#“She's so one dimensional—” let me hold your hand when I say this..

[lloyds-archive]

Just tell me you didn't play the game/watched the gameplay and move ON.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 4

"THOSE FUCKING BITCHES SAM!" Danny shouted as he stormed into his apartment, slinging his backpack off by the door as he toes his shoes off.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, Danny was met with Tucker, shirtless with only a pair of plaid boxers on, staring at him with sleep glazed eyes, he had a box of cereal in one hand, and a bottle of oat milk in the other, raising the bottle in a salute, Tucker stuffed a handful of cereal into his mouth before taking a swig of the milk, holding up a hand to stop Danny from speaking as he chewed, only letting his hand fall before he spoke.

"What?"

"The Bats are fucking assholes!"

Tucker looked back at the bottle of oat milk, sighed and placed it back in the refrigerator, chucking the box of cereal on the counter, Tucker grabbed Danny by the shoulders.

"Of course they are Jerks Danny..." his grip tightened as he started to shake the Halfa, "I have ten deadlines and 5 missed calls, I really want to geek out right now about you meeting the local heroes but I really don't have the time, so yes, jerks, tell me about it later okay?"

Danny phased through the tough grip on his shoulders, letting out a giggle as he watched Tucker fumble as he no longer had someone to help steady himself, "I did yell specifically for Sam, Tuck so you can't get mad at me! Go huant the Wanyetech building, I know for sure those dudes are way more dead inside than I am!"

Getting a groan from his friend at his dead pun, Danny continued into the apartment, snatching Tuckers cereal box off the counter as he went to sit in the living room.

Spotting Sam typing something on a lap top, her big over the ear headphones blaring as he flops down next to her, which thankfully was enough for her to notice him.

Offering g the box of cereal to her, she sent him a tired smile as she slipped the head phones off and took some of the fruit flavored rings, "Hey there Deadstuff...how was work?"

Danny sent her a grin, "Well, Clocky decided to throw me a bone and I think I got this? He is a little bitch boy that sends me all over the place but this time it was a dined, Lunch Lady taught me how to cook." Pasuing to stuff a new handful of tasty fruity goodness, Danny spoke around the cereal in his mouth "Cookin' ish so much more cool when da food isn't trying to kill you"

Slapping Danny's arm as she rolled her "Don't eat with your mind full and tell me what got you so riled up" Sliding her laptop of her self she tucked her knees up before stretching them out over Danny, who was already going off on his story.

"Wait wait! You had Nightwing in you're restaurant and you didn't get me an autograph?" Same shot Danny a scowl, who at least had the decency to look sorry

"I was going to but they fucking dined and dashed Sam! Even when I was actively Phantom, I never, ever just left a bill!"

---

Dick knew that perhaps eating the food was a slightly bad idea, given the look B gave them when him and Tim pulled into the Cave.

He was standing there, arms crossed, thankfully cowl down, what made the sight infinitely less intimidating was Damian doing the same next to him, his head tilted to look down at them and perhaps standing on his tittpy toes a little bit.

Dick wanted to coo at the father son bonding, but remembered he had to act at least a little chastised at the moment "Yes I am sorry B, It was my decision to head in, there was no outward danger so we just took a chance."

Wincing at the gruff grunt he got from that Dick powered on, "I will write a more detailed report, but personally if anything wrong it's likely that the kid working there is Meta? I dont-"

"He can't be meta! He is very clearly a ghost Dick!" Tim interrupted already flipping through some notes he had made on the way back home, "its the only explanation...or he is a 5th dimensional Imp with a passion for cooking but I really hope not those guys suck to deal with..."

Dick nodded at that, but had to say some thing foe his own superfan imp "Nightmite is a chill dude helps sometimes with cases back in Bludhaven!"

Giving a sigh, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No mites, no metas, no ghost, go to Medbay I am running blood tests on what sweet hell you have ingested."

---

Bruce ran the test again, sure that it was wrong, praying that it was wrong.

TEST COMPLETE

TRACE LAZARUS WATERS DETECTED

Underneath was lists of chemical make ups of the samples Tim took and his sons blood, there were varying levels through out the food samples, some lighter but others were heavy on it.

What was stumping him was...it was nearly perfectly pure, the pits naturally over time get polluted, with the dirt and sediment that falls in, and with the various amounts of bodily parts and fluids that are dipped in it.

But the trace amounts Bruce was finding were a better quality than Ra's own personal pool, not the one he dips in to regain his youth that the LOA make a ritual out of, no the privet one in the Alps that was clear as glacial water.

It didn't make any sense to Bruce, who would be spreading Lazarus water around? Ra's would not simply share his secret pure stash...

Lost in thought, Bruce sat back glaring at the test results.

---

"And after I thought I was giving great service, they fucking left, no bill, no tip! I didn't even get to see Nightwings ass as he left! People say it's a godly experience! I was robbed!" Letting out a huff Danny shot Sam an incredulous look at her sudden burst of laughter. "Sa~am, this isn't funny! Never meet your heroes! I am taking this to Twitter! They shall know my fury!" His words only served to make Sam laugh even harder.

Stifling a grin Danny took out hos phone, a old busted thing that was more ducktape and prayers than actual technology, but dear go's did it still work.

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@.realwing @not-that-red-robin.real yall are toxic twinks came in to my workplace and fucking dined and dashed 0/10 Nightwing has a flat ass.]

Hitting send, Danny put his phone down, choosing to let the nights happenings go past his mind and just hang out with Sam before showering and finally going to bed.

---

Tim was hunched over his lap top, going frame by frame of his body cam footage, he *needed* to figure this out, it was like an itch in his brain that he would go through bone to get through.

His work payed off as he clicked forward another time, his feed went static before it showed a blurry blue blob in place of the diner! Proof! It was there!

Jumping at the sudden bang of his bedroom door being thrown open, Tim whirled to around to see Dicks distressed face, standing up, Tim prepared for the worst, something happened. Bruce was dead agian it had to be-

"TIMMY I AM A TWINK AM I??" Was Dicks wail as he flopped down on Tim's bed.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Tim looked longingly at his laptop before closing it, "Dick, what the fuck."

Rolling around on the bed, Dick finally looked up at Tim "Littlewing sent me a tweet and...ugh just look!" Thrusting out his phone as he spoke

Pasuing at the mention of Jason, Tim  looked down at the screen and froze

"Holy shit...we forgot to pay didn't we...fuck Jason is never going to let us live that down."

Tim still remembered the first time he witnessed one of Jason's famous "make Bruce spend more money" rants about tipping.

It was glorious.

Tim now realized he would be one of two that was likely going to have to face it next.

"UGH?? You focus on the money and not the other parts? Tim I was called a toxic twink with no ass! This is a declaration of war! I have never been so offended!" Dick sat up, eyes narrowd while Tim opened up the tweet on his own phone.

"The comments agree Dick, I am sorry, you now have a flat ass congrats and welcome to the club" Tim said dryly, trying to go to the posters page, since it was clearly Danny who posted it.

Only the app crashed when he tried to. And again when he tried to a second time, and his web browser crashed when he tried opening it there

Tim was baffled on what was happening while Dick lemented on his bed before deciding to hack it later.

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween super sorry about that send me venmo and I'll pay with tip]

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@not-that-red-robin.real Fuck that face me like a coward bitch bet you wont]

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween...bet]

---

Somewhere in a safe house in Crime Ally, Jason let out a little giggled as he scrolled through the comments on the funniest post he had found in a while, Jason was surely going to have to speak to Timberly and Dickiebird about paying their bills but right now?

He was kicking his feet watching Dick have a public meltdown as Nightwing.

Finally, he wouldn't be the only one who had to retake the Bat Media course.

How was he supposed to know doing peace signs next to a person he just shot wasn't allowed?

[darlingdaisyfarm]

feeling pretty low today, so i’m turning to these two old men for a little comfort

nsfw under the cut, fem!reader

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan likes to call you:

sweetheart, honeybun, doll face and on occasion baby girl. when he’s feeling extra bold? princess — always with that unmistakable smirk

calls you “my good luck charm" if you help him out in the Shack, especially when he’s trying to swindle a tourist and you flash a pretty smile.

✦ “c’mere, darlin’. can’t let a fine gal like you walk around without her prince.”

✦ “ah, y’know, you’re the only reason I don’t go completely nuts in this crazy town. sometimes, doll, I think yer my only sane thought all day.” said so casually as if it’s not gonna hit you right in the heart

✦ if you get hurt (even the tiniest scratch), he’s going into dad mode: “who do I gotta knock some sense into, huh?” even if you’ll tell him it was just a clumsy accident, he’ll grumble, “well, now I’m the one hurt. bein’ all worried like that. you’re killin’ me, kid.” 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford likes to call you:

“dearest” when he’s feeling soft, sweetheart, darling, honey, baby

he’ll whisper “love” against your temple when he thinks you’re drifting to sleep, his voice quiet and reverent like it’s sacred to him

starlight – Ford’s been out in those other dimensions, faced down monsters and madness, but he says he’s never found anything so bright, so grounding. “c’mere, starlight, I’m not finished admiring you.”

༄ “don’t laugh, but. . . I’d chase you across universes, even if it took me another thirty years. no dimension is worth exploring without you by my side.”

༄ if you’re reading one of his journals, Ford’ll slide up behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he murmurs, “curious, are we? so, what do you think of my work?”

༄ he’s not a show-off, not by any means, but catch him fixing up a machine? he’ll lift his gaze to you, smiling. “I could teach you, you know. but you’d have to be a very attentive student.”

༄ oh, if Ford wrote about you in his journal, you know it’d be scrawled between notes on trans-dimensional theories and arcane symbols, the ink smudged in places where he hesitated, where his pen hovered just so before he let himself write the truth

“Strange anomalies detected….. not in the temporal or metaphysical sense, but in a far more personal dimension. Subject exhibits an inexplicable gravitational pull, distinct from any gravitational force I've previously documented. When I observe her, I feel an uncharacteristic deviation in my thought patterns, an accelerated heartbeat not caused by heightened blood pressure or adrenaline, but by… attraction. Confounding. She’s somehow eclipsing the most rational parts of my mind.”

And, because Ford’s words can’t capture the whole of it, there’d be tiny sketches of you, like half-finished thoughts.

nsfw

what Stan says during sex:

“Damn, honey, you’re makin’ an old man feel young again. Don’t stop.”

“You’re makin’ me wanna be a better man, but not right now, baby, not right now.”  

“Mmm, there it is— yeahh, keep doin’ that. . . feels so good, darlin’, you got no idea.”

“Makin’ all these pretty noises, huh? Lemme hear ‘em, baby. Don’t hold back on me.”

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? I’m gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout that pussy all week.”  

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t know if I’m gonna last much longer with you doin’ that.”  

“Look at ya, so needy for me, beggin’ to be filled. You got me so riled up, I can barely think— ah, f-fuck. . .”

 Ford:

“Ohh— sweetheart, you feel even better than I imagined, i’ve waited for this.”  

“I need you so much it scares me.”  

“You’re brilliant, utterly captivating. . . yesyesyes, keep moving like that, please.”  

“Tell me exactly what you want, darlin, I need to hear you say it.”  

“I never thought I’d feel this way again; you’ve woken something in me.”  

“God, I can’t— can’t believe you’re letting me have you. I need you so much, it hurts.”

“Mmm, god, yes. . . yes, you’re mine, all mine. . . can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

“O-oh god, you feel so tight around me, sweetheart, I can’t-can’t hold back!”

“Please, oh, please— just, just like that, don’t stop, keep. . . keep going. . .”

“I can’t help myself; I need you. I want to feel you around me.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re like this. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Oh gosh, I need you to take me deeper. Please, baby.”

“Tell me how good it feels; I want to hear it.”

“You feel incredible. I could stay buried inside you forever.”

[ckret2]

Chapter 63 of human Bill Cipher trying to debate his way out of still being the Mystery Shack's prisoner. Soos has found the stolen Journal 4 in Bill's possession and has to decide what to do about it in light of everything else he's learned about Bill lately.

[*you may notice chapter 61 is missing! This plot was done sooner, so I'll be posting chapter 61 sometime after 64. It's not chronological so you're not missing anything!]

Soos stared dumbfounded at the journal with a 4 on the cover that he'd pulled from Bill's hiding place. Ford had lost Journal 4 last fall—he'd said gnomes had stolen it. How in the world had Bill gotten it?

Soos sat in the attic window seat and flipped through it. The first few pages were Ford's journal entries—his observations of the dimensional rips they were glueing shut in Gravity Falls post-Weirdmageddon, a hand-drawn map highlighting various places around the globe he wanted to investigate, a few drawings and observations of paranormal beings he hadn't seen his first time in town, half a sketch of a gnome that ended with a jagged scribble across the page followed by a page that said "Shmebulock" over and over.

And then a page that said, in an unfamiliar handwriting of jagged, narrow gray letters: "CURSED BOOK! If your name is Mabon Mason Pines, STOP READING NOW or ENJOY YOUR HEX!"

Bill had written page after page of some weird code of gray and yellow-green dots and dashes. A few sentences in English—every one of them was a threatening message to Ford. "Everything would have been fantastic if you'd just helped me finish, Fordsy." "You'll regret not siding with me when you had the chance." "You should have known better than to let your idiot brother turn you against me." "Sixer, you're lying to yourself every time you say you never worshiped me, and you know it. You spent the first third of your life running away from the god you were raised with and the second third chasing after me. Don't waste your last third denying it. YOU'RE MINE." A small, worrying diagram of what looked like the interdimensional portal. And a sticker.

Wait, hold on.

A sticker. One of Mabel's. The rest of the page was the same as the others, the two-tone dots and dashes, except for the sticker, and an arrow drawn from one paragraph to the sticker.

A yellow smiley, its round edges filled in with black marker to make a triangle, over the words "Good job!"

Soos stared at the sticker.

####

A couple of weeks ago, Melody had texted to let Soos know that there was a mess in the upstairs bathroom, and the kids said they'd been fighting a werewolf ghost.

When Soos had gotten home the next morning, Melody had pulled him aside and quietly told him she hadn't wanted to worry him and the Stans, but she did not think it was a werewolf ghost.

When Soos saw the bathroom, he didn't think it was a werewolf ghost either.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Menacing magical sigils painted all over the walls in blood and toothpaste, Bill's zodiac painted on one mirror, the other mirror broken, glass and water all over the floor. It looked like the site of a really wet demon summoning. This contained none of the hallmarks of ghostly or werewolfish activity. Why would Bill do this?

Soos was kind of reluctant to ask Bill. Bill still sorta scared him sometimes. Sure, he looked like a lost 18-year-old, but Soos knew what teens were like in a fight. So he asked Mabel instead.

Mabel pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Ask Dipper."

So Soos asked Dipper.

Dipper winced and. "Promise you won't get mad."

Soos considered that. "Yeah, I guess that's a fair deal."

Dipper confessed that Bill got accidentally locked in the upstairs bathroom for like a whole day, because he and Mabel didn't hear him yelling. Not because they were out of the house when they shouldn't have been. They were just... somewhere else in the house. Doing something loud. For the whole day.

While Bill was trapped alone.

####

Soos had vented to Abuelita about cleaning the bathroom. Like sure, he got Bill was annoyed about being stuck, but that seemed excessive.

Abuelita had made the observation that sometimes people in profoundly bleak and oppressive situations would just... destroy whatever was around them. Like punching a hole in the wall or snapping a pencil when you were angry, but much more so. Not because they wanted their surroundings to be destroyed, but because that was the last and only thing they had power over, and they needed to feel like they were in control of something. Even if that thing was merely changing their environment from ordered to chaotic.

