#EVEN SHERM LOOK AT HIM GO GOOD FOR YOU SHERM

[remyfire]

Really cute how they all just went on dates after this

[onekisstotakewithme]

Etymology? I am a language nerd after all ;)

Etymology is courtesy of my dear friend @neekerbreeker and while I may not have the exact terminology down pat... it's essentially a fic with a collection of uhhh dictionary definitions, that go along with different scenes. I'd like to finish that one someday, I love the concept a lot.

Bisexual (adj.)

1914, “Attracted to both sexes”. Not in general use until 1950s.

-

1952

As BJ continues putting together the party decorations, everything around him red and cheerful – just to Hawkeye’s specifications – there’s a feeling in his chest that he can’t name.

He has plenty of feelings he can name – relief that Hawkeye is on his way back to them, fear at the consequences of his crazy maverick best friend’s actions, anticipation of Hawkeye’s reaction to the party – but the soft warmth wrapping around his lungs as he looks around the decorated mess tent is one that remains elusive.

“Hell of a party you put together, son,” Sherm says, walking over and handing him a glass of punch. “Although if you’ll forgive my saying so, you’re not much of a redhead.”

“I’m no Rita Hayworth,” BJ agrees, running his hands over his hair.

“Rita Hayworth? Hunnicutt, you do flatter yourself. You aren’t even Mickey Rooney.”

“Thanks, Charles. You don’t look half-bad as a redhead.”

“I prefer to think of it as auburn,” Charles says, before wandering back off into the crowd.

“I only hope this isn’t permanent,” BJ says to Potter, who laughs. “I don’t think Peg will be wild if I come back with a mustache and a whole new hair colour.”

“Good idea, the less surprises for the missus, the better.”

[thephoenixdescendant]

I knew this would happen. I accidently deleted an ask. Thank god I took a screenshot of it before deleting it...🙏🙏🙏

Whoever asked this, I'm praying that they will see this post.

WORD COUNT: 2,824

Vert x Reader x Alternative Vert

You settled in handler corners about a year ago and made friends with the people who work at spectre motors. But, one day you became awestruck for the fact that you saw them coming out of a portal. That's when you knew what they really do. You have been nagging them to bring you with them but Vert refused. The reason why is because he's afraid you might get hurt and also, you tried to ride the saber the other day. But, what happened was you drove it to the maximum speed limit. And you crashed his car on a giant rock. You hit your head on the glass real hard and ever since then, he's been treating you like a kid. So, you kept annoying Vert to the point where he gave up and said yes. But he told you to not walk around the battle zone and instead, stay with Stanford.

You were with them on the training tracks watching the solar eclipse through those special glasses that allows you to look at the sun, until Sage announced through their coms that a stormshock was detected, with a warning. Those solar flares could damage their vehicles. Vert turned to you with a serious expression. "Don't get out of the reverb. If you do, then it'll be the last time I'm taking you to a battlezone". You nodded in agreement. You hopped on the reverb and they all took off.

"Stay double frosty guys. Sage said those solar flares could do nasty stuff to our instruments." Vert warned. "Solar activity peak level coinciding with portal entry" Sage announced through the coms as Stanford kept touching a button on the touch screen of his reverb. "Might explain why my rear axle telemetry a bit dodgy." Stanford said.

"Caution. Battlezone may also be affected."

Everyone got inside the portal and arrived on a planet that looks really fimiliar. Like the ones they show on science fiction movies. "Looks like a standard alien desert to me." Spinner said. "Everybody make some dust. Find me a key!" Vert said as he went to the other direction. "As soon as I find out what's wrong my axle. Catch up with you." Stanford parked his car on an area near a mountain. You got annoyed because you couldn't see the rest of the zone for a bit.

Stanford got out of the reverb with a socket wrench that he carries with him. He crossed your arms as you watched him open the bonet. "First rule of a manual servo repair. Never need one." Stanford started to twist and turn some of the parts with the socket wrench. You grunted in annoyance. "Hey Stan. Can I get out and watch the view. I wanna walk around a bit." You asked. "No. Vert told me to make sure your inside the Reverb at all cost." Stanford replied. Not looking in your direction. "Come on! I don't wanna sit here! I just wanna walk!!!" You whined. But, he just ignored you. You looked outside and sighed. Then you got an idea. "Hey stan. I'll make a promise to you if you let me out." You said. He looked at you, a brow raised. "What promise?" He asked. "If you let me out, I'll tell Grace how amazing you are! I know you like her and I'm sure she'll listen to me. That way, she'll ask you out!" You said, with a big smile. He rubbed his chin and thought about it for a second. A smile formed on his face. "Okay! You can come out!" He said. You felt really happy and when you got out of the reverb, you gave Stanford a big hug. "Thank you!!!" You said, before going to the other side, enjoying the view.

You kept walking around until you saw something coming from the distance. It looked like a gold chariot... And it was coming towards you. You ran to Stanford and hid behind him. He gasped when he saw one of his enemies right in front of him. He dropped his socket wrench as the mutant like creature aimed his crossbow at him.

"Go on then! What are you waiting for fang face?!" Stanford said with pure hate. "Even though you humans want to destroy my world, I cannot attack an unarmed man." Kalus said. Stanford looked at him, confused. "Who are you? And what have you done with Kalus?" Stanford asked. "And you, are not acting like a member of the evil battle force 5!" Kallus exclaimed. "Evil battle force 5?" You whispered. Stanford looked at you, indicating he was confused, just as you.

"Mount your vehicle and let us battle as honour dictates." Kalus said. Stanford took a step back, almost stepping on your feet. "Uhh.... One moment..." He said before he spoke through his com. "Guys! Kalus has me in his crosshairs, but he's being... Honourable. Please advice." "On our way!" Vert replied as he and the others went to where Stanford stood.

You saw the team coming towards them from the distance. The tension was relieved.

"Huh! Typical Battle Force 5. Refusing to choose the Vandal code to settle our differences like gentleman!" Kalus spat.

"A vandal gentleman? Huh! In what world?" Sherman asked. "Maybe in this world. Sage said the battlezone could be affected. Captain Kalus! Wait! Please." Vert stopped the Saber infront of him. You and Stanford quickly got inside the Reverb and he aimed the sonic canons at Kalus. "Captain Kalus!" Vert called as he got out, without bringing his double edged sword. Kalus aimed his crossbow at him. "I'd like to speak with you! I've come unarmed." He walked towards him. "Vert! We've got him surrounded. What are you doing?!" Agura questioned. "Playing a hunch I'm about to wish I never had. Cover me but stay back." Vert said. Kalus got out of his chariot. "What kind of trickery is this?!" He questioned. Vert held out his arm, motioning Stanford to turn off the sonic canons.

"You... Ordered your team to stay back..." Kalus said. "I did. So, where is yours?" Vert asked. "Ugh! You know very well what happened to them!" Kalus said before sniffing Vert's uniform. "Or do you?" Kalus got surprised of the scent Vert had. It wasn't the same scent he was fimiliar with.

"It's not Kalus!" Vert turned around to the team. "Uhh... How many talking lions with crossbows are there riding around in gold chariots?" Agura was confused. Zoom came and stopped the chopper beside the tangler. "Just did a flyby on the battle key!" He said before turning to Vert. Surprised to see Kalus standing next to him. "Whoa! And we're not whipping lion butt why?" "Somehow those solar flares must of connected us to a dimention exactly opposite our own." Sherman explained. You gasped in surprise. "Am I gonna see the opposite version of the team?" You thought. "With good Vandals! (Idk what word he said after that... lol)" Stanford said, confused and surprised at the same time. "So where's the rest of your team?" Vert asked. "My good friends Hatch, Xever and Crocomodo were elimimated... Long ago...." Kalus said sadly. His face drooped down. You looked at him with pity. "By who?" Vert asked. "By.... Them...." Kalus pointed to the distance, as he heard a team of cars racing towards them. The whole team looked at the distance and saw their opposites. "Those look just like our rides!" Sherman exclaimed. "Normally it's between me and that battle force 5. Which exists only to conquer peacefull worlds..." Kalus said.

"Well... Look what we have here?" The alternative vert's voice was heard through the com. You gasped at how his tone was so.... Evil... "They look like us, but they're so... Clean." "Not after I'm done with them." "I wanna smash them. Into teeny tiny bits!" "Wow Sherm! That was nearly a complete sentence!" "Oh, you boys are like soooo immature!" "Shut your traps. First we get the key. Then we play...." A fit of evil laughter sent chills down your spine. Anti-Vert noticed you sitting with Stanford. He looked at you and winked. "Uhhh...." You had no words to say. "Whoa. Doppleganger dudes really got their fight on!" Spinner said. "Can't let 'em get the key. What do you need Zoom?" Vert asked. "Battle key is in the side of a mini mountain. Gonna need Agura!" Zoom replied. "Nothings out of my reach!" Agura said. "Agura go for the key. Everyone else on defense. Let's go!" The team charged towards their opposites. They looked at each other in pure hate. You gripped on your seat because of how fast the Reverb was going.

"Looks like those goodie goodies are gonna get in our way!" Anti-Spinner said. "Split up. Take 'em one on one." Anti-Vert ordered. The Saber's blades collided with each other. Anti-Vert's blade scraped past the Saber. Vert grunted in anger.

Anti-Vert's Saber got near the Reverb and he came to your side of the car. "Hey sexy! He thinks he's better than me. Let me show you what I can do." He said before charging towards Vert's Saber. Vert got really angry when his alternarive self called you "sexy". God, he wanted to punch his anti-self's perfect teeth. "If you are trying to challenge me, you're doing a terrible mistake! I'm gonna kick your butt!" Vert said. "That will be in your dreams. The woman/man is mine!" Anti-Vert said. "No, mine!" Vert muttered. "She/he is mine!"

You were watching the entire thing. Each time Vert gets pushed back by his anti self, Anti-Vert has a grin on his face. He knows you are still watching the fight. But, you suddenly can't see them because the Reverb has gone away from them. "Stanford. Follow the girl/boy and try to wreck their Reverb." Anti-Vert said. "Consider it done!" He said. You saw Anti-Stanford following the Reverb really tightly. "Ohmygosh. Please go faster!" You said. "I am!" Stanford swerved the car left and right. Trying to avoid the sonic attacks. His anti self got to your side and you gasped when he made his car push the Reverb to the side. Both Stanford and his evil self pushed each other back and forth. "Coming here was a bad idea..." You regreted annoying Vert. This is what Vert has been warning you about. Something like this always happen. Suddenly, Anti-Stanford pushed his vehicle too hard on the Reverb. Causing the mirror on your side to break. Shards of glasses fell onto your arm. It's sharp sides grazed your skin. Causing a cut on the thin layer of skin. But enough to bleed. It stinged a little. "We'll get away from.... Me..." Stanford somehow managed to turn the Reverb, making it face his anti self. They both sonic blasted each other. Stanford and his anti self took the hit, causing the Reverb to be pushed back. You hit your head really hard on the back and on the side..... The glass shards cut the side of your cheek. It started to bleed and your head hurts fr om hitting the back too hard. "(Y/N)!!! You're bleeding!!!" Stanford gasped in horror. "I'm... I'm okay... Just go!" You said. The Reverb took off, leaving Anti-Stanford alone. You started to feel nauseous and a splitting headache took place. "I... I don't feel so good..." You said, covering your mouth. Trying not to vomit because of how the Reverb's movement is. "I'll take you somewhere that'll keep you safe!" Stanford said.

Stanford parked the Reverb on a small cave. A cave where it's not clearly seen. Both you and Stanford got out. You sat on the floor, leaning onto the wall, as Stanford inspected your injuries. "I don't have an emergency kit. Sorry about that..." Stanford apologized. "N-no it's okay." You said, as you took out your handkerchief from your pocket. You placed it on your cheek, hoping the bleeding will stop. "I should be the onr who's sorry. I shouldn't have come here." You said sadly. "It's okay (Y/N)." Stanford smiled. "You stay here. The Reverb is already damaged. If you're in it, then it'll cause more injuries to you. Our opposites won't find you." Stanford said as he got inside the Reverb. He disappeared into the distance and you sighed. "I shouldn't have come here..."

Vert and his anti-self kept pushing their vehicles on each other, causing a lot of damage. He chuckled. "You already know that soon, the woman/man that you have brought with you on your mission will be mine! I already know it. You're weak!" He said. "Not gonna happen!" Vert shouted. Then Anti-Vert saw the Reverb coming out from the side of a mountain, but you weren't there with him. "Are you sure Vert?" Anti-Vert asked before violenly pushing Vert's Saber with his blades. Vert's vehicle flipped over and Anti-Vert went to where Stanford came.

You started to feel lightheaded and your head was throbbing and you placed your hand on the back of your head. You felt warm liquid covering your palm. It was blood. You sighed, praying the team will come back to get you. You laid down and curled up like a ball, trying to fall asleep. After a few minutes, you heard a vehicle coming towards you. It sounded like the Saber. You felt relieved for Vert being here and you got up... Only to see his alternative self staring at you. He chuckled. "Are you trying to rest my love?" He asked. "I'm not your love! Leave me alone!" You said, as you stood up. "You don't know what I am capable of. I'm way better than the Vert from your homeworld." He said. "Oh no no no. You are just a freak. I don't like men like you!" You shouted. He looked at you with no emotion. He took a step towards you and you took a step back. "Me? A freak? Ha! You don't know me well dear." Vert said. "And you don't know me as well. I'm capable of fighting you off. I have a black belt in karate!" You exclaimed. Suddenly, Anti-Vert just burst out into laughter. "Do you really expect me to believe that?! You don't look like the type to be violent." He said. "Oh, But I am. Don't mess with me!" You said. He took a step forward and you lunged at him, ready to punch his face. But, he grabbed both of your wrist. "Hm... A black belt in karate, huh?" He said, mockingly. "I-I just went e-easy on you!" You said, as you tried to pull yourself out of his grip. But, he was too strong. "Don't even try. You're weak!" He said. You mentally slapped yourself from doing that stupid move. The amount of energy you took to get out of his grip made you feel as if the world was spinning around you. Your legs became weak and you almost fell down, but Anti-Vert caught you. He grazed his fingers on the cut on your cheek. "Looks like Stanford got a little harsh on you...". "I'm very sorry about that..." He suddenly pinned you against a wall.

He looked at how vulnerable you are. It didn't take long to smash his lips onto yours. You couldn't protest as your body felt like jelly. He stopped kissing you as you bit his tongue harshly. "Gah!" He hissed in pain. You fell down on the floor. "D-don't do i-it a-again...." You spoke. Your voice was weak. The blood from his tongue starts to drip down from his mouth. "I would love my woman/man to be a little more compliant. I don't mind playful biting.... But, not in a way it'll stop someone from kissing you..." He said. "Go... To... Hell!" You spat. He just laughed. "You will be under my control when I take you away from them!" He said, with a wicked smile.

"STAY AWAY FROM HER YOU SACK OF SH*T!!!" Someone shouted from the distance. You both looked at who it was. It was Vert. Your Vert. He ran towards his anti-self and kicked him in the guts. Anti-Vert grunted in pain. "You will seriously gonna regret doing that!" He said. "YOU WILL SERIOUSLY GONNA REGRET TAKING MY WOMAN/MAN AWAY FROM ME!!!!" Vert shouted. Then, both Vert and his alternative self started to have a fist fight. You couldn't move or speak, and you laid down almost unconscious.

Vert somehow beaten his anti-self down. He ran to you and picked you up. "You're bleeding!!!" He gasped as he felt the warm liquid from your head. He ran out of the cave and placed you inside the Reverb. "Get her/him home! Now!" He ordered. Stanford nodded and he took you to the hub. He went back to the Saber and looked at his anti-self. "You and I are gonna have a fight. With our vehicles..." He said.

Part 2 (Coming Soon)

[thelastspeecher]

Angela Pines AU - The Favorite

I had another bit that I was going to write before I posted this, but I spent a good chunk of my day today working on a job application and I’m craving some sweet, sweet writer’s validation, so I’m posting it now.

(Btw, a reminder, I wouldn’t mind an ask or two for this AU...nudge nudge wink wink.)

———————————————————————————————————–

              “Mr. and Mrs. Pines?”  Filbrick and Caryn looked over at Angie’s kindergarten teacher. “May I have a word with you?”

              “Fine, but you better make it quick,” Filbrick rumbled, crossing his arms.  The teacher glanced at Angie, obediently standing with her parents.

              “Alone.”

              “Go play with your friends for a bit, angel,” Caryn said.  She gently shooed Angie away.  At five, she was firmly settled in with the family, despite looking less and less like a Pines with every passing day.  Her hair was golden and silky, unlike the Pines dark brown curls, and it was already evident she would be slender, not broad-shouldered.

              “What is it?” Filbrick asked the teacher.

              “Well, I had my suspicions on Angela’s first day of class, but I decided to wait until the first week was over to be sure.”

              “Be sure of what?” Caryn asked.

              “Your daughter is remarkably advanced for her age. The only other child I’ve seen as intelligent as her was your son, Stanford.”  Filbrick and Caryn exchanged a look.  They’d noticed Angie’s smarts, but weren’t sure whether they were imagining it due to their fondness for the girl.  “However, she has behavioral problems not unlike Stanley’s.”

              “My daughter’s behavior is perfect,” Filbrick growled.

              “She’s well-behaved, yes,” the teacher said, quickly backtracking.  “But she’s struggling to make friends with her classmates, and she’s hyperactive and distractible.”

              “All children her age are,” Caryn said.

              “Angela is more hyperactive and distractible than her classmates,” the teacher said firmly.  “I’m not sure why, but I wonder if it might be due to anxiety.  Anxiety in girls sometimes manifests in that way. Have you noticed her being particularly anxious at home?”

              “She had a traumatic event happen when she was three,” Caryn said after a moment.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that caused her to have anxiety.”  The teacher nodded.

              “I’d recommend scheduling an appointment with her pediatrician, just to get her checked over.  The sooner she gets help, the better off she’ll be.”  The teacher walked away.  Angie, who had been watching the conversation curiously, rushed over.

              “What was that about?” she asked.  Filbrick ruffled her hair.

              “Nothing, angel.  Your teacher was just telling us how smart you are,” he said.  Angie beamed at him.  Her smile was gap-toothed right now, as she was just beginning to lose her baby teeth.  “C’mon, your brothers are waiting in the car.”  Angie eagerly ran off.

              “If she’s as smart as Stanford, Angie could be something great,” Caryn whispered to Filbrick as they followed at a more sedate pace.

              “We already knew she was special,” Filbrick rumbled.

              “Well, yes.  But a smart girl like her could be a splendid nurse.”  Filbrick tensed.

              “No.  No daughter of mine is gonna go into nursing.  I don’t want her dodging attacks from druggies or cleaning bedpans.”

              “Maybe a teacher, then,” Caryn suggested. Filbrick nodded.

              “Yes.  Teaching would be good for her.  We need better teachers in this world.”

              “Though, it’s worth mentioning that teaching doesn’t pay much.”

              “She’ll be able to land a doctor or lawyer.  Her husband can support her.”

              “That’s a good point.”  Caryn frowned thoughtfully.  “Hmm, maybe she could be an art or music teacher.  She likes singing and painting.”  Filbrick nodded again.

              “I agree.  We should do what we did for Stanford.  Sign her up for the things she’s good at, make sure that she becomes amazing at them.”

              “Yes.  We need to encourage her intellect.”  Caryn grabbed Filbrick’s hand and laced her fingers with his.  “We’re so blessed, Filly, to have such a wonderful family.” Filbrick grunted wordlessly in response, eliciting a soft chuckle from his wife.

-----

              Stan sat behind the counter, idly polishing new inventory for display.

              “Thank you!” Angie chirped cheerfully.  The customer she had been speaking to left. Angie looked up at the clock. “That’s the last one of the day.” She went over to the door and flipped the sign over to read “CLOSED”.

              “Stanley!” a voice shouted.  Stan sighed.  He looked over.

              “Yes, Pops?” he asked.  Filbrick, who had just come downstairs, glowered at him.

              “Why was your sister running register on her day off?”

              “She asked,” Stan said simply.  “And since she’s good at it, I figured she might as well.” He bit back the urge to point out that Angie was the only one who didn’t have to work in the shop every day. Filbrick sighed.  He looked at Angie.

              “Angel, on your day off, you shouldn’t be in the shop, fleecing rubes.  You should be practicing your painting.”

              “I like working in the shop,” Angie said. She took a deep breath.  “And, actually, Pops, I was thinking…”  She took another breath.  “I think I’d like to run the shop.  Once- once you step down.”

              “No,” Filbrick said shortly.  Stan’s eyes widened.  Very rarely was Filbrick so firm with Angie.  Judging by her expression, Angie was just as shocked as Stan. “Angela, running a shop like this is a man’s job.”  Angie clenched her hands into fists.

              “What- what makes you say that?”

              “You’re a very talented and wonderful young lady, but you won’t be able to take care of the shop like your brothers could.”

              “Why not?”

              “I already explained myself.  It needs a man to run it.  And when you get married, your last name won’t be Pines anymore anyways,” Filbrick said.  Angie ground her teeth.

              “Maybe I don’t want to get married,” she snarled. Filbrick stiffened.  “I’m the best one to run the shop!  I’m just as personable as Stan, just as smart as Ford, just as thorough as Sherm, and I can sell them all under the table!”

              “Those things don’t matter.”

              “Why not?!” Angie shouted.  Stan winced.  “Those are the things it takes to run the shop, and I have them!”

              “If you were a young man, maybe I’d let you take over someday, but you’re a young woman,” Filbrick said, his volume beginning to rise.  “You’re meant for something else.”

              “Like what, teaching?  You always say to hedge your bets, do the thing that has the highest likelihood of working out,” Angie argued.  “I don’t know if I’d be a good teacher.  I know for a fact that I’m good at taking care of the shop!”

              “Stop arguing with me like you know better than I do. You’re still a child.”

              “I’m thirteen, not three!”

              “That’s enough!” Filbrick roared.  Angie took a step back, visibly unnerved.  “I am your father, Angela Diane Pines.  You will do as I say and not complain about it.  Am I understood?”  Angie glared furiously.  “Am I understood?” Filbrick growled.  Angie’s shoulders tensed.

              “…Yes, sir,” she ground out.

              “Good.  Now, go to your room.  I’ll talk to your mother about how we’ll punish you for talking back like that.” Angie stormed past Stan and upstairs. Filbrick looked over at Stan. “Finish closing for the day.”

              “Yes, sir,” Stan said.  Filbrick went upstairs.  Stan sighed.  As he finished closing up the shop, he thought about Filbrick warning that Angie would get punished.  It was an empty threat, and everyone knew it.

              She won’t get punished.  They don’t punish her for anything.

