping his fingers in his face brings Lysander back to reality. “Um, what? Sorry, I wasn’t… “  With a huff and a quick wave of his hand, Minchan dismisses his reply. “It doesn’t matter, does it. I’m not walking all the way to Rei’s stupid forest. I’m not going to let my baby witch do it, either.”  As always when Minchan uses this nickname of his, Lysander’s heart skips a beat. It’s one thing to read it, yet another entirely to hear it. And maybe it’s imagination, but something fond colors it, something soft. Lysander fights a smile, biting his lower lip hard. It’s somehow endearing, that particular brand of a handful Minchan is.  He drags him into some alley, its dead end around a brickwalled corner. From his jacket’s pocket he pulls a piece of white chalk, and promptly begins to draw a circle lined and filled with odd symbols on the wall closest to him. Lysander watches in awe and confusion both.  “Oh,” Minchan says, shooting him a grin over his shoulder. “It’s for the portal. You see, for some magic, we need preparation. Magic circles, sometimes little sacrifices, that sort of thing. It’s too advanced for you right now.”  Instead of dampening his mood, this revelation makes Lysander’s stomach flip in joy. “I’ll… learn this, too?”  “Of course!” Minchan finishes his work off and takes a step back, pocketing the chalk again. “You’ll learn this, and how to make potions, and, if Hiroki doesn’t tell me not to, I might just teach you some conjuring, too. Just… don’t go trying to summon some demon, yes? That never goes well.”  Once again, Lysander only half listens, too entranced by the casualness of Minchan going about his business. He squares his shoulders and places an outstretched hand into the very center of the circle. As soon as his fingers touch the chalk, it springs to life, glowing a gentle white. Minchan pulls his hand back slowly. The circle lifts off the wall, sticking to his skin like a spiderweb. It hangs in the air, still connected to Minchan’s hand. Lysander’s jaw falls open.  Of course, Minchan notices. “Neat, isn’t it? Wait until you see Qiaomeng doing it. He doesn’t even need a surface, just draws the thing in the air right away. Talented bastard.”  He falls silent, eyes closed. The glow of the circle brightens. Around it, the air flimmers like it does in the hot summer sun. Lysander inhales, catching the slightest whiff of ozone.  Minchan balls his hand into a loose fist, only his forefinger sticking out. He drags the pad of it down the length of the circle, and, little by little, it breaks open in the wake of his touch. When Minchan reaches the end, the chalk peels back in its entirety, revealing a swirl of muted purples and greens dispersed in a sea of endless black. It takes over the circle, stretching to about Minchan’s height. It stops as soon as it touches the ground.  Lysander’s heart flutters in his chest. His arms break out in goose-flesh. “Wow,” is all he manages to press out.  Minchan hums. “This is a portal. It’s like… a door, except it leads into someone’s home if that someone allows it. Rei isn’t a fan of it, but he lets us use one, anyhow.”  “Why doesn’t he like it?”  “A talented witch could trace this magic back to him. I’ll have Parfait erase as much of it after we’re done as she can, but there’ll always be some leftover in places spells were used. Rei’s mostly worried someone might have the idea to murder him in his sleep, really.” Lowering his voice, Minchan adds, “He’s got a bit of a reputation. The plants he grows are highly sought after, some impossible to get around these parts unless you want to pay a hefty sum. He has all reason to be cautious.”  Lysander makes a little noise of understanding. All he knows about Rei is that he lives in a forest -- magical and weird, as Qiaomeng had put it -- and that he’s powerful, too. He should have asked more questions.  “Anyway.” Minchan grasps him gently by the shoulders and steers him towards the portal. “It’s best if you close your eyes and keep your limbs pressed to your body until you’re back on solid ground. Got it? I’ll be right behind you.”  Before Lysander gets another word in, Minchan pushes him.  Everything goes dark.  His stomach swoops again, but not at all in joy this time. He finds himself hovering in nothingness before he’s swept away. Like a tornado toying with a skinny branch, he’s scooped up and tossed about, a deafening roar in his ears. Static sticks to his skin, crawling across it in a numbing tingle. Lysander opens his mouth to scream, but no sound makes it out.  A flash of green breaks through the dark. Lysander slams face first into a tree, its leaves shivering with the impact.  “Oh. Oh, no,” a voice close to him says. Someone places a hand on his shoulder in cadence to a wave of nausea flooding through him. Lysander retches, hunching over. The hand moves to pat his back, all gentle. “There, there. Travelling with portals is never fun, I’m afraid. He should have told you.”  