Bill didn't have control over very much. He probably hadn't since he died. Soos didn't know what kind of space triangle afterlife Bill had been in before he showed up as Toga Lady, but it couldn't have been great if he'd come straight back here.

Soos could remember the one time weeks ago he'd let Bill into the bathroom to shower and forgotten to come back and let him out. How Bill had screamed so all the Mystery Shack's tourists could hear; how he'd seethed in Soos's face, how he'd said he'd rather blow their collective cover and throw them all on the mercy of the town's law enforcement than remain locked in the bathroom a second longer than they'd agreed upon. Soos had thought Bill was just impatient and hotheaded.

Standing in the bathroom, looking at the material evidence of Bill's claustrophobic terror—the broken glass, the spilled blood—he wondered.

####

The same day, he had felt a breeze in the gift shop and found the trap doors to the roof left open. He'd climbed up, shut them, and in between tours he'd visited his office to check yesterday's security tapes. 

He saw Wendy coming into the shack to hang out the morning before. That was fine. Soos had discovered she did that from time to time on days the shack was closed, but she wasn't doing anything bad and she hadn't brought it up yet, so Soos didn't bring it up either. Maybe she just needed a private place to hang. Teen stuff. He was just glad Wendy felt that safe at the Mystery Shack. Maybe she'd just gone up to hang out on the roof and forgot to shut the trap doors...

And then, right there on screen, Soos saw Bill letting himself into the gift shop, through the door, which he shouldn't be able to open. A chill shot up Soos's back. The door curse was their only real means of containing Bill. If he could use doors now, he was out, there was no way they could trap him without doing something crazy like locking him in the bunker and hoping he didn't kill himself.

Or could he use doors? Soos thought back to the frantic messages on the bathroom wall, written in Bill's own blood—his desperation over being unable to escape. Maybe he could use doors but not doorknobs. That was okay, maybe?

On tape, he saw Wendy run into Bill. He saw Wendy take Bill onto the roof. Out in the open air, where he could just... do whatever. But he didn't do whatever. Soos fast-forwarded the tape until Wendy and Bill came back down, and Bill simply returned to the living room.

He'd had the perfect opportunity to shove Wendy off the roof or escape. He didn't take it.

If all Bill was using his new door skills for was ducking into the gift shop and hanging out on the roof with Wendy, Soos thought maybe it would be kinda mean to take that away from him. There weren't a lot of other places Bill could go in the shack. (Soos kept seeing the blood on the bathroom wall. He kept trying to imagine what kind of helplessness would drive someone that far.) Maybe Bill needed the open air.

So Soos had put the security tape on his desk, not sure what to do about it.

####

A couple of day after that, while Soos was restocking the gift shop in between waves of tourists, he'd seen Wendy reading an oddly dull-looking booklet instead of one of her usual magazines. He tilted his head to glance at the cover. The Oregon state driving manual. "Aw dude, gonna get your learner's permit?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Don't tell my dad."

Soos remembered Wendy groaning about her dad wrangling her into doing errands if she ever got her license. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks."

"What made you change your mind? You were totally against getting a license a week ago."

"It's probably those stupid Gleeful Auto commercials that have been worming into my dreams." Wendy laughed. "I'm just waking up in the morning like, neeeed caaar."

"Oh yeah! Heh, funny coincidence, Melody says she had a dream like that too. Sometimes she gets these like, dreams about monsters watching her in bed? But one time, the monster was Bud Gleeful, whispering in her ear about a big car sale. She totally woke up laughing!"

"Ha! Annoying car commercials should be banned, man. Why do we need to be told multiple times a day to spend thousands of dollars?"

"You make a salient point."

They fell silent for a moment as Wendy read a couple more paragraphs. Then she said, "That, plus... I was talking to Goldie the other day."

Soos looked up from the t-shirt he'd been putting on a clothes hanger. "Oh. Yeah?"

"About where we wanna go when we get out of town."

"Huh." Very casually, Soos asked, "What did Goldie say?"

"He wants to go on some big vacation. Like a world cruise or something, I dunno."

"Huh." Soos wondered if that was true. He tried to imagine Bill Cipher as a tourist. Floating triangle in a Hawaiian shirt with a camera hanging from a strap and a fanny pack. What kind of places would he even visit? Soos bet he wanted to visit the pyramids. Heh. (Was that stereotyping? Maybe that was stereotyping.)

"And I told him I'm moving to Portland for college."

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were thinking about college."

"I... actually, never told anybody else before," Wendy said. "I've been thinking about it for years, but part of me felt like it's just a fantasy? But Goldie said when he got out of high school, he did the same thing—moved to another town, made a new group of friends, all that. And... I don't know, actually talking to him out loud about it just... made it feel real, you know? So I thought, if I'm gonna move to Portland, I should probably start planning for it. Starting with how I'm getting there." She held up the driving manual.

Soos nodded slowly. "Huh. Yeah. That's a pretty mature way to look at it."

And that was what Bill was talking to Wendy about on the roof? Just... listening to a teen vent and helping her figure out her future?

And so, Soos took the security tape off his desk and put it in a drawer.

####

A few days later, Soos had heard the downstairs bathroom sink running for several minutes, assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, and went to turn it off himself—and had caught Bill, in the dark, half undressed, washing himself in the sink.

After Soos had backed out and profusely apologized, he'd asked, "But—how come you're washing in the sink? I can let you in the upstairs bathroom if you need—"

"Worry about your own grooming habits and leave mine alone," Bill snapped. "As long as I don't smell, what do you humans care how I do it. Soap is soap and water is water."

It took Soos several days to realize he didn't think Bill had had a shower since he got locked in the bathroom. And nobody had noticed, because Bill made sure nobody noticed, because he'd been keeping himself clean in the bathroom he couldn't get locked in.

####

Dipper would go all summer without showering if he could get away with it; Stan showered like once a week and had constant old man smell; Abuelita also showered weekly and had a more refined old lady smell; Soos didn't know when Ford showered, but he'd never caught him doing it and Ford always smelled weirdly like burned hair. Soos showered almost daily during tourist season—that Mr. Mystery suit was hot—but outside that might go three days at a time. Mabel showered near daily.

From what Soos had observed, Bill was showering like, at least twice a week. He didn't know how often Bill cleaned himself in the sink in between.

That meant he was showering more often than two-thirds of the house.

Yet he was the only one in the house living under the threat of being thrown in the tub at 3 a.m. if someone decided he hadn't bathed enough for their tastes.

The reason Bill had refused to shower during his first week of imprisonment was so he could use the condition of his body as a bargaining chip—with no physical possessions in the world, his own body was the only bargaining chip he had—to try to buy a little more dignity. In return, his captors had taken more dignity away. They permitted Bill less autonomy over how to take care of his body than the household's children had.

Dipper had never gotten forced into a bathroom he couldn't let himself out of.

####

The day after the eclipse, Ford had pulled Soos aside and said quietly, "Soos, as soon as you have some time—could you repair the door to the kids' room? Before the end of the day? The latch has been broken since the tooth fairy's attack."

"Uh, sure, I can probably do that," Soos said. "How come?" The latch had been broken for a couple weeks, and the Pines hadn't been worried about it before.

"Right now, the door can swing freely with just a push," Ford said. "I think Bill's figured out how to use that to get in. Which is worrisome, since he shouldn't be able to use any doors..."

"O-oh." Soos thought about the swinging door into the gift shop. "Yeah, uh... sounds bad. Byyy the way—how'd you figure out he knows how to use the door?"

"Dipper says Bill somehow got in and out of the room last night," Ford said. "Mabel fell asleep in the living room and Bill carried her upstairs. I really don't like the thought of Bill being able to get his hands on the kids while they're asleep and defenseless."

Ford was mad at Bill for tucking a kid into bed? That was the big red flag? "No problem! I'll fix the door right after work."

The next time Soos visited his office, he took the security tape out of his drawer, rewound it, stuck it back into the tape recorder, and let that day's security camera footage overwrite and erase the evidence of Bill's visit to the gift shop.

####

And now, today, carrying Journal 4 in both hands, Soos trudged downstairs, trying to figure out what to do with it. He had to return it to Ford, obviously—but Bill and the Stans were already in the middle of a discussion that sounded a lot more like an argument. Flinging a stolen journal into the middle of the proceedings would just make it worse. Maybe he should wait until they were finished and everyone had cooled down a little—?

While Soos was upstairs, the discussion had apparently moved into the kitchen. He hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

"What do you mean, you need kitchen access," Stan was asking, "you already have kitchen access. It's never been off-limits! Even after you peed in the sink!"

"It's not kitchen access if I need to ask someone else for permission to eat anything but snacks." 

"No one's making you ask for permission! You can take what you want!"

"Okay, fine. So what can I eat?" Bill gestures at the shelves. "Go on. List anything you can think of. Anything."

Stan grimaced, and glanced at Ford to see if he was willing to walk into the obvious trap first.

Ford looked at the nearby shelves. "Cereal."

"One point for Stanford Pines! Cereal! So am I supposed to eat dry cereal for every single meal, or—?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, then what else?"

"Brown meat," Stan said. "We've got plenty of brown meat. It's good for you!"

"You didn't give me can opener rights," Bill said.

"Huh."

"So no brown meat," Bill said. "No canned soup, no canned chili, no canned fruit, no canned vegetables—"

Ford cut in, "Some of the cans have pull tabs, you don't need a can opener for those."

"Terrific observation! As soon as you realized I could open those cans myself, you moved them all under the counter because you thought I'd use the sharp edges as weapons!"

"It's... possible to open cans without a can opener, I did it sometimes while roughing it in other dimensions—"

"Yeah, wearing off the metal rim with a rock, right? Lemme just go outside and grab a rock—oh wait." Bill crossed his arms.

Ford sighed, and turned to Stan to suggest something else.

Stan surveyed the available supplies, spotted the bread, and said, "You could make sandwiches!"

"With what filling?"

"Uh..." Stan kept looking.

Meats and cheeses, of course, were kept in the fridge. Along with jelly, condiments, most vegetables... tuna or spam weren't options, they were canned... "Hey, we leave out some meats that don't need refrigeration. Sausages and stuff."

"Right, right. The ones that don't need refrigeration because they're wrapped in plastic you need a knife to cut," Bill said. "Sometimes I bite the plastic open with my teeth and rip off chunks of sausage with my fingernails, that's always fun! Then you put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'm out of luck until we buy another sausage."

"You could put... peanut butter on your sandwiches?" Ford tried. "Peanut butter's nutritious."

Bill fixed him with a hard look. "For the past five weeks, every time I've gotten a meal without asking someone else to help feed me like a baby, I've had nothing but peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter and jerky sandwiches, peanut butter and raisin sandwiches, and peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. And we're out of bananas, jerky, and raisins." He pointed at the tortillas. "Once I decided to get creative and made myself a cold peanut butter quesadilla! I can't even add spices, because guess where the breakable glass spice jars are kept?"

"Pasta," Ford tried. "We could keep the pasta out."

"Oh, wow, that'd be great! I just love pasta! But I can't open the microwave and I can't turn on the stove! How do I heat the water, Stanford?"

Ford frowned. "Hm."

"I can cook, you know—not that any of you bothered to ask! It might not suit your tastes, but it suits mine! I wouldn't need your help to eat if you didn't make me need help! I am sick to death—" his voice went thick and took on an uncharacteristic waver, "—of having to beg to... eat." He cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. "Sh-shouldn't even—need to eat." He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

Stan and Ford exchanged a guilty look. Stan said, "You don't have to beg— I mean, we know the, uh... position you're in..."

Bill was silent for a moment as he tried to get a tough face back on. His voice came out as a rough whisper—too thick to get any louder without breaking. "I had to negotiate to get burnt eggs."

Ford winced.

Soos was dumbfounded.

When had Bill had to negotiate for food? He could all too easily understand how it might have happened—Bill was an annoying guy, sometimes they had to pull out dumb bargains to get him to do stuff. But bargaining for food should never be on that list. Meeting Bill's basic nutritional needs couldn't be dependent on whether he was annoying that day. If it was, he'd starve.

It sounded like he was starving. Right under Soos's roof. He hadn't even noticed.

He thought about the piles of junk food trash upstairs and the bag of chips Bill had hurled across the room.

Ford said, "We'll... discuss it."

"We'll figure something out," Stan said. "I mean it."

Bill nodded silently. Head down, without uncovering his eyes, he hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

He nearly bumped into Soos's chest without noticing him. Soos backed up a step, tucking Journal 4 under his arm. "Whoa, hey!"

Bill froze, head jerking up. "You." His voice was thick and his glare was watery and poisonous. "Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?" He tried to elbow past Soos, smacking his leg with his umbrella. "Move."

Soos realized uneasily that Bill's face looked a little slimmer than it had when he'd arrived.

He stepped in Bill's way. "Can't go upstairs right now. Attic's being cleaned."

"I didn't ask you to clean!"

"I'm not cleaning for you, dawg. It's just gotta be cleaned."

"Fine! Whatever!" Bill veered around the staircase and stomped down the hall, muttering, "Can't decide when I eat, can't decide when I shower, why should I get to choose when my hovel's swept..."

Soos's leg hurt where Bill had smacked it. (Bill couldn't even control whether or not he cried; all he had control over was making someone else hurt.)

In the kitchen, Stan murmured, "Didn't even realize we don't keep anything decent out on the counters. They're so crowded..."

"Chip bags take up a lot of space." Ford sighed. "I assumed he'd get a serving with everyone else whenever Mrs. Ramirez cooks."

"He does, but she only does dinners. And he'll only eat it if he watched her cook it. I've seen him get lunch with Mabel, but I don't know what he does when she's not..." Stan spotted Soos on the stairs. He tiredly called, "Soos? You need something?"

"Uhhh..." Soos hid the journal behind his back. "Nope! I just thought I'd come downstairs! For no reason." He awkwardly walked up the stairs backwards, journal still tucked behind him. "And—and now I'm going up again." He stopped at the landing and scooted sideways up the next flight of stairs. "See ya."

He pressed the journal to his chest and returned to the attic.

####

When Soos and Abuelita moved into the shack, the first thing Soos had done was turn Ford's ground-floor study into a bedroom for Abuelita. Because she was a little old lady, and not quite as steady as she used to be, so Soos didn't want her constantly going up and down the stairs—because falling once, just ONCE, could send her to the hospital or worse. That was how serious it was! You don't mess around with that!

Bill tripped and fell on the stairs so often that they could use it to tell when he was awake. And nobody had thought to offer him a cane? Did anybody even ask if he was alright?

When Bill first arrived and tried to murder everyone, naturally, he came out of it pretty banged up and bruised. That was to be expected. It was self-defense. They'd gotten used to seeing Bill with scrapes on his arms and legs, rope burns around his ankles, and the angry purple-black bruises of chain links over his arms. But in all the weeks since then, Soos hadn't seen Bill bruise-free once. Bruises on his shins and arms, scrapes on his elbows and knees. Soos had seen him with a four-inch burn on his forearm. Bill had brushed it off.

In Bill's first few days in the shack, he'd resorted to peeing in the kitchen sink because nobody had bothered to give a guy who couldn't open doors a way to use the bathroom. And they were the reason he couldn't open doors in the first place!

He threw up in the living room in the middle of the night and went upstairs to sleep on couch cushions on the floor and nobody had talked about it.

He burned off all his hair and was so upset about it that he stole Soos's zodiac blanket and hid under it for half a week, and everyone but Mabel just ignored him.

In less than a month in the Mystery Shack, Bill had lost a tooth.

He had been dragged out of the house during a weird weather phenomenon while terrified out of his mind. Soos had seen Bill cowering on the ground in fear, Ford looming over him, grabbing him by the collar and snarling in rage. Bill had been pleading with everyone in hearing range not to make him go, and had come back in such a state of shock he could hardly walk. 