-----

              “Stan, Ford?”  Stan and Ford looked up from their comic book and sketchbook, respectively.

              “What’s going on, Ang?” Stan asked.  Angie stood in the doorway of their bedroom, rubbing her arm nervously.

              “Um, I wanted your advice.”

              “Advice on what?” Ford asked.  Angie closed her eyes.

              “…Dealing with Pops,” she said quietly.  Stan burst into laughter.  Ford scowled down at Stan from the top bunk.

              “Stan!”

              “Can you blame me?” Stan asked.  “Angie’s the only one who’s always on Pops’ good side, and she wants advice on dealing with him?”

              “I’m not always on his good side,” Angie said.  She walked into the living room and sat on the bottom bunk bed, next to Stan. “Remember when I told him I wanted to run the shop?”

              “Yeah.  You yelled at him and didn’t get punished.”

              “But he didn’t let me do what I wanted.”

              “You might want to rephrase that, Angie,” Ford suggested gently.  Angie groaned loudly.

              “You know what I mean!  I asked to run the shop, and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn’t let me.  And not for any real reason.  No, it’s because I’m a girl.”

              “Yeah, that was bullshit,” Stan said.

              “It was!” Angie said.  “It was absolute bullshit.”

              “Language,” Ford warned.  Angie glared at him.

              “Shut up.”

              “…Fair enough.”  Ford closed his sketchbook.  He climbed down to sit on the bottom bunk, on the other side of Angie.  “I’m guessing that what you want advice for is related to that argument?”

              “Yeah.”  Angie looked down at her feet.  “You guys know that Mom and Pops have things planned out for me and that they have their own ideas of what a girl like me should do.  Well, it’s mostly Pops who has those ideas.”

              “Yes, we’re very aware that the expectations Mom and Pops have of you are different from what they have of us,” Ford said.

              “They’re gonna have you be a teacher, for one thing,” Stan said.  Angie nodded.

              “Yeah, that’s what they want, but it’s not- it’s not what I want.”  She took a breath.  “I want to be an artist.”  Stan and Ford nodded.  “How am I supposed to tell Pops?”

              “Well, first off, remind him that you’re his baby girl,” Stan said.  “Use those big blue eyes of yours, wear something cute, and don’t hesitate to cry.”

              “That’s just what I normally do,” Angie said, rolling her eyes.  “I don’t think the method I use to get Pops to buy me new paints will work for this. I’m telling him that I don’t want to go into the career he’s had planned for me since I was little.”

              “You’re still little,” Stan said, ruffling Angie’s hair.  At this point, it was obvious that Angie would stay at her decidedly below average height; she had never even gotten a formal growth spurt, unlike her brothers. She pouted at him.  “But I know what you mean.  Hmm.  Ford?”

              “Use Pops’ emotions for you against him, yes,” Ford said after a moment.  “But also come in with a fully prepared argument.  Come up with an answer for any possible reason he might give that you should be a teacher.”  Angie nodded.

              “Anything else?”

              “Don’t raise your voice,” Ford said.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah, I know you like to fight back, but that won’t get you anywhere with Pops.”

              “Got it.”

              “Don’t stress, Ang,” Stan said, putting a hand on her shoulder.  “If anyone could pull this off, it’d be you.  You’re the favorite, after all.”

              “Don’t say that,” Angie mumbled.  “It makes me feel weird.”

              “It’s the truth,” Ford said with a shrug. Angie scowled.

              “That doesn’t make it any better.”

-----

              Stan sat on the sidewalk where he had been thrown, the duffle bag in his lap heavy.  Tears pricked his eyes.

              Pops had a bag ready.  How long has he been planning on kicking me out?  He took a shuddering breath.  At least Angie didn’t see.  One of the most important tasks he had as an older brother was protecting his baby sister, and that included keeping her in the dark about how bad their father could get.  Stan slowly got to his feet.  The front door slammed open.

              “Stan!” Angie shouted, running out of the building. She tackled Stan in an enormous hug. “What’s- what’s going on?  I heard noise, and Ford said- he said that Pops-”

              “Angela Diane Pines, get back inside!” Filbrick rumbled, appearing in the doorway.  Stan stiffened in fear.  Angie spun around.  She stared at Filbrick with plaintive blue eyes.

              “Pops, is what Ford said true?  Are- are you really kicking Stan out?”

              “Angel, he has to be punished for what he’s done,” Filbrick said.  He walked over and took Angie’s hand.  “You should go back to bed, you don’t do well when you get woken up.”  Angie yanked her hand away.

              “How could you kick out your own son?” she whispered.

              “He ruined Stanford’s shot at that fancy school.”

              “But not on purpose!  Right, Stan?”

              “It- it was an accident,” Stan mumbled nervously. “I was pissed, but-”

              “If I don’t do anything, your brother won’t learn from his mistakes,” Filbrick said firmly.

              “Then punish him some other way!  Don’t put him on the street when he’s still a teenager!” Angie said fiercely.  Filbrick scowled.  Stan quailed, but Angie, who didn’t have much experience being on Filbrick’s bad side, didn’t back down.  “If you’re kicking him out, then- then you’re kicking me out, too!”  Angie grabbed Stan’s hand.  Filbrick’s face went slack.

              “Angie, don’t do this,” Stan whispered to her. “You’ve got a future.  You’re only fifteen!”

              “You’re only seventeen,” Angie said, her voice firm.  “And we’re Pines.”  She gripped Stan’s hand tighter.  “We stick together, even when the world’s against us.”  She looked back at Filbrick.  “Be prepared to lose your youngest son and only daughter, Pops.”

              “I…” Filbrick started.  Angie sniffled loudly.

              “I can’t stay with a father that I know is comfortable kicking out his own son, especially when- when-”  Angie’s voice got choked up.  “When the son he kicked out was born his.  I wasn’t born yours, Pops.”  A few tears began to trace their way down Angie’s cheeks.  Filbrick finally caved.

              “Okay.  I won’t kick him out, angel.”  Filbrick pulled Angie into a tight embrace.  He glared at Stan.  “Go back upstairs.  You can stay, but you’re on thin ice.”  Stan bolted for the door.  When he got to his and Ford’s bedroom, Ford looked up from the West Coast Tech brochure he was staring at.

              “I see Angie convinced Pops to let you stay,” he said numbly.

              “Yeah.”  Stan dropped the duffle bag to the floor.  “She did.”

              “Pops is a fool for not wanting her to take over the shop, if she can get even him to back down.”  Ford threw the brochure in the trash, got up from his desk, and climbed into the top bunk.  He turned away from Stan.

              An hour later, Ford was sleeping, but Stan couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.  The bedroom door slowly creaked open.  Stan sat up.  He squinted in the darkness.

              “Angie?”

              “Yeah.”  Angie quietly walked over.  She sat on the bed next to him.  “Are- are you all right?”

              “Are you?” Stan asked.  Angie looked at him, bemused.  “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

              “It shouldn’t have happened.”

              “That’s just how Pops is.  Honestly, I’m a bit surprised it’s taken him this long to wanna kick me out.”  Angie stared at him in shock.  “Angie, it’s okay.  I’m okay.”

              “It’s a good thing I was there,” Angie said softly. Stan’s stomach churned.

              “Yeah.”

              It is good she was there.  But why do I feel so weird about it?  Pops likes her best, this isn’t new information.

              “It sucks that you had to get caught in the crossfire.”

              “Hmm?  Oh, you mean when I started crying?” Angie asked.  Stan nodded.  Angie looked away.  “Those tears might have been fake.”  The churning in Stan’s stomach worsened.  “Don’t get me wrong, I was really upset by everything, but I was more angry than sad. It’s just that, well, you know how Pops gets when I cry.”

              “…Yeah.”

              He melts like your Barbie did when it got left in the car a few summers back.

              “Go back to bed,” Stan said after a moment. “He was right, you shouldn’t wake up and then fall back asleep, it’s not good for you.”

              “Fine.  But I did mean it.  Us Pines have to stick together.”  Angie kissed him on the cheek.  “Good night, best brother.”

              “Good night, best sister,” Stan replied.  Angie got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.  Stan laid back down.  Tears sprang to his eyes.

              Why did it take my little sister crying to make Pops let me stay?

[kingofthecon]

@femmechanceux

#1 "You know what rhymes with Bugaboo? Me and you." It was a pretty boring night of patrolling so naturally Chat Noir decided to fill the air with anything and everything just to keep them both entertained. His vibrant green eyes focused more on the task at hand - keeping an out for trouble - than they did on his partner, but when his eyes did meet her form for an extended period of time he couldn't help but grin. Running around Paris late at night with a lovely lady by his side helped him to forget about his life outside of costume. It helped his mind come up with all sorts of entertaining ideas which drove away all the reality shattering ones that came with common sense - one of the recent things being what'd happen when they finally defeated Hawk Moth. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that one day they would actually catch Hawk Moth slipping and manage to not only take him down and retrieve his Miraculous, but also learn his identity and lock him away forever, but what would come next? They wouldn't be able to keep their Miraculous anymore, would they? Sure there would still be crime left in Paris, but that could be handled by the officers of the law instead of vigilantes like them. What did that mean for his friendship with Ladybug? Would they just...no longer be able to see each other? No, that was stupid. Ladybug might not be interested in him because of her crush on someone from her life outside of the mask, but that didn't mean they couldn’t be friends. They'd make a way. "It's been a lot of times recently where it's just been me and you, and though I do love spending quality time with my leading lady, I can't help but wonder when the ball's going to drop. I don't want to jinx it, but the last time we found someone who was akumatized it was Mr. Pigeon and that was nearly a month ago." He had most certainly been keep tracking. Between the photo shoots, collabs, and interviews along with school, his fencing class, and a few side activities, there wasn't much of any activity from Hawk Moth. He doubted the man had suddenly fallen off the face of the Earth, but there had to be something at play. Then again his sidekick, Mayura, had been hurt in her last confrontation with the rest of them. Maybe the two of them were an evil couple and Mothy had to take some time out of his akumatizing schedule to take care of her? It was sweet even though they were both evil - taking joy in turning people into their minions all in a vain attempt to get the Cat and Ladybug Miraculous. Then again, what if her sickness was the reason why Hawk Moth was trying so hard? Maybe the reason they'd shown their costumed faces was because of desperation, and Hawk Moth had gotten a mad power-up from her to boot. She hadn't been in the game until recently so maybe that was it? It was something he'd been speculating on a while now, but hadn't had enough evidence to support this theory which meant he hadn't said anything to Ladybug about it. He probably should at some point, but not even now seemed like a good time. "He's too annoying to just give up and go on vacation, so maybe he's wrapped up in some supervillain HR meeting where they talk about their failures and how to go about achieving their goals while eating muffins from the cafeteria." It was random and probably outlandish. The goal was to make her laugh, especially when he was about to say something that might cause a bit of an issue between them. Yeah, butter her up before telling her that he won't be around for a little while because a friend of his father had done some contest and had picked three kids from nowhere to take on as apprentices or something and Adrien would be with them for a while. It was just a publicity stunt and collaboration thing, but it was an extra added activity and with everything else he had to do something needed to be cut out, and it wasn't like Ladybug only had him to rely on considering she could dish out the Miraculous to other people. It would be fine. "I don't think there's any crime afoot tonight," he offered teasingly after they stopped near the Louvre for a break. He stretched both arms over his head and yawned before flopping down in a cross legged position. "Which is convenient because...well, I won't be uh, be around for the next few weeks at least." Best to just rip off the bandage. "My family is going to be particularly busy and I won't be able to get out of certain obligations so if there's an emergency you'll have to get one of the others. I'll try to sneak away, but you'll have to treat any threat that might crop up like one that I won't be able to help you fight in." Just saying that made him feel like crap. If an emergency came up and someone got hurt because he prioritized taking pictures with some contest winners over fighting crime then he would have to live with that guilt, but his father would be watching and if he even tried to get out of something like that the consequences would make him being Chat Noir period even harder when things weren't incredibly busy. If he wanted to keep being being a hero then he was going to have to do whatever it took to keep his father off his case. This was one of those situations where there were no good options to take. "I'd better head home. I have to wake up early. Well, earlier than usual." He turned back the way they'd come, which was in the opposite direction of his home actually, and ran off. He was out of his lady's sight he changed the direction and took a different route home. He de-transformed, fed Plagg a few pieces of Camembert and raced the rest of his way home - entering through the front gates and not stopping until he was in his room.

"Okay Sixer, how'd this happen?" Triplets Stanton, Stanford, and Stanley sat in their shared bedroom - Stanley and Stanton; or Shermie as he liked to be called - sitting on either side of their brother Stanford as he read the letter in his hand for the fourth time in silence. There had been a bit of a contest months ago created by a man named William Chiffrer. He was looking for individuals with a wide variety of talents that ranged from athleticism to intellect. Stanford had of course sent filled out the necessary forms on top of going above and being by writing an entire essay about why he believed he should be chosen...he'd also sent out the necessary forms for his siblings and tricked each of them into writing a bit of an essay of their own. He didn't think any of them would be accepted. William was a man of many talents, but what had caught Stanford's attention was the man's intellect. William had the ability to create his own language - something that he and his siblings had done when they were younger...little ciphers that only they could understand, but William? As far as Stanford knew the man had at least three different languages of his own under his belt, a company that didn't seem tethered to him, and ideas of deep sea and space exploration that he had no qualms with sharing to the masses. In other words, the man was an actual genius who had absolutely no problem flaunting it. Stanford was envious, intrigued and well, William was his idol. That meant he wanted to learn from him and this contest? This contest would be his one shot. He, however, didn't want to go in alone. The sound of someone playing with a paddle ball close to his face caused him to jerk to attention. His eyes traveled to his left where he saw Stanley, the sibling that was identical to him minus the fingers, waiting impatiently for an answer. To Stanford's right his slightly older fraternal sibling looked unimpressed already having an idea of what'd taken place though the chances of all three of them being picked was...highly unlikely. "It's not that difficult to understand," the middle triplet said as he pushed himself off the bed and paced the center of their bedroom floor. "More so, improbable. The chances of the three of us getting chosen for this opportunity of a life time is simply astronomical. It's--" "Not the question, Poindexter. Sherm and I didn't enter this sleaze ball's contest. I know I suck at math, but I'm at least a hundred percent sure that us not enterin’ means we both hadda zero percent chance'o winnin' anything. Howzat possible, I wonder." One look at his brothers had rooted to the spot - both hands behind his back as his started to get nervous. Stanley continued to play with his paddle ball, but his attention remained on Stanford while Shermie let out and exasperated sigh. "I'm sorry! I don't know what I was thinking. Well, of course I know what I was thinking. It would be incredible to have William Chiffrer as a mentor. His vast knowledge of the world and its inner workings - despite being quite controversial - has merit and have been shown to be more than just plausible. This man has plans to change the world and the means to do it and it would be remiss of me to pass up the opportunity to work under the man himself. I just did not wish to go alone so I took the liberty of signing contest forms for the both of you while feeding you false information about an extra credit essay where you had to convince the President of the United States of why you would be a great addition to the White House." "Wait, that's not what you told me," Stanley said with narrowed eyes while slowly lowering the paddle ball. "Errhm, yes well, you having to convince a potential suitor's father of why he should let you date his daughter seemed more plausible than the Presidential angle, I'm afraid. Now, even if only one of us came out victorious in this raffle the winner is permitted a plus one! Had either of you won instead I would have hoped that you'd allow me to tag along." "And yet Pa calls me the shyster. I am so proud of you.” Stanley wipes an imaginary tear from his eye while Stanford glares at him before turning his attention towards Shermie who’d finally lifted his head. His expression was exasperated yet thoughtful making it clear that he, at least, wasn’t going to make such a huge deal of out it. Between Stanley and Shermie, the latter was much more academically inclined and when opportunity struck he tended to let it in and treat it like a friend. Paris, France was a place that these three boys from New Jersey would never in their wildest dreams imagine being able to visit - not with how much of a penny-pincher their father was. For a while all there had only been a pair of glasses between them which Stanley and Shermie had agreed to let Ford have indefinitely. ”This is a once in a life time ordeal, isn’t it?” Shermie questioned after letting the silence linger. They were teenagers with no real funds to their name. If they went to college it would have to be on a scholarship - Stanford had at least four lined up, Stanley could possibly go for football, and Shermie had his hands in a little bit of everything. Other than that, there was nothing for fancy trips to far off lands like France, so right here? Right now? Yeah, it definitely seemed as though this was going to be one of those once in a lifetime deals. The brothers looked at each other, Stanley sliding off the bed to punch Stanford in the arm before leaning against his shoulder while Shermie continued thinking. Finally he stood up and crossed his arms. "That was an underhanded trick you pulled Ford, but I can't say that I blame you and a trip to freaking France? The City of Love? We'd have to be crazy to pass up the opportunity." "Ugh, love," Stanley griped, immediately turning sour causing Shermie to look a little guilty while Ford rolled his eyes and elbowed him good-naturedly. His breakup with Carla McCorkle had been a messy one. Karma seemed to strike at both Carla and the boy she'd cheated on Stanley with, Thistle Downe, in the form of someone riding his van into a ravine. According to reports it had been someone dressed up in some sort of costume with a tail. Either way love was currently a big flaming no-no in the Stan Triplets's bedroom...except for Shermie. "Perhaps it would be in your best interest to invite Veronica along, Shermie." Ah, the turns immediately tabled as Stanley's frown disappeared to be replaced by the biggest, doofiest, mischievous grin he could muster while Shermie's face turned a nice shade of tomato red. He sputtered while Stanley darted out the room to make the call leaving Stanford to block his big brother in - the commotion the duo made their mother had to warn them about roughhousing in the house and to take that mess outside. Stanley snickered, his Ma gave him an idea. Outside and to his car he ran after hearing his brothers on the stairs. When they realized that Stanley wasn't inside the brothers raced outside to see Stanley checking his pockets for his keys. Suddenly Stanley was on the ground laughing after having been tackled by Shermie which left Stanford - innocent little Stanford - to head back inside and make the call himself. "Hello, Mrs. Carlyle? This is Stanford Pines. Is Veronica there?” There’s a particularly loud wheeze from outside that catches Stanford’s attention. He looks to his Ma and shrugs before going back to his call. “Hello, Ronnie? You won't believe the good news. Do you recall that contest I entered for the trip to Paris, France to study under THE William Chiffrer? Exciting news. Not only did I win, so did Stanley and Sherman. I...will explain later, but each of us gets to bring a plus one. I am cordially inviting you--"

Talon had seen the threat coming a mile away and he actually tried to draw attention to what was going on. With him being who he was he held rank in his uncle's organization, but it only extended so far especially when the side of evil thought they'd had the victory in the bag. It was the same song and dance time and time again. They thought they had the inspector, he'd goof around and somehow come out on top with the help of his niece, and then Claw would vow vengeance the next time they crossed paths. It got old, and Talon was tired. He was tired of constantly losing when he knew that he had the skills to come out on top. In fact, he was pretty sure he could overthrow his uncle instead of working as his underling, but as things were? His street cred had plummeted. All the losses caused by Penny and her uncle set him back time and time again. The villain circles he ran in started giving out awards for the most failed missions and he had somehow gained the lead. It was embarrassing and degrading and it was about time he'd think about his future. If he wanted to show the world he was more than just that bumbling oaf who happened to be Claw's nephew then he needed to branch out and re-establish himself, perhaps even go back to the drawing board. It was when he realized that no one was going to heed his words did he decide cut his losses. He'd grabbed Penny and her dumb dog and pulled them to safety with the parting words of, “Catch ya later, Penny,” before going back into the fray. He had a mini force field surrounding him which was, in theory, supposed to be strong enough to protect him from any type of explosion. He didn't think he'd actually be in a situation where he'd be testing this out, but he didn't have too much time. He was looking for something in particular before things went side ways. It was as though his eyes landing on his prize was the trigger which launched the explosion. He cursed, a bright light blinding him before he was propelled off his feet and backwards. He clicked his heels together until the rockets activated, and he hastily righted himself, but he still slammed against through the wall behind him. He should have snapped his back. He should have been covered in flames, but instead survived - barely able to get a handle on the situation. For one thing his force field was still holding up and he’d managed to what he’d gone back for - a bejeweled box which was what his uncle had been after. Luckily whatever he was holding was also covered by his forcefield. Not only that but this explosion was the chance he'd been waiting for - to get away from his uncle and lay low, preferably with a family member that was on the opposite side of the law. You know, a good guy. It helped that he’d been straddling the fence for months now - working with HQ a bit due to some sob story he’d fed Penny which meant he definitely had an alibi. People saw him save Penny. People knew that this scheme of his uncle’s had absolutely nothing to do with him. Whatever happened here couldn’t be pinned on him. Talon’s boots were totally ruined when he activated them - they only had a few seconds of righting him before the thrusters at the bottom went off in mini explosions that luckily hadn't harmed his feet - and found an agent of Claw that was roughly his size though totally unrecognizable. He removed his boots and shoved them onto the remains and dragging it over to a still burning flame. His forcefield protected his feet from the heat, but it wouldn't hold for too much longer. Even now the heat was already starting to penetrate and he had to run. With the forcefield having protected him from the brunt of the explosion some of his other tech remained as well. There was a prototype cloaking device he'd had installed that ran on the same 3D holographic projector tech he tended to use for a quick and easy disguise. He swapped modes and from his belt a little barely noticeable light extended, scanned his form, and bent the light around him making him appear invisible. He made it half a block invisibly before the forcefield conked out with the invisibility following next which meant that his 3D projector was also down for the count. He paid it no mind as he'd taken that into consideration and made sure to avoid any areas that seemed busy. He didn't need anyone to see him running around barefoot and covered in soot. Besides, no good villain worth their salt went around town without a cache of some sort and he was near his closest one. It was a rundown apartment building which, on the outside it just looked a little lopsided; could use a little TLC. On the inside? Oh, the building looked as though it should have been condemned before his Uncle Claw was born. It was perfect, and it was where Talon cleaned himself up, changed into a set of clothing that was not his typical purple though did include another set of rocket boots, and combed his hair flat on his head giving him those infamous "Boy Band Bangs" which were partially hidden by the hood from the jacket he'd decided to wear. He left the apartment and, despite knowing it was a bad idea, made his way back to the scene of the explosion. There were HQ agents, a bomb squad, the fire department and of course police officers everywhere as well as a crowd. He spotted Inspector Gadget who'd apparently made it out unscathed as usual, and he even saw a few of Claw's men being apprehended. He shook his head. There had never been a fight between him and HQ that had gone so far in as long as he could remember. He clicked his tongue and whispered, "C'est la vie," as he walked away - washing his hands of this botched operation as well as his Uncle Claw - for good. Once far enough away and pulled out his cellphone, took a deep breath and placed a call he'd never thought he'd make. "Hey Billy. It's, ugh, Tristan*. Is that offer for help still on the table?" William Thaw* sounded visibly confused on the other end of the line, most likely because he'd been sleeping at the time. When he realized that his cousin was in need of help he woke up just a bit more. "You need a place to stay, Mr. Big Shot Criminal?" That was not the tone that Talon was hoping to hear, but it wasn't entirely unexpected either. Most if not all of their family was evil including Billy's dad. Even their grandma was evil, but no one had really given Billy the memo so he turned out to be one of the good guys. With him and Talon being roughly the same age and having lived together with their grandma for a while, there was always some form of disagreement or the other, especially when Talon had learned of their family's history and chose to follow in their footsteps. It was why he'd swapped his name from Tristan to Talon as a sign of respect for his then role model Dr. Claw. "Is this the part where you give me a huge speech about right and wrong or heroism because if it is you can save it. I’ve branched away from Uncle Claw months ago and a good thing too because he messed up big time. I tried to tell him his plan was bunk from the get-go, but he went ahead with it anyway even after I warned him about a gas leak. Then I tried to tell the stupid henchmen that the explosives they were planting were going to trigger an even bigger explosion but I’m not on the payroll anymore and apparently a bigger explosion the better. They were so concerned with making sure they got Gadget - that’s their entire thing but...Usually no one gets fatally hurt and a few people did. That's not the kind of villainy I signed up for." For a moment he thought Billy'd hung up on him, but then he heard the ruffling of blankets and the clicking of what must have been a lamp being turned on. "People died?" "One as far as I was able to tell. I was caught in the blast too. ForcefieId tech saved me and I managed to get a few people out before the blast but yeah. I'm sure it'll be on the world news if it isn't already." "What do you want from me, Tris?" Hearing that nickname hurt. "I want to initiate protocol Redo." "Never thought you'd say that." The sound of Billy getting out of bed could be heard. Moments later the sound of a computer or laptop being booted up sounded through the line. "Tell me about it. I thought I had everything planned out. Didn’t take into account that Uncle Claw’s gotten senile in his old age." "Luckily we're both deceptively smart and plan for things that we don't think we'd ever need then, huh?" "You call that luck. I call that being smarter than everyone else. Even if you don’t think it’ll ever happen to you plan for it anyway, especially in this line of business.” ”Especially.” Talon finally stopped walking when he reached a twenty-four hour fast food place where he plugged in his phone and ordered something so that he wouldn't be bothered. "I assume you handled Talon?" "Died in the explosion that took out a few senior HQ agents and a few of Claw's henchmen. Identifiable only by his rocket boots." The line was silent aside from the clicking of keys. Talon ate silently while he listened to his cousin work. A few hours of Billy working he finally came to a stop. "Tristan Thaw is in the system once more. You did a thorough job of wiping him out. Can't say that I'm surprised. I've altered Talon’s files. You're now your own twin, congratulations. You were put up for adoption at a young age but there was a missing person's report due to you running away. Your file was closed because you were presumed dead. People will most likely stumble upon this now while trying to pull up information about Talon so...in the off chance that that happens. Call me, and I will say I've been hiding you in my dorm." "No. I can't do--" "You will, Tristan. Despite the incredible foolishness of this family it's the only one I have. Despite how everyone around me is a bad guy from the worst comic book tropes I've ever read, this family still manages to take care of each other. I'm in a boarding school because I didn't want to be part of the family business. Someone in the family is paying for me to be here. You've protected me inadvertently a few times, and Uncle Claw has taken me under his wing a time or two, and I am also the first person grandma taught her cookie recipe to. The point is, despite this family being nefarious in every sense of the word, we ALL protect each other, and you came to me for help. You did what you could to stop something horrible from happening, and it happened anyway. If worse comes to worse I'm sure Uncle Claw would help--" "Gonna stop you right there. I don't want his help, otherwise I'd have gone back to the lair. This is...let him think I'm dead. You're the only one who’ll know the truth." "Of course. Well, if you can manage to get from where you are to Paris there's an apartment that seems to have been paid for. Has been in my name for a while. I'm thinking Grandma made me a few safe houses just in case I decided to turn rotten, but you can stay there." "Thanks Billy." "You can thank me by not pulling this stunt again." "Or I'll just say thank you and move to your safehouse."