He chances a look to his right, to where the voice is coming from, and is met with bare feet on mossy forest floor. Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, he straightens slowly.  Miles and miles of forest stretch out around him, trees and bushes and a little creek gently running its course. Birdsong fills the space, lined with the rustle of leaves overhead.  Rei lives in a forest. This forest.  “Is everything alright again?” the voice asks, and the hand disappears. Lysander nods absently.  “Sorry, I… oh.”  A young man steps into his view -- the one those bare feet belong to -- and gives him an encouraging, but small smile. He’s taller than Lysander is, his hair a warm shade of blond reminiscent of honey. Something about him is… off. His skin is too perfect, his movements just shy of oily. There’s a startling darkness to his eyes. Not human, his instincts scream at him, though he passes as one well enough.  The portal buzzes. Minchan emerges with grace, touching his feet to the ground as though he were a cat leaping off the sofa. He beams at the both of them, the definition of cheeky.  “I see you’ve already met our hermit.”  The not-quite-human huffs, crossing his arms. A few heads of flowers peek through his hair, all varying shades of red. “Why did you let him go through it like this? It’s dangerous.”  “Oh, relax. Don’t talk to me about dangerous. You grow flesh-eating plants.”  “ -- that never harm anyone unless I tell them to --”  “Right. That makes it better.”  The puzzle pieces click belatedly. “Oh!” Lysander says, clutching at his chest. “You’re Rei!”  Rei turns toward him, wearing the same smile as before. “And you’re Lysander. I’ll get you something for the queasiness. Portals get to everyone the first time, especially if you’re not fully prepared.” He shoots Minchan a weighty look at his last few words. Minchan retaliates by sticking out his tongue. Rei ignores him. “Come, I’ll show you inside.”  “Inside”, as it turns out, is a little hut hidden behind layers of what Minchan calls “glamour”. After a simple wave of Rei’s hand, it appears out of thin air, flimmering at the edges like Minchan’s circle had done. It sits in the middle of a fenced in, lush garden, a plethora of brightly colored flowers and plants. Some, Lysander recognizes, but others he’s never seen in his life. A walkway of grey stones leads to the entrance door, heavy looking and wooden.  The door swings open on its own, or so it appears. Rei bends down to pick something up, cupping it ever so gently in his palms.  It’s a tiny, albino hedgehog.  “Thank you, Lilac.” Rei presses a kiss to the hedgehog’s forehead. The hedgehog makes a noise that sounds suspiciously flustered. “This is my familiar,” Rei follows it up with, showing Lilac to Lysander. “Say hello. Try to be friends. I’d hate for you two to not get along.”  Lysander wrings his hands, staring at Lilac. Lilac doesn’t move, either, staring right back.  “Um. H-hello. It’s nice to meet you.”  Lilac raises his little snout into the air, and Rei frowns down at him.  “What did I just say? Play nice.”  Still, Lilac doesn’t look very impressed. He turns around in Rei’s palms before he vanishes in a shimmery flash of light. Rei shakes his head.  “Don’t mind him. He needs a bit to warm up to someone.”  Minchan mutters something about it being Rei’s own fault for never socializing. He goes ignored again.  The inside of Rei’s hut is surprisingly normal. All his furniture is wooden or partly wooden, from the round table in the kitchen to the sofa lined with the plushest cushions and pillows to the TV stand. Herbs and flowers hang from every wall, both dried and fresh. The most outlandish item is the big cauldron in the middle of the kitchen, a fire lit underneath it. Whatever’s inside it bubbles gently, filling the air with a sweet, herby scent.  Of all the cliched witch-things Lysander expected to see, this is the most accurate to his imaginations.  Upon closer inspection, however, he finds that the TV and the kitchen itself are both highly modern. Rei even owns a gaming console. How and where is he getting his electricity from? Something tells him the answer will either be magic, or so mundane that he would have never considered it. A question for another day.  Rei gathers them together in the middle of the living room and has them sit on the floor after pushing the coffee table aside. He hands Lysander a small pill and a glass of water instead of the potion he’d expected, and Lysander gulps both down. Apparently, even witches have a need for regular medicine. Perhaps solving everything with magic is against the rules. If there are any rules.  He has so much to learn.  “Did you bring the salves?” Rei asks, seated cross-legged next to Lysander.  