And yet, he'd protected the whole town from getting hurt in zero gravity—and he'd brought a pet for Soos.

They'd tried to execute Bill two days later.

####

Soos sat in the window seat, flipping through the remaining filled-in pages in Journal 4. The last few pages were packed with stickers. A cat that said PURRFECT! A smiling fish that said A REEL PAL! Bill had started a little collection of pizza slice stickers for some reason. A couple of holographic rainbows, a smiling scratch-and-sniff sun. (Apparently, the sun smelled like lemons and oranges. Astronomy facts!)

Soos reached the current page. Bill was using several pieces of paper—regular printer paper and notebook paper, folded in half—like a bookmark. Soos unfolded them. A list of animals ranked by fuzziness. (Soos was satisfied that he'd been placed under the "smooth and squishy" category, but wondered whether he should be bothered by the fact that he shared the category with pigs and slugs.) A drawing of Bill riding a looping rocket ship and waving a fishbowl helmet above him. A drawing of a blue house with a couple of kids and a pig in the window. Several drawings of shape people kinda like Bill: a pink heart person labeled "Me in Flatworld," a stern-looking red stop sign wearing sunglasses labeled "Bill's parole officer," Bill dancing, the pink heart protecting Bill from some villainous-looking shapes—all clearly Mabel's art.

Several notebook pages in someone else's handwriting detailing names, addresses, and contact information, with statements Soos couldn't make sense of—as if maybe someone had been asking somebody else questions and writing down their answers. He thought the questions might be about how some people had reacted to the end of Weirdmageddon. He got the impression the people being discussed had known that Weirdmageddon was coming. He got the impression they were disappointed it hadn't happened. There were several questions at the end: How will we rendes-vouz? (Whoever was writing didn't know how to spell rendezvous, but to be fair Soos wasn't 100% sure either.) What supplies do you need? What are your interim orders?

Soos stared at the notebook papers.

He flipped back through the journal again, looking at each page more closely.

Sometimes the two-tone dot-and-dash segments had a stray human word: a few characters he recognized from his Teach Yourself Japanese workbooks, sometimes words Soos thought might be Arabic but honestly he didn't have a clue. At one point he listed half a dozen human names that Soos didn't recognize. The most common character was a stretched-out letter M (Mabel?), followed by a 6 knocked on its side (Sixer?).

The dot-and-dash segments had occasional amateurish illustrations. Sometimes they were human stick figures; sometimes the stick figures' heads had symbols off of Bill's zodiac wheel. He saw Stan's fish symbol, Gideon's star symbol, and Mabel's shooting star symbol. Ford's stick figures were the only ones with hands; Bill consistently gave them six fingers. The doodles were like particularly esoteric cave drawings; they were so bad that Soos couldn't tell what most of them were supposed to illustrate.

Except for one featuring Bill (as a triangle) and Mabel and some other inscrutable figures in a really awesome car with flames on the side, its coolness limited only by the fact that it was all in gray and yellow-green crayon. When Soos had been in high school, there had always been a couple of kids who didn't know how to draw anything except expensive cars or name-brand sports shoes, but they drew them in extreme realistic detail. Apparently, Bill was that kind of artist. Nothing but stick figures and the sickest crayon car Soos had ever seen.

It didn't do anything to dispel Soos's impression of Bill as a lost alien 18-year-old.

On one page, in sloppy lines of handwriting that meandered drunkenly up and down the paper, Bill had written, "I don't get why you won't give me a second shot. I asked you to join my gang. I serenaded you in a pyramid. I got a fantastic makeover. I offered you godhood. I showed you my dimension. I didn't torture you until I had to. I even made you a skin couch! I know how much you've always wanted a leather furniture set! I've given you everything from chicken zombification magic to jelly beans, what does it take? What am I missing?"

Soos reread Bill's other messages to Ford. All that "you'll regret not siding with me" junk wasn't threats. It was the impotent rage of a socially inept teenager who didn't understand his own creepiness had driven his friends away. It was the whiny moan of some guy going "Why doesn't she like me anymore" about an ex-girlfriend who had told him five times she didn't like him anymore because he didn't listen to her. Like that guy Wendy dated last summer. So like, a jerk, but not a terrifying world-ending monster jerk, just an annoying creep jerk. A regular jerk. A human jerk.

Soos stood, gave one last look at this journal—clearly stolen, definitely a violation of Bill's "no writing materials" restriction, completely stuffed full of mysterious messages to outsiders and some kind of weird alien code that could say anything at all and might have been super dangerous—and he slid it back into the ripped seam in the attic seat cushion where he'd found it.

He finished vacuuming up the potato chips Bill had flung across the room, thinking about how offended Bill had been that Soos had given him any food except what he'd asked for, remembering what Abuelita had said about people who destroy the things around them when they feel like that's the last and only thing they still have power over.

Enough was enough.

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Next week we may interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to post a TBOB-based chapter I'm inserting early into the fic—it depends on if I get it done by next Friday. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

[chartreuxhue]

"I don't like you"

I wrote this a long time ago like back in 2022, sooooo if it's bad don't blame me. Blame past me. ANYWAYS enjoy :) Rule and stuff should be coming out soon...

Pairings: Yoru x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, uhhh i cant think of anything else

There were three mirror agents left, the only two people on your team left being you and Yoru. Spike had already been planted. Your back was against the wall as you held the vandell in your hands towards the entryway of the hall. “She walks through here. I’ll have to hold my own until Yoru can show and help”  or in this case finally help you. There had been no noise on comms for a long time. You were starting to think the lone wolf male was just waiting for you to get hurt so he could save you like some knight in shining armor. 

Right as you were starting to get into deep thought the mirror Skye walks into view. Three shots are fired, and the body of Skye is on the floor. You breathe. That's when you hear the two other pairs of footsteps. You took your moment and started to run, bullets were flying past. 

“Can I get a little help here!” you shouted into you comms

You quickly turned into another hallway a good distance from where you had killed Skye. You took the time to reload your gun and check for injuries, only one that you could find, a bullet graze from a phantom. “Shit! At least it wasn't as bad as last time.” 

You thought about how you were going to get out of this situation you were in. you had no more tricks up your sleeve, you were solely relying on Yoru to do something. You were starting to get worried, what the hell was he doing. Exploring the city? You watch says he was still alive and good. So what truly was taking forever. Well if he wont do anything with you alive you’ll do it yourself. You get ready to round the corner and start firing. Your foot shifted and you went to lean. 

“I’ll handle this!” 

You shifted back into the position you were before, back against the wall. You sigh, “Took you long enough!”  you thought. The sound of gunfire was heard, along with Yoru calling out that one was down. You took this as your time to make your way back to spike to defuse.

You peek around a corner, the cost looks clear so you make your way to spike. You set your gun down next to it and pull out the diffuser and start defusing. You're halfway to defusing the spike, when you hear a pistol being cocked and the end of the barrel being placed on the back of your head. “Shit! Not now of all times.”  

“How about you place that on the ground and I'll think about letting you keep your head.” The mirror Killjoy says. You place the diffuser on the ground next to you. 

“Let's not get too hasty.” you say with your hands up. You started down at the spike, its beeping was getting faster and it was making a lot more noise. You saw something blue out of the corner of your eye. You have to buy a little more time. 

“Hey , I know you have a whole reason for doing this but, I really don’t want to die directly in front of the bomb.” you say

“Oh really, well mirror you don't have a problem with it.” she says, you hear a light sarcasm in her voice. 

“Oh really, well if you can’t tell we’re actually quite different.” you say pushing your head back farther back onto the barrel of the pistol. You hear her hum as a response. You heard the little swirl noises from Yoru when he's in the dimensional drift. You slowly start reaching for the pistol strapped to your thigh.  You grab towards it as if you were going to pull it out. 

“Surprise” Yoru says as he exits the dimensional drift. You swiftly turn around and grab the pistol out of Killjoys hands before her body falls to the ground. 

The spikes beeping was getting alarmingly faster and the noises coming from it were loud too. You picked up the diffuser and went back to defusing the bomb. 

“Shit!” you said. The spikes beeping was getting faster and faster.

“Hurry up, all this will be for nothing if you get us killed.” Yoru stays behind you. 

“Shut the fuck up.” you say. You could feel Yoru getting antsy behind you while you were defusing. 

“I swear, if I die-” he was cut off by the successful defusal noise. You sighed.

You pressed a few buttons on your watch before you heard the Brimstones voice on the other end of your comms. 

“You two all set?” Brimstone asked. You looked over at Yoru.

“Yeah we're all set. We’ll be at the rendezvous point.” you said, you picked up the bag with the spike in it and handed it to Yoru. “Carry this for me, will you?” You say putting the bag in his hands and walking away. 

“Do it yourself, I’ve done everything else here.” he says before placing it on the ground and looking up at you, he scans your body for any extreme injuries, before his eyes land on the one on your dominant arm. 

“Men should always do the heavy lifting, what else are men for?” you said with a sly ass smirk on your face.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, I'll continue to do everything by myself.” he says while picking up the bag and catching up with you.

……

You sit in the infirmary as Sage wrapped the injury on your arm. 

“So, I heard Yoru waited until last second to do anything.” she asked.

“Yeah, but if he waited any longer I would be dead.” 

“Well, thank god he saved you. He hasn't shut up about how well you did on the mission before with him.” 

“What!” you were stumped. Yoru was speaking highly of you. Your relationship has always been one of how better than the other. That and he very clearly annoyed the absolute shit out of you, with his whole “I’ll save the situation like always.” thinking. 

Sage finished wrapping your arm and smiled. 

“Don’t say anything to him. It might actually hurt his ego.” she says. 

She turned to continue doing more things in the infirmary leaving you to do whatever you want. So you leave the infirmary, off to find the man at question Yoru himself. 

You search the hallways for a good 30 minutes before you hear a loud banter between Yoru and Jett, coming from the shooting range

“You already know I’m a better shot than you.” Jett claims. 

“Just because you're fast doesn’t mean you're a good shot.” 

The banter goes on between the two for a while before Jett notices your presence and goes to quietly make her leave, with a playful smile on her face. 

“So you think you're a better shot than Jett.” you say. He turns his head to look at you before he scoffs. “And what's it to you?” 

“I don’t know, maybe because we all know who's actually better.” you say.

“Can I help you with something?” You’re annoying him.

“Yes, actually. I wanted to know why it took you so fucking long to do anything during the mission.” you asked, taking a seat on one of the boxes in the shooting range. 

“(y/n), are you serious right now? If you're still alive. I still did my job. Plus if you die it's not like the mission objective was to project little miss' ‘I can’t kill anything without help’” he mocked as he used a high pitched fake female voice. 

“Yoru, It took you practically 30 minutes to even do anything. The other team members, which let me remind you, are here to help you, were gone. God knows what would happen if you didn’t help me in time.” you say waving your hands around to help get your point across more. 

“Yeah, well look, you're still alive and kicking. I can’t do everything for you.” 

“I’m not saying, -” You cut yourself off out of frustration. 

“You’re not listening.” 

“I’m not listening! Do you not care for your own safety? The things that would have happened to you if I wasn't there.” He's actually serious. Is he actually upset?

“I can handle things myself. No need for me to rely on a man.” 

“Prove it,” he says. There was a very serious look on his face, a lust in his eyes. He was staring at you like a predator. 

“I have nothing to prove to you, Yoru.” you say standing up. He was now directly in front of you. Even if you had something to prove, it wouldn’t be to Yoru. 

“Oh really. You seem to have something to prove by coming to find me.” 

You take a step back, things seem to be getting heated extremely fast. With each step you take he takes, until your back hits the wall. His hands go to the wall behind you. Trapping you in front of him. 

“You're so..” he trails, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. You were starting to get all hot and bothered now. 

“You’re so annoying-” he cuts you off with a kiss, so instead of looking like a fish out of water you kiss back. He deepened the kiss. His hands move from the wall to the sides of head. A single kiss quickly turned into a make out session. Your hands went up to the back of his neck, pulling him further into you. One of his hands moved to the base of your neck, while the other went exploring further down. His hand stopped at your waist. He pulled you closer to him. Almost like you were going to disappear at any moment. He broke for air, a smirk played on his face. 

“And I thought you hated me.”

“Pent up frustrations, from how reckless you are. And how long it takes for you to help during missions.” You say wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands now rest on your hips. 

“Is that so?” 

You humm in response. You're getting extremely impatient. Not only did he stop, now you’re all hot and bothered. 

“Why do you look so bothered?” he asked.

“I don't know, maybe you started something and just chose not to finish it. You, of all people, are the last person I would have thought to not finish something.” 

His grip on your hips got tighter. 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

You smiled, maybe being annoying to him isn't so bad.

“Or what.” you asked 

He kissed you, a hard, messy, greedy kiss. Something to prove. But like most kisses it starts something different. He started to trail down from your lips. Leaving a sloppy wet trail down, a hand coming up to the other side of your neck. You moved your head back giving him more room to work with. He got to a certain spot causing you to gasp. Your hands move up into his hair. He puts his hands on your thighs and taps them. 

“Up.” he commands. 

You lifted your legs and he caught them, wrapping them around his waist. Putting a little more force between him and the wall. He sucks and nips at the spot that caused you to gasp, trying to get a noise or something out. 

“Don’t hold back, I wanna hear you.” 

A hand moving from your thigh to your stomach, and it gets lower and lower. You didn’t stop him, instead you watched his hand get closer and closer to pussy. His hand passed the button of your pants and you finally looked up, a low sigh leaving your lips in anticipation. His hand cups your clothed vagina, you can feel the tips of his middle and index fingers making slow circles. You roll your head back against the wall, holding back whatever was trying to come out. 

“Let it out,” he says in a dangerously low tone, so you do. A high pitched moan leaves your mouth as his fingers pick up in pace and change to going the full length of your pussy. A few more moans come out and then you're suddenly very aware of how loud you are being.

“Yoru, what if someone hears?” you ask, quite afraid of being caught. 

“Then we'll have to make this quick.” he says. He puts your legs down. 

“Take them off, pretty girl.” He says, as he walks to the door of the shooting range and hits a button. You take your pants off. You turn towards him, being surprised by him kissing you. 

“Now where were we?” He says, picking you and going over a table and placing you on the edge of it. He bent down in front of you. Placing both his hands on your thighs. He bites your thigh before he moves closer to your vagina, placing his tongue at the entrance and licking up to your clitt. He ended his first taste by sucking on the little bundle of nerves. Earning a moan out of you. He takes two fingers and inserts them into you and places his lips back onto your clit.

“Fuck. Me.” 

You moaned out as your hand that isn’t propping you up goes to lace into his hair. His fingers were going in and out, curling when they went as far as they could in. You never thought you would hear such lewd things going for your mouth, it feels like you haven’t stopped making noise since he got down there. It just felt so fucking good. 

He started to move but arms under your legs and wrapped around the top, a way to secure your legs open. He was only using his mouth now. He pulled back for a moment, taking a moment to catch his breath.  

“Fuck, you sound so good.”

He practically buried his face in your pussy. Eating it like his last meal. More lewd noises and moans were flowing out of your mouth. You threw your head back, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter. 

“Cum, I’m gunna-” you cut yourself off, words started to get way to hard to speak. He let out a low hum, sending the vibrations right to your vagina. It just so happened to be enough for the knot within to snap. You let out a high pitched moan, holding it for longer than you expected as he continued to eat you out through your high. When you had come down from it you looked down to meet his eyes. He smirked up at you, before releasing your legs from his grasp. You lay down completely on the table, exhausted. 

“I hate you so much.” you spoke. You hated that he could just completely make you come undone like that. 

“I don’t know, your body says otherwise.” He says as he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his glove. He hands you back your pants. You grab them but just stare at him.