                                                               ---TIME SKIP---                                                           ONE MONTH LATER

When Billy told him about the safehouse in Paris he probably should have expected the place to be pretty well furnished and in a decent part of the city. It wasn’t exactly flashy, but it would probably garner the attention of his neighbors. Luckily he had a backstory figured out, a passport, a birth certificate and other documentation that he needed. Luckily for him there was nobody looking for him, and even if they were they certainly would have no reason to look for him in Paris. It was the perfect escape for him, and definitely gave him time to himself. He didn’t want to drop the villain thing, but if he wanted to become a huge contender then he was going to have to change his image. He was going to have to one up the competition and finally...he was going to have to down his uncle. For now, he had to start small. For now he had to blend in with the masses, build up a bit of a rep while staying in the shadows until he could build his own empire. Luckily for him he had a few connections already.

The three dorks staying across from him had arrived a few days after he moved in and made quite the impression. The one with the six fingers had bumped into him and apologized profusely for not paying attention to where he was walking and flailed his hands a bit. Talon, or rather Tristan made the faux pas of commenting on his fingers aloud which seemed to cause some embarrassment. Another boy, had to be a twin or something, heard the remark and was making his way over with his fists clenched causing Talon to remark that he’d never seen something so cool before. It seemed to be the right thing to say as all three of them somewhat relaxed while heading up the stairs. That’s where Talon encountered the third of them realizing that he was staying across from a set of triplets.  It was a bit awkward at first, before the boy with the glasses answered his question about what they were doing in Paris.  “I didn’t know that Willy had a contest going on. You guys must be pretty smart if he chose the three of you, and siblings to boot.” Of course Talon knew very well that Willy wasn’t exactly a good person. The guy was sophisticated in public, but in private he had a bit of sadistic streak and was pretty psychotic in some instances. Yeah the dude was an actual genius, but he also gathered great minds and exploited them. The fact that he’d gathered three brothers, triplets no less? Something was definitely going on. “You say that as though you know the man personally,” Stanford stated while his brother, the one with the slightly darker hair (Shermie) opened the door and Stanley carried some stuff inside. “Not at all,” he immediately shook his head. “I tried to enter his contest before as well. I actually made a hoverboard--” “Like from Back to the Future?” Stanley asked as he kicked his box into the room. Talon nodded and said,"Exactly like that," while Stanford looked skeptical. That was the start of their...he wouldn’t exactly call it a friendship but it was pretty close.                                                                --------------------- Adrien hadn’t been expecting to be invited to the triplet’s apartment building after their initial gathering and photo-op with William and his father, but he had accepted the invite anyway seeing as it would allow him to spend some time with teenagers his age while using his father’s tactics against him.  “I was supposed to meet up and help the Pines’s today for an hour before meeting Kagami for our fencing lesson? His father had simply nodded through the tablet monitor that Nathalie was holding. Adrien took off soon after that with G manning the car. When he’d arrived at the apartment it was to an open door and the triplets arguing over what they wanted to do first. There was also another boy there, arms crossed and back against the wall with a smirk on his face. Adrien had the feeling that he’d been the cause of this little argument. “Am I early?” he’d asked which drew the triplet’s attention. “Yer right on time, Aiden.” “His name is Adrien, be nice.” The identical brothers bickered between themselves while Sherman shook his head and beckoned for Adrien to come inside before closing the door. “Just go. It’s not a big deal.” All eyes turned to Talon who pushed off the wall and raised his hands.  “Of course it’s a big deal! He can take his girl all over Paris after we celebrate. We’ve been here for a week and haven’t burned our apartment down. This is a cause for celebration! Let the Pines Brothers party for a day,” Stanley argued with his arms crossed. Shermie just covered his face in his hands and sighed. "Or we can go get Ronnie since she may as well be a Pines, grab some snacks and celebrate here?” “Stanford Filbrick Pines--” The two outsiders watched in amusement as Sherman tried to grab the six fingered boy who ducked behind Stanley and then into the kitchenette practically dragging the loudmouthed boy with him.  “So um, who are--” “I live across the hall. Gotta admit these guys have been the best entertainment I could have possibly asked for. What about you, Mr. Agreste? Working a charity case here?” Adrien was partially confused and partially offended by the question. “Not at all. I was invited over.” “Oh, that makes more sense.” He hadn’t elaborated on that making Adrien narrow his eyes before the triplets re-emerged from wherever they’d been in the apartment. Stanley had his arms crossed while Stanford was scowling. Shermie looked far less ruffled than the other two which meant he’d proven his point.  "Sorry about that, you two. The plan is we’re going to call my friend to have her meet us here then head out for a celebratory get together. Since you two are the only people we know here we’d thought you’d be up to joining us?” The fact that Adrien had made three new friends who wanted to hang out with him brought a smile to his face, but then he thought about his obligations and the other friends he’d had to turn down. His smile turned a bit sad before he shook his head.  "I’m really sorry you guys, but I can’t stay for very long. My schedule is booked solid. The only reason I was able to slip out was because I told my father that I had to help you three for an hour before I have to practice my fencing.” Talon lunged at the air in front of him, swinging around an imaginary rapier before snorting, “Can you be any more of a cliche?” Even Stanley cracked a smile at that before lunging towards Talon with his arm out, the two of them swiping at each other with their invisible weapons, Stanley beginning to talk like a pirate while Shermie was in the process of calling Ronnie to let her know of their plans. “Ignore them,” Stanford said while giving his brother and Talon a glare that went completely ignored. “It’s what I do when they get like this.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” was Adrien’s annoyed reply. A second later he found himself being dragged into the sword fight by Talon before Stanley grabbed an unwilling-to-participate Stanford. “My first mate will absolutely swab the deck with ye’s!” “Stanley no.” “Cap’n Lee thinks he kin board me ship and spread ‘is tall tales, but we’s a learn’em.” “Tristan don’t encourage him!” Stanford’s words went ignored as Talon managed to grabbed a decorative pillow from the couch and chucked it at the six fingered boy yelling, “CANNON BALL!”. Taking it as an immediate out, Stanford dramatically fell to the floor, sat up and positioned the thrown pillow beneath his head, and then laid back again. “Nooooo, Sixer! I shall avenge ye!” He ran towards Talon only to be intercepted by Adrien as he slid in front of the other boy. Stanley’s eyes widened, surprised at Adrien’s speed, and he tried to stop before colliding. Adrien moved out of the way as quickly as he’d come while Talon remained there holding out another of the pillows which he used to smack Stan in the face as he came to a stop. Stanley dropped to the ground dramatically like Stanford had and made gurgling noises since the unwritten/impromptu rule was that the pillows were cannon balls. The four boys laughed before Stanford got up and put the pillows away with a shake of his head. Stanley was glad to have managed to get his brother to participate. It had been a long time since they’d done something like this and it made him think that this trip to Paris was a good idea, especially after having met “Tristan’ and Adrien.

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

Under the Same Roof

I wrote two things for @halogalopaghost because I couldn’t decide between two concepts. Here’s the first one. I hope you like it.

Also on AO3

-----

Stanley Pines can always tell when his niece has some sort of plan up her wide knitted sleeves. She's never been one to hide her feelings and keep secrets, so the little twitches she does when she's trying not to spoil a surprise are always amusing.

For the past couple weeks Mabel has been flitting about the shack, working on various knitting projects but hiding most of them when her grunkles enter the room. It's endearing but a dead giveaway that she is plotting something. Dipper is no more forthcoming than his sister, though he sweats and rubs the back of his neck in his own nervous way when pressed. Stan also catches him whispering into the phone more than once, which is concerning but not entirely out of the ordinary.

They do manage to keep their mouths shut though, which Stan finds to be an admirable character trait. He loves a good surprise, even if he can see it coming from miles away.

On the other hand, Ford approaches the younger twins like he does his mysteries and it is starting to drive Stan a little nuts.

“What do you think Mabel is making for us?” He asks on the morning of their birthday, flopping down beside his brother on the worn porch couch. Stan levels him with an unimpressed stare and sips his coffee in silence. “Not even a guess, Stanley? I would have thought you would be excited by the prospect.”

“I am,” Stan lowers his can and bumps his shoulder against his brother's. “But until she tells us or gives it to us, we shouldn't ruin the surprise for ourselves. She's already trying so hard to keep it a secret, why make it harder?”

Ford frowned at his brother, who had always been the first one to scour the house for birthday present clues as a kid. He'd pulled Ford into many secretive late night escapades looking for mysterious boxes and hidden packages. But now his twin sat completely at ease with not knowing, their birthday swiftly approaching.

Stan glances at him out of the corner of his eye and sighs, slumping a little farther into the well-worn couch. “You're thinking of tearing through the house in Glass Shard looking for those books Ma bought us too, aren't you?” At Ford's nod he chews his lip and tears his eyes away. “I know we didn't get a lot of presents as kids but it was fun to find them and then act surprised. That... kind of lost its appeal after I... well, lets just say getting a nice surprise now and then made me really appreciate the simple things.”

Stan neglects to mention the way Ma had snuck him a few dollars in the mail for birthdays on the road and how even though he knew it was coming he teared up every time. He doesn't mention how much it hurt that first birthday after the portal, after he'd faked his own death, to get a book in the mail with a note that said “I was going to send this book to your brother too this year.” He'd stopped looking for what the surprises would be and started accepting that they would come. She'd sent something every year after that. Stan never asked for a hint and she never gave one, but he always had a feeling...

“Shit.” Stan sits up with a start and rummages through his pockets for his phone. “Did we tell Ma we were back on land for our birthday this year?”

“No, but a mother always knows,” comes a voice from the doorway and twin sets of eyes snap up to meet the fond gaze of Caryn Pines. She's smaller than either of them remember her ever being but she's standing in the doorway of the shack with a watery smile on her face.

“Ma?” Stan's voice breaks and then he's hurtling off the couch to gather his mother into his arms. “Why... how are you here?” He feels Ford come up behind him and he backs off so his brother can hug their ma as well.

Caryn reaches out and ruffles both her her sons' hair affectionately. “Did you think I'd miss your first birthday together again after all these years? I'm not so old yet that I can't get on a plane and cross a country for family.” Her smile turns mischievous. “Besides, it gave Shermie another excuse to come up. We got in a few minutes ago and the kids said you two were out here.”

“Shermie's here?” say Stan and Ford together, though Ford sounds excited and Stan's voice is full of trepidation. They haven't managed to get down to Piedmont yet to see their sister and now she's here and she'd promised to kick Stan's ass.

“Uhh... I gotta go do some stuff,” says Stan hastily, backing away from the doorway. He gets about two steps away when he turns around into a wall of solid and familiar muscle.

“Going somewhere, Stanley?” growls his sister's voice and Stan swallows very hard. Ford stifles a laugh and Stan feels his sister's gaze snap towards him as the laugh breaks off into a strangled choke. “You're next, Stanford. Don't think I've forgotten you.”

Even in her 70s and wearing something as nonthreatening as one of Mabel's sweaters (“I put the Grand in Grandma”) and a summery skirt, Shermie Pines towers over her younger brothers. She hauls them both bodily out into the yard and gives them a sound tongue lashing while their mother steals their spot on the couch and nods along, sipping on a mug of coffee she procured from somewhere. Maybe one of the kids brought it out but Stan is too preoccupied with the dressing down his sister is dealing him to really notice.

“... been back a whole year and you haven't visited family in all that time?” She's yelling now, eyes flashing with fury. “I know you've been calling but for fucks sake, a visit wouldn't have been amiss!” Stan can count on one hand the number of times he's seen his sister cry, but tears are starting to track down her cheeks as she waves her arms in the air. She pauses to suck in a ragged breath and then she's launching herself at them. Both twins flinch, expecting the first blow but it doesn't come. Instead she pulls them into a rough hug, nearly knocking all three of them off their feet. “I've missed you two dumbasses. Even if I did see one of you occasionally.”

Her brothers return the hug, tears gathering in their own eyes. “Sorry, Sherm.” says Stan at last, pushing away from his siblings to swipe a hand over his face. “We figured we'd better get used to each other again before inflicting ourselves on the rest of the family.”

“Inflict...” starts Shermie, ire rising again, and Stan holds out his hands placatingly. She takes a couple deep breaths and then lays a heavy hand on each of her brother's shoulders. “You two are family. I'm sorry you ever thought you would be a burden to us.” Shermie catches the flinch on Stan's face and a wince crosses her own. “Now or in the past, little brother.” She heaves a sigh and  shakes off the somber mood threatening to overtake them. “Now, today is a day of celebration! You've made it around the sun another year and this time you managed to do it together!”

Shermie herds them back towards the shack, past their ma who still sits casually sipping coffee on the couch like she's always belonged there, and through the door into the kitchen. The space is peaceful in the morning sunlight for about ten seconds before all hell breaks loose.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” shrieks Mable as she careens out of her hiding spot just beyond the doorway. Dipper pops up from behind the kitchen table with a grin and pulls a party popper full of tiny streamers that somehow manage to cover the whole space. Shermie pushes her brothers forward and they have just enough time to brace themselves before they are hit with the force of their niblings sprinting into their arms.

Caryn made her way in from the porch and laid a hand on each of her boy's heads, smiling down at them and the younger twins. Behind her, Shermie gently lays her own hand on her mother's shoulder.

“It's been too long since we had all my children under one roof,” says Caryn with a smile. “I'm glad it's for something as special as a birthday.”

Stan feels his breath catch in his throat and he breaks away from the children long enough to throw his arms around his mother. A few minutes later Ford and Shermie are wrapped around the both of them and he hears the distant sound of a camera shutter click.

“Scrapbookortunity!” says Mabel in a delighted half-whisper before reaching over to high-five Dipper.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of presents and cake presided over by a gathering of family Stan never thought he would witness again.

It's perfect.

-----

Some things that I wanted to include that didn't fit:

Shermie Pines is trans. Transitioned late in life and kept the "Shermie" nickname as her legal name. Is also ripped af and could probably break both her brothers in half if she really wanted to.

Mabel made matching sweaters for the Grunkles that say "Birthday Grunk" on them. Stan's has a tiny question mark on it and Ford's has a tiny beaker.

[miraclesnail]

1000 Ways and I Can Name You One

A thousand ways to tell the Stoll brothers apart and I can name you one. Travis and Connor centric oneshots featuring characters from PJO/HOO.

Chapter 32: Michael - Food 

Plus the whole 9.7k fic under the read more but with funky formatting 

Michael — Food

Michael (14) — Travis (13) — Connor (13)

Early June 2007

Pre Sea of Monsters

[8:07 AM]

The whole drive to Camp, Lee has been saying the weirdest things. 

‘This camp is special.’

‘This camp is for children of Greek gods and goddesses.’

‘This camp helps the said children harness the godly gifts inherited from said gods and goddesses.’

‘This camp is top secret and no matter what, you cannot tell your mother about Camp Half Blood. Not a word. Not a complaint. Not even a compliment. Michael? Are you listening? Ar—are you laughing?! Michael, I’m not joking around. This is not a joke.’

Did Michael take Lee seriously? Not at all. Not even to humor him. What does Lee take him for? An idiot? Like, he doesn’t really have many friends at school (none actually) but even he knows when someone is trying to pull a prank on him. Lee typically goes for jump scares, but it’s good to see him broaden his horizon and try new things. 

Yeah. 

Michael wholeheartedly believes Lee is 100% kidding around. 

It’s kind of a shock when he walks through the camp and sees flowers being grown in someone’s palms, men with hooves and horns trotting around, a goddamn girl rising from the lake like some kind of b-grade horror movie but minus the sunken eyes and gray skin and tattered white dress. 

It’s a big shock. Kinda earth-shattering actually. Very disorientating. It’s taking all his mental capability to process the fact that the Greek gods are real , that the Greek myths are real , that his atheist beliefs are all wrong and holy fuck?? God is real . 

It’s probably why when that SOB Shermie or Sherlock or whatever his name is picked a fight, he welcomed the easy distraction and picked one right back. 

In hindsight, he should have maybe exhibited more self-control. 

“He shoved me.”

The utter stare of incredulity has Michael quickly rephrasing his initial statement, fiddling with a loose string on his t-shirt. 

“He shoved me first. ”

“And so you decided to turn it into a slugfest?” Lee says, arms crossing as they stand on Cabin 11’s porch. 

“To be fair, to be fair,” Michael says, scrambling for excuses as his eyes dart from cabin to cabin, “to be really fair, that Sherm-guy started it.”

Lee didn’t buy it, not that Michael expected him too. 

“You promised me, Michael,” Lee says, disappointed, and Michael looks away with guilt. 

He did promise Lee. Right before they left the apartment complex, Lee explicitly said, “Promise me, Michael, that you’ll be on your best behavior?” And he said he will. 

“Mike, I don’t want any phone calls from the head honcho again, okay?” his mom said, exasperated. He said there wouldn’t be any.

“Mikey, please tell us all the fights you’ll get into!” his four little siblings — Leo, Raphie, Carly, and Sam — screamed together with cheeky, smug, knowing grins as he got into the car with Lee. He said ‘in your dreams.’ 

Not even one full hour and he failed two out of three. Possibly all three if Travis and Connor decide to hand his ass to the director. 

“I’m really sorry, Lee,” Michael says, head lowering, “I promise for real this time. I won’t get into any more fights. I swear.” 

Like clockwork, the frown and crossed arms drop for a bright smile and a hair ruffling, like he actually believed Michael can do it. Lee’s weird like that. He believes in people and their lies despite what their actions are saying, believes in him even with the 14 years of experience that Michael cannot follow through on that promise. 

It’s that same idealistic, stupid belief that has Lee clinging to the hope his birth mom will one day want to actually be a mom. 

Michael slinks back into the cabin as quietly as he can. Miranda catches his eye and waves him over, patting the empty spot next to her. Michael hesitates (still remembers the way she tosses a boy a whole head taller than her like nothing) but thought better of it. 

The promise, he thinks. Remember your promise. 

He sees Sherman sitting on Miranda’s other side. As he slides down to sit cross-legged, he’s mentally preparing himself for a jeer. But Sherman is just staring at Miranda, wide-eyed and star-struck and totally ignoring him which is perfectly fine with Michael. 

Miranda angles her body towards him, a slight smile on her face as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just want to warn you that you’re in Connor’s bad book right now.”

“Should I be worried?” Michael says, glancing at the brothers talking on one of the upper bunk beds.

To which Miranda smiles sweetly. “You should keep your head down. I heard he gets a bit prank-crazy with people he doesn’t like.”

A sharp whistle brings his attention upfront. 