A few days earlier, Rei instructed him to prepare a couple of standard salves to put on wounds, ones that his job as a nurse has long familiarized him with. He’d told him to make them with the intent to heal, to concentrate on and visualize the process of a wound closing. So Lysander had done exactly that. And though he’d found himself tempted to test them, himself, he thought it more prudent to wait until both Minchan and Rei could ascertain their capabilities. If they had any special ones, anyhow.  Lysander gives a quick nod, taking the two small, rotund plastic containers out of his sling bag. They used to be filled with store-bought skin care, serving this purpose just fine. Rei takes them with a grateful nod. One he hands Minchan, the other he keeps, unscrewing the lid. He tilts it gently in his palm so the light catches in the creaminess of the salve, making it glisten. He brings it up to his face to smell it, humming as he does. Whether or not it’s a satisfied noise, Lysander can’t tell.  “They smell nice,” Minchan comments, tilting his container every which way like Rei had done. “Why’d you make him make these?”  Rei smiles, that same, small smile, but there’s an edge to it. Smug. “Because I asked him what he’s interested in. Have you done the same?”  Minchan sputters. “I -- you know, it’s not like we can just jump into what he likes. He needs basics. That’s what I’m concerned about.”  This playful back and forth is just as endearing as Minchan’s whirlwind persona. Lysander can’t stop himself from giggling, which earns him a wider smile from Rei and a noise from Minchan like he’s terribly martyred. But he’s smiling, too, unable to hide it even behind that huffy facade.  “Well,” Rei says after a moment of comfortable silence, “I suppose we’ll need to test these.”  He gets up and walks over to the kitchen to rummage in a drawer. What he pulls out glints silvery in his palm, and only when he sits back down, it becomes clear what it is. A knife. Vines snake around its handle, deep green in color. The blade itself is simple and two-edged, a small symbol etched into the very tip of it.  Rei reaches out, takes one of Minchan’s hands and quickly drags the knife from one side of his palm to the other. Minchan yelps.  “What the fuck?! Have you lost your --”  Minchan struggles, but Rei tightens his grasp on his hand, keeping him in place. Blood wells up from the cut, beading along the surface.  “As I said, we need to test his salves,” Rei says, his voice unaffected. He turns his attention towards Lysander, who has since frozen in his spot. His heart hammers in his chest, a new wave of sickness sloshing in his stomach. As used as he is to seeing blood, a warning would have been nice.  Minchan struggles again, but it’s still in vain. He goes slack a moment after, averting his eyes. “I’m going to be sick.”  Rei hums vaguely, still looking at Lysander. “Which one of them would you use for a cut like this?”  “Um.” Lysander slowly inches forward to take a closer look at the cut. It’s not deep, something that would heal just fine on its own once its dressed. He picks up one of his salves, offering it to Rei. “This one.”  “Well, go on then. Put it on.”  Lysander blinks at him. None of this is what he’d expected of this get-together, but he doesn’t have the luxury to complain. Hesitating, he asks Rei for something to clean the blood up with, and Rei disappears again only to return with a damp washcloth. Lysander wipes the cut down, careful not to hurt Minchan too much, before he dips a finger into the salve, coating the pad of it with the thinnest layer.  “This… might sting a little,” he warns as he gently rubs the salve along the cut.  Even before he manages to reach the end of it, the cut begins to close.  He and Minchan both gape at it, at the way the skin knits together on its own right in front of their eyes. Lysander finishes his job to watch the rest of it close, too, leaving Minchan’s palm pristine as if nothing ever happened. No scab, no scar. Nothing.  “Holy shit,” Minchan whispers in awe, inspecting his hand up close. Next to him, Rei chuckles.  “I knew it would work the moment you handed it to me. You must have felt that, too, Minchan.”  Minchan, rubbing his thumb along the spot where the cut used to be, nods dumbly. “I… felt something, sure. But I’m not good at healing magic. I couldn’t tell it was going to be like this.”  Rei wipes his knife down with the damp washcloth. It’s all a little much to take in -- Rei being so casual, Minchan so shocked, this place and Lysander’s salve actually working. His head spins with this slew of information. Judging by the softness of Rei’s face, he’s noticed. He puts a hand on Lysander’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  “You have a talent. Very potent magic. You’ll make a great healer one day, baby witch.”  For the umpteenth time, Lysander’s heart skips a beat.