“What?” he asked.  

“Where are my panties?” you asked. Looking around. You have taken them off with your pants. 

“Oh I don’t know, they weren’t there when I picked your pants up,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes. He most likely stole them as a trophy. 

You slip your pants back on. You look around to make sure you got everything that was yours, leaving no trace of evidence of what happened. You sighed, after a good look around and walked to the door. Yoru stood waiting and watched you like a hawk. 

“Do I look presentable?” you asked, fixing your hair like you alway do. 

“Like always.” he said, he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll see you around, (y/n).” he said before opening the door and leaving with a prominent smirk on his face. 

[imagine-silk]

if okay if you feel uncomfortable doing this or you just don’t want to, I couldn’t find any rules in your profile, but will you either do a platonic yandere miguel o’hara or platonic yandere parker family finding out that the reader self harms? I hope you have a good day/night!

》¿Por qué no los dos? This brand of ask isn't my favorite but I do my best to do it justice. It's a serious topic.

The Parker's (using the babysitter background x)

Absolutely not. They found out after you were half living at their house and they are speechless. Nothing could have prepared them for this.

Your family either doesn't know or overlook it. Either way they hate your family, your parents especially. None of your siblings snitched on you? Not even once? That disdain is set in stone and there is nothing you could do about it.

You always wear some sort of long sleeve and they're cool with that but they wrapped your arm underneath with bandages. Lord knows they have a ton of them. Don't even think about taking them off because they check everyday.

As impossible as it sounds, they spend more time with you.

MJ gets off of work the second her shift is over. "Sorry. My son/daughter is waiting for me to get home." She doesn't get into it ever. If someone asks, you're having homework trouble.

Peter makes sure Mayday is with you all the times. You can't have anything sharp around a baby. Especially a baby that climbs everywhere. Plus that means they can get more pictures. Win-win.

They make sure you know you can talk to them if you have anything to say. They will always listen. Peter is always willing to stop everything for it. He knows how hard things can hit you.

Miguel

He reacts with aggression at first. He freaks out, asking about who did it to you and what their names are. When you say it was you he doesn't believe it. You might be covering for someone or you didn't know who did it. He's even willing to believe you did it on accident. It takes a few minutes to convince him you did it.

After that he pulls you into a hug and says he's proud of you for telling him instead of waiting until he found out. He shushes you while you cry on his shoulder.

He says he trusts you to keep away from doing it or making any plans to hurt yourself but that's not true. Dude has inter-dimensional cameras he watches at work and checks when you're sleeping. He makes an effort to grab your arm every so often. Nothing to tip you off.

He doesn't press you to talk about it. He asks if you want to talk about it once and then let's you come to him on your terms. Any time you do he holds your hand.

As a single dad he can't always be there or have someone to keep you company so he tries to keep you busy. He'll get you into any hobby you want. If it's basketball he'll never miss a game. If it's ballet he will buy as many shoes as you go through. If you like cooking he'll leave every meal in your hands and stock the fridge. Anything.

Now that all that fluff is out of the way let's get down to business. Everyone around you is a suspect. All your classmates or co-workers. Every Spider who comes into contact with you. Any villain that seems to know about you in the slightest, even if they don't know he's your father, is maimed. You need to feel safe and loved and he doesn't need any unwanted stress in your life. Every single one of them is one the chopping block and his axe is very heavy.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Happiest of birthdays to THE @finntheehumaneater, happy birthday babe! ❤️

Part 1 | . . . | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62

Steve wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to El settling between him and Eddie. He hums groggily and pulls her closer. “Hey, Ellie,” he mutters, smiling at her. “You doing okay?”

El nods. “You had burgers?”

Steve hums in affirmation. “There’s one for you, too, in the kitchen.”

She lights up and slides off the couch, returning less than a minute later with her burger. “Thank you,” she says, biting into it happily.

Steve hums again. “How’d you sleep?”

She nods. “No nightmares.”

“I’m glad,” he says sincerely, looking out over everyone. “Hopefully nightmares are the worst problem we’re gonna have to deal with.” He rubs her arm. “How’re you feeling otherwise?”

She considers his words as she takes another bite of her burger. She gets ketchup on the corner of her lip and licks it away. “Still tired,” she decides. “But… but not bad. I can- if you need something-”

“I don’t need anything,” Steve assures her. “Not until you’re feeling a hundred percent better, alright?”

“M’kay,” she nods. “What next?”

“Next…” Steve sighs. “We heal. We take time, and relax, and feel better.”

She finishes her burger, balls up the wrapper, and puts it on the coffee table before leaning back into Steve. “That sounds nice.”

He chuckles and runs a hand over her hair. “You get to just be twelve,” he tells her. “What do you want to do?”

She yawns. “Sleep?” She quips, and Steve laughs.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he says, looking at everyone else. “How about a group sleepover?”

“Puppy pile!” Robin calls, and swans over Alli. They both burst out into giggles.

“I think there’s one essential thing every twelve-year-old has to do,” Eddie inputs, grinning when everyone turns to look at him. “Blanket fort.”

El frowns. “Blanket fort?”

“Eddie’s right,” Alli calls, pushing Robin off of her and standing. “Everyone, grab as many pillows and blankets as you can. El, honey, we’ll explain as we go along, okay?”

“Okay,” El agrees. “Where do we get pillows and blankets from?”

Alli grins and spreads her hands. “Anywhere in the house is fair game tonight. There’s a hall closet upstairs with a lot, though. Wanna help me start there?”

“Okay,” El agrees, and they start off.

“I call your room!” Robin yells to Steve, already running to the stairs.

Steve blinks at her, then shrugs at Eddie, who shrugs back. “D’you wanna get the guest room we stayed in? I can get Alli’s.”

“Sure,” Eddie nods, grinning. “But I hope you know I’m a very picky blanket fort engineer, so her pillows and blankets had better be up to snuff.”

Up to snuff, Steve mouths, then laughs. “Sure, Eds.” He stands and waits for Eddie to do the same before yelling, “Race you!” And pushing Eddie back down onto the couch before racing for the stairs.

“Betrayal!” Eddie yelps, scrambling up and after Steve, trying to grab at his ankle and bring him down.

Steve kicks him off but loses time doing so, which means Eddie gets his hand around Steve’s other thigh. Steve trips down onto the stairs with a grunt and a quiet curse. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he breathes, rolling over with a wince and holding his side.

Eddie stops and stands, staring wide-eyed at Steve. “Shit,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” Steve lets out a strained chuckle, closes his eyes, lets his head thump back onto the wood. “At least it wasn’t my head?”

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mutters, kneeling by Steve’s side, pulling up his shirt. “Lemme see, do you think you pulled something? Do you need to go get stitches?”

Steve snorts. “Even if I did, where would I go? It’s not like I can go to any old hospital. I was clawed by an inter-dimensional creature.”

“Good point,” Eddie says mildly. “I bet Wayne would know someone.” He tugs Steve’s shirt up a little more, rests a gentle hand on the bandage. “Does that hurt?”

Steve hums. “No, not really.”

Eddie fixes him with a look. “Which is it? No or not really?”

Steve chuckles. “My skin’s split open, dude, just existing hurts right now, but your hand doesn’t make it hurt any more than normal. I think it was the shock more than anything.”

Eddie chews his lip, thumbs at the edge of the bandage. “Still, maybe we should go to the bathroom, just check-”

“Eddie,” Steve says quietly, laying a hand over the one on his torso, “I’m fine. Okay? You didn’t hurt me any more than I already was.”

“You understand that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“It should.”

Eddie laughs softly and shakes his head, closing his eyes. “God, Steve, do you ever let people care about you?”

“Once a year,” Steve quips, “and we’ve filled that quota for about the next five years already.”

Eddie smiles, stands, and offers Steve a hand up. “Then let’s go make it six.”

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[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 15!!!

Okay, this is gonna be a long one, but I promise it's important. There was just a lot that I had to get in here. Also we had our first ever tie! So I chose between the two. Alright, let's do this. Enjoy!

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*******************

The bar in question is rowdy and rustic. The crowd that has already gathered is loud, probably drunk, and honestly makes you wish you had some anxiety meds with you or something because the button in your pocket is a single thread holding you together when you could really do with a rope. You look over to Aziraphale, who’s grimacing at the scene. Oh good, so you’re not the only one who isn’t a fan of this place. You notice Crowley studying the bar – no doubt trying to get a sense for their selection.

“Over there,” Anathema shouts over the noise. You follow her pointing arm to see Sardis, already at a table and waving you over. Well, at least you definitely have a space to sit. That’s something.

The four of you approach Sardis who waves you into the seats around him with an enormous smile.

“Welcome!” He says grandly, “To my favourite place this side of town.”

“Your favourite place,” You repeat with skepticism, “Is a dive bar?”

“Oh not just any dive bar Little Moth,” Sardis winks as he speaks, “The best karaoke bar this side of the bayou. Personal opinion, of course. But I am an angel after all so feel free to take that as gospel.” He laughs loudly at his own joke. You chuckle uncertainly. Aziraphale shakes his head. Anathema rolls her eyes. Crowley looks like he could vomit. Basically, Sardis is the only one amused. Once he finally stops laughing, he looks around at you. “Such sour faces, my friends. But of course you have, I’ve forgotten my manners! Let me get you some drinks before the festivities start.”

“The festivities?” asks Aziraphale, “I’m sure you don’t mean...”

“The karaoke, of course!” Sardis smiles before leaving the table with a wink. “Be back in a sec!”

“I am not singing,” Crowley states firmly.

“Nor am I,” Aziraphale frowns.

“We may need to consider it,” Anathema says after a pause, “He has information that we need, and we may have to play his game to get it.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly…dislike him...but he's weird,” You, the dimensional traveler, observe.

“Oh absolutely weird,” agrees the witch.

“A very weird one indeed, yes,” affirms the angel of the Eastern Gate.

“Weird as all fuck,” confirms the demon.

Sardis returns carrying a tray with five drinks and lays it proudly on the table in front of them.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I took my best guess,” Sardis announces as he hands around the drinks, “Sherry for the angel, whiskey for the demon, margarita for the witch, and I played it safe and got you a sangria.” He lays the alcohol in front of each of you. You take a sip and holy crow is it ever delicious. “’S that good, Little Moth?” Sardis asks you as he takes his own seat. You nod, and his smile grows. “Good, glad to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly, Sardis,” Aziraphale ventures, taking a sip of his sherry, “Now, perhaps would you mind telling us what you know?”

Sardis laughs again. He laughs a lot, you notice. Probably having the time of his life with all of this.

“What I know is that I’m not saying anything about Jesus until you sign up and sing me a song.”

Honestly, you need to take a deep breath at that. The irritation is building. First he wouldn’t say anything until you came here, and now he won’t say anything until you sing for him. He keeps changing the goal posts on you. Anathema had said you might need to play his game to get information from him, but you honestly didn’t think it would feel so...condescending.

Anathema’s phone suddenly starts ringing. She pulls it out of her pocket, and you briefly notice the What’s App logo and Newt’s face lighting up the screen. After a brief apology, she excuses herself from the table and leaves the bar. Well. Lucky her. You sigh and stand.

“Yeah okay fine, I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?” Crowley asks. His question has bite, but you’re sure it isn’t anger – he just doesn’t want everyone to end up leaving him with Sardis.

“I’m going to sign up,” You say, “Sing a song. Karaoke, right?” You look at Sardis, who nods appreciatively.

“There now! Little Moth gets it!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both gawk at you, but you’re already turning and beelining for the sign-up table.

Now here, dear Reader, let’s take a moment to talk about the Anxiety Loophole. In ordinary circumstances, you’d be lucky to talk to a crowd and sound normal about it (not to mention the possibility of nausea and such), but the Anxiety Loophole is a magical and gracious thing. In a situation where there is something that must be done, and everyone around you is too scared or embarrassed or anxious themselves to do it, suddenly it becomes possible for you. You may never dream of asking for your food to be sent back at a restaurant, but if your friend needs more ketchup and is too nervous to ask for it, you will put the chef in a headlock if you have to in order to get it for them. Or, say, if an angel and a demon have expressly stated their discomfort with singing in public, and another angel with vital information demands a performance before telling you said information, signing up for karaoke suddenly seems like a piece of cake. Besides, you figure, most of the people in the room are drunk. So you pick something easy, something loud, something most people here probably know already. That way, they’ll do most of the work for you, and then you’re singing with them, instead of for them. Are you a genius? Yes, yes you are. Take the praise, Reader, you’re going to want that confidence in a few minutes.

You return to the table, having put your name and song on the list, and take a seat (and a very large sip of your sangria).

“There,” You declare, “Now how about we talk about Jesus while we wait for my name to be called.”

“You’re not actually serious about this,” Crowley asks. You look to Sardis.

“I am if he is.”

Sardis’ eyes widen in surprise before he smiles again. “Oh, I most definitely like you, Little Moth.” He leans his chin on his hands. “Tell me, what has Metatron had to say about you?”

Oh good. You’re actually getting somewhere.

“Nothing good,” You admit with a frown, “He tried to turn me into salt once, and then trapped me in a bathroom and tried to manipulate me.”

Sardis hums and nods in affirmation. Then he turns to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“And tell me, what have the two of you done about that?” he asks them. The both of them practically jump in surprise.

“W-well,” Aziraphale starts and stops.

“Ngggk,” says Crowley.

“Well you see, it’s a bit more complicated than…”

“So nothing then,” Sardis concludes.

“Wait,” You say, “That’s not fair.”

“Have you given Little Moth any way to defend or protect themselves?”

“They don’t need to!” You all but shout, “They’re with me basically all the time!”

But Sardis doesn’t seem to hear you. He stares at the celestials with an offended glare. Neither Aziraphale or Crowley seem to know what to make of it, but he doesn’t give them much of a chance to before he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a card, and hands it to you. You take it from him, worried that if you don’t he might get upset with Aziraphale and Crowley and really it’s the Metatron’s fault, not theirs. Put the blame in the right place. Your hands are starting to shake a little as you look at the card.

“Oh!” You exclaim, relaxing a little. Actually it’s not all that bad. It’s a punch card of sorts. It reminds you a little bit of Furfur’s card from the 1941 minisode, but instead of being a Miracle Blocker, it’s a Miracle Enabler numbered 1 to 12. You notice that each number is perforated – meant to be torn off so that you don’t need to carry around a hole punch. Clever, actually. You show it to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Oh my,” says Aziraphale, “That really is clever. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that the idea never came to me.”

“Huh,” Crowley adds, helpfully.

“Yeah,” says Sardis, “You probably never had to think about things like, what if they ever turn off your miracles Up There. Probably helps that your only mention in the Bible isn’t about how shit you are.”

You look at the card thoughtfully for a minute. You think about all the genie questions you’ve seen online.

“Go on, Little Moth,” Sardis coos gently, “Try it out.”

You glance at him and then back at the card. Well he’s not giving you any hints about how this thing works, so probably best to just follow your instincts. After taking a second to think, you rip off the number 1 and make a wish.

The number has disappeared from your fingers and reappeared attached to the card.

“Oop,” Sardis says, “Looks like that didn’t go through. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to make it so that I could do miracles without the card.”

Sardis starts to laugh. “Oh you have a clever mind! I like the way you think!” His laughter continues for a moment before he calms himself, though you notice it takes him some time. Then he shakes his head.

“Listen,” he says to you, “Humans just can’t do miracles. For you to be able to do them without the card, you would have to change your entire species. And this little thing just isn’t built for that sort of miracle. Try again, something smaller this time.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you stare back at the card. Something reasonable that wouldn’t need a big change in order to work. Oh, wait a minute. You rip off the number 1, and make a wish. Suddenly, you notice that you are holding a second Miracle Enabler, full up.