“Okay, so hey, everybody! Exciting first day, I know. Welcome to Camp Half Blood,” one of the pair says with a big grin, standing on top of the upper bunk bed. The other sits at the edge, feet swinging over. “We’re already late for breakfast so I’ll make this super-duper quick. My name is Travis Stoll. I am one of your head counselors. This is Connor, my little brother.” 

Connor waves, his smile matching Travis’s.

“I’m also your counselor. Any problems you guys have whether it be life problems, camp problems, prank problems, you can come to us. Lucky for you guys, you have two of us. Most cabins just have one,” Connor says. 

“Where’s Luke?” someone in the back yells. 

“Luke is gone now. If you see him, either in person or in a dream, tell us right away. Please come talk to me after this meeting if you want more details,” Connor answers, still cheerful but Michael kinda feels like his words are too curt. There’s definitely bad blood between this Luke person and them.

“Moving on,” Travis follows after, “the beds are all taken. Any more fighting over them will result in the instigator getting a timeout. For everybody else, sleeping bags are available and we will make room. Your stuff can be placed in the closet or tucked in your sleeping bag. I know this cabin’s patron is the god of thievery, but please show respect and decency towards your fellow cabinmates and don’t steal from each other. Steal from other cabins instead. Apollo’s kids are the easiest to steal from. So are Aphrodite’s if you want to practice before moving onto the big leagues. Athena’s and Hephaestus’s cabins are where the real challenge is.”

“What about the claiming rate? Someone said the gods would claim us more now,” a girl asks, standing from her sitting position with a bounce, hope in her eyes. 

“Uh, um...” Travis falters, looking down at Connor for guidance. It’s hard to notice but Connor bites his cheeks and just barely shakes his head.

“Claiming, yeah. I’m not too sure about that. I’ll talk with Chi — Tantalus about that. Tantalus is the activity director now in case you all don’t know,” Travis answers. 

There’s a chorus of groans. 

Someone grumbles, “It’s been years.”

“What happened to Chiron?” another asks.

“Temporarily relieved of duty due to, uh, an investigation of his effectiveness on the job. Which, if you ask me, Chiron has been doing a fantastic job of and we should all write a very strongly worded letter to Zeus to get him back on his job.”

A boy in front of Michael shoots his hand up. 

“I heard Luke went all ‘Anakin Skywalker’ on us and joined Kr—”

Connor blows an air horn and interrupts the boy before he could finish. Travis’s smile is strained as he says, “Okay, first rule on Camp Half Blood for the foreseeable future! No mentioning any of the bad guys by name. Names have power. Instead we will refer to him by initials. The evil titan guy will be called K.T. K for his first letter and T because he controls time.” 

“Can we change it to K.K. Slider?” the same boy says.

Beside him, a girl socks the boy in the arm. “No! How dare you sully K.K.’s name like this?”

But Travis is already jumping down his bed, landing with grace. “K.K. Slider it is. That’s all for the morning announcements. Now everybody gets in a straight line. We’re going to the pavilion for breakfast and it is the best thing ever. You can literally get whatever you want. All you need is the power of imagination. Well, imagination and common sense. Don't imagine something you won’t eat. It’s not a contest to create the grossest food.” 

Connor follows down after his brother with a grin and shrugs. “But if it was, I would win.”

Growing up, Michael is what everybody called a ‘problem child.’ Absolutely zero friends not helped by him picking and starting fights for the ‘smallest’ reasons. No remarkable talent except for his athleticism. Mediocre to poor grades due to inability to focus (and it doesn’t help that he’s dyslexic and that his teachers all hate him and that he has a homing device for all the school’s bullies). 

The teachers blamed his mother for his attitude and academic abilities. But they don’t know shit. His mother helps him with his homework after coming back from work. His mother searches for ways to help him manage his ADHD and dyslexia. His mother is raising five kids all by herself with zero help from his deadbeat dad. Going to their extracurricular activities, funding their education, making time to have game and movie nights. His mother is literally Superman for finding time to do all that across five children. No. Make that six. Mom always attends Lee’s band performances and includes him with all their activities and outings and supports him the way Lee’s own mom should be doing. 

Michael’s pretty sure his mom isn't the problem.

Besides his four younger siblings are literal angels. Clearly, the problem is him. Not his mother. 

That’s why going into high school he had every intention of becoming a better son, a better brother, and a better student. Set a better reputation for his family, you know?

Unfortunately, this whole mess with him being half-god kinda put a pause on his plans. 

And put every weird thing Lee ever did into perspective. 

That one time Lee slapped his brand new Nokia cellphone out of his hands and ended his cell’s short life by stomping the hell out of it? Those dozens of times Lee lectured him about not using technology with his stupid excuse of ‘it rots your brain, Michael. Don’t touch it,’ despite Lee himself using a phone and a laptop on a daily basis?? Those hundreds of times Lee excused himself from dinner, movies, and the middle of game nights to ‘use the bathroom’ and coming back with a thin layer of gold dust??? Those weird dreams he gets of standing on top of a broken, tethering bridge and falling thousands of meters to his death in a ravine and Lee saying, ‘it’s just a dream. Don’t worry about it’ with a high-pitched, forced laugh that says he should be worrying????

Now he sees what it was all about. Obviously a metaphor for the earth-shattering revelation of his heritage. 

He’s half- god . A demigod. Some part of him came from an immortal being.

It makes him see his dad in a whole new light. 

Like, Michael always knows his dad is an asshole, leaving his mom and whatnot. 

But now? Knowing his dad is a literal god in the Greek myths he read back in 6th grade? Those freaky assholes with their crazy sex adventures and ego-driven tantrums?

At least the fantasy asshole dad he had in mind didn’t commit mass genocide or is an egotistical, narcissistic jerk or had sex with their siblings, parents, animals, and who knows what else freaky shit the gods like to stick their dick in to. 

And the most bizarre thing is that he’s expected to honor them by throwing the best parts of his meal into the fire. 

Well, he’s not gonna.

“Throw your food into the fire, Mike,” one of his counselors says beside him as he tosses a bag of M&M into the flames. 

“Why should I?”

“So the gods don’t get angry,” says the other counselor, throwing half of his strawberries — Michael stares at the plate. It’s just strawberries. Nothing else. That’s not healthy — into the fire before turning to help the others. 

“They’re gonna threaten us if we don’t worship them? Sounds like a pretty unhealthy parent-child relationship,” Michael says. 

The one that tossed the M&Ms shrugs. “Just toss something in. It can be anything. Even something you ha— don’t care about. That’s what I do. I don’t think Hermes minds.” 

But what Michael hears is that this Hermes fella doesn’t give a shit. 

A small boy with round glasses wedges in between them, frowning, and tosses in a sausage link. “Don’t listen to Connor. You’re never going to be claimed if you listen to him.” 

Connor shrugs again. “Hermes hasn’t disowned me yet.”

“That’s because Hermes is busy with other things. The other gods don’t have a child plotting to usurp—” the kid starts to say but at Connor’s harsh nudging and loud cough and not so subtle nod towards the others in the pavilion and (kind of scary) glare, he shuts up. A second passes before the boy says to him, “Everybody likes to feel appreciated, Michael. Even gods. It’s good to remind them we’re here for them. Now more than ever.”

Michael frowns at the exchange. Child? Usurp? Usurp who? The gods? Yeah. Like that is even possible. 

“What were you trying to say—”

“So I see you got over your embarrassing loss,” Connor interrupts with this infuriating smug grin. “Man, I would have hidden my face for like a year after the way I kicked your ass.” 

And just like that, Michael forgets everything but that day back in March when he met the brothers. It’s an obvious bait and Michael just lunges for it like the dumb fish he is. 

“No, I kicked your ass. Kicked it all the way down the stairs,” Michael huffs at Connor’s heel as they walk to the table. Connor slides into the first open spot he sees and Michael sits down across from him, elbow to elbow to his cabinmates. They need a bigger picnic table. 

“Ass?” Besides Connor, Miranda’s head swivels to face them, her smile innocent but Michael knows better now. Behind that sweet smile is a demon. “Who kicked whose ass? ” 

“We met Michael back in March when we hopped in Lee’s car and we’re not using that language, Mikey,” Travis says, sitting down beside Connor slurping a mouthful of cereal. 

“So? Who won?” Miranda asks, leaning over to slide scrambled eggs onto Travis’s plate and picking off 75% of Travis’s many, many strawberries from his plate. 

Travis stares at the egg with disdain. “Connor won, of course. And I don’t want that. Take it back.” 

“Will said you need something more than just strawberries in the morning. Doctor’s orders. Disobey and you’ll feel his wrath,” Miranda says. 

For half-a-second, Michael thinks Travis is going to fight but he turns back in his seat and just grabs his fork. 

“There’s nothing wrong with just strawberries for breakfast,” Travis grumbles, stabbing his fork into the scrambled eggs. “Right? Nothing wrong with strawberries.”

“I think that depends on the quantity but don’t worry, Travis. I totally got you,” Connor says, pulling out a basket of strawberries and ducking from Miranda’s sudden lunge for it. With ease, Connor holds Miranda back while Travis indulges in his unhealthy obsession with a satisfied, blissed smile. 

Michael thinks of the half Travis threw into the fire and before he knows it, he’s saying, “You really love strawberries, don’t you?” 

Travis nods, mouth full. “Favorite food in the world.”

“Then you must like your—” 

But Travis’s eyes shoot to a girl entering the pavilion, heading straight towards the table with the plant-speaking kid, and Michael knows his words are falling on deaf ears. Travis nudges Connor and whispers into his ear, a shit-eating grin sprouting on Connor’s face as he looks over his shoulder. 

Miranda catches their grins and stands, yelling, “Katie, wait!”

But Katie sits down and Michael hears what is probably the world’s loudest, strongest whoopee cushion rip through the pavilion. Travis and Connor laugh as Katie stands back up, cushion in hand and face flushed tomato red.

“Welcome back, Miss Tattletale!” Travis yells. 

“That was months ago, you pieces of — of — fertilizers! Give me a break!” Katie roars. The ground rumbles as a tree sprouts beside the table, hooking Travis and Connor up by the back of their shirts. They’re way too calm as they’re dangling several feet in the air. In unison, both brothers pull out squirt guns and aim them at Katie. 

And it is definitely not water judging by the smell. 

[9 AM, Sword Fighting]

Lee said he was a demigod. That monsters are real. And that they sometimes must fight off the monsters that come to eat them. 

Michael never really thought about what it entailed. What they’re supposed to fight the monsters with. 

Dimly, he’s aware of his counselors talking. Something about introduction to swordsmanship and the bare basics plus safety today, then tomorrow they will be training with Ares? Apollo? ‘Some god with the letter A’ cabin and learning a few techniques. He isn’t really paying attention to them as he stares at the blade in his hands. 

It’s real. It’s a real, metal blade. And by the looks of it, everyone has one. Even the little 9-year-old. What the fuck? That’s how old the twins, Sam and Carly, are and holy shit. The thought of them with a real sword? The thought of them having to use it to battle some mythical monster? It's enough to make him vomit. 

“Michael? Michael, hey.” Someone is snapping their fingers in front of his eyes and he knocks the hand away, glaring at … at … well, it’s either Travis or Connor, staring at him blankly, but he can’t tell who’s who yet. They should have worn nametags. 

“What?”

“Have you ever used a sword before?”

Michael kinda felt it should have been obvious, but he shakes his head. 

“Okay, well imagine you’re holding a kitchen knife and you’re cutting some veggies for a veggie soup but instead of a broccoli, it’s a monster and instead of small dainty cuts, you’re making big, wide, full power slashes. So nothing like what I told you to imagine. Forget I said that. You want to grip it like this with both hands—” Connor (or Travis?) demonstrates and Michael mimics the action, “—for the most control. You can try one-handed but the strikes tend to be flimsy at best unless you’re gifted like Clarisse or Percy. You want to kill the monsters as fast and in one go as you can while still being safe. Here’s—” he is walked over to a hand-made, hand-stuffed dummy with straws sticking out its seams. A happy face on a yellow sticky note stuck to where it’s head is. “—a practice dummy for you. Give it a few swings and get a feel for the weapon. I’ll be right back with more pointers after helping everyone. You good to be by yourself a bit?”

Then Travis (Connor?) is leaving after Michael hesitates to say ‘no, I’m not good’, taking off with a thumbs up and a crooked grin.

Michael almost called him back, but they’re a big cabin.  Only a quarter of them have been gotten too, the other three-fourths goofing around while waiting their turn. Michael has never been to a summer camp before, nevermind one as strange as this, but he guesses they’re on a tight schedule. 

So he looks down, readjusts his grip, and swings, missing spectacularly, losing his balance, and nearly taking his eye out. 

[10:00 AM, Archery]

Michael didn’t need much help here.

The bow feels right in his hands. His body knows what to do, his arms pull back the bow like it has done this a million times and his first shot lands dead center in the bullseye. 

The next five shots are the same.

“Woah,” his counselor mutters, face scrunched in thought before it lightens up, blue eyes shining with a gleam. “You’re a natural. Hey, you wanna be the archery tutor? I’ve never seen anyone aim so well and had such perfect form. Not even Annabeth.”

Michael lowers the bow and tries to figure out how he did what he just did despite never once using a bow before in his life. 

[11:00 AM, Greek Mythology]

Michael knew Lee was a decent teacher, tutoring him in both English and Math, so it’s no surprise he’s decent at teaching Greek mythology too. All the campers are in the amphitheater with hand made wooden desks courtesy of the girl from breakfast. Lee is in the center with an overhead projector just having the time of his life explaining what each of the 12 Olympians plus Hades represents with a mind map. 

He tries to pay attention. He really did. He gets through listening to Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, and part of Demeter’s history before his attention is pulled away by Travis and Connor. They’re far away from the group, beside the cabins,  hunched over a … birdbath? It looks like they’re arguing to the birdbath, but Michael squints and with his perfect vision sees that there is a person. On the surface of the birdbath. A girl with blonde hair. There’s a girl in the water of the birdbath. 

There’s a girl. In the water. Of a birdbath. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Food pops into existence with a thought. A girl can grow fullass trees without blinking an eye. Miranda can toss a boy almost twice her weight over her shoulder.

So what if the camp has a Moaning Myrtle?

Before he knows it, Lee is done, Michael misses the other 8 Olympian’s tales, and everybody is packing up their notes to head back to their respective cabins.

They’re ending early to have enough time for a tour of the camp. Which is kind of telling where their priorities are when they hold training first over the tour. 

It’s kind of even more telling what the camp’s view of safety is when there’s a climbing wall that spews lava and when asked about why there’s lava, Travis and Connor say cheerfully in unison,  ‘it’s more exciting that way.’

“Hey, Travis,” a kid starts, tugging on one of the brother’s sleeves. 

“I’m Connor, but yeah?” Connor corrects, turning to face the camper.

“Um, I heard from someone in the Ares Cabin that because of us, we’re in war with Kro—K.K. Is that true?”

Connor smiles and shakes his head. “No. We didn’t do anything.”

He didn’t refute the war part though. 

And as if Connor hears his thoughts, he addresses the cabin, “You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to. But monsters are still a thing so you still have to go to the morning training. No way out of those. Sorry.”

[12:30, Lunch]

Michael is starting to think Travis is some kind of strawberry fanatic and that’s putting it lightly. 

There’s another concerning amount of strawberries on his plate coupled with a grilled cheese sandwich and a salad, yes, but that’s way too many strawberries for one day.

“No such thing,” Travis says, scraping half of his ungodly amount into the fire. 

“I think there is a limit though.” Connor shrugs, tossing a bag of M&M right after.

Michael follows them to the table, even more cramped now. Five new campers, unclaimed, arrived late because of road traffic. He tucks himself into the first opening he sees, shoulder to shoulder and elbow to elbow. Many inches too close in his opinion. 

“Travis,” Michael starts, thinking back to breakfast, “You’re claimed, right? You know who your godly parent is?”

“Yup, Hermes. God of Pranksters,” Travis says, stabbing his fork into a lettuce and turning to wave it at Lee’s table which is much more roomier. Lee catches the action and nudges a boy beside him with an elbow, snickering. The boy turns and rolls his eyes at Travis. 

“You like your dad, right?” Michael asks. 

A quarter of the cabin immediately stops talking and not really subtly turns to them. He’s pretty sure he’s breaking some sort of taboo. Not that it bothers Michael all that much. 

“Yeah, of course I do. He’s pretty cool,” Travis responds, rolling a cherry tomato around with a fork and not looking him in the eye. 

“Why?” It feels like everyone in the cabin is staring at them now, but even then Michael can’t stop.

“‘Why?’” Travis repeats, twirling the fork. Michael can’t help but notice Connor gripping his fork tighter and he has a vivid image of the boy stabbing it into him. Connor seems like the type. “He’s my dad. I think I’m supposed to like him.”

“But he never talked with you though, right? He has never been there for you. How could you possibly like him?”

Travis shrugs. “He’s a god. He’s probably busy.”

Michael frowns. His mom is busy too. Granted, busy with normal things like a job but she still finds the time to tuck his siblings to bed. Still finds the time to cook breakfast and dinner for them. Still finds the time to make movie nights. Still tell them every day, without fail, that she loves them. Is still there for him and his siblings. 

“So it doesn’t bother you? The way your relationship is with him right now?” Michael pushes. 

Travis fidgets with his strawberries, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like French. 

“What was—” Michael starts to say, but Connor glares, hard. Michael thinks he can see the promise of pain and suffering Connor will inflict upon him. Guess he’d just written his name in Connor’s bad book in Sharpie. 

“Look, Michael, it’s the social norm around here to not talk about our godly parents. Especially in ways that demean them.”

Social norm? Like he cares about something as trivial as that. 

“I just want—”

“Drop it, Michael. Travis’s relationship with our dad is none of your business,” Connor snaps. 

Travis is quiet, a hand resting on a cheek as he stabs into a strawberry, red juices spattering over lettuce and grilled cheese. 

“I want his approval. He’s my dad. What kid doesn’t want their parent’s approval?” 

Lee pulls him aside as lunch wraps up, leading them a bit away from the others.

“Michael, can you chill with the public grilling for a bit?”

“I just don’t get the worship around here for them though,” he argues. 

Lee falters, thinking about his words. “Michael, for some of us, our godly parent is the only one that cares.”

“Wait, are you saying your dad talks to you here?” Michael says. He doesn’t really know what the whole deal is going on with Lee and his mom, but he knows enough to know that Ms. Fletcher deserves the worst mom of the century award. 

Lee frowns a bit and shakes his head. “We talked once when I was claimed but other than that, no. Not really. And none of my half-siblings said anything to me about him either. But he’s already doing so much more than the other gods.”

“Really? Like what?” 

And Lee answers without hesitating, “He claims us as his.”

Michael recalls the talk before breakfast and the questions. About claiming. About waiting. About giving up. The bitterness in their voices. The longing. The yearning. And a sinking feeling grows in the pit of his stomach. 

“How long did it take for you to be claimed?” he asks. 

“I was claimed the second I stepped onto Camp. Apollo tends to be rather fast when it comes to claiming his children. The longest he ever went without claiming is one week. Demeter claims fast during the fall and winter months when Persephone is away. Hephaestus takes on average a month or so to claim.”

“And the slowest god at claiming?” 

Lee’s eyes narrow in thought. “Let’s see… Ares, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hermes seem to be the slowest.”

“How slow?”

“Slow as in… months, years.”

“Why?”

Lee looks away in discomfort. “Who knows? We shouldn’t speculate though. That’s just asking for a curse.”

He catches up to his cabin gathering for the next event and when he asks around about the claiming rate, he gets a mixture of answers. 

“Because we’re not their favorites,” Miranda says cheerfully, while arm-wrestling (and clearly winning) with a flushed Sherman. 

“Because we have to prove ourselves first,” the kid with the glasses states, eyes fixed on his shoes.

“Because they forgot we existed,” others say. 

“Because they want something from us.”

“Because they don’t want the responsibilities of a parent.”

“Because they don’t care.”

“Because they don’t think we’re worth it.”

“It’s because they suck ass,” one of the older campers says with dead serious eyes as Travis chokes on his strawberry, tossing the rest of the fruits into the fire, plate and all. 

“Shh! Celise, you’re gonna get cursed! Everybody, no bad-mouthing the gods or you’ll be turned into a snail and as cute as snails are, I like you all as humans.” 

The camper shrugs and whispers, it’s true . 

Trust me, they whisper next as they’re pulled aside by Travis’s frantic tugging.

They don’t care.

All of this is truly making him appreciate the gods more. 

Connor whistles for everybody’s attention, standing on top of a rock with a piece of paper. 

“It’s free choice from now until 3:30. Each counselor is hosting a different event. Travis and I are doing canoeing. Silena will be hosting horseback — that needs to be changed to pegasi — riding. Malcolm, you will take over for Annabeth since she isn’t here yet for the intro to Origami. Katie will be watching over the wall climbing. Lee, intro to guitar and lyres. Beckendorf, intro to welding. Pollux will be taking over Clarisse’s place at the arena for additional sword and archery lessons. And Castor will be teaching DIY soda. Here’s a map for each of you where everything is. Any questions? Yes, you, in the back. Hao, right?”

Michael takes the map, finds Lee’s name, finds the corresponding location, and then crumples the flimsy paper in his hands. 

But before he can walk away, Miranda is there in front of him and tugging him by the arm with a beaming smile. 

“Follow me for a sec? I want to show you something. It will be quick, I promise.” 

 [1:30 PM, Free Choice]

“Everybody gets a celestial weapon,” Miranda explains as they walk to the armory, “It KOs the monster and turns them into gold dust if it nicks them in the flesh just enough.”

Gold dust… like the gold dust Lee comes back sometimes covered in? 

She leads him to an unassuming building beside one of the cabins, opening the door and revealing shelves stocked full of weapons. Miranda strides to the back without a double-take. Like it’s normal for a summer camp with children to have a stockpile meant for war. 

“Do you have a preference?”

“I… uh…”

“Want some help? Based on what I saw in training, I think you’re better suited with something long-range. You looked uncomfortable with a sword. Aha! What about this?“

Then Miranda pulls out a rifle from one of the boxes. 

Michael stares at it for a full second, wondering if he’s imagining it, wondering if Miranda is kidding, wondering if this whole day is just one big funny dream. But, no, Miranda remains standing there with a big ol’ grin and rifle in hand and waiting for them to say something.

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“First of all, it’s a gun. Second of all, I share a room with two of my siblings who get into my shit all the time. Third, my mom would literally kill me if she sees me holding a rifle. And fourth, it’s a fucking gun .”

”It’s okay. This is a magic rifle. If you engage the safety and remove the magazine clip, it turns into a telescope.” Miranda demonstrates it for him and would you look at that. It actually became a telescope. “See? No problem. Mom won’t find out and plus! It actually works as a telescope! You can go stargazing with this thing and also kick any monster-butt.”