[accidental-ducky]

How Love Goes (Steter, Mortal Instruments AU)

Peter has seen the young warlock around the bookstore a few times before, usually browsing through the fantasy section while a Shadowhunter lurked nearby. He was handsome as far as warlocks go, little horns curling up from his forehead that only those with the Sight were able to see, and even then they were nearly obscured by his carefully styled brown hair.

The Shadowhunter with him wasn’t nearly so interesting, just a girl with distrusting eyes and the thick lines of Runes dotted here and there when clothing wasn’t obscuring them. The only interesting thing about her was the scent of an Alpha that clung to her, and there weren’t very many of those in California as a whole. In fact, there were only two and something told Peter that she wasn’t hanging around Deucalion.

Either way, Peter did his best to put the teenager out of his mind as he went back to the novel propped up on his knee. He had more pressing issues to worry about, like the fact that the Seelie Queen—bitch that she is—is demanding an audience with the leaders of certain groups of Downworlders. Peter would decline if he didn’t value his health and good looks so much.

Still, he finds himself tracking the boy’s movements from section to section until he reached the counter to pay for his finds. His jeans were tight in just the right way and Peter only felt a small flush of guilt as he eyed the boy’s round, perky ass. Of course, that’s the moment the boy decides to glance over his shoulder and meets Peter’s gaze head on.

And the warlock winks.

***

The next time he sees the warlock is as he’s leaving the Beacon Hills entrance to the Seelie Court, a small cove near the beach that Mundanes saw as a rundown hut. The boy was dressed to the nines in a shiny blue suit, hair stylishly messy and revealing those beautiful horns that glittered blue and green like a mermaid’s scales under the moonlight.

“Is your master sending you here in their place,” he teases, hands in the pockets of his own suit of charcoal gray. Black just didn’t look good on Peter, it made his aura something straight out of a Disney movie, and not in a favorable light either. “A chance for you to learn how the Seelie Queen is when she’s not happy?”

“Not quite,” the boy answers in a voice like honey. “I haven’t had a master since I was a kid.” Peter arches a brow, not subtle as his gaze moves from the boy’s horns to the ratty Converse he wore on his feet. “I’m six hundred years old. I know, it’s a shock to everyone that doesn’t already know.”

“A nice one, at least.” And the boy grins at him, cheeky and wonderful and Peter could live for that flash of white teeth. “I’m Peter.” He holds out a hand and the boy reaches out to shake it, a spark of something shooting through the wolf on contact and a static shock seems to rip through his chest as his eyes flash Alpha red. The boy’s eyes flash in return, fire bright before fading to their usual amber in sunlight.