“There you go, Little Moth,” Sardis sighs approvingly, “Now that’s how you do it!” The first card goes in a place you can easily reach – your jeans pocket, perhaps. The second one you fold up and place in your sock. For emergencies.

“What did you mean about your mention in the Bible?” Aziraphale ventures, apparently sensing that he isn’t in trouble anymore. Sardis raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you read Revelation?” he asks.

“Well yes, of course,” Aziraphale replies, “But I don’t recall it saying you were...well...bad.”

“Shit, Angel,” corrects Crowley, “He said it calls him shit.”

“I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead,” Sardis quotes, “Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you received and heard; obey it, and repent.” He shakes his head. “Does that sound like a glowing report to you? No, see, I invited that asshat John over for brunch one time, okay? ONE. He gets the runs, blames it on the bacon. Next thing I know, I’m getting hate mail, supposedly from Jesus, with passive aggressive notes about people who haven’t soiled their clothes. Yeah, no, I know exactly whose message that was.” He huffs angrily and sips his drink.

“So….” You interject cautiously, “You stayed down here because...oh, because Heaven endorsed it?”

“Enthusiastically,” he confirms, “I’m just a minor angel – ha, barely that. More of a guardian. They don’t care about me as much as the message.”

You nod, Gabriel’s trial coming to mind. It’s all about the message.

“We know all about that,” You say gently, “They threatened to erase Aziraphale’s name from the Book of Life. Well, anyone really, who uh, helped Gabriel escape judgment.” Sardis raises an eyebrow at that.

“Oh yeah? What did that bureaucratic ass do?”

“He fell in love with Beelzebub and said ‘Nah’ to Armageddon Part 2.”

“Psh, oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Sardis says, taking another sip, “Not that any of them could erase anyone. Not really. You need to know someone’s true name for that.”

“Hold up,” says Crowley, “The Book of Life isn’t actually real?”

“Oh, it is,” says Sardis, “I know it for a fact. You see, one of the things of being an Original Angel of the Church,” he says the title mockingly, you notice, “is that you end up with a gift. Something to give the worthy when they ascend. Mine happens to be knowing everyone’s true name.”

“Wait a minute, wait,” You say, “That’s...that’s...”

“I know,” Sardis says, “Look, it’s like this. Most books that you read, the words are 2-dimensional, right? The Book of Life sort of has more than 2 dimensions to it. And it records everything. Now look,” he takes a packet of coarse sugar, “This is a soul,” he opens it and pours the chunks onto the table, “Each soul can be different people throughout its existence, and the Book, for accuracy purposes, records your name in whatever life you're living,” he picks up one crystal, “on the first dimension,” he places it on top of the paper pouch, “and your true name on the dimensions that lie underneath.” He sits up triumphantly. “So before you can actually erase anyone you need to know their true name, and before you know that, you need to know how to read the Book, and before that you need the gift to be able to perceive the different dimensions.”

“Which you have,” Crowley concludes. Sardis nods.

“Which I have, yes. Unfortunately, I also have the misfortune of never being able to be anywhere near the Book of Life. So I’m basically the angelic equivalent of a dolphin who knows all the secrets of Super Mario. I know it, but fat lot of good it does me. Or will ever, for that matter.”

You’re about to say something else, but your name gets called to the stage.

Oh. Oh right.

Oh shit.

You walk up to the stage and take the microphone uncertainly as the intro music for Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off starts to play. You chose it because you know some of the actions to it and I mean, the lyrics are so simple that you’re hoping the drunk crowd will start singing along with you.

“I stay out too late,

Got nothing in my brain,

At least that’s what people say,

That’s what people say,”

A random drunk person in the back cheers.

“But I keep cruisin’

Can’t stop won’t stop movin’

It’s like I got this music in my mind sayin’

It’s gonna be alright”

The entire bar claps three times. Oh wow.

Basically, your plan works. They all can’t help but join in for the chorus, and you end up having a lot of fun with it. Their enthusiasm is so validating, and after a minute or two you don’t care if it’s because of the alcohol or if they actually think you’re good. You just sing the song and you have a fabulous time of it. Honestly, it's hard to have a bad time singing and dancing to that song. You forget about saving the world, you forget that Crowley and Aziraphale are watching you, everything just fades away for a few minutes except for the lyrics on the screen in front of you and the energy of the people in the bar. For a few minutes, you’re just having fun, and that’s the most important thing about this, dear Reader.

When the song is over you return to the table. Anathema is finally back, and you notice she’s finished her drink pretty quickly. Good thing you ate before coming. Sardis is clapping for you.

“That was excellent! Great job, Little Moth! Here, have another one on me.” He waves his hand and a second sangria appears IN A FISHBOWL. Oh...Aziraphale and Crowley better cover you later, a hangover while one world-saving duty would suck.

Anathema clears her throat.

“So,” she says, you notice her voice shakes a little. Probably because she downed that drink so fast. “About Jesus.”

“Ah yes,” sighs Sardis, “The prodigal son himself. Well, I will tell you that he is here, though not in this city. Came down in a plane and everything.”

“Ha!” You say, pointing triumphantly, “I told you!”

Sardis chuckles. “Yes, what a day that was. Landed in Los Angeles thirteen years ago.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“Los Angeles,” says Aziraphale, “Well that’s awfully on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” You say, “So he’s an adult then, right? Not a baby?” You’re hoping. Your fingers are crossed that maybe he arrived in the states when he was a toddler, or a small kid.

“Oh no, not a baby, but not an adult either,” confirms Sardis.

“Don’t say it,” You beg.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley looks like he’s on alert. Even Anathema looks a little unsure what to make of you.

“Okay actually just say it,” You decide, “How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen.”

“Oh shit,” says Anathema.

“Is he at least one of the nice thirteen year-olds?” You ask hopefully.

“Well,” says Sardis, “He’s definitely white this time, and his family is rich so, what do you think.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale interrupts, “But, ah, what exactly is the problem here?”

When, dear Reader, was the last time you were around a 13-year-old boy? The age when they are all about proving how masculine they are, the age when they like to play rough in places where they really shouldn’t be playing rough, be mean for no reason other than because it makes them feel like a badass, jump and hoot and holler and laugh at anyone with sense because they get a kick out of adults getting angry with them. There is no force more annoying or enraging than a 13 year old, of any gender. But now add privileged and spoiled to that and you have a force to be reckoned with. You briefly relay this to Aziraphale.

“So,” You conclude, “The person who we need to convince to save the world, the person who needs to take this seriously or everyone dies terribly, the person who we need to care, has all the makings of the one person who is the least likely to care on the entire planet.”

“Ugh,” Anathema groans, “Why did they have to do it like that? I thought Jesus was supposed to be all about the outsiders and being kind to each other and things.”

“Well,” suggests Aziraphale, “I suppose that was probably the first time around. This time, they’re probably a bit less concerned about the, ah, morality of the whole thing, and more concerned about the messiah bit.”

“Right,” Anathema says with a disillusioned sigh, “And the fastest and easiest way for anyone to become a messiah in this world is to be rich, white, and male.”

“Cutting corners, I believe humans would say,” concludes Aziraphale.

Sardis nods, a frown upon his face. The previously cheerful angel isn’t laughing anymore as he raises his glass and says “To the world.”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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[thatonebirdwrites]

Figuring out how to weave everything into this, have it be coherent, and flow well was difficult.

I also was reluctant to edit for a bit due to how painful it is to look at the core memories that cause fracturing. I can't say whether I was experimented on like Lena (though the conversion therapy I endured could be deemed an experiment I suppose. I recall little of it thanks to my alters), but other fucked up things in my childlhood appear as allegories in this tale.

But at the same time, writing this story has been very cathartic.

EXCERPT (from a random point in this chapter):

“Kara?” Lena’s voice breaks through the memory. “You’ve been standing there awhile. You okay?”

Linda has never fronted for Kara, and it feels strange to have a body again. Energy ripples through her limbs, and an odd smell lingers in her nostrils. Fog simmers like stew in her mind, unlike the more usual open nature of Kara's psyche. It disorients her.

She looks down at the book in her hand, and its title — Mythologies of the World. A title her Alex would never have let her read. He considered such things a folly, softening and ruining the mind. She flips through its pages, and many drawings decorate the chapters, each one a unique style. Art confuses her, and she’s not sure of what the imagery means. Alex taught her that everything holds meaning if one looks deep enough.

She tucks the book back and turns to Lena, who watches her carefully, her posture oddly tense.

“Lena.” She tilts her head to examine the other woman. Why is she tense? Linda struggles to recall what Kara-Z and D has said to Lena, but she’d been trying to meditate. To not leak, and yet she has leaked. Leaked enough to take control. It is disorienting. “I saw you many months ago. You were very sad.” Her accent pulses through her words, despite trying to sound more like the two Karas. English words do not sit well on her tongue, and she is not used to this body. It feels heavier than she recalled her own feeling.

Lena’s eyes widen. “Wait, what? Who are you then?”

Linda holds up her hands. “Please, I mean no harm. I visit you on a day when Kara was out of town. I was in disguise. I did not want to upset you, so I played her role. I only wished to ease your sadness.”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you talking about that surprise visit when you were supposed to be in Africa?”

“I do not know where Kara was supposed to be.” Linda drops her hands to her side. “My Alex took me to America, so I could understand their corruption.”

“Your Alex?” Lena repeats. “As in Alex Danvers…?”

Linda shakes her head. “No. That is not my Alex.” She’s not sure where Kara-Z or Kara-D are in their mind. Her memories sizzle with violet lightning, and her emotions a simmering cauldron of confusion. Z and D feel far away, like they've been cast into a dimensional fog; it is unlike all other times since her fusion. She does not know what this means. “No, my Alex is — was your brother.”

Lena breathes in sharply. Her shoulders tremble, and a hint of caution and fear trickle into her tone, despite the neutral expression on her face. “What — what do you mean?”

Linda stays by the bookcase, even though she wants to comfort her somehow. “I am sorry. Kara-Z often says I must be less abrupt.” She rubs her eyebrow as a headache pulses in tune with her confusion. “I call myself Linda. I am Red Daughter. I was Kaznia’s hope. Alex trained me.” She slides her finger down the spine of the mythology book. “He would not approve of this book.” She taps it. “But I want to read it. May I read it?”

“Of course.” Lena carefully tucks a bookmark into her book and stands. She lays it on the table and walks to Linda’s side. “You’re welcome to read whatever you desire, Linda.” A sad smile graces her lips. “And I understand what it’s like to be trained by Lex. He’s…” Lena struggles for a long moment as if fighting herself. “… he’s always been dangerous. I’m sorry you dealt with him.”

Linda picks the book off the shelf and holds it against her chest. “He called you a traitor.”

Lena lets out what sounds like a mixture between sob and laugh. “I fraternized with Kara Danvers, which apparently Lex knew was Supergirl.”

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Zatanna had something come up. So of all people she could have sent to replace her, she sent Constantine. Bruce really didn’t know if his luck could get any worse. At least 15 year old Jason liked his accent. 

Constantine was a really capable sorcerer, he was just really hard to work with. Worse than Hal Jordan. Though, if they wanted to get Jason back to normal, they would have to accept Constantine. 

“Hey, Batman! Go back down into the cave, and send Bruce up. I want him instead of Brood and Gloom.”

Bruce was suddenly brought back to the breakfast table. In all of his 41 years of living, he had never seen Alfred smile this big, “That’s my boy.”

Jason beamed at that.

Bruce’s phone pinged. He didn’t even have to look to know it was Dick sending him a ‘Rule #2’ . That’s all his messages with Dick consisted of. Mostly rule #2’s, some rule #3’s, and the occasional rule #1. All in all, Bruce was doing relatively good. He was definitely avoiding Jason more, but if he was around him too much, the only thought that started to fill his brain was his cooling body in his arms. So he toed the line. And he doesn’t think Jason noticed all that much, because whenever Bruce wasn’t with him, one of his children was.

“Constantine’s coming instead of Zatanna.” Bruce finally said, “I think I should be allowed to brood a little bit.”

“ Don’t get your knickers in a twist , old man.” Jason actually had a really good Liverpool British accent, “Mr. Constantine’s not that bad.”

“I just hate magic.” Bruce didn’t grumble. He was too old to grumble like a toddler.

Jason looked himself over and then put a hand to his chest in fake offense.

Bruce’s phone pinged again, “Dick, will you stop that!” 

But it wasn’t Dick, because Dick was holding a fork and knife in his hands and mid-bite.

Bruce dug out his phone.

“ Is the bloke with the sparkly fingas here? ”

That earned a snicker from Duke, Dick and Tim.

Bruce stood up at the same time Tim said, “I’ll give you five dollars if you say that to his face.”

“Oh! Abso–”

“..Lutely not, Jason. To the cave. Let's go.”

Jason slid out of his chair without noise and followed.

Constantine was already in the cave, and smoking a cigarette. 

“Hi, Mr. Constantine!” Jason practically glided down the stairs, as Bruce strode down at a normal pace.

“Hello there, Jason. I reckon you were a bit taller the last time I saw you. Bruce.”

“Constantine. I’m assuming Zatanna filled you in?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m offended you didn’t call me first. I thought we were mates.”

Bruce just raised an eyebrow. Constantine squirmed a bit, and Jason shot Bruce a grin. A grin that was so reminiscent of the way Jason used to look at him after he cuffed a bad guy. Before Fellipe Garzona had fallen off that roof. Before Gloria Stanson had hung herself.

“Alrighty! Let's check out what kinda curse you’ve got going on. Brucie, would you mind taking a couple steps back, love?”

He did, and as soon as Bruce was out of range, Jason was surrounded in a dome of golden runes. Bruce didn’t miss the way Constantine frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“The little birdie here has a lot of magic knotted all up together.” Constantine started searching through the runes, “Was it you or the Demon child that– Aha, knew it was you. Your soul’s got dimensional ripples.”

Jason frowned, “Heh?”

Bruce blinked, Dimensional ripples? Clark, Lois, and Jonathan had somehow been transported to this dimension before their souls had merged with their counterparts… who had died. Was that what happened with Jason? Maybe he should talk to Barry when all of this is over.

“And you’ve got some leftover Lazaru– Blimey! You have access to the All-Blade?”

Jason shrugged, “I don’t really like beyblades.”

“That’s not what the All-Blade is. It’s–” A set of runes began to glow, and the borderline fangirl look on Constantine’s face immediately dropped. “Jesus...”

“I have access to Jesus?” Jason touched his forehead, then his left shoulder and then his right, “Thank you, father, son, and the holy spirit. Amen.”

Bruce ignored Jason’s prayer, “What’s wrong?”

The dome of runes disappeared, “...I’ve got good news and bad news?”

He gave Constantine a look.

“Um, good news is, the spell looks like it’ll wear off on its own…” Constantine tried for a sheepish smile, but immediately dropped it, “bad news is, it isn’t supposed to? The magic is interacting with the dimensional ripples, and I can’t touch any of it because it’d be like…”

“Disarming a bomb?” Jason supplied. And Bruce had to suppress the urge to flinch at that analogy.

“Yes. Yes exactly, but one wrong move–”

“Boom.” He mimicked an explosion with his hands. ”But you said it’ll wear off on its own, so it’s fine. Right?”

Constantine winced and a ringing was starting to form in Bruce’s ears as he grabbed Constantine by the tie and started dragging him up the stairs.

“Stay here, Jason.”

“Bruce–”

“I said stay !” Jason flinched at his tone, but Bruce and Constantine were already in the study. “Explain.”