“What happens if it goes off and a bullet hits someone?”

“That’s okay too. The bullets are made of celestial metal. It can’t harm mortals.”

“But it’s a gun. And I don’t have a license.”

Miranda shrugs. “You can’t kill a mortal though. I don’t think you need a license if you seriously can’t hurt anyone. But if you don’t want a gun, then we can get you a bow. Apollo’s cabin is full of them. Come on.”

And as Michael follows Miranda out, he mutters under his breath, “Why are you all like this?”

Miranda laughs, spinning around her heels to face him. 

“And you’re like a completely normal kid. If you didn’t pass the barrier, I would have thought Lee brought someone fully human.” 

[2:20 PM, Free Choice]

“What is that?”

Lee does only a cursory glance at where Michael is pointing before going back to tuning his guitar engraved with his name and last initial on the Big House’s porch. “It’s Thalia’s Pine. Someone poisoned it unfortunately. A couple years ago a girl sacrificed herself to save her friends. Her father turned her dying body into a magic tree that protects all of camp. We’re trying to fix it, but it’s kinda slow-going right now.”

“That’s cool. That’s cool, but I’m talking about that .” 

And Lee really looks at where Michael is pointing at. A … well, he doesn’t want to say robotic because there’s no way a robot can move that fluidly, but fine. A metallic bull the size of an elephant is charging towards them, running full speed but going nowhere. It’s like an invisible wall is holding it back. Just a bit aways are five people in a line in full bronze armor and a variety of weapons with two more people running towards them. A girl with a gruff voice is ordering to get into position. 

“Is this some sort of play?” Michael asks, waiting for Lee’s answers but when there’s none, he turns to face him. “Lee?” 

Lee is pale. His guitar falls out of his hands as he stands. 

Michael tenses, alarmed. “Lee?” 

“Shit,” Lee curses for the first time ever. “Fuck.”

Now Michael is really worried. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

Lee whirs to face him and Michael doesn’t like the fear, the panic he sees in Lee’s usually calm eyes. 

“Michael, Beckendorf is in the forge. Get him first. Tell him there is a Colchis Bull at Half Blood Hill. Then go get Travis and Connor next — Hey? Michael, are you there?”

A second bull crashes into the invisible wall and they break through. They’re breathing fire. People are being set on fire. People are having their armor melted off. People are being burned. People are being trampled on. People are— 

“Michael!” Lee shakes him hard by the shoulder. “Don’t look at it. Just go run and get Beckendorf.”

Then he’s forcibly turned around and pushed away to the sound of terrified screams and dying cries.  

[3:00 PM, Free Choice]

So that’s a monster. 

And he’s expected to fight one of them? 

The guy who took out the first bull —Percy he thinks is the name — Percy did it with a little help with a flame-resistant man and Percy is about the same age as him. And Clarisse took out the second bull all by herself. So it’s definitely possible. With training and maybe a bow instead of a sword, Michael can do it. 

He can do it. 

…

Just because it’s possible, doesn’t mean it’s right. Doesn‘t mean it’s normal and fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

How can anyone not see how messed up this whole thing is? Monsters exist and they eat twerps like him? They’ll hunt him for as long as he lives? He’s always going to have to watch his back? He’s always going to have a weapon on him? This is what his day will be like every day? This is normal?  This is what being a demigod means? 

From the porch of the Big House, Michael watches Travis and Connor, amongst a few others with just as many beads on their necklaces, triaging the injured. Passing around nectar bottles and ambrosia brownies, helping them stand, checking their wounds all with an air of professionalism.

They were trained for this. They prepared for this. 

Michael doesn’t like that little fact. 

And speaking of little facts he doesn’t like, one just sits down next to him. When he’s not standing around like a dumbass, he goes to get more nectar bottles from the infirmary where a team of two people is running around tending to the patients. One is Lee. The other, and the clear leader, is the boy in blue scrubs and yellow flip flops. The kid barked orders left and right, telling people where to go, where to place the patients, how to treat the minor wounds until he can get there, basically keeping everything orderly and efficient, all with this air of confidence and calmness. It would have been very reassuring if the kid himself wasn’t this little, baby-faced 11-year-old.

And said 11-year-old is now sitting down beside him, downing a bottle of water then downing half a bottle of red Gatorade. 

Michael is starting to see why Lee doesn’t want his mom to know where Camp Half Blood is. If she ever visited and saw how the camp is being run primarily by pre-teens and teens… well… she’ll probably lose it. 

“Hey,” the kid says.

“Hey,” Michael replies, cautiously. 

Then, silence.

The most awkward silence he has ever experienced as they just sit side by side. 

The kid takes another sip from the Gatorade. 

“You’re Michael, right? You’re Lee’s upstairs friend?”

Michael bristles at the words. “How did you—“

“When the cabins burned down, we stayed at Lee’s apartment for a couple days,” the kid explains, staring at Travis and Connor milling about the battlegrounds. He fidgets with a bandaid on the back of his hand. “This is going to sound really weird, but I thought I heard his voice and your last names match so it might not be my imagination. But do you have a younger brother named Raphael?”

“Yeah, I do. How do you know that?” Michael says, trying and failing to tone back the defensiveness in his voice. God please don’t let Raphie be a demigod like him. 

The kid breaks into a big smile and it really makes him look like the child he is. “We used to be in a class together with Mrs. Rem. How is he by the way? Is he still watching Ninja Turtles? What did he think of the newest episode?”

Distantly, from a dinner chat a long time ago, Raphael mentioned a ‘Will’ who left class because of a stomach ache and was never seen again. He remembered Raphael being really worried. He remembered Raphael even saying that ‘Will doesn’t ever get sick’ and he remembered dismissively saying, “Don’t worry. The kid’s probably fine.” 

There’s no way the kid next to him is that Will. It has to be a coincidence. It got to be. Forget how this kid knows Raphael is a fan of Ninja Turtles. It’s a popular show right now. Somewhere, in this 6.6 billion populated planet, there’s got to be a Will and a Raphael who both go to the same school with a 5th-grade teacher named Mrs. Rem and both watch Ninja Turtles and both love Raphael the sai-welding turtle.

“You went to Hodgkins Elementary School?”

“Yeah.” 

There’s still a chance this is all a coincidence. 

“Your favorite turtle is Raph?”

“Well, it’s Leo now but I used to like Raph.”

Still a coincidence.

“And your name’s Will?”

“It is.”

Just one big coincidence. 

“And you left the classroom—” Michael wracks his brain — when, when did Raphael talked about the kid? — “Because of a stomach ache back in October?” 

For a minute, Will is silent. A minute filled with nothing but the whistle of the wind and commanding yells of campers. Will chuckles, low, as the plastic bottle crinkles in his hands. But when Will speaks, his voice is carefully blank, devoid of emotion. “Not exactly, no. I saw something strange at school that nobody could see and I called my mom, er, my aunt. But she raised me so I considered her my mom. She said to get out, even if I have to lie. So I did. A stomach ache was the easiest to fake. She picked me up from school. I think she was going to take me to camp. But on the drive here… a cyclops showed up and totaled the car. We ran. She told me to go ahead and get help. And I did. Without looking back. I found Lee and he took care of the cyclops but mom… ” 

The kid’s voice is still blank. Emotionless. 

“She died because of me.”

A bitter smile. 

“Because I was too weak. Because I was too scared.”

The bottle bursts in his hand, the red dripping off his hand and staining his scrubs. 

“No one is ever going to die because of me. Not again. Not ever.”

The kid leaves, running back inside when someone screams bloody murder and another voice yells, “Solace!” 

(“Will’s last name was on our vocab lists,” Raphael had said a long time ago. “Solace. It means comfort. That’s so cool. No way can I forget that.”)

Michael continues to sit there, watching the battlefield empty out one camper at a time until everyone injured has been attended to. 

(“She died. Because of me. Weak. Scared.”)

Weak. He understands. Too scared. He understands that too. He experienced all that today with the bulls. 

If it had been at home with his family, at school with his classmates, even at the park with random strangers, what would have happened? He would have fought, right? Adrenaline would have kicked in and he would do something. Or would he have frozen? Just like he did today? Just stood there, watching his family be stomped and kicked and lit on fire until someone kicked him into gear? (“Run, Michael. Don’t look back.”)

No. 

No. Fuck no. Three months. He has three months of this summer camp / orphanage / ‘let’s-all-become-child-soldiers-together!’ hellhole.  He has three months to kick this stupid deer in the headlights reaction. 

(“She died because of me.”)

He’s not going to let anyone die.

[5:00 PM, Free Time]

He finds them in the cabin, one slumped on the bed with an arm over his eyes and the other sitting at the foot with a sketch of the cabin in one hand and a pencil in the other. 

They’re talking about something secret because as soon as Michael slams the cabin door open, their conversation stops. He catches the last sentence though. Are the nightmares getting worse? And god, if these two are okay with everything that just happened today, just handled it all with a face that says this is nothing, then Michael doesn’t want to know what kind of nightmares are troubling them. 

“What’s up?” Connor or Travis, the one on his back, asks, trying and failing to get upright. The arm moves and tired eyes peek at him from underneath. 

“Is it Lee? Does he need us again?” the other asks, tossing the drawing under the bed. 

“You said, whatever problems we have, we can come to you two,” Michael starts. 

They nod together in sync. 

“Then I want you guys to train me until I drop dead. Now until the end of summer.”

[6:00 PM, Dinner]

He barely has his food on the plate when a bright light shines over his head. Flashy. Illuminating. Almost eye-blinding. Michael looks up, squints, and sees the sun with 21 arrows surrounding it, representing the sun’s rays. 

Distantly, he’s aware of a bored voice proclaiming him as a child of Apollo. But all he’s really focused on is his cabin’s, ex-cabin now he guesses, reactions. He can see all their faces down the line. Most are happy. They smile and cheer for him, patting on him on the back and congratulating him. But he can see it, beneath their grins, beneath the genuine elation, is frustration, jealousy, longing. 

(“It's been years.”)

Travis, with his pile of strawberries, bumps him in the shoulder with his own. “Hey, congratulations. Apollo cabin is a lot roomier than ours so you get to actually sleep on a bed.”

Connor nods, tossing an M&M bag into the flames. “Too bad you’re gonna miss the experience of being crammed like sardines on the floor. It’s actually pretty cozy.”

Michael frowns as he conjures up a PB and J sandwich exactly how Mom would make it, cuts it into halves, and toss it in . “Are you guys still going—”

“We’ll still help you,” Travis interrupts, but his smile is impish, borderline devilish.  “But—”

“It comes with a price now.” Connor follows with a just as sordid grin. “Two conditions. One, you have to help us with archery. We’re not bad but we’re not good either and could use a bit more work. Annabeth and I have this sparring contest every week to see who is more proficient in what weapon. She beats me every single time when it comes to archery, but that’s ending this year. And two, you have to be our inside man.”

“Inside man?” Michael asks, already kind of knowing what that means.

“Let us into your cabin. Help us set up pranks in your cabin. Tell us everything we want to know about your cabin. You know. That sort of thing,” Travis says flippantly. 

And before Michael can reject, accept, do literally anything, Travis turns around and walks to the table with this unbearably cheerful hum. “Will is going to regret ever messing with my diet.”

Connor falls in step with a fond smile. “But seriously, Will has a point. You need to balance your meals a bit more.”

For such nice people , Michael thinks as he’s corralled towards the Apollo table by an ecstatic Lee , they can be such dicks. 

[7:00 PM, Volleyball]

“Hey, Lee, when did the monsters start coming for me?” Michael asks as he twirls the volleyball in his hands once, twice and tosses it to Lee. In the background, Michael can hear the yells and cheers of the far more serious, far more competitive match going on. Apparently, there’s a tournament between the cabins and the winner gets bragging rights and no cabin inspection next month. 

Lee isn’t participating. “Our cabin is always clean and orderly,” he had said with pride, though that didn’t stop his half-siblings ( my half-siblings) from making a team and participating. 

“Eh? The monsters? Uh, l-last year,” Lee says, fumbling the ball just like he’s fumbling the lie. 

So it’s been more than a year. 

Michael bites his cheeks as he bends his knees and extends his arms to bounce the ball back.

“And you’ve been taking care of them all this time?” 

“Well, not all of them,” Lee admits, catching the ball with both hands. “A lot of them went away on their own.”

Liar , sings his guts. He’s lying . 

Because Lee is way too nice. Way too selfless. Way too noble to tell the truth that would most definitely hurt. 

“Why? Why didn’t you take me to camp earlier? When the monster started coming? Why now?” he bites out, just barely holding back the snarl. You could have saved yourself years of pain, years of trouble. 

“Because…” Lee looks over to the courts, to where Travis and Connor are arguing with Annabeth (the moaning myrtle girl, Michael realizes). Something about which team Percy should be on. 

(“Your dad is the god of Athletes. Your cabin already have an advantage.”)

(“Okay, but consider this, only Travis and I are claimed. Everyone else on the team could be anyone’s child. And your team is completely made up of god-tier and gifted strategists.”)

(“Your #4 is literally speaking ten languages. He’s got to be a son of Hermes.”)

(“That is a stereotype. Abraham could just be remarkably smart.”)

Lee’s eyes go back to him. “Because I wanted you to have a normal life, to know that there’s more to life than just this. Besides, I’ve been watching you for years. You learn how to do something like it’s nothing after a few minutes. It’s kind of ridiculous and I am lowkey jealous. But if you feel like you’re not ready, I can always—”

“Shut up, idiot. You’re not dropping out of school for me,” Michael grumbles, Lee’s stupid chuckle not at all comforting. 

“I heard you guys are in a war,” Michael says, “Are you fighting in it?”

Lee serves the ball over, high and easy to hit. “Yeah. It feels wrong not to.”

And Michael spikes it back as hard as he can. “But you’re going to college in a few months.”

Lee shrugs, easily leaning forward and kicking it back high into the air for another easy hit. “Julliard is close enough to camp.” 

Michael catches it, tucking it under an arm. “That’s not what I meant. What’s the point of going to college if you might lose an arm or leg fighting in this stupid war? You should just focus on school.”

Lee laughs of all things. “That’s nothing. Will fixed worse.”

Michael bristles at Lee's casualness. “Well, if you’re gonna fight, then I am going too.”

Lee laughs again, tenser this time. “You think your mom is gonna let you?”

“She lets you!”

“Because she doesn’t know what I’m doing. And I’m not the one living with her. Besides, do you even know what we are fighting for?”

“Of course, I do! The enemy is K—” Crap. He never got the full name or title of the bad guy. And somehow he feels like saying Cabin 11’s made up name isn’t going to make Lee take him any more seriously. “I’ll learn more about it. Besides, you’re a great guy. I’m sure you’re fighting for the good guys.”

“Michael, your faith in me is nice but getting involved without knowing the full story is dumb. You’re not fighting.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I —”

Lee’s face hardened the way it does when he’s mad or worried or dead serious. Like that one time Leo microwaved a spoon. Like when Raphael tried to jump down a flight of stairs for a dare. Like when Carly and Sam ran onto the streets without looking. And crap. Michael is 14, practically an adult. He shouldn’t be cowing under Lee’s hard stare anymore. But he is and he’s (slightly, only just slightly) scared. 

“No, you’re not,” Lee says, “Because I don’t want you to fight when you have so little experience. Because your mom will literally kill me if something, anything happens to you. Because something bad will happen to you if you do join this fight. So no. You’re not going to fight. You’re not going to participate. You’re only here to train and enjoy camp life.”

“Fine. Fine. I won’t,” Michael grumbles, ducking his head. “Sheesh, you make it sound like if I join, the camp is done for.”

The hard stare melts back into that familiar, soft, (almost) carefree aura with a shrug and small smile. “I just have a feeling. It’s good to trust your instincts.”

And my instincts are telling me right now that you need to quit. But Michael is pretty sure Lee won’t appreciate it and moves the conversation to the climbing wall and why it’s on fire. 

[9:00 PM, Campfire Song]

“Mom,” Michael says, the phone pressed against his ears. He looks out the window, watching the vibrant flame of the bonfire climb high into the starry skies and the circles of cheerful campers surrounding it. 

“Michael, I was wondering when you would call. How’s camp? Do you like it?” 

“Camp is…Camp is great. Lots of activity. Really unique. I—” I like it dies on his tongue. He doesn’t like it. He might have if there was a bit less training. Luckily his mother didn’t catch that pause.  

“That’s great! Made any new — Carly Yew, are those markers I see in your hands? You better not draw on the walls. Get some paper, baby, okay? Made any new friends?”

“A few.”

“You should invite them over! We can have a nice little movie night together.” 

Michael frowns as he recalls someone, somewhere, saying not to gather in more than threes outside the barrier. It attracts the monsters apparently and Michael isn’t about to test that. “They can't. They’re busy. They’re like—um—they’re head counselors, you see, and have a lot of duties.” Like practically running the camp but he doesn’t think Mom would appreciate knowing that. 

“Well, it’s nice to see you make friends even if they’re a bit older.”

Are Travis and Connor older than him? Possibly. They exude confidence that no normal teen has. Or maybe they have just been here for a long time. And that is all kinds of sad. 

His mom asks him about his day, what he did, if he has something he really likes, and for the next hour, Michael goes into a heavily censored, G-rated, parent-safe tale of his first day at Camp Half Blood. It could have been worse. On his way to the Big House to use the phone, he overheard an older boy telling a couple newbies how a kid fought a Minotaur on his first day here and a girl having to sacrifice herself for her friends. 

Wow, it would suck to be them. 

[11:00 PM]

He meets dad in his dreams. 

Michael doesn’t know why, but he thought Apollo to be a refined god. A serious god. A graceful god. 

Instead he sees a teenager sporting pilot shades and leaning on a flaming red sports car in the dingy parking lot of Camp Half Blood with the early morning sun just breaking the horizon. 

“Dad?” Michael says, (who else could it be?) but still not really sure. “Uh, Apollo?”

And the teen waves, flashing a smile that nearly blinds him. “Michael! It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Before Michael could react, the teen — Apollo — dad — pulls him into a crushing hug that knocks all the air out of his lungs.

Apollo is strangely… warm. But not overbearingly warm. Warm like first snuggling into bed under the covers. Plus he smells like laurel leaves, sweet and bright. And Michael has a vivid flashback of his mom — younger, much much younger —  in the hospital bed smiling at a man in his mid-twenties with a bundle of sheets in his arm.

Michael blinks as Apollo pulls away, holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down with a musing stare. 

“You resemble your mom more than me,” Apollo says with a nod, “Most of my children tend to take after my looks, but you’re different, Mike. I have to say, I like it! I can’t stay long. Godly matters I have to attend to, you know? Here, I got you a gift for making it so far in life. Tell Audrey I miss her and think sweetly about the time we spent together.” 

Apollo is pressing a guitar into his hands with his name engraved in the body and stepping back to get into his car. It’s exactly the same as the guitar Lee has except for the engraving. So not unique by any means. But it is a gift. And mom would kill him for rejecting a gift. It’s rude she says, but Michael doesn’t care about Apollo enough yet to give a fuck. Besides if Lee’s experience is anything to go by, this is probably the last time he’ll ever talk to his dad. He needs to make this moment count for something. 

“Wait.”

Apollo pauses just as the engine roars to life, purring sweetly and the window rolled down. 

“I want to ask for something else.”

Apollo blinks and Michael can see the inkling of annoyance in the young face, but Apollo nods and says without a lick of irritation in his voice, “Sure, shoot.” 

“I want you to spend more time with Lee.” Then Michael has a realization. “You know who Lee is, right? The oldest one in the cabin? About to go to Julliard? Want to become a teacher?”

Now Apollo is definitely irked, a telltale wrinkle in his brow. Michael can now add ‘gods’ to the list of people he can make pissed off. “Of course I know Lee, my little music enthusiast child. How could I not? But I’m a God, Michael. There’s only so much free time I have.”

“Then just a few minutes a week, or even a month. So he knows you care.”

Again a slight scowl, but it lingers for a few seconds more. 

“I do care but okay. Okay, I will.” Apollo shifts the car into drive still a little annoyed. Michael thought that was it. Any minute now he’s going to wake up and start the day, but Apollo sighs, leans back in the leather seat, and hangs an elbow out the window. “Michael, you’re so much like your mother. Caring. Gutsy. Compassionate. It’s crazy how much you resemble her. You’re going to do great things. You’re—” The annoyance drops and for a brief second, Apollo looks grief-stricken. And once again, Michael dreams of falling, of a bridge, of a boat wafting through a chasm of fire. But Apollo smiles that blinding smile, fond, and shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry so much about your family. They’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”

Michael wakes up just as the car drives off, his gut itching. 

Apollo is lying to you.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Two and a Half Men

Summary: Shermie leaves his son with his twin brothers, fully trusting them to take good care of the baby for an afternoon. What a terrible mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was Spring Break, a glorious and yet hectic time in Glass Shard Beach. No one wanted to go to that trashy shoreline for a vacation when compared to the nicer beaches along the Atlantic, but lower-middle class families and broke college students settled and still had a good time for a cheaper price. The weather cooperated perfectly and Ford had worked so hard on his Science Fair project that he could afford to take a break while they were out of school, so today he and Stan were babysitting.