“Stiles.”

***

Battles were hard things no matter your species, though why he was called to New York of all places could only be explained by the text his nephew had sent just twelve hours before. Sometimes it really sucked to like one’s family and their continued existence. And to make matters that much worse, the fight was on a goddamn boat and he was surrounded by all kinds of Shadowhunters.

The one good thing to come out of it was seeing Stiles in all his glory fighting alongside his Shadowhunter buddy. He was a force to behold, flinging spells every which way when he’s able or even just a bat with Runes burned into the wood to enhance its strength as he flings it left and right against the oncoming demons. The Shadowhunter wasn’t awful, he supposes, but he’s never been a fan of the Clave and all their rules.

After it was done and Derek’s reason for dragging him all the way here was rescued—a relatively young werewolf that had been meant to be sacrificed—Peter was intending to just go back to Derek’s apartment and sleep for seven hours and then go find Luke and have a drink. Things didn’t end up going that way, however, because Stiles was bleeding and his pet Shadowhunter looked ready to play a game of Murder Time with whatever had caused the deep scratch along the warlock’s cheek.

“I take it warlocks don’t have the best healing factor,” Peter snarks, sidling up to the pair with a smirk. The Shadowhunter went to step between the pair, but aborted the motion when Stiles touches her wrist.

“It’s alright, Ally. I know him.”

“So does everyone in the Institute,” Ally remarks, sending Peter a frown that more than hinted at I saw you at the Christmas party three years ago, you nasty fucker. And really, how was he supposed to know the punch had been spiked and that he’d end up banging a shifter named Peg in the women’s bathroom?

“Oh, that was you, huh? Very impressive, man.”

“I rather thought so,” Peter agrees, trying his best to ignore Ally. It wasn’t hard, not with the way the dawn light highlighted the small moles scattered over the left side of Stiles’ face in a way that made Peter want to follow that trail with his teeth.

“Peter,” yelled the familiar voice of Magnus Bane,” stop creeping on my protégé!”

***

So, it turns out that pale warlocks with amber eyes and magic bats are Peter’s type.

Who knew?

***

Stiles likes to smoke. It’s not really a big deal for Peter because Stiles’ just uses his magic to make the smoke scentless. Whenever Peter finds Stiles’ in the little park down the street from the school, the warlock is usually swinging slowly and blowing smoke rings. When he wants to show off, he’ll turn the billows of smoke into little ships or paw prints or, once, a triskelion.

Peter asked him why he smoked once, after he learned that Stiles had changed the cigarette’s taste to strawberries. “Because I like watching the smoke curl and dance,” he’d answered, doing just that as he turned the smoke shades of blue and bright red.

Sometimes he’d find Stiles just wandering through the town as though he was searching for something, smoke floating over his shoulder and grief in his scent. Peter never bothered him on those nights, just watched to make sure no one tried to sneak up on him while he was lost in his thoughts.

One night, the second one Stiles had ever spent with him, the warlock woke him up with a bitten off curse and it took Peter a moment to realize that the wriggling boy next to him was still deep in sleep. He writhed and twisted as though trying to escape, Polish rolling off his tongue as easy as English, calling and begging for his father to be saved.

When Peter had finally managed to get Stiles awake and convince him that he was safe, Stiles told him about the mother that had abandoned him after she realized her child wasn’t human; he told him about the father that fought and protected him through thick and thin until the man’s heart had given out. Then, in the early hours of the morning, he told Peter how his father had always smoked a pipe at night, how he’d blown smoke rings to Stiles’ delight and would always grin so proudly when Stiles managed to turn those rings into flowers.

After that, Peter never asked about Stiles’ obsession with smoking.