Constantine fixed his tie, “Whatever magic he got hit with didn’t just affect him physically, it also affected his soul. I think, if we’re going off of what happened to Clark and Lois, his soul merged together with his soul from an alternate dimension, causing it to be all… rippley. I can’t fully tell what it’s going to do, but in a couple of days, it looks like it’ll in about two or three days? There’s a 50/50 chance– or I guess, a 25/25/50 chance– that he’s going to either go back to normal, stay this way or…”

It was the 25th. two days from today would make it…

The 27th of April.

It suddenly felt like the ground underneath them was turning or tilting, or hell, both.

Bruce had gotten him back. He’d gotten him back, he can’t leave again. He can’t lose him again, he can’t die again.

Jason found it very rude that Bruce and Constantine were obviously leaving him out of the conversation about him. It completely baffles him how Bruce was raised by Alfred, yet had no manners. He wasn’t even subtle about it. 

Constantine said the spell would wear off. So why did he look like he was about to say something was wrong. Like really wrong. Sure, trying to tamper with whatever was going on would be… bad, but they weren’t gonna mess with it. They would just wait for it to wear off.

Would he physically go back to normal, but he would never remember the past five years? Or was he slowly going to become younger and younger until he was just a literal fetus flopping around on a table? 

Why won’t anyone tell him anything? It would be so much easier if they did. 

Jason eyed the Batcomputer and then the stairs. There was no one else here, no one to stop him from learning by himself.

He opened up the batcomputer, and the first thing he noticed was that everything was filed differently. Instead of being alphabetical, the missions were sorted into who had the mission and the date. For some reason, Jason’s folder had the least amount of missions under it, even though the folder itself was older than Duke’s. 

Still, he clicked on it, only to find that the oldest mission was less than a year ago. Not helpful.

Maybe if these were sorted recently, some of the older mission reports that he did with Bruce would be in Bruce’s folder.

Bruce’s most recent mission was called “Fun Sized Jason”. Guess that would be him. Jason clicked on it and… Bruce is a much sadder man than Jason had given him credit for. And Jason was currently upset at Bruce for snapping at him, and Bruce had obviously snapped because he was being broody. This man. Couldn’t even follow his own rules.

Rule #3 Don’t let Jason know something’s up between your relationship with him 

What was ‘up’ between him and Bruce? If anything, Bruce has been a lot more patient with him.

Unless Bruce was acting. And Bruce could act, Jason had seen him at Galas.

No. He couldn’t have been. Bruce had said he’d give him the world. And he said it in the way that made Jason know he was telling nothing but the truth. 

But that first night Bruce wouldn’t even look at him.

No. Bruce had to have been telling the truth.

But the longing and the guilt and regret… Maybe Jason had done something to Bruce, the same way he did something to Tim and Damian. Jason still didn’t know what exactly that was, just that he felt bad about it.

Jason exited out of that mission statement and started scrolling down to April of 2018. And there were a lot of cases. A part of Jason was glad they were re-organised by date because it would’ve taken a lot more work to try to figure out the name of the file, and then find the file.

Ethiopia: Sheila Haywood, the Joker, and Jason Todd – 4/24/2018- 4/27/2018

Bingo. The first date lined up with the last date in his notebook. He double clicked on it, when a locked symbol came up followed by a space for a password.

Great. Just perfect. 

He tried the password Bruce used on most things.

Wrong.

Bruce’s birthday?

Wrong again.

Jason’s Birthday. Since the file seemed to be about him.

Oh yeah! Who has the best guessing skills? Jason does. He did a little victory spin in the chair, but when he went to look back at the computer, there was a Tim shaped wall blocking his view.

He tried to look around him, but Tim shifted to block him again.

“Timmy, Timbooo, my favorite brother-o. You’re blocking my view, Hermano.”

Tim gave him a look that was scarily similar to Bruce’s bat-glare. 

Jason tried to look around him again, but suddenly, he was being tossed over Tim’s shoulder, and they were moving farther and farther from the computer.

“Hey! I was obviously in the middle of something!”

Tim snorted, as he started up the stairs. “I could bring up a spreadsheet of all the times you’ve done this to me. We’d be here for hours.”

Jason licked his finger and twisted so that he could stick it in his ear. Good news was, it made Tim let Jason go. Bad news was, it made Tim let Jason go, and sent Jason tumbling down the cave’s stairs.

“Jason!”

Lucky for Jason, he was a fast recoverer, and made an immediate beeline to the computer. 

After escaping Arkham Asylum, The Joker had made his way to Ethiopia. Jason had come across the information that Sheila Haywood was his birth mother. Haywood had been a doctor who was working at a refugee camp, also located in Ethiopia. Without my knowledge or Alfred’s, Jason traveled to meet up with his mother. 

Jason and I had managed to cross paths in Ethiopia, when we soon learned that Haywood was being held ‘hostage’ by the Joker. I went to go check on some other thing that had come up, and I had told Jason to stay put, but instead he had gone to attempt to save Haywood. Which led to Jason getting hurt by the Joker.

Jason started to scroll down more, the screen went black.

Tim was standing next to the outlet with the power cord in his hand.

Suddenly all the scars on his hand looked interesting, “Is.. Are most of my scars from the Joker?”

Jason heard Tim’s feet shuffle across the flood of the batcave, “I don’t think I’m the person you should be having this conversation with.”

“But it was bad enough to the point where I needed a Lazarus pit to get better. It was bad enough to the point where I had to stop being Robin.” Because why else would Tim start hanging around the manor when he was 13? Why else would Bruce adopt him? “And you were Robin after me?”

A beat, “Yes.”

He thought back to the conversation he had in the bathroom with Tim, “So, I didn’t grow out of being Robin. I was… forced into retirement. By the Joker.”

“That’s… the easy way of putting it.” Tim took one of Jason’s hands, “I want to show you something.”

They both went over to the locker area and Tim opened his locker and pulled out a shoe box from the top. “I guess since you knew I was a little stalker back in the day, there should be no reason for me to feel embarrassed for showing you these.” He moved to the bench and opened the lid. 

Inside the box were a bunch of photos of Batman and Robin. Of Bruce and Jason. Tim handed him a couple. The first one was of Jason when he had just become Robin. He was talking animatedly while walking with a teenage girl. He remembers that night.  Her name was Angela, and she had been followed for a couple of blocks by a bunch of older guys, and Jason couldn’t let her go home alone. Not with how cruel the streets could be. 

The next one was of Jason cradling a baby. The mom had been separated from the baby during an Ivy attack. 

The last one Tim had handed to him was of Batman and Robin in an Alley. They had just taken down a bunch of thugs, and Jason was talking with the two kids, Gavin and Evan, while Batman was farther off, with a fond smile on his face, looking at Jason. 

“Robin is the light to Batman’s darkness. Hope to his fear. Every Robin gave light, but out of all of us, you shined the brightest. You were the people’s Robin, you cared about them so much, like each and every one of them are your brothers and sisters.” Tim pointed at the picture in Jason’s hand, “Your light was so bright, you made Batman smile. And that isn’t the only picture I have like that.” He put his hand on Jason’s elbow, “I could never come close to the Robin you were, but I always tried. You were like the Sun. And I could never take your place. Not really, but I tried my best to do what I thought you would. To make you proud. Even though… you didn’t really like me when you found out.”

“No. I like you. It’s just…” Jason could feel his eyes burn, “If I got hurt, really bad, bad enough to the point where I couldn’t be Robin anymore, why would Bruce let there be another one? When- When it could happen again? Or even worse. ”

Tim closed his eyes, “When the Joker did what he did to you, it sent him down a dark path. He was barely holding back his punches and he was barely dodging them either. Batman needed a Robin and—“

“I wasn’t there.”

“No! Jason, it wasn’t your fault. You were going through some of the worst moments of your life, it wasn’t your job at that time to be Robin, or emotionally babysit Bruce while he fought crime to deal with his trauma.”

“But you were, what? 13 at the time with no legal obligations to him. It shouldn’t have been your job either.”

Tim blinked, “ah, fuck.” He sat criss cross on the bench and turned so he was fully facing Jason, “point is, it was just a bad time. Bruce kicked Dick out of the Manor, The Joker had diplomatic immunity, which still does not make sense to me, but then he was sent back to Arkham. Bane broke Bruce’s back, some psycho took over being Batman and would not let Dick and I in the cave, but then Bruce got better and became Batman again. Superman died, but then he came back. Then Bruce got framed for murder, and then the riddler and clayface teamed up with this whole convoluted plot which involved Clayface showing up as you and trying to kill us and Bruce probably needed therapy, but he was too much of a stubborn ass to ever actually go.” Tim finally took a breath. 

Jason blinked, “That’s a really rough five years.”

Tim groaned and leaned his head on Jason’s shoulder, “That was only two.” 

“Then it was probably a… shittier five years.” Jason patted his head, “Thanks, Tim.”

Tim glanced at Jason, “For what? I literally just trauma dumped on you.”

Jason shrugged, “Yeah, but you also gave me more information about what the hell is going on around here than anyone has in the past two days. Maybe a lot of the things that happened sound horrible, but it’s better than not knowing. Ya know?”

Jason felt Tim nod, “I’m sorry we’ve been keeping it all from you. It’s not something Bruce likes to talk about, and for Dick being the next adult who isn’t emotionally constipated, he evades certain topics like the plague.”

Jason snorted, “Wanna know something I’ve been completely baffled by?”

Tim sat up, “What?”

“Dick isn’t… wallowed up in angst. Him and Bruce haven’t had a single argument, and Dick…he’s a lot different. So is Bruce.” Jason thought about it for a moment, “Am I different too?”

Tim smirked and dug out his phone, “Mentally, Emotionally, or Physically?” Tim angled the phone so Jason could see, and it was a picture of a man, kneeling and talking to a little girl. There was a red helmet on the floor, but the man had a domino that covered his eyes. Tim swiped to the next one, of older Jason helping an old lady across the street. He swiped again to a photo of him holding Damian in a firefighter’s hold. “You might be a lot rougher around the edges, but everyone changes with time, especially with the things you’ve gone through. Yeah, you might be different, but I think you’re still the same in the ways that it counts.”

Jason looked at the photo. Without the domino, or the helmet he could really see how he had grown into his features, “I look a lot like my papi,” He looked back at Tim, and then pointed upwards to where Bruce had gone, “But I think I learned how to help from my dad.”

[milimeters-morales]

chapter three of transfem miles fic (posting this and another one early for fun)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Four / Chapter 5 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Chap 8 / Chap 9

Wordcount: 3k+

Warnings: None!

Miles jolts awake as his alarm blares in his ears, accidentally waking Ganke as he scrambles to turn it off. His arms are loosely wrapped around Miles’s waist, gently pulling him back into the bed.

“Ganke, c’mon,” he giggles as the other boy tightens his hold, “I gotta get up.”

“Whyyyy,” Ganke whines, “your parents don’t even care when we share a bed.”

“You never know, plus they don’t like me sleeping past noon.”

“It’s Saturday. Everyone sleeps in on a Saturday.”

“Well,” Miles says, pulling away from the warmth of the bed and Ganke’s embrace, “tell that to them.”

Ganke groans into the pillow as Miles gets dressed for the day. “Go back to sleep, babe,” Miles mutters as he presses a kiss to Ganke’s temple and tucks him in.

The sight of Ganke (who quickly fell asleep again, he never was a morning person) peacefully snoring in his bed does make Miles want to climb back into bed with him and hold him close, close enough to where it’s almost suffocating, but he’s already awake, and just forcing himself to stay still again will only be uncomfortable.  

Good thing I have more friends now , he thinks, finding his watch and calling Hobie.

“Hey man, you wanna come over?” He asks.

“Mm. You tryna eat?”

Miles looks over his shoulder at Ganke. He could just wake him up, and drag him with them, or he could let him sleep here. But that would be rude— he doesn’t want to leave Ganke out, he’s his boyfriend!

“You mind being a third wheel?” Miles asks quietly, chuckling and looking for some nicer clothes.

“Be anything for a bite,” Hobie responds.

“Aight, we’ll be ready in a bit. Feel free to hang out on the roof or something.”

After getting dressed in a simple sweater that’s too big and some baggy jeans, Miles wakes Ganke up again. “Hey, we going get something to eat. Come on,” he says, shaking the other’s shoulder. Ganke swats his hand away and turns over. “No, come on, we can make it a date,” he chuckles, taking the covers off of Ganke, who quickly curls up from the sudden chill. “Hobie’s coming, though.”

“You said to go back to sleep,” Ganke grumbles, sitting up and reaching for his glasses on the nightstand, accidentally knocking over a small mirror. Miles catches it before it can hit the ground without looking and hands it to him.

Miles smiles apologetically at Ganke, wishing he could take a picture of his bedhead. “I know, but c'monnn! You can go back to sleep when we get back home, we probably won’t even be there long.” 

Ganke stares dead at him as if Miles just asked him to sell his own kidney for a stick of gum.

“Okay, look, we’ll just order food now and go pick it up, and when we all get back, you can go right back to hibernating for the winter!”

Ganke just keeps staring.

Miles sighs and rolls his eyes while putting a hand on his hip, “Fine, you don’t have to come, but when—“

“Oh wow, you’re standing just like your mom—”

“— but when me and Hobie end up finding a winning lottery ticket on the ground and don’t split the million with you, don’t say shit to me,” Miles says, tossing the blanket back at Ganke, who quickly takes it with a smile.

“You know Hobie would immediately spend that money on literally everything else, and you’d have nothing left for yourself,” Ganke remarks as he lays back down, “love youuuu.”

“Shut up. Take your glasses off,” Miles says as he goes to leave the room, “love you too.”

____

“So I was talking to Peter, and he sent me off to buy him food, but the lady at the counter couldn’t tell if I was a guy or not, so she just called me a cosplayer-- you know what that is, right?” Miles said around a mouthful of fried fish and rice.

Hobie nods. “How long ago do you think the 70’s was?”

“I know that! I meant, like, dimensional differences or something. I don’t have a comic-con, you might not even have cosplayers.” 

The two sit in silence for a bit on the rooftop, eating their fried fish with red beans and rice. There was a woman selling plates nearby, so thankfully they didn’t have to go far. It was a pretty peaceful moment that he was glad to have before patrolling. Well, he means before he started relaxing further to let the food settle, and then started patrolling. 

“Why Ganke ain’ here?” Hobie finally asks.

“Oh, he was still tired. It’s exhausting sleeping past noon,” Miles laughs, “thought you’d know that already.”

“I like t'switch up my schedule every now and then, keep people on their toes,” Hobie explains.

“Dude,” Miles rolls his eyes, “now you admit to having set schedules in the first place? It’s like I don’t even know you.”

Hobie chuckles softly, and then they return to the comfortable silence.

It’s about twenty minutes in, and Miles really wants to mess it up now, and he can’t really figure out why. He just wants to tell Hobie that he didn’t cut his legs during his first shave, but why does he want to tell him that? Sure, it would be nice for Hobie to say “good job” or something, but he has other accomplishments he could tell the guy that were way more impressive than preventing a tiny cut that would completely vanish before the day’s over. And it’s not like he needs Hobie’s approval or praise anyway. 

He should just keep quiet, it’s an unremarkable, boring thing. That’s like saying you avoided stepping in a deep puddle on your way to school, everybody does it. 

“Aight, I gotta go,” Miles says, standing up, “this city needs Spider-Man to show up eventually.”

“Alright, I’ll throw this away for you,” Hobie offers, taking the empty plate and dirty napkins from Miles. “Stay safe out there.”

Miles waves him off, “Man, you don’t needa worry about me. I’ve been doing this for over a year.” He smiles warmly at the other boy before he swings off. “Thanks though. Love you, bye!”

Hobie blinks before flashing between pink and purple, Miles swears he sees his lip twitch, and waves goodbye.