Shermie counted off the list of things for his brothers to remember while Stan held the baby. “Now remember, he needs to take a nap after he eats or he’ll be fussy later, he likes cereal the best and he can snack on that if he wants, but he needs to eat his peas or carrots for lunch, or a little bit of both. Also make sure he drinks his milk and for Moses’ sake, if he makes a mess, please wash him! Now, whatever you do, don’t lose Ottie! Last time we lost him Alex screamed for hours on end, I had to get a new one, so just keep an eye on him, and…”

“Shermie, can you relax? Geez.” Stan rolled his eyes, bouncing his nephew. “We’ve got this. We can handle the little guy for the day.” “I know you can, I just want to make it as easy for you as possible.” Shermie shrugged off the baby bag and held it out to Ford. He took it and immediately sunk to the floor with it. “Sweet Lord, Sherman, what did you put in here?” Ford groaned as he hoisted the bag on his shoulder. “Rocks?” “Everything Alex needs.” Shermie answered and patted the full-stroller that was by the door. “Clothes, diapers, wipes, breast milk, formula, bottles, blankets, toys, Ottie, sunglasses…” “Why in the world would he need sunglasses?” “For his eyes, Stanford!” Shermie defended. “Great, this is perfect, we’ll be fine!” Stan said cheerfully and grinned like a salesman. Shermie checked his pocket watch and winced. “Shoot, gotta go! I’ll be back later tonight to pick him up.” Shermie bent his knees and little and tickled under Alex’s chin and cooed, making the baby laugh and grab his finger. “Alright, Lil’Lex, love you, sport.” And Shermie kissed his tiny hand and headed to the door. “Oh, and guys,” His eyes darkened and the twins felt shivers go down their spines. “If anything happens to my son, I will never forgive or trust you again… Bye, have fun!” And Shermie was gone. Stan sighed with relief. “Finally! Now that Stuck-Up’s gone, the real fun begins!” He lifted his nephew above his head and asked in a wittle-baby voice, “Who’s ready to be the best chick-magnet in the world? You are, yes you are, you little stud!” “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” Ford said cautiously as Stan put the baby on his hip and bounced him as he was getting a little bit fussy. “Hey, you’re the one who admitted to needing help with girls.” Stan said and reached into the stroller for the stuffed otter. He gave it to Alex, who cheered up and hugged the toy, and then said, “Trust me, girls love babies! They’ll see us taking good care of little guy here and bam! You have your pockets full of phone numbers! Now go put on your trunks!” Ford was uneasy about taking Alex out to the beach and trying to talk to girls, but he ultimately decided that it would be fun to take their nephew out and let him play (and it might help to find a new girl for Stan since Carla dumped him), so he did as he was told and changed and then watched Alex while Stan changed. About an hour later, Stan was holding Alex by his hip with a towel over his opposite shoulder and Ford walked next to him with that torturous baby-bag. The stroller had no chance in the sand, so they left it home and decided that if the beach didn’t work a walk around the park certainly would. Stan happily strode around topless in his red swimming trunks while Ford wore a white t-shirt with his blue trunks. Alex wore a white t-shirt, too, as well as little baby-trunks with ducks on it, and he threw down his little green sunglasses every time Ford put them on him. Stan laughed and said, “Squirt’s got good taste already.” Ford sighed and pocketed the sunglasses in the bag, hoping the baby wouldn’t become blind and Shermie wouldn’t be mad. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Stanley? What if he gets into some glass, or goes into the water, or is stepped on…” “Sixer, you’re somehow worse than Sherm.” Stan lightly punched his shoulder. “Relax, we all deserve to have some fun. Alex doesn’t live by the beach; he won’t get to grow up like we did, playin’ here every day. Let him enjoy it with the best uncles in the world.” He threw the towel down on the sand and sat Alex down while making rocket-ship noises. Ford smiled and said, “Alright, but he really should put on sunscreen.” And he pulled out a bottle and lathered up Alex’s soft skin. The baby giggled and blew raspberries while Ford rubbed his arms and legs and face. The six-fingered teenager used his birth-defect for great evil and tickled the ribs and little baby-fat as he applied the sunscreen and smiled at the beautiful laughter his nephew made. Stan smiled at his brother, glad to see him coming around a little bit more when it came to kids, and he ruffled the little brown fluff on Alex’s head for being a good sport; he can remember throwing a fit at the idea of sunscreen when he was a toddler, meanwhile Ford would hold his breath and pray the chore would be done quickly. “Aw, how cute.” A girl in a light-purple bathing suit suddenly cooed as her long brown hair fell by her shoulder when she bent down to get a better look at the baby. “What’s his name?” Ford could feel his face getting very hot, despite the admirer standing in front of the sun. “This is our nephew, Alex.” “Aw, you two are great uncles.” She complimented sincerely and wiggled her fingers at the baby in greeting. She glanced up, saw her boyfriend waving at her, and she told the three boys to have a good day as she jogged across the beach. Stan gave out a low whistle. “Hot tamales, this kid’s gonna score us with some gorgeous babes.” “Stanley,” Ford chuckled as he shook his head and he reached into the baby-bag for his book, but Stan snatched it from his hands. “Hey!” “Nu huh, Sixer. No nerd stuff.” Stan put the book back in the bag and laid down on his back to soak in some sun. He shielded his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and said, “If you’re so bored play with Alex. Ooph!” Alex had climbed up on Stan’s chest and sat right on his ribs, not that the six-month-old was very heavy. Stan lifted his sunglasses to his forehead and smiled at the baby. “C’mon, squirt, I’m tryin’ to get a good tan here.” “No, Stan, no naps.” Ford mimicked his brother from earlier and stood up. “Why not let him try the sea and splash in some water?” “Good idea.” Stan picked up Alex and left their stuff on the towel and walked to the shoreline. Alex looked down at the waves that gently crashed on the shore. They rolled close to the sand and splashed peacefully. Stan helped Alex stand by holding him by his hands and Ford sat on his knees just where the water touched the sand at max. The baby awed at the splashing water and wiggled with chills when the water touched his little feet, but then laughed with delight over the new experience. Stan then sat Alex down next to Ford to sit and he wiggled his arms up and down as he squealed with joy. Here, the sand was squishy and fun to grab and the water was going away and coming back, like magic. Stan laughed as Alex shoved a fistful of sand into his mouth and Ford scrambled to help the little guy spit it out. Alex didn’t cry, merely confused as to why something so pretty tasted so bad, but the uncles were too distracted by Alex’s sand-eating that they didn’t notice a bigger wave coming. It wasn’t dangerous, but it did splash Alex on the face and spooked him and made him fall backward and cry over being overwhelmed. “Oh no, oh no,” Ford cooed and picked Alex up as he stood up. “Perhaps snack time would be more efficient with real food and away from the sea water.” “I think Shermie packed some peas and carrots to give him.” Stan said as they went back to the towel. He rummaged a bit and found two containers of food, a baggie of cereal, and a small spoon. Ford sat Alex in his lap so he could use his uncle as a highchair and Stan opened the mushed-up peas. “Alright, lunchtime squirt, open up.” Alex, however, turned away at the spoon filled with food and put his lip out. “Oh, what, you’re too good for my peas?” Stan asked and tried again, but Alex dodged the spoon and scowled. “Oh, come on, ‘Lex. Work with me.” “Maybe a snack or milk first?” Ford suggested. “Nah, he’s just being picky.” Stan reasoned. “Look, Alex, Uncle Stan loves ‘em, look.” He put the spoon into his mouth and thought he might vomit. His face turned as green as the mashed-up peas and he spat the disgusting food back into the container. “Who in God’s name would feed that to babies?!” He yelled in horror and hurled the food into the sea. “Stanley!” Ford scolded, trying not to laugh but he was snickering all the while. “That was awful!” Stan shouted and coughed and gagged. “No way I’m feeding that to my nephew.” Ford sighed with a smile on his face and said down to the baby, “Good rule, always make Uncle Stan test it first.” “Whatever, he can have his cereal instead.” Stan plunged a hand back into the bag and pulled out a bottle of milk. “Here, kid, something to wash down the sand with.” Alex happily accepted the bottle and even held it himself. His uncles smiled, and one of them finally noticed the giggling happening a few feet away. Stan saw four cute girls sitting at a picnic awhile away, probably in college. They were giggling at them and awing at the baby. Stan smiled and tossed them a wink. The girls giggled again and stood. “And now to reap from the benefits of babysitting, Sixer.” Stan whispered. “Keep it cool.” “What?” And Ford finally noticed the four girls. One with flaming red hair and a yellow bathing suit sat on her knees next to Ford and cooed, “Aw, how adorable! He’s very cute.” “Um, thank you.” Ford said, his face turning red. “I would have also accepted ‘handsome’ and ‘extremely cute’.” Stan stared at amazement that his brother came up with that on his own and grinned proudly. The girls laughed with him, a lovely change from at him, and the girl with tanned skin and black hair said, “Oh my gosh, you’re so funny! Is he a cousin or something?” “Our nephew, Alex.” Ford informed the girls as the one with tanned skin sat with her knees by her chest in front of the baby for a good look at him. “Wow, you two are so good with him.” A blonde girl with blue eyes sighed admirably and smiled at Stan. “Yup, he’s our little buddy.” Stan said smugly. “Just making sure he has a good time.” “Aw, well you guys have fun!” And the blonde girls squeezed Stan’s shoulder and the red-head waved at Ford with a cute wink as they resumed their picnic. “That was the longest a girl didn’t talk to me out of pity.” Ford said breathlessly. “We should totally take him to the park and catch more babes there.” Stan advised as he took Alex’s bottle to make sure he didn’t drink too much at once. “Or we could just take him just to spend some quality time with our nephew.” “Yeah, that too I guess.” Ford snorted with laughter and noticed Alex’s yawn. Apparently the excitement of a new place and the soothing crashing of the waves, mixed with the warm sun, was making him sleepy. Ford laid Alex down on the towel on his belly, Stan gave him Ottie the otter, and Alex soon fell asleep. Ford opened his book to read while Stan laid and sunbathed for a bit. A few minutes passed and Stan rolled on his front to tan his back. While on his front, Stan rubbed Alex’s back and kinda got lost in thought over his nephew, the warm sun making his brain melt into mush and all seemed too right in the world to care. Ford was invested in his book, enjoying the story about stupid jewelry or whatever, but then Stan’s eyes looked past his twin and saw some very pretty girl in a bikini, lying on a blanket with a magazine and a nice sunhat on, her freckled body covered by a black bathing suit and her eyes right at him. Her lips were naturally red and lush, biting her bottom lip as she gave Stan this look that made him a sucker. She waved at him and Stan grinned excitedly and hurried to go talk to the pretty woman. A few moments after Stan left, Alex woke up. He blinked his tired eyes and looked around. His brown eyes landed on a seagull and he smiled at the birdie. Alex grabbed Ottie by one of his little paws and slowly crawled off the towel. He started to get the hang of the new trick and crawled faster towards the birdie, but it soon flew away and went back down farther away from the ocean and closer to the town. Alex followed it as he giggled and he was off. Stan soon walked back to the blanket with a phone number in his hand and he twindled it between his fingers. He smiled down at the towel to tell Ford the good news, but his blood ran cold. “Sixer?” “Hm?” “Where’s Alex?” “He’s right…” Ford put his hand down right where he believed Alex to be sleeping, but he touched nothing but towel. His heart skipped a beat and he snapped his book closed and scurried around the towel, even lifting it off the sand in case the baby was somehow under it. “Alex? Alex?!” “What did you do?!” Stan yelled. “You left us?!” “You were with him!” “You couldn’t tell m- This won’t help us find him!” Ford shook his head and tried to control his mounting anxiety. “He couldn’t have gotten far… I didn’t even know he was crawling yet!” “Aw, man. His first crawl and we missed it?” “STANLEY!” “Right, right!” Stan looked around and gasped with horror. “What if he went into the water?! I’M COMIN’, ALEX! UNCLE STAN’S COMIN’!” He ran into the water and looked around, even diving into the deeper parts and checking where the tide was drifting in a different direction. Ford was shaking, but he then looked down at the sand and noticed small hand prints and a disturbance in the sand. He sighed with relief that Alex hadn’t drowned and ran up to his twin, who was now waist-deep in salt-water and panicking. “ALEX! ALEX!” “Stanley, there’s a trail we can follow! I think Alex went into town!” Ford called from the shoreline and Stan splashed to him and ran back to the towel with him, gathered their stuff, and ran off of the sand. The terrified young men looked around on the sidewalk, but saw no sign of their baby nephew. “Okay, if we were Alex, where would we go?” Stan huffed. Ford held his chin and tried to think through his fear. “Babies are generally attracted to colors and sounds… perhaps something caught his eye and curiosity got the best of him…” “There!” Stan bolted down the sidewalk and Ford followed him with the baby-bag on his shoulder. On the corner and lying helplessly was the stuffed otter. Stan picked it up with trembling hands. “Okay… now all we need is a dog! To track Alex!” “Stanley, be serious!” “I am, Stanford!” Stan snapped back at him. “If anything happens to that kid I’m gonna kill everyone in this stupid town and then myself! I can’t lose Alex!” “We won’t, we’ll find him.” Ford said, his voice quivering with fear. “How many mysteries have we solved together? How many missing objects and people have we found? We just have to put our heads together and think of a plan. Again, he has only learned to crawl today. He couldn’t have gotten far. Let’s go down this road and keep searching.” ~~~~~~~~~~ Thistle strung his ukulele beautifully, picking notes and finding his tune. Just as he thought he had one, his girlfriend jumped in and sang along. “I don’t need gold, I don’t need silver, I just need you here. I don’t need fame, I don’t need glory, I just need you near. All of my ambitions have gone away, for I’m complete with you.” Carla sang as a soft breeze flew by her long brown hair. Thistle smiled as they both sat on the front steps of Carla’s townhouse in a small neighborhood by the beach. “Not bad, not bad. Pure poetry, my flower.” Carla blushed and shrugged. She listened to Thistle playing solo for a bit, the soft instrument filling the air, and her mood was improved to hear a baby’s giggling. She opened her eyes and looked around, expecting a stroller with passerby, but a lone baby sitting on the sidewalk. Carla gasped and hurried over to the baby, on one knee and looking around for anyone who might be with the little guy. “Hello? Anyone?” Carla called and then scooped up the baby. “Oh, you poor little thing. C’mere, I know.” She cooed and held him by her shoulder and rubbed his back. The baby seemed okay and unafraid. Whoever was looking after him must be close by. Carla carried the baby back to the step and Thistle looked at the little human with sympathy. “Aw, you think he was abandoned?” “No, he’s wearing a bathing suit, see? I think some tourists were distracted and this rascal left his parents, didn’t you?” She cooed and tickled the baby’s ribs. The baby laughed and Carla got a good look at the baby. Something… seemed familiar to her. Maybe it was because she wasn’t around a lot of babies, but this baby reminded her a lot of her ex’s newborn nephew. “Wait a minute…” Carla had only met Alex one time. The day he came home, Stan called her and caught her up on everything. He was kinda cute, all excited and a big lug around the little baby, and he invited her over a few days later and she got to hold Alex. He was amazing and Carla missed him, almost as much as she missed Stan. “I know you, don’t I?” Carla asked, bewildered, but the more she looked at the baby, the more familiar he looked. “Alex?” He only grinned and grabbed her hair to play with it. Carla gave in, wincing a little but she smiled and hugged the baby. “I’ve missed you, too.” “You know him?” Thistle asked suspiciously. “Yeah, he’s Stan’s nephew.” “Oh.” Thistle said darkly and his face hardened. “Trust that idiot to lose a kid.” “Oh, c’mon, that’s not fair.” Carla scolded lightly. “If this little guy is anything like the rest of his family he’s impossible to keep track of.” And she tickled Alex’s ribs, making him laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be around in no time. He’s probably tearing up the whole town for him.” Thistle only rolled her eyes and strung a few cords. ~~~~~~~~~~ Stan and Ford walked into a toy store, in case Alex somehow crawled into it for the brightly colored toys in the window. With no luck in finding him there, they went down the road and called his name cautiously; they wanted the baby to hear them but not any adults who might catch on what had happened. Alex was a smart kid and seemed to know his name by now, so if he heard them he might crawl to them, right? They entered the bakery and found it empty apart from a sleeping teenager at the counter. They even checked behind alleys and underneath parked cars. The more locations they tried and failed at, the higher their nerves got. At one point, Ford even puked into a neighborhood trash can (but that may have also been due to the pile of rotting fish outside the hatchery) and Stan was losing his mind, every sound making his heart pick up speed and his rain making him think it might be Alex or something about to take Alex. A few minutes into their search and they had wandered away from the shops and stores to an area filled with apartments and townhouses. Stan was too distracted to notice this was Carla’s neighborhood, calling his nephew’s name and praying something positive would happen. At long last, they turned a corner where music was playing, vaguely guessing Alex was attracted to the sounds, and they saw Alex in Carla’s lap as she sang along to her new boyfriend’s music. But Stan didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of that; Alex was safe. “ALEX!” The twins screamed and ran to him. Carla smiled and held up the baby. Alex was wiggling and giggling, his chubby arms outstretched for his uncles and happy to see them again. Stan scooped him up and held him tightly and close to his heart, rubbing his back and trying to control himself, but composure be damned. His kid was safe. “Alex! Thank Moses, you’re okay! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, squirt!” Ford rubbed the baby’s back as he clanged onto Stan’s chest and giggled at the extra affection. “Alexander Jackson Pines, I’m so sorry. I should have watched you more closely. I can’t believe I put something as meaningless as knowledge before my own nephew.” “Don’t blame yourself, Poindexter, that’s what I get for…” Stan stopped to find a pair of eyes on him. The entire time, Carla was smiling at the two teenagers and the baby. Ford followed Stan’s eyes and narrowed them at Carla, meanwhile Stan just stared, not a trace of anger on his face. “Um… hey.” “Hey,” Carla said softly and stood on the sidewalk with her arms crossed over her chest loosely. “Glad you found him.” “Yeah, and thanks for watching him.” Stan said as he looked at Alex instead and his smile returned. “Great, you got him back,” Thistle said coldly and stood by the door. “C’mon, baby, let’s have lunch.” “You know what,” Carla said firmly and gave her boyfriend a hard look. “Why don’t you go ahead inside? I’ll be right there.” Thistle growled in his throat and went inside. Stan didn’t know how to feel about things being cold between his ex and her new boyfriend. The little green monster in his gut known as Envy was purring with satisfaction, but he wasn’t so sure if he would ever take her back. Okay, maybe he would give it a chance, but he couldn’t imagine it lasting long. Not after Carla’s true colors were shone. Carla turned back to the Pines and kept her eyes on Stan. “Hey, I… I actually wanted to talk to you for awhile.” “Oh yeah?” His voice was calm. It was just too easy to growl or snap or yell at her. Too easy to go through with it. With Ford next to him and Alex in his arms, he didn’t feel like letting Carla have it; he just wanted to go home and take a nap. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry.” Carla said. “I’m sorry for how I left things. I’ll admit it, I shouldn’t have just dumped you out of the blue like that, and I’m sorry. If I could I totally would’ve done things differently.” “Okay, but what exactly are you sorry for?” Stan asked as he raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you sorry you dumped me the way you did, or are you sorry you left me for the hippy?” Carla narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, Stan, but I’m not sorry we broke up. I think it’s better this way.” “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need someone in my life who doesn’t know what’s most important. I dunno why I didn’t see it before; we’re both free spirits, Hotpants, but at least I think of the people I care about first.” “Oh, don’t hold yourself all high and mighty!” Carla snapped. “You’re the one who lost a toddler, Stan, not me! And you’re the one who always says ‘if you want something, get it’. I’m sorry that it hurt your feelings, but I’m not sorry that I wanted a better person and I’m not sorry that I left you at all.” “Well, that’s fine by me!” Stan retaliated. “For what it’s worth, I’ll never be sorry I drove hippy-boy’s van into a ravine, but I’ll always be sorry I ever went out with you in the first place!” And he turned around and walked away with Alex in his arms. Ford and Carla looked at each other. Ford opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish. Carla raised an eyebrow at him mockingly, but then Ford settled on flipping her off with his two-middle fingers and walking away, leaving her red-faced and alone. When Ford caught up to his family, he found Stan holding Alex by his shoulder and rubbing circles into his back. Alex hugged him back, smiling and looking up at his uncle with round eyes. Stan, however, looked like he was doing some deep thinking. “Are you okay?” Ford asked gently. “Yeah, Sixer, m’fine.” Stan said casually. “We’ve got Alex back, he’s safe, let’s just get home.” “Yes, I am grateful to find him safe and sound, but… is there anything you want to talk about?” “To be frank, no. I said everything I needed to say.” Ford smiled and patted his back. “Alright, Knucklehead, whatever you say.” ~~~~~~~~~~ Shermie let himself into the flat above Pines’ Pawns around six o’clock. “Hello? Stan? Ford? Anyone home?” He wandered down the hall and thought he heard snoring as he approached the living room. He peered down at the couch and smiled. Stan was sprawled out over the couch, lying on his back with the baby curled up on his chest and holding onto Stan’s black t-shirt. Sitting on the floor and against the couch was Ford, with a book on his lap and his head back as he slept; apparently he had been reading to them until they all fell asleep. Shermie guessed he could leave them all to sleep a little while longer and so he picked up Pa’s newspaper and read it at the kitchen table.

[shannygoatgruff]

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter VII

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Characters: Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA 18+

Overall Warning:  Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.  

Chapter Warning: Drug use.

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other.  Boys will be boys…

Chapter VII

The smell of apples tickles my nose as soon as I roll over. Sleep has been damn near impossible tonight and Thora's fruit-scented shampoo is making me want to sneeze. Although it smells good; fresh and soft, like her, it’s unsettling.  It’s been interrupting my restless sleep for the past hour.  Opening my eyes, I stare at the back of her head and wonder if I cut her hair off, would I still be able to smell that fucking shampoo?

There is no good reason for me to be awake right now. Between finally going back to work, exploring the cabin with Ivar, my date with Thora, then coming back here and making love to her, I should be exhausted. But, I'm not. No matter how physically tired I am, I’m wide a-fucking-wake right now and a million thoughts are running through my head.

I turn the lamp on and I reach for the ashtray and my cigarettes.  I look at the pack in my hand uninterested, knowing full well this is not going to help me sleep.  If I really want to relax, I have a half a pound of weed and a gram of heroin in my night table. An A-Bomb is guaranteed to put me at ease, but I know Thora would have a stroke if she saw me doing that.  

She doesn't exactly know anything about what I do in my spare time. I can't exactly spring up the fact that I like to get high every now and again on her. Not when we're getting to the point in our relationship when I'm seriously considering taking things to the next level.  

I turned 28 today, well, yesterday.  I have to grow up sometime, right?

Something Ivar said today made me think.  He said we discovered that we were best brothers and soul mates when we were kids.  Did that mean we’ve been doing this since then?  When I think about how long we’ve been running together, I can only remember back so far.  It just feels like we’ve been doing this since forever ago.  I don’t even remember when or how it started.  But, if it’s been since we were teens, well then, that means I’m getting closer to when I should be able to stop, right?

It’s like everything is finally falling into place. 

Now that we’ve got this cabin, we can entertain ourselves until we finally get enough and then I can ask Thora to marry me. As much as I want that, the thought of leaving Ivar scares the shit out me. He's been my rock for so long, I honestly don't know what I'd do without him. Let’s face it, can’t really see myself having a breakdown and walking out on Thora to go find him to make it all better. That should be her job, right? But it can't be. She can't take care of me, because I have to take care of her. She wouldn't understand what goes on in my mind and she's never seen me not have my shit together.  

So maybe then, we should find a woman for Ivar, that way all four of us can live together, here.  He could still help me through a crisis and I won’t have to give up spending every day with my best friend.  The girls would become like sisters and we’d all end up hanging out together, all the time. Maybe we’d even all get high and have sex together. 

Oh God, that would be Utopia.  

I’m so excited.  I need to tell Ivar.  I don’t know if he’d be down for it.  He doesn’t have as much faith in me as I do and he fucking hates Thora.  But, I just need him to have an open mind.