***

Their one year anniversary sneaks up on both of them and they only realize how momentous the day is when Stiles checks his Facebook and the memory of their first date pops up in his feed. Their first date had been the thing of legends, the one you tell future generations about because it had been perfection; a high end restaurant that needed reservations three years in advance unless you threatened to eat the owner’s pet rabbit (Peter wasn’t proud of that, but he’d stand by his choices), a walk along the beach to a blanket with chilled champagne and strawberries waiting on them, and the sweetest kiss goodnight to finish it off (followed by mind-blowing sex, but he’d save that until his kids were old enough to really embarrass).

Their first anniversary was just as perfect in a different sort of way; Pizza Hut delivery that they got free because Stiles glamoured their apartment so that the pizza was exactly thirty-one minutes late, a Parks and Rec marathon on TV that they could quote word for word (and they did, they even made a game out of it that was bound to become tradition), and a garlic-laced goodnight kiss that had Peter laughing because he’d never pictured this being how he and Stiles spent their anniversary during the first few months of them dating (followed by sex on the couch because they were too full to actually make it to bed).

After that, Peter swore that their second anniversary would be different and they’d at least have something fancier for dessert than a shared pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Stiles had laughed, baring the pale column of his throat, and he’d curled tighter around Peter as they attempted not to slide off the couch.

“This was perfect,” he said, flashing Peter that grin he loved so much.

And Peter really thought it was.

***

Turns out dating the best friend of a Shadowhunter has more drawbacks than Peter had originally thought. There were two of them in his apartment when he got home from his shift at the bookshop, just dirtying up his couch like they had any right to it and it took all his years of training not to at least growl at them in warning. Instead, he sets the new stack of books down on his kitchen table and turns to face his intruders.

“You know, normal people call before dropping by,” he tells them, arching his brows.

“You’re dating Stiles,” Ally says in response, as though that gives her every right to break a perfectly good window and climb inside using the fire escape.

“Is this the part where you tell me that you’ll kill me if I break his heart? Before you do that, you could at least introduce your friend.” The other Shadowhunter, a man around Peter’s age with hard blue eyes and blond hair that was slowly graying, looks unimpressed with Peter altogether. If he didn’t want to see me, then he shouldn’t have broken into my apartment.

“My name is Chris Argent,” the man says, all condescension and arrogance that Shadowhunters are well known for. The Argents were fairly high up in the ranks, the Inquisitor’s lap dogs from what Peter had heard. Still, they weren’t as prominent as the Lightwoods or the Waylands. “And I’m fairly confident that Stiles could dispose of your body with barely a flick of his pinky if he wanted to.”

“That’s lovely. Now, if you’d see yourselves out I’d be forever grateful.” He gestures at the broken window, already making plans to send that particular bill to the Institute or wherever these two were holed up.

“We’re just here as a reminder that Stiles won’t have to kill you himself, Hale.”

“Since when are Shadowhunters so concerned about warlocks? Is it some new fad or just something that happens when you hang around Magnus Bane for long periods of time?” Which reminds Peter that he needs to send Bane a fruit basket for not threatening him this way.

“Just remember that you’re outnumbered here,” Ally states, and the glint in her eyes tells him that she’s already thought up seven different ways to kill him slow should Stiles even sneeze wrong.

***

Magnus Bane wasn’t getting a fruit basket, but he might get a foot up his ass for breaking Peter’s window again when he could have just used a portal for God’s sake.

***

It’s three years later when Peter’s stumbling around the famed city of Alicante that he realizes just how much he loves Stiles. Dead bodies are littered all over the ground from the what would come to be known as the Dark War, there’s blood basically painting Stiles when he comes around the corner, but neither of those things stop Peter from grabbing the boy and just holding him.

He buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, breathing in the heady scent of home and pack and mate. And Stiles was doing much the same thing, shaking as he tangles his fingers in the back of Peter’s ruined coat, clinging to him like some kind of shell-shocked koala as he worked through the panic attack.

Peter never wanted to let Stiles go again, barely managed to free an arm to wrap around his nephew and pull him close. This was his pack, his goddamn family, and the Fair Folk had nearly torn that away from him in one harsh sweep against the Nephilim stronghold. He’d nearly lost control of himself during the fight and the only thing that kept him anchored was that constant pulse under his ribs that said Stiles was still alive, Derek was still fighting tooth and claw.