____

“OW- shit shit shit shit--”

“What? What happ--” Pavitr cuts himself off with a gasp. “Okay, stop moving! I’ll get it out!”

Miles lowers his shoulders and slowly clasps his hands together, baring the side of his neck to the other boy. 

“It’ll sting a bit. It won’t bleed like crazy,” Pavitr says, and Miles honestly feels like he’s saying that more to himself, before pulling the earring out of Miles’s neck.

“Okay, no more playing with jewelry in,” he laughs nervously, taking off his own earrings. 

“Yeah,” Miles agrees, placing a hand to the slowly bleeding puncture on his neck. The sting was bordering on painful, and kind of felt like slowly applying pressure to your skin with your own nail.

“Let’s go clean this, come with me,” Pavitr shakes his head and runs a few fingers through his hair. “Sorry dude, I didn’t think that would happen.”

Miles nods, “Yeah.” It was a bit hard to form any other words, to comfort Pavitr even more so, with the stinging slowly spreading up to his brain like a sort of… mycelium. 

That might not be the word he wanted to use, but whatever.

Back in Pavitr’s kitchen, Miles slowly regains a bit of speaking ability. “Don’t feel bad,” he blurts out as Pavitr washes his hands. “You didn’t mean to.”

Pavitr jumps a little as if he forgot Miles was there. “Th… thanks man. Can you go get the-- no, wait, stay there. I did it, I should fix it myself.”

Is that passive aggressiveness? His mom sometimes talks like that, but Pavitr’s a pretty straight-forward guy, outside of other people’s relationships. He’s genuinely meaning that he’ll do the entire cleaning himself, right?

“Do you… want help?” Miles asks hesitantly.

“No, I got it! Your ear’s fine, yes?” Pavitr calls from the bathroom.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he answers, reaching up to feel the small indent on his skin, noticing the slight warmth. Pavitr comes back swiftly, coming back with a clear little bottle, a towel, and a few q-tips. 

“You know, back when I first started fighting, I didn’t want to take my earrings out. I had worn them, and nobody knew because of the hammerspace, so there weren’t any weird parts that poked out,” Pavitr began, sitting down at the table and cleaning the earring in front of him. “I was super… ummm, what’s the word I’m looking for…”

Miles watches silently as Pavitr scrubs a bit unnecessarily.

“Arrogant, yeah, I was super arrogant! I would think that with these new powers, nothing could hurt me, and that the stuff that did hurt me wouldn’t be enough to keep me down for a few minutes at a time. But then,” Pavitr holds up the earring to the light above, “my hubris caught up to me!” He picks up a q-tip and dips it once in the bottle.

“It was a very hot day, and I was used to the summer in the city by now, but it was just-- scorching. Like, I don’t think that I would have stayed conscious if I didn’t have something cold with me at all times.”

Used to it by now? Did Pavitr not always live here?

“So I had just finished a really intense battle with a demon, and I’m man enough now to admit I was getting beat up, but I did win in the end. But bro, I swear I was going to pass out any moment. A girl had been kind enough to offer me water, but her…sister? I think it was her sister, they looked around the same age and she had a girlish face, she had pulled her away, and I haven’t seen her since. Well anyway, I’m rambling, back on topic: I had been fighting, and I didn’t notice that when the demon tore a bit of my mask, it tore a bit of my hair and took my earring with it. The adrenaline and heat combination had basically made me completely oblivious!” Pavitr exclaims, having been carefully scrutinizing the piercing as he gently cleaned it with the q-tip.

Is that why his hair is styled like that? To hide the unevenness from the missing amount?

He’s quiet for a few seconds before he grabs a dry part of the towel and begins to wipe off the excess liquid from the earring. “So, when I had gotten enough water in me and cooled down, I started to feel the pain, feel the burn! Not in the fun exercise way either, the fight was exercise, but it had just left me in pain and not feeling any sort of accomplishment,” he sighs, getting up and walking to Miles’s side and carefully grabbing his earlobe.

“Imagine if you went to Hell in every religion out of nowhere.”

Don’t say that when you’re about to replace someone’s piercing.

“Sorry, but that’s what it felt like,” Pavitr giggled, and placed the earring back in with experienced ease. “But my point is, don’t feel like you have to downplay how much it hurts!”

“Pavitr, man, it sounds like you went through a lot more than just an earring jab,” Miles points out.

“Details, details. But are you sure you’re okay? Not hiding how much you wanna curl up and wail from the pain?”

Miles rolls his eyes, “Now I feel like you’re implying something,” he says with a smile.

“You know I would just say it out loud,” Pavitr smirks and leans on the table with his hand.

“Even when you shouldn’t.”

“ Especially when I shouldn’t,” Pavitr slowly nods his head. “Miles, did you know you have really pretty eyes?”

He matches Pavitr’s smirk. “You think so? Don’t you already have a girlfriend?”

Pavitr gasps and playfully throws the towel at Miles’s chest. “You know I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughs as he picks up the supplies and walks back to the bathroom. “Besides, I’m way out of your league~”

Miles scoffs incredulously, getting up to follow his friend. “Puh- lease , I’m irresistible! I could be the gir- the dude that other people leave their girlfriends for!”

“On a dare, maybe!”

“Whatever, but don’t leave me around Gayatri, or she might have a new boyfriend within the hour!”

“Out of pity! She’s a very sweet person like that.”

“Man, look-”

____

“Mami, do you still think I have pretty eyes?” Miles asks one night as his mom’s walking in the door, already feeling embarrassed when the question fully leaves his mouth.

“What? Of course, baby. You know, when you were a little baby, your aunt said you had the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen,” she answers, taking off her shoes and letting her hairs down from her bun. “Did someone say otherwise?”

“No, Pavitr just pointed them out, called them pretty.”

Rio smiles and goes to pinch his cheek, “Well, he’s right. You have the prettiest eyes I’ve seen, mijo!” She goes to relax on the couch, finding the remote and immediately switching to her true crime documentaries.

Miles rubs his cheek, mumbling, “Maaaa…”

“What? It’s true!” She laughs, sighing heavily as she sinks into the cushions. “You know, I had to take care of a boy a bit younger than you today.”

“Really? What happened?” Miles asks, looking at the slowly reddening sky out the window. It was nearing night, so he’d have to go patrol soon-- his mom rambling about work was… well, it was usually kind of gross, but it was comforting to hear about her day-- anyway, he couldn’t stick around if her rambling turned into a rant and snowballed into a big lecture. 

“Mm, a drunk driver hit him while he was running away,” she says calmly.

“What?” Miles whips his head around to stare wide-eyed at her.

“Mhm,” she continues casually, “poor boy was in shock, didn’t even realize he was even hit. His arm was broken right here,” she grabs the middle of her forearm, “and his foot was twisted all sorts of wrong.”

“Dang…” Miles says, wincing. “Did you find out why he was running away?”

His mom gets this calculating look in her eye that happens when she’s trying to figure out if she should tell him something, or trying to see if he’s lying. The red and blue police lights coming from the TV flash across her face as she puts the remote on the table. 

“Miles, you know I’d love you no matter what, right?” She asks seriously.

“Wh… yeeeaahh? Mom, I’m not gonna run away from home, if that’s what you’re thinking?” Miles says, inching closer to his bedroom door. “I was just going to go out and, y’know…”

“Yes, yes, just remember that, alright? You’re always gonna be my little boy, you know that right?” She asks him with a slight frown. 

“Yeah ma, I know, I love you too.”

“Even when you get your ears pierced without asking.”

“Ma, I gotta go.”

His mom looks him up and down for a few moments before nodding her head with a small shaky smile and focusing back on the TV.

Huh. Maybe helping that kid made her feel a bit emotional , Miles thinks.

Once he’s in his room and dressed in his Spider-Man suit, he takes a quick second to remove his earrings, gently placing them on his nightstand, and jumps out of his window.

Luckily, the patrols lately were less villain-focused, and more of the civilian-helping kind. A few muggings stopped here, a lost kid returned to parents there, picking up some litter damn near everywhere, that stuff.

Oh, and this: helping do some kid’s homework.

“You add the exponents in this case,” he quickly writes down the new equation, “so now you have to work with this.”

“Thanks Mr. Spider-Man,” the girl, he’ll call her Green-Eyes, twisting her hair with her fingers “can you do that next one too?”

“I’m not doing all your homework for you,” he says, crossing his arms and legs.

The other girl sitting next to her-- eh, he’ll call her Redhead-- looks to her friend and whispers (which confirms that a lot of people still don’t know Spider-Man has superhearing), “I thought boys couldn’t sit like that?”

Green-Eyes whips around and whispers harshly, “It's 2020, people can sit however now. And he’s Spider-Man, he can do whatever he wants, duh !”

Redhead squeaks when she realizes Miles is looking right at them with an unimpressed stare and uncrossed legs.

“I’m glad you’re so open-minded, but that still doesn’t mean I’m doing all your homework. But, you can just copy the answers from this question, it’s the same equation but worded a bit differently,” He points out, circling the question and handing back the pencil. They thank him, and run off to wherever, probably home.

Sure, it was embarrassing to have him sitting a certain way pointed out, and honestly, he can’t really blame Redhead for being a bit curious, but still. It made him very aware of his entire body, and the people passing by the basketball court that were possibly looking at him-- because he really wasn’t sitting how a guy usually would. But, it shouldn't matter. It doesn’t matter. He’s Spider-Man, he can sit however he wants.

…

Ugh. Why can’t he just be like Hobie? He wouldn’t have given a damn, wouldn’t have even had these worries. He probably would’ve even forgotten what the girls said within seconds. 

Miles climbs up a building, wringing his hands together. He sighs, turning to look at the sunset. It’s really beautiful, and he’d usually take a picture and send it to Ganke or Margo, but he just can’t shake the feeling that he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Unclenching his jaw, he tries to soothe the rocks he can feel forming in his stomach.

He was just sitting down. That was it, there was no… “boys and girls can do this too!” feeling he was trying to express, he was just… existing for a moment. And it felt like being fussed, or something. It made him want to shrink in on himself, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been embarrassed before, but it’s never been so intense.

He’s never been so thankful for a nearby car explosion.

____

“Hey, do you think I sit weird?” Miles asks Gwen.

“Miles, we’re on the ceiling. Of course I think you sit weird,” Gwen says, playing with a tech deck she found in the back of her closet.

That’s not what he meant, but he does feel a bit less anxious now. He sits weird. That’s just how it is when you’re a spider-person.

A/N: this chap was short and was probably the shortest one i'll ever write, but did you like Pavitr's rambling :3 he's based off of how my little brother talks when he's trying to tell a story. also hopefully that miles-edition autism is shining directly in your face. also Pavitr is talking about his world's Meera Jain and her sister! not important but i just wanted you to know because I love sharing details

[kkpwnall]

driving in your car | chapter four | (mature | 49.4k | wip)

It’s been a week since they defeated Vecna, and things are starting to get back to normal. Or as normal as they’ve ever been in a town built over multiple gates to inter-dimensional hell. They came back from hell and had to go back to school and work and life like nothing happened. Driving around has become a thing for the four of them, and they explore Hawkins in ways few others have. Finding backroads, cruising down country lanes. Seeing just how far they can go. Eventually Steve clocked Eddie’s whole deal as flirting, but it took an embarrassingly long time. And it is flirting, right? It’s got to be flirting, there’s no other word for it. Recent dry spell notwithstanding, Steve Harrington’s got game. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s flirting. So Steve knows it’s flirting, but he doesn’t know if it’s flirting. Because Eddie is straight, right?

all the love always to my dearest darlingest @cheatghost for beta reading with so much love and care <33

teaser below the fold [full chapter on ao3]

cw for non-graphic descriptions of the immediate aftermath of a car crash, and hospitals. if these things aren't your jam, just skip the first section

He freezes with one hand on the doorway. Looking at Robin, eyes closed, lying in a hospital bed covered in bruises and bandages—

He’s gonna puke. It was his dumb idea, he made her get behind the wheel before she was ready, he pushed her into it because he couldn’t get out of his stupid fucking head.

Steve makes a small, strangled sound, and somehow she still hears him. She turns, already reaching for him as she opens her eyes. Bursts into tears as soon as she sees him.

He’s across the room in an instant, hand in hers tight like a vice. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

She’s crying too much to speak, tears rolling down her cheeks as she hiccups, and she’s gonna make herself sick. He’s about to shout at the doctors to get their asses back in here and do their fucking jobs when she finally croaks out, “Your car!”

His jaw hits the floor and he just gapes at her. Too stunned to speak for a long moment.

When he finds his voice again, it comes out as a shout. “Robin! I could give a flying fuck about the car!”

But her hand is weak and stiff in his. Not holding his back. Laughs weakly, wetly.

“Hey hey hey, Robin… come on, don’t cry,” he says it as softly as he can, sitting on the edge of her bed. Wraps his other hand around hers, loosening the pressure but not letting go. Won’t let go. “Look at me, Robs. It’s ok, it’s not your fault.”

“It was staring right at me with it’s big doe eyes and I just froze up! I panicked, and I couldn’t stop, I was going too fast to stop and—”

“I practically forced you—”

“No,” she says fiercely, glaring at him through the tears. “No, we’re not doing that, dingus. Do you really think anyone can make me do anything I don’t want to do?”

[scary-lasagna]

For my request I would like a part two to the slender daughters fic like,,, you left us hanging and their family dynamic is so sweet🥺

things are getting a little spicy. don't worry part III will be out super soon

Pt I:

SlenderDaughters [Part II]

"Oh, that Toby was surely something else!" Splendor couldn't help but laugh, a few fingers hiding his smile.

"Toby was a spitfire, but Jeff tried punching me the first day he arrived, remember?"

Maeve squeezed through the small gap of the door that Sol had just began to open, both bothering to wait until it started to creek before interrupting her family's conversation.

Bittersweet memories plagued with grief floating in the talk amongst the brothers, and a couple framed pictures were even plucked from their spots on the shelves. Some of them were more recent enough to have active moving bodies in them, some so old that their eyes had that weird red glow to them.

Maeve handed her father the Bluiena Box, a small yet feisty multi-dimensional portal box.

Azalea had taken a comfy spot on the ground between the feet of her father and older sister after Maeve and Sol left for the box, and annoyed them both by untying their shoes and then tying them together until Isa got a scolding for kicking her.

"Now, I know some of you know what this is, but I would like for those of you who don't know to take a guess." Maeve sat down in one of the empty chairs that were hazardly set in a circle formation so everyone would be facing one another. Slender opened the ivory box, and revealed a smaller puzzle-like cube from inside it with a handkerchief.

Sol took a seat beside her, closing the circle between Maeve and Offender. Despite being nearly an adult, she looked like a small child compared to everyone else.

"It's the box from Hellraiser."

"I can't believe you know what that is, flower." Offender chimed.

"You made me watch it when I was 4, I should be traumatized enough to know about it."

"Well I wasn't expecting you to remember it," Offender chuckled more to himself than the group. Splendor stood, and walked to the door, "I'm saying goodbye to mom, she has to leave early for an appointment."

"Oh, let me say bye too! She might have candy!" Azalea chimed, standing up so quickly she nearly trips over her own feet. Splendor was kind enough to hold the door open for her as she ran ahead of him.

"Father, I have to ask, why are bringing out this box? Now, of all times?" Maeve asked, in the lightest tone that she could muster without the underlying feeling of spite bubbling up through her lovely voice.

"A nostalgic visit of the past is no harm done, my dearest." Her father soothes, with a gentle hand on her shoulder. This didn't satisfy Maeve, but still, she resulted in sitting down in a designated spot.

"This is is called The Bluiena box, it serves as an interdimensional link between words, minds, and ideas alike." Slender took a long stride to the center of the circle, presenting it to the group above his handkerschief.