"Where are you going?" Thora's eyes barely open when her hand touches the warm spot where I once was. She's a light sleeper and the slightest movement from me usually wakes her up.

Stepping into my boxer shorts, I lean over and kiss her fruity head. "To the bathroom. Go back to sleep." She nods at the whispered sound of my voice and drifts back off. Grabbing the small envelope from the drawer in my nightstand, I look to see that her eyes are fully closed before I slip it into the waistband of my underwear.  

I make sure to cover her chest with the sheet that is gathered around her lower half. When I was lying next to her, my body kept her covered, but now she's exposed. There's something that happens to me when her most intimate parts are uncovered. I feel unsettled. It's like it takes away her innocence. She needs to be covered and protected at all times.

With my ashtray in hand, I make my way to Ivar’s room, relishing at the feeling of my toes sinking into the carpet as I walk. He did make a good choice when he picked this carpet out.  I thought it was too expensive and unnecessary to have something this plush, but it does feel nice underfoot.  

My brother has got great taste in everything. 

Take this house for example; he picked it out and decorated it.  I love the colors, the furniture, even the floor plan. I especially love the way this hallway opens up just before his bedroom.  It makes were he sleeps seem so special and grand like it denotes this is the master bedroom and not just another sleeping quarter like where my bedroom is.  I know he’d switch with me if I asked him, but I don’t want that much responsibility. 

The person with the master is the person that has to know and do all the things. No fucking thank you.  

My mind is racing again.  I need to get some fucking sleep.  It’s nights like that I think I can actually feel myself going crazy.

Ivar’s door is cracked open. He knows that sometimes I just need to be around him. It doesn't matter what time of day or night it is, or what else he's doing, he always leaves the door cracked for me to come in whenever I need to. The funny thing is, he seldom comes into my room to check on me. It's just a given that if I need something, I will come to him.

"What's up, birthday boy?" The smell of soap and shampoo wafts throughout his bedroom as soon as I open the door. He's sitting on the bed watching television, but as soon as he sees me, he turns it off. His hands fold neatly in his lap, the weight of which pulls his sheet down far enough to expose his naked hip bone to me. His dirty clothes are piled in the corner. Judging from the dirt and mud on them, I guess he spent almost all night at the cabin. 

"Nothing," I stand in the doorway until he invites me in further. I can't take my eyes off of him. Everything he does captivates me.

Ivar pats the side of the bed next to him and pulls back the covers enough so that I know that's where he wants me. Obediently, I make my way across the room and sit down. I place the ashtray on his nightstand and look over at him as he hands me a Black & Mild. "You're lying." He knows me so well.

I guess he can read the questions on my face. 

It pains me to know that these are the nights that I'll be giving up when I marry Thora. It's not likely that I'll be sitting in bed with her, rolling a blunt, about to pour my heart out to her. "I don't know. Just a lot of shit."

Ivar's arm around my bare back sends a comforting warmth throughout my body. My head finds its way to his shoulder and my eyes close at the feeling. "Like what?" 

"What's gonna happen when we stop?" I know how he feels when I talk about stopping, but no matter how he tries to calm that fear, part of me will not settle. He sighs into my hair and his hand traces a path up and down my spine.

I can feel him watching me as I sit up and try to concentrate on sprinkling the marijuana onto the paper and not on the tears touching my eyes. It doesn't matter how much I try to mask it, he knows me. His hand touches my chin and turns my face toward him. "Nothing will change, Hvitserk. You think you want that other life, but you don't. We have a life together."

"But Thora…"

A bright smile cuts his face and his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She can have the babies and we'll take of them. We can teach them everything we know. We don't need her." His future doesn't include her and he never makes mention of her with regards to us. Somehow I don’t think he’ll go for my plan of us living here together with our wives, either. He doesn’t believe I’m serious when I say we’re not going to do this forever. 

I nod and turn my attention back to the paper in my hand, sprinkling a small amount of the brown powder from the mini envelope, on top. Sitting the envelope next to the bag on the bed, I slowly fold over the paper and raise it to my tongue to wet the ends. An Atomic Bomb twisted to perfection, I hand it to Ivar.  

He shakes his head and reaches over to his nightstand and pulls an already rolled blunt from a bag.  He licks it and raises his brows at me, “Aw, you dick!” I playfully push his shoulder and swoon at his laughter, “You didn’t tell me you got Sherms.” 

I knew he visited that guy across town while I was at work but he didn’t tell me everything he bought.  He got Sherms – blunts dipped in formaldehyde…now, this is a party favorite!  A real crowd-pleaser.  

“We can trade.” He hands me the Sherm and takes my A-Bomb.  Considering that Thora is still asleep in my bed and I’m not sure how the embalming fluid is going to affect me tonight, I opt for the heroin laced weed.  He takes my lighter and sparks up.  

"Seriously though, how long do you think we can keep this up?  I mean, every single one of them has a fucking name or a life. No matter how much they want us, they all have something they leave behind." The smell of his weed hits me immediately and my head lightens at the contact. I have to look the blunt in my hand so I don’t have to meet his eyes. "It was easier when we'd just leave them…even if they were fucked up. I didn't blackout then."

"You only blackout when they make you angry." Ivar's voice is thick with the smoke that he's trying to keep in his lungs. There's a cough and then the sound of him sipping. I love the silky way his voice sounds when he's smoking. "If they would just fucking listen, they could walk away."

The laugh that comes out of my mouth makes Ivar laugh, too. It's bullshit and we both know it. Even if they were left alive, there's no way in hell they'd be able to walk anywhere. Ivar always makes sure of that. "I'd like to see that."

"Well, maybe not walk." He chuckles.  He holds the lighter to the end of my blunt and smiles when I gulp in the smoke. Tossing it onto the covers, he leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes. "It just feels natural, ya know? It's nothing better than coming home from a hard day's work and knowing that I'm going to be able to hang out with my soul mate and have a night to remember. And I do, Serk. I remember every night."

He always calls me his soul mate. I feel like he's mine, too. Best friends never really seem to cover it, so we made up the term best brothers.  But that only seemed to describe part of our bond.  What Ivar and I share is so much more than brotherhood.  The connection between us is all-encompassing.  With him, there is nothing that I'm embarrassed about. We just get and need each other. 

I don't think that I could ever have as intimate of a relationship with anyone as I do with him. There isn't anything that I need that I can't go to him for. There isn't anything that he wouldn't do for me. All the fears, the pain, the questions, the freakouts… the laughter, the happiness, the elation… the rush, the adrenaline, the pleasure, the orgasms…I feel all of it most intensely when he’s around. And truthfully, I love the fact that he's there to share it with me.

"Me, too." I choke off the smoke right before everything starts to slow down around me.  "Just scared that you won't be there one day if I need you."

Ivar sits up and places his weed in the ashtray. I feel his hand on my back moving up toward my neck and the soft grip he places on it. Without asking my permission, he pulls my head down to his chest before reclining back against the headboard with me. "Brother, I'm always gonna be here. You know that. I don't care what happens in the future. I'm never going to leave you. I'm never going to let anyone come between us." He lifts my blunt of out my hand and places it next to his, allowing me to wrap my arm around his bare waist and enjoy the feeling of comfort that he is providing. "I know you, Hvitserk. I know your heart. You're a good man. You just have to permit yourself to enjoy life. We help these people. We show them a world that they didn't know they wanted. You've seen how much they enjoy it. They love it and they love us for it. We free 'em.”  He kisses the top of my head. “We're fucking gods to them."

He's right. I know he's right. I know that look in their eyes and the feeling of them fighting against me. They're excited by it, they get into the role. But when will I ever stop wanting to play? "But it can't last forever."

"It will if we want it to. We've got the best of both worlds. We get to have a life and an afterlife, all at the same time. I feel it growing in me and watching you, I know it's growing for you, too. You keep trying to convince yourself that you can stop, but that only makes you angrier. You can't stop it, Serk. Just enjoy it now and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. It's so much more fun if you have fun doing it.”  His voice is growing lazy and I know that he'll be falling asleep soon. This isn't uncommon. He always stays up and holds me until I fall asleep, never letting me out of his arms. "I found something for you in the cabin."

"What?" My heart races at the prospect of a present.

With a slight chuckle, he squeezes my shoulders tighter, "A collar and a leather leash. I know how you like to let them have free reign to move around. And, I moved the mattress in front of the fireplace. I connected the leash to a chain I found and that’s all bolted into the stone so it’s long enough for you to play." Ivar's voice is getting fainter. He'll be asleep in no time.

"Thank you." I smile up at him and kiss his jaw like I used to do to Father. He's so good to me.

With a lazy smile, he fights to keep his heavy lids open.  He leans down and brushes his lips against my nose.  "Happy birthday, baby."

Lying on his chest, I listen to the gentle hum of his breathing, and his heart pumping so much love for me through his body, I let my mind shift to the unlimited possibilities in the place that Ivar found for us. Just the thought of it makes me hard again.

With a quick kiss on Ivar's cheek, I make my way back down the narrowing hallway to my bedroom. The smell of Thora's shampoo lures me to the bed and the silhouette of her body in the dark room is enough to make me pull off my boxers and the covers resting on her. Completely enveloping her body with mine, I remind myself to be gentle with her. I have so many thoughts and desires coursing through me right now, that I can't chance hurting her.

She's still asleep, but her legs move easily allowing me to push into her with force. For a split second, she feeds the need that I have. At that moment, when she realizes that I'm inside of her and her eyes fly open in surprise, I feel the hunger starting. But the more I look at her and notice how her eyes grow soft and cloud over with love; I remind myself that she's special. I don't like to hold back, but I have to when I feel like this. She will cure my immediate need, but she won’t settle my hunger.

Tonight, I make love. Tomorrow, I will feed.

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[detectivejigsawpines]

The Third Pines

In which the other Pines sibling is not an idiot; in particular, he’s smart enough to know the difference between his two brothers, even if one is masquerading as the other.

Kind of a character study on Sherman Pines.

Stanford Pines may have been the family genius, but Sherman Pines wasn’t an idiot.

Specifically, even after this many years he could still tell the difference between his two younger brothers, even if one of them was masquerading as the other.

For one thing, there was no way Ford would (or could) ever start a blatant tourist trap and still manage to successfully coerce dozens of people every day to take pictures of all its fake attractions and buy its unbelievably tacky merchandise.  For another, he was calling himself Stan, and not even bothering to change his personality that much, or his voice, for heaven’s sake.  Finally, and this was the clincher, Shermie remembered perfectly well which sibling had how many fingers, and he wasn’t buying that lame excuse about getting the extras surgically removed.

At first Shermie thought his brother was afraid he’d tell Pa about him if he admitted who he really was, or (less likely) that this was an attempt at an elaborate and somewhat tasteless prank, since he’d even gone so far as to fake his own death in a car crash.  So he did his best to make Stan feel welcome during the rare occasions when he visited, hoping that sooner or later he’d open up to him.

It’s okay, he kept coaxing mentally, I don’t care what Pa says, you’re still my family.  You can tell me.

But then, when there continued to be no sign of Ford or of Stan revealing his true identity to anyone, Shermie realized that something terribly, terribly wrong had happened.  And he couldn’t tell what.

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

To his frustration, even though Stan stayed closer to them than Ford had after leaving for college, as the years went by he spent more and more time cooped up in that Mystery Shack of his, still determined to keep his secrets to himself.  It was a relief when he came all the way to the hospital when Shermie’s grandkids were born, even if it meant he had to fight Stan for his chance to hold them.  By that point Shermie had stopped pushing to find out the truth, but he still really wanted to know.

Then his age finally caught up with him, when Dipper and Mabel were eight.

His wife had already passed on a few years ago of a heart attack, at a ridiculously young age for this era; now it looked like it was his turn, this time from the big C.  The doctors did all they could, but in the end he just needed to be as comfortable and out of pain as possible.

At first Shermie thought Stan wasn’t going to bother coming to see him at the hospital.  But then one night, long after visiting hours were over and done with and he was lying awake, alone in his cot, head too full of thoughts to sleep, the window slipped open, and in climbed his brother.  Because of course that was the kind of thing he would do.

“Hey, Sherm,” he whispered, seeing that he was awake as he crept to the bed.  “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but...some stuff came up.”  He looked ashamed as soon as he realized what he’d said, because to him of course nothing should be more important than the fact that his brother was dying.

Shermie gave him a small smile so he’d know he wasn’t angry, just glad he was here.  And then, without considering what he was about to say, he lifted his head and croaked, “Hey, Stanley.”

Stan’s smile froze, and alarm rose in his eyes...before he tried to shake it off.  “Stanley’s dead, Shermie.  I’m your other brother, Stanford.  The good one-”

Shermie reached out and took his hand to stop him.  “Stanley.  I know.  I’ve always known.”

He could see his brother wrestling with himself, trying to decide if there was any point denying it further...until at last his shoulders sagged.

“Guess I’m a worse liar than I thought.”

“No,” Shermie shook his head, “you’re a great liar.  I just know my brothers better than you think.”  He gave Stan’s hand a tiny squeeze.

Stan gave him a sheepish smile...that dropped as soon as Shermie asked, “You mind telling me why, though?  And what the heck happened to Ford?”

Stan flinched, looking like he’d been hit.  But again, this time he seemed to think it was only fair to come clean.

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

To Shermie’s relief, Stan didn’t tell him that Ford was dead.  However, what he did tell him was still pretty confusing: Ford had gotten mixed up in some kind of big trouble almost thirty years ago, and was stuck somewhere far away, and Stan had spent all this time trying to find him and bring him home.  Shermie could tell he was still holding something back, but it sounded enough like the truth that he believed him.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked when Stan finished.  “We would’ve helped you.  I would’ve helped you.”

Stan closed his eyes.  “...I didn’t know that for sure.”

“Stan…”  Shermie squeezed his hand again.

“I-I better go before you tire yourself out.”  Stan tried to slip out of his grip.  Shermie responded by letting his bony-but-still-strong hand clamp vise-like around his wrist.

“Stay.  Please.”

Stan gulped...before pulling over a nearby chair and sitting down in it.

“Okay, okay.  I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“Thanks.”  Shermie relaxed his hold a little when he was sure his brother meant it, but kept holding his hand.  There were many other things he wanted to say-that he was sorry for everything that had happened to his brother, that he didn’t have to be so afraid, that if he just opened up to his family they could work together to save Ford from wherever he’d been taken to, that he loved him-but instead all he said was a gentle, “Night, Stan.”

“Night, Shermie.”

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

Since in “ATOTS” Stan says Dipper and Mabel are the only family he has left, my personal theory is that Shermie is dead.

Sad, but probably true.

...So, how’d I do?

[onekisstotakewithme]

Charles is Soft: A Treatise

hi there! just your neighbourhood Charles writer, reminding you that Charles may have a lot of asshole moments (and yeah there’s a lot of times I would gladly join the other characters in fighting that idiot) but he also has a lot of moments where he really shows the growth and heart that MASH is known for.

He befriends Margaret (even if they’ve got that weird attraction thing in the beginning that we don’t talk about); he shares his food from home with her, and talks to her, and oh, I don’t know, gives up his chance to go back to Tokyo (his numero uno goal from when he arrives) in order to protect her.

When Father Mulcahy gives him the toboggan cap, Charles thanks him so profusely that it in part helps the Father understand why he’s over there still. He consistently respects Mulcahy’s position as spiritual adviser and goes to him for advice when he needs help (such as in Morale Victory).

Now, Charles has something of a contentious relationship with Max (which has a lot of not-awesome moments, admittedly), but after Max saves his life, Charles does look after him; he also offers to be his lawyer in season 10, not to mention that Klinger sees his generous side in “Death Takes a Holiday” and thus they have a soft little exchange over it.

And as for his commanding officer, Charles clearly looks up to Sherman. He willingly expresses his concern over Potter’s wellbeing when the gang thinks he might be sick, and will seek out his advice on various matters. Most importantly, he sees Sherm as an example of a good leader and intends to take that home with him.

What about the roommates?

Charles and BJ have a fairly easygoing relationship from the word ‘go’, as Charles clearly respects his medical skills (despite having acquired them in California of all places); he later gives BJ the money to buy his dream property back home, he eventually participates in BJ’s plan for a stateside reunion, and helps to plan BJ’s surprise anniversary party.

As for Hawkeye, he and Charles are foils of each other, which makes their relationship slightly more contentious- but it also makes those soft moments all the sweeter. As early as his fourth episode, Charles willingly takes Hawk’s OD duty- his only condition? that nobody knows it was him. He patches up Hawk’s face for him after BJ goes berserk, defends Hawkeye to Flagg, and even expresses serious concern when he thinks Hawkeye is seriously ill! And the crowning moment... he sits with Hawkeye while Daniel is in surgery, confides in him about his own childhood, gives him the gift of his vulnerability... and just keeps him company. Which in one episode says more about Chuck’s growth to me than anything else on the show.

And this is literally just the tip of the iceberg!

TL;DR: Charles is actually soft and an equal member of the 4077 family.

[anistarrose]

When the Truth Comes Out (GF One-Shot)

Summary: A tale of two old men who are horrible at phone calls, and their long-estranged brother.

Word count: ~1000

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702060

I realized I haven’t written any standalone GF oneshots in a while, so I decided to return with an idea that I’ve had stuck in my head for a few months now. (And yes, I realize this is my third fic spread across two different fandoms with a Touch-Tone Telephone reference for a title. It’s just a bop, okay?)

***

An unusual sight played out early one morning in the Mystery Shack: Stan and Ford were both pacing in circles around a table in the living room, upon which a telephone rested. Somehow, the phone exuded a more intimidating aura than nearly any of the monsters either twin had fought throughout their long lives.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to talk to him again,” said Ford as he continued to pace, arms crossed behind his back. “It’s just… trying to explain the whole situation…”

“Well, you can at least take comfort in knowing he’ll be more pissed at me,” Stan replied.

“But I get phone call anxiety.”

“Oh, is that what that’s called? ‘Cause so do I.”

“Wait, really?” Ford stopped pacing, and Stan nearly bumped into him. “Have you always? I didn’t realize…”

“You know what, forget it,” Stan told him. “Why don’t you just flip a coin?”

“Fine.” Ford rummaged through his pockets. “Heads or tails?”

“Tails never fails me.”

Ford finally procured a coin, took a look at it, and frowned. “Oops, this isn’t from our dimension. Alien emperor, or eldritch rune?”

“I’ll take the alien, thanks.”

Ford flipped the coin, caught it, and grimaced as he looked at the result. “Shit.”

“Oh, thank god.” Stan placed his hands on Ford’s shoulders, and gently pushed him towards the phone. “Don’t stress about it. I’ll be right here by your side the whole time, listening awkwardly and cringing when we inevitably get cussed out.”

“You always know what to say,” Ford shot back dryly. With noticeable hesitation, and a lot more double-checking of the number than was required, he dialed the phone.

Shermie, always an early riser, picked up just after the first ring. “Morning, Ford! How’s it going over there?” he asked cheerfully.

Ford didn’t say anything, just stared off into the distance with his mouth hanging agape.

“You there, Ford? Did caller ID lie to me? I swear, I can usually wrap my mind around all the newfangled technology right away, but I’ve always been just lost when it comes to phones…”

“No, it’s me,” Ford finally replied. “Sorry, I just… it’s good to hear your voice again, Shermie.”

“Yeah, I could say the same to you. Thanks for actually calling for once, by the way! Is it so I can wish the twins a happy birthday?”

“Uh, no, actually. They’re not awake, though if you want I guess I can relay birthday messages once they wake up.”

“He can wish us a belated happy birthday, though,” Stan whispered, elbowing Ford.

“Then why did you call — hey, is someone else with you? Who’s that?”

“Uh, about that… that’s why I’m calling, actually.” Ford took a deep breath. “Are you sitting down?”

“Of course! I’m at my kitchen table with the morning newspaper and a coffee. Why do I need to be sitting, Stanford?”

Stan elbowed Ford, and hissed: “Just tell him already. Rip that bandage off.”

“Fine, okay,” Ford whispered back. Raising his voice, he continued:

“Sherman, I know this is going to sound absurd, but… Stanley’s not dead.”

Silence.

“And he’s in the room with me.”

Stan leaned in close to the phone. “Hey, Sherm, it’s me! Your fugitive ghost brother!”

The phone made a horrible hissing sound, which Ford could only assume was the result of Shermie spitting coffee all over his end of the line.

“In what world did you think that would help to break the news gently?!” he groaned.

“Look, how many times does a normal person have to reintroduce themselves to relatives who thought they died at thirty in a car crash? Not often, so excuse me for wanting to make it memorable!”

“Fuck you, Stan.”

“You fucking bastard!” agreed Shermie. “Where were you all those years? And why did it never occur to you to come by and visit?”

“Well, about that…” Stan began. “I kind of, uh… actually visited you a couple times.”

“He stole my identity,” Ford clarified. “And honestly? I think we all should have seen it coming.”

“So… you two… fuckers,” Shermie muttered, “faked Stan’s death together and spent three decades pretending to be the same person? Why the fuck would you —”

“Uh, not quite,” Ford cut in. “I had a… research associate who turned out to have ulterior motives for helping me, and dealing with that issue kept me far away from home for a very long time. While in the meantime, Stanley stole my name and house, which I’ve since forgiven him for — mostly. I’m still trying to understand how he got me banned from airplanes.”

Shermie was quiet for a moment. “That’s not even close to the whole story, is it?” he finally asked.

“No, but it’s the closest to the whole story that you’re going to get over a phone line that the government is undoubtedly monitoring,” Ford told him.

“Oh, of course! That’s not worrying at all,” Shermie groaned, but Ford made out a faint sniffling sound on the other end of the line. “I want both of you to get your asses down here for a visit soon. And when you’re here, I want you to tell me everything.”

Ford and Stan exchanged a look, as Ford covered up the phone’s mouthpiece.

“He deserves to know,” Ford admitted.

“Yeah, telling him is the least we can do,” Stan agreed.

“Okay,” Ford said, raising the phone up to his head again. “We’ll stop by in early September to give you the full story.”

“You’d better,” Shermie shot back. “Hey, wait. You guys are… good, right?”

“Pardon?”

“He means we’re not angry with each other anymore,” Stan explained. “Yeah, Shermie. We’re good.”

“It’s about time,” Shermie told him. “Finally beat the world record for longest petty grudge ever held, eh?”

“Watch it, Shermie, because I’m one more smartass comment away from starting a new petty argument with you,” Ford joked, and Stan barked out a laugh.

“I missed this! We haven’t gotten to banter like this in so long!”

“We really haven’t, have we?” Even over the phone, the smile in Shermie’s voice came through loud and clear. “I’m glad you two are both alright.”

***

(Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always!)