He would kill the next person that thought they could destroy his pack, he would tear their heart out and feed it to his mate like a delicacy, paired with the finest wine he could get his hands on. Looking at the other two confirmed they felt much the same way, Stiles’ eyes flecked with gold and Derek’s blazing a bright electric blue.

No one would ever threaten them again.

***

Seven years later, Peter didn’t think Stiles was actually capable of shocking him anymore. Not after he’d learned about the warlock’s banishment from Peru (something about psychotic monkeys and trying to one-up Bane), or the fact that Stiles could change into a fox if he felt like it, or even that his father’s side of the family were made up of Shadowhunters that had ended up forming the Argent line (which, yeah, that connection cleared a lot of things up).

So, when he’d come home for lunch that day and found Stiles sitting on their kitchen table wearing only a silk tie and matching boxers with a velvet box balanced in the palm of one hand, Peter realized that there were still plenty of ways Stiles could still shock him. “So,” Stiles said, swinging his feet back and forth through the air,” you wanna tie the knot or not, old man?”

“I guess we should since the neighbors are starting to gossip,” Peter replies, and he takes a special interest in getting Stiles out of those purple boxers. He never did make it back to the shop that afternoon.

Now, was that the most romantic way to propose to a person? Probably not. Did Peter actually give a damn about elaborate proposals? Not really, but that didn’t stop him from standing outside Stiles’ window with a boombox blasting In Your Eyes with a velvet box of his own.

“You’re such a fucking showoff,” Stiles tells him as he comes outside.

“It’ll make sure all our stories are memorable, sweetheart,” Peter promises as he hands the box over. Stiles flicks it open and tilts his head back in a full body laugh that never failed to make Peter revel in his beauty all over again. He also manages a smirk this time because the delicate silver band has the Batman logo etched into it.

***

Their wedding turns out to be nothing fancy, just the two Argents and Derek attending with Deaton replacing a priest. Their vows were simple things, their first dance was uncoordinated because apparently Stiles is only graceful when he’s fighting, and everyone had tears in their eyes once it was done. Even Peter did, though he’d never admit that to anyone but his husband.

Peter spent the afternoon and early evening just trying to process the fact that the beautiful man sitting next to him, the one with the glittering horns and sweet-as-honey voice, was really all his. That he’d get to wake up every morning and see Stiles for the rest of his life; he’d get to listen to Stiles’ off-key singing in the shower, eat the unpronounceable Polish meals he whipped up for special occasions, and hold him whenever he wanted.

And Stiles seemed to be just as excited, unable to sit still even through the speeches the other three insisted on making. The Argents had managed to slip a few thinly veiled threats into their speeches, something about sticking tasers in Peter’s squishy bits if he ever even entertained the thought of leaving Stiles. Derek’s was by far the classiest of the speeches, though that didn’t take much effort.

“You guys really belong together, you’re the same level of assholes,” he had said, and raised his glass of champagne.

***

It’s not until they get home from a great honeymoon in Mexico that they realized they’d forgotten to inform Magnus of their nuptials. They realized that because the older warlock was sitting in the living room of the newly rebuilt Hale House when they returned home, and all the glitter in the world couldn’t hide the rage burning in those gold-green eyes of his.

“Really,” Magnus had practically growled,” you couldn’t even send a fucking text that you two were getting hitched? Couldn’t shoot me an email or just mention it in passing or even use smoke signals so I wouldn’t be blindsided when Derek talks about how nice the fish was?” He glowers at them from across the room (he’d broken another window and the glass was scattered deliberately across the hardwood floors), and Peter was legitimately scared the warlock might blast them into next month.

“Did you still get us a present,” Stiles asked, because he has no sense of self-preservation and he’s the world’s biggest asshole at the best of times.

Peter really did choose the perfect mate.