"A memory box, then?" Sol spoke up, her blue eyes and neat eyebrows seems so out of place amongst the eldritch creatures, but alas, she's never felt more comfortable in a group of people like her family.

"Similar. Although, these memories have the prime ability of coming to life-"

"This is wrong." Maeve spoke up. "We should allow the dead to stay dead, memories or not." Her voice shook, and despite her father being mostly kind to her throughout her life, she still feared disappointing him. Her hands were the next in line to tremble.

"Maeve," He started with a soft tone, signaling more so a twinge of hurt rather than disappointment, "They have been long since gone. All that's left of them are in this little box." He toyed with the crisp edges, much like a child caressing it's favorite toy.

"I'm with your daughter, I don't think it's healthy sounding to let the memories roam free. It's destroyed you enough already." Offender adjusted his form, leaning his elbows on his knees passively as he looked up at his older brother, who casted down an arrogant gaze toward him.

"And you?" He turned to Trender for the middle ground, already knowing if Splendor were here he would just agree with whatever anyone said, so his vote didn't matter either.

Trender stayed quite for a moment, and rolled his shoulders with a nervous tic, "I just think that it's better to leave the past behind." He nodded with assurance more to himself than his brother. Isa gazes at her father, and then exchanged glances with Offender and Solly, with Maeve not even bothering to look up from her shaky knees.

"I see how it is then." Slender's jaw tensed as he peered around, finally landing his gaze on Maeve, who he blamed for this small uprising. "Even my own blood will refuse to support my happiness, including my very own daughter."

"Hey! That's not very nice to say, she's only looking out for you." Sol of course takes after her father in foolishly defending others when now wasn't the time to talk.

"By driving me deeper into madness, yes?" Slender whispered, leaning back to peer at Sol over his shoulder. "I suggest you watch you words before you speak, for you know nothing of this, Solana."

Her jaw dropped slightly, and Slender didn't even bother to watch it fall before placing the encased box on one of many bookshelves lining the Study walls.

The door cracked and popped as it open, and the tense atmosphere practically slapped both entrants in the face.

"Sooo...did we miss anything important?"

"Only my daughter hating me." Slender growled under his breath.

"Alright, kids, get out." Offender announced, that professional fatherly voice kicking in heavily. Maeve was the first to leave, plowing past Azalea and into the empty hallway. She was well past breach for the first time but damn did her tendrils burn with a fire beyond anger.

"I can't believe he said that to you,. Maeve!! It's completely unfair, are you alright?" Isa spoke up, waddling to catch up to her oldest cousin in those ugly shoes that clopped when she walked.

Maeve stopped pounding the floor with her quick pace, and stood still, tendrils suddenly laxing and curling back into her spinal cavities. She wasn't even aware they were out and about, and didn't even want to think about how much she looked like her father.

"I don't care anymore! I hate him, too!" Maeve suddenly snapped, and turned around to face her cousins, but more importantly Splendor, who seemed the most hurt by the words.

Maeve turned her back to them, feeling too cowardly to announce anything else to the world.

"Maeve, sweet honey, he doesn't mean all of that." Splendor soothed, and approached her with ease, much less like the girls standing offish beside him. She held onto her father anger like a hot stone in her palm. Hurting herself before she hurts others.

"What does he mean by it then? Because all I'm seeing is a-"

"All you're seeing is a hurt man. He knew these previous creature incredibly long before you were even born. They were his first children, his first proxies, his first chance at a real family outside of his mother and brothers." Splendor placed a clawed hand gently on her shoulder, the Hawaiian shirt he wore only added to the stupidity of his words.

"And all I see is a coward who too afraid of his daughter growing up and leaving him, that he wants his old toys back! Because God knows, they love him more than I ever will, simply because I don't want to follow in his footsteps. Simply because I will never, ever, want to be like him, nor will I even come close to acting on it!" Maeve was shouting now, and there was no doubt the brothers in the study could hear her loosing his cool that she's held onto for so long. The picture perfect frame of a daughter that grew up in her fathers shadow, weighted by such expectations that she abused herself so he wouldn't have do it for her. Another weight she has taken off his shoulders, adding onto the years of school and training that she has done to appease him. And for what?

"I'm not a cowardly Operator like he is, I won't ever be one, I won't be a leader, and if he wants it that badly then I won't be his damn trophy-prize daughter either!"

Silence dropped in a thick cloud over the manor. The only sound that flickered kept repeating in a shuffle of an A/C rhythm, struggling to kick on.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Maeve, I really am." Splendor almost seemed he was about to cry. But then again, this being cries at everything. Weddings, kittens, puppies, Sol finding more rocks to keep, the list goes on. This was nothing new, and Maeve couldn't find any sympathy left for his hurt feelings.

Splendor, however, wasn't crying from the release of weight the girl has been carrying for so many years. The sadness brought on was only cause by the reflection of her father he saw in her rage.

[flowercrowncrip]

You might need to hold your hair all of us care hangover I think it's okay to have a relationship it's just gonna be something together as a partnership and that's gonna be different every single partnership in terms of what each person wants

And you know we're not similar I want a partner might be very different to what you want from a partner different people and our partners will be different people

We need to get take into account I think when it comes to how we kind of destigmatise all of this is part of our narrative is that with dating specifically I think this comes down to the fact that as a society we still have this perception that disabled people are not as capable are not able to do XYZ and there are a lot of harmful narratives that go along with that and there is so much amazing work going on incredible influences through authors through TV presenters and assume that how do you similar situations what advice would you give them to handle that I think it's slightly worse for us have partners the same gender because my partner is a similar age and female and often see a woman wheelchair accompany women at the same age they may well be disabled and their PA and their carer in case she's my girlfriend but the assumptions are still made so you can see where it comes from and I know that I've been certain events where people have spoken to her so much as my carer that when you know she leaves down and hold my hand or gives me a kiss you can see them filling in safeguarding paperwork slightly something comebacks in the mirror ahead of time I'm not very witty I don't think I'm gonna say beforehand or very likely call my partner but she probably wouldn't call the carer I'm like sometimes I just up to it like if I have somebody staring at us he won't stop that's when I'm gonna try and if that makes them feel uncomfortable then that's all then isn't it I love the advice of practising in the mirror I think it goes much much level of normalising disabled couples but also touched upon sexuality and importance of that and a lot of feedback that I get from working with my community is that you know we often say people are dimensional and disability identity is the overarching identity how has your identities impacted and others I think that finalisation is really important is it because I have noticed disabled non-disabled experience and having been disabled suddenly disabled you pick up the differences in the way people approach I get that a lot though you and I think it's really important that I recognise that privilege because when I got I've got my ADHD diagnosis only about three years ago and one of my good friends who I know well by it so let me get this straight you're a wheelchair bisexual neuro divergent woman did you just run did you just need another characteristic like what was going on and she was feel like that makes me quirky wrong wrong wrong if we feel able to feel comfortable we are given a platform to do so I'm happy to take that I'm happy you know ask the question I will correct you I will educate you this is your opportunity so you don't get it wrong for all the other people so I try and use my sectionality and all these different characteristics I have to prove that we're not in this group I'm hyper aware that we have a society that does put us in a little box overhead box isn't wheelchair accessible that's you that's hard work trying to push back on it when you can but it does feel a bit exhausting having all these characteristics sometimes there's a lot of letters involved I've got bt bingo we earlier dating bumble I absolutely hate them but there's a kind of seriousness about it because a lot of these platforms use algorithms so I actually sat before I thought dating app that has a advertisement on TV or radio I've never really seen disabled representation so I think like a real big flat for me if we're not even visible on these apps but it also reminded me of an episode of how to get away with murder and a wheelchair use it was suing an app because he said it discriminated against him because disability and they got away with it because ultimately you can't force someone to fancy someone wheelchair but it was really interesting talking point because actually you know I trapped a lot of men the first thing Long hikes good for you who dating online dating site your tips mental health major existing online spaces I think do you have a massive responsibility that they're ignoring at the moment and I

[melishade]

Number 34?

This ask game

Revenge Timeline. Hell, let's have Starscream and Ymir bonding in a weird way. For more context (Starscream's blackmail)

Ymir raised her head when she heard the doors of the ship open. She stared through the glowing purple bars of her cage as Starscream walked inside the room.

"Ah, his majesty finally returns," Ymir mocked him, waving her hand around, "Are you going to kill me now?"

"You're much too valuable to be killed," Starscream reminded, "Since you are still aligned with the island."

"Then you're going to torture me," Ymir assumed.

"I have dear Megatron for that," Starscream sneered as he clenched his claws.

"...I don't get it," Ymir confessed.

"Get what?" Starscream demanded.

"You hate the guy," Ymir recalled as she lied down in her cell, "A lot of people hate him, actually. I hated him for a while. And he's like the worst person to ever exist. Why not just kill him now?"

"Clearly you don't know how the politics works," Starscream proclaimed.

"Enlighten me," Ymir goaded.

"Megatron led the Decepticons for eons," Starscream explained, "He then decided to leave and forfeit the cause for some unknown reason. The Decepticons need a leader, and I intend to rebuild it under my name and kill Megatron so that any dissenters and loyalists that still support him will fall in line. I should be grateful that Soundwave isn't here to throw a wrench in my plans."

"Soundwave is loyal to Megatron," Ymir assumed.

"Was," Starscream clarified, "I found out that he stuck in some dimensional nether realm. Between you and me, it's for the best."

"Guess so," Ymir shrugged, "But it seems like your issue's with Megatron. Why not just kill him and leave us alone?"

"And leave this world and its resources behind?" Starscream smirked, "I would never pass up an opportunity like this."

"I guess, but take it from someone like me. The power pretty much sucks," Ymir declared, "You get thirteen years to live and you're used as a weapon of some kind. Sure you regenerate, but what else?"

"...Perhaps the two of us could work together," Starscream suggested.

"Excuse you?" Ymir raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well you said you didn't care too much about that island," Starscream retorted, "And I currently hold the power and the key to end the power of the titans. With proper resources and an army currently in the works, I could help find a way to prolong your life. Perhaps there could be a way to make you immortal. What do you say?"

"Pass." The response was automatic, taking Starscream by surprise.

"Are you serious?" Starscream was in shock, "Most people I know would jump at the opportunity to prolong their life, especially with an immense power like yours."

"It's not a life I'd be proud of," Ymir declared as she rolled over on her side, her back facing the Decepticon.

Starscream hummed in contempt. This human bothered him to no end, but he didn't feel like torturing her. He was already torturing Megatron, and he wasn't feeling satisfied with himself. It was great for a while, but now...it wasn't fulfilling. Starscream then pressed the button on the door and stepped out of the room before shutting it, a motion that didn't go unnoticed by the titan shifter.

(One more left!)

[made-ofmemories]

Stargazing

Also posted to ao3

Written for day 21 of platonic stobin month

Characters: Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley Word count: 1062

Robin calls sometime around midnight. She often does when she can’t sleep, plagued by flashbacks of secret Russian bunkers under small-town malls and the squeeze of vines around her neck. Steve’s already awake when she calls, he always is.

Usually, they talk, sometimes about what’s bothering them, sometimes about anything except for what’s bothering them. Other times they just exist there together in silence comforted by the fact that there’s someone else on the other side of the line, someone who understands in a way that not many people can. Tonight is different. Steve’s been feeling antsy all day and Robin doesn’t argue when he suggests they go for a drive.

“Do you believe in aliens?” Robin asks.

They’re perched on the hood of Steve’s BMW out in the middle of nowhere near Loch Nora. Robin has her head tipped back looking up at the clear night sky but she turns to look at Steve when she speaks. It’s the first real conversation they’ve had in the hour they’ve spent driving around the back roads of Hawkins.

“What, like little green men from Mars?”

“No- well, maybe I don’t know.” She shrugs then gestures up at the stars above them with one hand, “Do you think there’s anything out there?”

“No,” He says without much thought, “Do you?”

“How can you not? There’s billions of planets out there. I mean statistically, it’s unlikely that we’re the only ones right? It’s got to be. There must be someone else out there somewhere.”

“I don’t know, it just all feels a little too… sci-fi.”

“You’ve fought inter-dimensional monsters, but you draw the line at aliens?” Robin asks, her voice clouded by disbelief and just a little bit of humor, “Really, Steve?”

“Well yeah, but that’s different.” He splutters in a rush to defend himself, “We’ve seen those things, it’s not like it was ET crawling out of the Upside down!”

“ET?” It’s followed by a snort and a poor attempt from Robin to hold back her laughter.

It was one of the first movies they’d watched together after getting the job at Family Video, part of Robin’s ongoing mission to educate him on all things pop culture. It had been a particularly slow day, they had already gotten through 3 movies when Robin plucked it from the shelf.

“Yeah! You know, ET phone home, that guy.” He says with an impression that only makes Robin laugh harder.

“Oh my god,” She takes in a gulp of air, trying to catch her breath as the laughter fades, “That was truly, truly terrible, Steve.”

“Still better than your muppet impression,” He teases.

“You’re such a dork. How did anyone ever think you were cool?”

“Shut up, you love me.”

She hums as if she’s considering it, “Nope, I’m revoking your best friend card.”

“Oh really?” He asks, deciding to humor her, “Who’s going to be your best friend now?”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “Nancy.”

“You traitor!” He yells, but there’s a bright smile on his face and a lilt in his voice.

“Shut up,” She hisses, clamping a hand over his mouth as if that’s going to stop him, “It’s the middle of the night.”

He tries to speak and it comes out garbled, muffled by the palm clamped against his face. He considers being childish and licking her hand, but ultimately decides on just brushing her hand away.

“So what? We’re in the middle of nowhere there’s no one around. No one can hear us!” He yells the last part at the top of his lungs.

It feels good in a cathartic kind of way to just let it all out with no consequence. He does it again and lets out a loud shout, this time he’s not trying to say anything he’s just screaming out into the darkness. Robin joins in without prompting and then it’s the two of them sitting there on Steve’s car letting out years worth of frustration into the silence until the yells dissolve into laughter.

“Come on.” He nudges her in the side with his elbow, “I think we’ve been out here long enough, it’s starting to get cold.”

“Can I stay over with you tonight?”

“Of course,” He says it seriously, wanting her to know he genuinely means it, she’s always welcome. Then the teasing tone starts to seep back into his voice, “Besides, it’s better than watching you try to climb up that tree to get back into your room.”

He swears she would make less noise just using the front door and it would certainly save his nerves every time he has to watch her clambering in or out of her window. He doesn’t know how she hasn’t broken a bone yet with the number of times she’s slipped and almost fallen.

“You know I have no coordination, it took me-”

“6 months longer than all the other babies to learn how to walk.” He says in perfect sync with her and she starts to laugh again, just a few breathy exhales of amusement.

“You know me too well. It’s kind of weird,” She tells him once they’ve both slid into their respective seats in the car.

“Yeah, well we’re just a pair of weirdos, Robs, tell me something I don’t know.” He smiles, turning the key in the ignition and listening to the sound of the engine roaring to life.

She doesn’t even ask before she goes rifling through his closet looking for a comfy t-shirt and the same pair of sweatpants she always steals from him before she flops down onto his bed without invitation. He lets out a heavy sigh at the sight as if he wouldn’t be following her down the hallway like a lost puppy if she even so much as thought about staying in one of the spare rooms. It’s a routine that had developed not long after Starcourt, the nightmares never fully went away but they’d been more frequent back then.

Steve crawls into bed under the blankets, what little of them Robin has left for him. He reminds her frequently what a bed hog she is but usually, all it earns him is a few grumbled sleepy curses and occasionally a middle finger pointed in his direction.

“Goodnight, Robs.” He’s already got his face half smushed into his pillow and the words come out muffled.

“‘Night, Stevie.”