[thelastspeecher]

No title because I’m lazy, but in the discord the last couple days, we’ve been discussing the Olympian Falls AU, aka my crossover between the Percy Jackson universe and my nonsense.  And those discussions caused me to get inspired to write...this.  As a quick reminder, this is a modern AU, so instead of Dipper and Mabel being Shermie’s grandkids, they are Shermie’s kids.  Just moved the timeline up a bit.

I think the retcon of making Dipper and Mabel be children of Athena is one retcon I never posted about for this AU, but it is one.  And this retcon means that I can make this an Ace!Shermie AU.  Shermie is hardcore asexual.  Enjoy.

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              Shermie knocked on the door of the apartment his mom had rented after leaving Filbrick a few years ago.  He looked down at the two baby carriers resting by his feet.

              I really hope Mom doesn’t get upset with me for being an unmarried father.  The door opened.

              “Sherman, what a lovely- who are these cute little things?” Ma Pines asked, crouching down to peer into the carriers.  She looked up.  “Are they yours?”

              “…Yeah,” Shermie mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mom, meet Mabel and Mason.”

              “Adorable,” Ma Pines cooed.  She smiled.  “It’s about time one of you boys gave me some grandkids.  Though I woulda thought it’d be Stan.  He’s the only one of you married so far.”

              “I don’t think Stan even likes kids.”

              “You just say that ‘cause you haven’t spoken to him lately.  I called the other day, and he had to end the call early to play with one of his nieces from his wife’s side.  And he sounded happy about playing with her.”  Ma Pines playfully poked at Mason’s nose.  “These cuties will get themselves some cousins any day now.”

              “Uh, sure.”

              “So, where’s the mother?” Ma Pines asked, standing up.  Shermie grimaced.  “I don’t like that look.  Did she leave you and the kids or somethin’ like that?”

              “Not really- I mean, I guess sort of like it.”

              “Give your mother a straight answer,” Ma Pines said. She crossed her arms.  “You know I don’t like it when people beat around the bush. Where’s the mother?”

              “Mt. Olympus,” Shermie blurted out.  Ma Pines furrowed her brow.

              “…The mountain in Greece?”

              “Yes.  But also, no.”

              “Sherman,” Ma Pines sighed.  “Did you not hear me tell you to be straightforward?”

              “You won’t believe me.”

              “Try me.”

              “Their mom is a goddess,” Shermie said.  Ma Pines raised an eyebrow at him.  “And I don’t mean that metaphorically.  Literally, they have a Greek goddess for a mother.” A moment passed.  Ma Pines stood to the side.

              “Come inside,” she instructed.  Shermie picked up the baby carriers and entered his mother’s apartment.  She closed the door behind him.  Shermie turned to face her.

              “Look, Mom, I-” he started.  Ma Pines held up a hand.  Shermie went silent.

              “Which one did you have an affair with?” she asked. Shermie blinked.  “Was it Aphrodite?  I think my boys could catch the eye of the goddess of love.”

              “I- wh- no, their mom is Athena,” Shermie stammered. He froze.  “Wait, you believe me?”

              “You sound upset about that,” Ma Pines commented. She took Mason’s baby carrier from Shermie and set it on the couch, then sat down next to it to peer at her grandson.

              “No, I’m not upset, I’m- you really believe me?”

              “Why wouldn’t I?”

              “Because most people wouldn’t!”

              “Most people,” Ma Pines said calmly, “haven’t had their own dalliance with an Olympian.”  Shermie joined his mother on the couch, resting Mabel’s carrier on the floor by his feet.

              “Mom…”

              “Stanley and Stanford aren’t your full brothers,” Ma Pines said quietly.  Shermie’s jaw dropped.

              “What?”

              “Filbrick isn’t their father.”  Ma Pines rolled her eyes.  “Thank the gods.”

              “Then who- who-”

              “Hermes.”

              “The Greek god of travelers, thieves, messengers, and a bunch of other things?”

              “Yep.”  Ma Pines looked up from Mason to grin at Shermie.  “That classics degree of yours is really gonna come in handy when it comes to taking care of these two.”

              “I-”  Shermie ran a hand through his hair.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

              “You didn’t need to know.”  Ma Pines stroked Mason’s cheek gently.  “But now you’ve got demigod children of your own, you do need to know.  By the way, if I remember correctly, children from Athena are basically gifts, right? You didn’t actually sleep with her, you just had a strong emotional connection through your shared intellects.”

              “Uh, yes.”

              “Huh.  She must really like you, then, to have given you twins.”  Ma Pines unbuckled Mason and took him out of the carrier.  “Aw, look at those pretty gray eyes,” she cooed.

              “Mom, how did you know that?”

              “I learned a few things from your brothers.”

              “My half-brothers, you mean.”

              “Still your brothers,” Ma Pines said firmly. Shermie watched her play with Mason for a moment, thinking.

              “That boarding school you sent Stan and Ford to when they were kids,” he started.  Ma Pines looked up.  “Was that a special school for demigods?”

              “Something like that.  It was a camp.  Designed to train demigods on how to use their godly-given abilities and how to protect themselves.  Technically, most demigods only stay at that camp for the summer, but your brothers were enough of a monster magnet together that they had to stay there year-round.”

              “Abilities?”

              “Sweetie, do you really think a child of a god or goddess won’t have some sort of power?”

              “I just didn’t think about- wait, monsters?”

              “Yep.”  Ma Pines played with Mason’s hands.  “Demigods are very good at attracting them.”

              “I-”  Shermie looked down at Mabel, who was still fast asleep.  “Mom, what am I gonna do?”

              “First thing, you’re gonna let me feed you some dinner and play with the babies.”

              “Fair enough.”

              “Second, you need to go talk to one of your brothers.”

              “I haven’t seen either of them since Stan’s wedding.”

              “This’ll be a good chance to catch up, then.”  Ma Pines looked at Shermie.  “Sherman, I can only tell you so much.  If you really want to know about this world you’ve found yourself dragged into, you need to talk to someone who belongs to that world.”

              “…Fine,” Shermie muttered.

              “Oh, don’t get all upset.  If you stop by Stan’s, I’m sure his wife would be more than happy to watch these cute little babies while you talk to him.  Free childcare.”

              “I just-” Shermie sighed.  “I didn’t want to be a dad.”

              “Sometimes these things happen.  Look on the bright side.  You can rub it in Stan’s face that you had kids first.”

              “Why would I rub that in his face?”

              “Because everything’s always a contest with you boys.”  Ma Pines handed Mason to Shermie and stood up.  “Now, how does chicken sound for dinner?”

----- 

              Stan opened the door before Shermie could knock again.  He stared dumbly at Shermie for a few moments before his gaze traveling down to the baby carriers Shermie was holding.

              “Sherm, did you steal those?” Stan asked.  He leaned closer to peer inside the carriers. His eyes widened.  “You forgot to check for babies before you nabbed ‘em.”

              “No I-”  Shermie huffed impatiently.  “I didn’t steal the carriers nor the children.  I purchased the carriers, and the children are mine.”

              “Really?”  Stan frowned at him.  “Didn’t know you were in a relationship.”

              “I’m not.”

              “Ah, one-night stand, I get it.”

              “No, it’s-”  Shermie chewed on his lip.  Mason began to fuss inside his carrier.  “Dang it.”

              “Bring ‘em in, you can check the diaper or whatever inside,” Stan said.  He moved aside, allowing Shermie to walk into the house Stan and his wife, Angie, owned. “By the way, Angie’s not here right now. She had a doctor’s appointment.” Stan closed the door.  “Not to be rude or anything-”

              “Like you’ve ever cared about being rude,” Shermie said, setting the carriers down.  He knelt and removed Mason from the carrier.  Immediately, his son stopped crying.

              I guess he just wanted to be held.

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”  Stan eyed Shermie suspiciously.  “What are you doing here, Sherm?”

              “Mom told me to visit.  She said you could offer some assistance with my children.”

              “Assistance?  Angie’s pretty good with kids, since she’s got that huge family, but I only just stopped thinking that they’re a hassle.”  Stan shrugged.  “Maybe I’ve been married long enough to get in the mood for kids or whatever, I dunno.”

              “Well, she said to visit either you or Ford, and you were closer.”

              “Ford?  He’s even worse with kids than I am.”  Stan paused. He raised an eyebrow at Shermie. “Unless there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me.”

              “Mabel and Mason, their mother isn’t…mortal,” Shermie said quietly.

              “Ah.  Okay.” Stan leaned against the wall.  “Who is she?”

              “Athena.”

              “Athena.”  Stan nodded. “Pretty good goddess to have as a parent, as things go.”

              “…Right.”  Shermie swallowed.  “Look, I- I have some questions.”

              “Figures. Let’s go talk in the living room.”  Stan picked up Mabel’s carrier.  “I’ll give you the basic introduction to demigods.”

----- 

              “They’re going to have ADHD and dyslexia?” Shermie asked.  Stan tilted his head one way, then the other.

              “At least one.  I got both, Ford just got the dyslexia.”

              “And why, again?”

              “ADHD makes us better in battle, dyslexia is ‘cause our brains are hardwired for Ancient Greek, not English,” Stan rattled off.  He tickled Mabel’s stomach.  She giggled loudly.  Stan grinned.  “Heh. Cute kid.”

              “Thank you for holding her, by the way.”

              “No problem,” Stan said.  “Anyways, the ADHD and dyslexia.  It’s kinda a crapshoot, honestly.  There’s no way to tell going in which one a demigod will have or how strong it’ll be.  Sorta like how abilities and general godliness or whatever are crapshoots.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “Hmm.  Okay.” Stan leaned back, clearly trying to figure out how to phrase whatever he wanted to say.  “All half-bloods have some enhanced stamina and strength and stuff like that, since we have godly blood.  But abilities we have on top of the basics depends upon who our godly parent is.  Like, Hephaestus kids are good at building things, and Demeter kids are good at growing plants.  Make sense?”

              “Yes.”

              “But even if people have the same godly parent, they might have different abilities.  I can pick locks with my mind.”

              “Wait, you can?”

              “Yeah.  But Ford can’t.”  Stan frowned. “Another example…there was this one Apollo kid who could make light.  Technically, it’s possible for a kid of Apollo to do that, but it’s really, really rare.  He was the only one in the last century who could do it.”  Stan looked at Shermie.  “Still following me?”  Shermie nodded.

              “I do have a question.”

              “I might have an answer.”

              “Are abilities correlated with the dyslexia and ADHD?  Ford’s dyslexia isn’t that bad, and you implied he wasn’t as powerful as you.”

              “I…”  Stan blinked. “That’s a good question.  I’ve never thought of it that way.  But yeah, most of the powerful demigods I’ve known have both ADHD and dyslexia.  I mean, I can think of a couple exceptions off the top of my head, but in general, you might be right.  Huh. Something to talk to Ford about.” Stan waved a hand.  “He started this group with some other half-bloods where they try to do research into demigod abilities or whatever.  I dunno exactly what they do.  I just show up and let them run tests on me if they ask.”

              “Mom mentioned something about the camp usually being only for the summer.”  Stan nodded. “But you stayed there year-round.”

              “Ford and I were too powerful together.  On our own?  Maybe we coulda been fine out in the mortal world, not attracted monsters. Ford definitely would have.  He was always a more subtle half-blood.  But we didn’t want to be separated, and our combined demigod smells attracted monsters like we were an all-you-can-eat buffet.”  Stan watched Shermie look down at Mason, who was fast asleep in Shermie’s arms.  “You’re worried about your kids.”

              “Yeah.”

              “Athena kids are usually able to go home for the school year.  Most half-bloods can.”

              “But if they’re twins-”

              “You’ve got a while before you have to worry about monsters for them.”

              “But-” Shermie started again.  The front door opened.

              “Stan,” a voice sang cheerfully.  Stan beamed.  “I have some news fer- oh.”  Shermie looked up.  His sister-in-law had pranced into the living room, and seemed surprised to see Shermie on her couch.  “I see we have a guest,” Angie said.

              “Three guests,” Stan corrected, helpfully pointing at the baby he was holding.  Angie gasped.

              “Oh, goodness, what a precious lil bean!” she gushed, making a beeline for the couch.  “Wow. Adorable!”  Angie looked over at Mason.  “A real pair of lookers.  Are these yours, Sherman?”

              “Yes.”

              “They’re quite the cuties.”

              “Thank you,” Shermie said politely.  He liked his sister-in-law well enough.  She seemed to be a bit of a ditz at times, and had much higher energy than Shermie liked to be around, but Angie was always kind to him.

              And she’s excellent with children. Shermie watched Angie coo over Mabel. Is she really a ditz?  Or just easily distracted?  I’m not quite sure.

              “Ang, you have news?” Stan asked.  Angie blinked.

              “Oh!  Yes.” She glanced over at Shermie, then back at Stan.  “I’ll tell ya later.  Don’t let me forget.”

              “You got it.”

              “Gosh, what a cute sweet potata,” Angie whispered, stroking Mabel’s hair.  She cocked her head.  “Sherman, did yer mother send ya here?”

              “I- yes.  She did.”

              “She wanted you to get some advice from Stan, I take it?”

              “How did you know that?” Shermia asked.  Angie looked at him.

              “Because this baby girl of yours has the kind of gray eyes I’ve only ever seen in children of Athena,” she said bluntly. Shermie’s jaw dropped.

              Okay, she’s definitely not a ditz.

              “You know about all this Greek stuff?”

              “Sure do.”

              “I’m assuming Stan told you.”

              “Mm.  Not quite.” Angie grinned crookedly.  “Where do ya think I first met Stan?” she asked. Shermie rubbed his face.

              “You met each other at camp, didn’t you?”

              “Yep.”

              “…You wouldn’t happen to be a child of Athena, would you?”

              That was a remarkably clever move she just pulled.

              “Nope!” Angie chirped.  She flopped down onto the couch next to Stan and took Mabel from him.

              “Hey!” Stan protested.  Angie cooed at Mabel sweetly.  “Ask!”

              “Nah.  If I asked, you wouldn’t have handed her over.  My gods, she is so cute.”  Angie looked at Stan, a twinkle in her eye.  “I think that Shermie’s kidlets would love themselves a cousin.”

              “I don’t think these babies know what a cousin is,” Stan replied.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Oh, that reminds me, Stan,” Shermie said, abruptly remembering his mom’s comment about everything being a contest.

              “What?”

              “I had kids first,” Shermie said.  Stan’s eyes widened.  “Yeah. I win.”  Stan slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand before shouting in frustration.

              “Goddammit!”

[mash-notes]

Season 7, Ranked?

Hi fans. Not feeling the rankings this evening—I was mildly stressed out anyway, then I read an article that says alt-right groups have been meeting at a bar a five-minute walk from my house. (In case my politics weren’t clear from my writing: if you like fascism you can fuck off this blog, thanks!) But also, I find that season 7 is more or less unrankable. The season is a baroque wonderland of plot turns, slapstick, heavy lessons, and mustache references. As usual all the episodes are good, but for the first—perhaps only—time, I can’t seem to compare them qualitatively. But I’ll still run down the list.

.

25. None Like It Hot

The drama of the bathtub makes it possible for us to glimpse the 4077th’s diverse robe choices.

.

24. Our Finest Hour (parts 1 & 2)

A clip show is fine; in their seventh season I suppose they’ve earned it. But it took some nerve to recycle the interview bit where Mulcahy talks about the steam rising off the bodies.

.

23. The Price

A Potter tear-jerker involving Sophie, maybe a little tidy and fast-moving, but very sweet.

.

22. The Party

Season finale. Notice how at the end Radar gets to come into the O.R. with happy news for everyone, in reverse “Abyssinia, Henry” fashion. And Peg’s letter is so much fun! My favorite part of this one is the cuts between the different truck rides as everyone reads letters to each other during a bug out.

.

21. An Eye for a Tooth

So funny—and, as mentioned, based in real life. I’m Kellye with the telescope.

.

20. Commander Pierce

Season premiere. I get annoyed that this one is so much like “Officer of the Day” in s3. It’s good, though, it’s good.

.

19. Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Charles’s parka alone makes this a home run.

.

18. B.J. Papa San

Poor Beej. If he didn’t have his boyfriend by his side, he would certainly lose it out here.

.

17. Preventative Medicine

Hooray for an unnecessary appendectomy!

.

16. Lil

I love Lil, and so did everyone else.

.

15. The Young and the Restless

Yes to Sherm and Chuck squabbling, and double yes to Chuck’s hangover.

.

14. A Night at Rosie’s

Nowadays a lot of sitcoms have one show per season that features a venue change—recall BoJack going underwater, for instance. This is a great early example of that. Plus we get our first look at bad boy Sgt. Scully, reowrr.

 .

13. Out of Gas

Ahem, Charles in longjohns.

.

12. Major Ego

Winchester falls from grace and has the guts to tear up the Stars & Stripes article bragging about him. Margaret gets to hook up with the reporter and toss him spuriously aside. Everybody wins!

.

11. Rally ‘Round the Flagg, Boys

UGH, this month went by too fast. I didn’t get to write about this episode, the FINAL appearance of Col. Flagg and a beautiful illustration of Charles’s inherent goodness? And I also missed a chance to talk about Flagg in the trash can?!? Fml.

.

10. Dear Comrade

This episode is really good and I wonder if censors these days find fault with its comic treatment of Communist North Korea. I’ve never seen it on TV before.

 .

09. Ain’t Love Grand

DON’T KNOW WHYYY, THERE’S NO SUN UP IN THE SKYYYY STORMY WEATHEEERRR

.

08. C*A*V*E

Hey what’s up we’re doing surgery in a cave now! The “M” part of “MASH” (which stands for “mobile”) has really been getting a workout lately.

 .

07. Hot Lips is Back in Town

Margaret is free. The nurses are all really awesome at triage.

 .

06. Inga

I really love this one. I think I mostly love Inga herself, but it’s also great to see everyone’s reactions to her.

 .

05. Peace On Us

Red party.

.

04. They Call the Wind Korea

Klinger/Charles road trip, AND Radar singing his guinea pig to sleep.

.

03. Point of View

A weird, interesting, well-done gimmick. Godspeed, Pvt. Rich.

.

02. The Billfold Syndrome

Sidney! And Charles acting as snotty as humanly possible! And a traumatized soldier… with amnesia… OK, that part is not as fun.

.

01.  Dear Sis

One of the loveliest, most moving episodes in the whole canon. The sweetness doesn’t let up and we don’t even want it to. Goodnight!

[news4dzhozhar]

I FIRST MET Dzhokhar “Jahar” Tsarnaev in seventh grade, on the basketball court at the Cambridge YMCA in Central Square, where I played on weekdays & in a Saturday league. He went to the gym to use the weight room & shoot around. I disregarded him  —  he sucked at basketball.

Basketball helped me feel like an American, instead of a Muslim whose single mother dragged him here from Morocco looking for a better life, then worried constantly that we wouldn’t find it. Before basketball, I didn’t really fit in. I wasn’t particularly smart or witty. Worse, I had started second grade in Cambridge the very same month that the Twin Towers fell. On the playground, kids would call me “sand [expletive]” “Saddam Hussein’s son,” or “Abu,” after Aladdin’s monkey. One kid nicknamed me “Unicef,” which was brilliant, in a way: It rhymed with my name & alluded to my African heritage, financial situation, & emergent unibrow. When we were a little older, kids would come up to me, place fake “bombs” on my body & then run away making ticking noises. I got into a fair amount of fights until my mother, who worked three jobs, told me I had to stop. Even if it meant saying nothing when bullies taunted me, I had to exercise self-control. It felt completely debilitating.

My mom always made me stay in the apartment until I finished my homework. But she agreed that as long as I kept my grades up, I could play basketball after school. I began spending hours on courts across Cambridge. This freedom allowed me to meet a slew of people who helped me develop as a young man & truly feel a part of the culture of Cambridge. As I improved, I gained confidence, sociability, & friends.

I met Jahar again in high school, when we enrolled in the same lifeguarding course in my sophomore year, his junior year. Lifeguards were paid well for minimal effort: You sit in a chair & watch people swim, or so we thought. We were actually terrible swimmers, but our teacher stressed that if we failed during a rescue attempt, people could die. So we learned how to breathe while swimming with our heads in the water, & swam endless laps to get in shape. We took turns “drowning” at the bottom of the pool, holding our breath & waiting to be “rescued.” Jahar & I learned to trust one another in the pool — and that trust soon extended beyond class. After we became certified, a group of us from the class applied to be lifeguards at Harvard University during the summer of 2010. To our surprise, we each landed positions.

Jahar & I became part of a small group that would gather at “808,” a tall apartment building off Memorial Drive overlooking the Charles River. After dark, we frequented a party spot nearby that we referred to as the Riv. We were all classmates, peers, co-workers, & good friends who shared common interests. We called ourselves the Sherm Squad. We didn’t know that “Sherm” referred to Nat Sherman cigarettes dipped into liquid PCP (I didn’t even know what PCP was). All we knew was the word Sherm had a negative connotation. We used it to mean someone who messed up a lot; we called it being a Sherm. I felt Jahar & the Sherm Squad accepted me unconditionally; they became my home base of friends, almost an adopted family

My real family’s life centered on Islam. I was raised to follow the teaching of the Koran & the five pillars of Islam, which boil down to self-discipline, love for yourself & toward others, & growing your relationship with God. We typically went to the mosque on Prospect Street twice a week, plus whenever my mother forced me to come to some event she’d volunteered for. I never looked forward to it. Men & women separate when they enter the mosque, which drove home my lack of a father or other male role models (I have an older brother, but we haven’t talked in years). So I would sit by myself or with someone else I knew who didn’t want to be there, engaging only when the call for prayer was sung.

One Friday near the end of sophomore year, my mother yelled at me to go to prayer.

When I walked in, I did a double take  —  Jahar was sitting there, listening intently to the imam. We had been hanging out all that year & he had never mentioned being Muslim. I picked my way through the large crowd sitting on the patterned carpet & squeezed into a spot next to him. “What are you doing here?” I whispered. “You’re not supposed to be here!

He chuckled and whispered back: “I’ll tell you after.”

After we prayed, he told me his family were also Muslim immigrants who expected him be a model Muslim. We both were trying to maintain an image as wholesome Muslim youths at home while being normal American teenagers away from it.

Balancing our family & American lives was stressful. As a junior, I played point guard on Cambridge Rindge & Latin School’s famed basketball team, and Jahar, a senior, was the wrestling team’s co-captain. During the fierce month of Ramadan or on the fast day before Eid al-Adha, the Feast of the Sacrifice, we might endure grueling sports workouts on empty stomachs & no water. At least we could complain to each other.

Maintaining separate Muslim & American lives sometimes meant keeping secrets from & even lying to those closest to us about our other life. We were shamed just for being Muslim by strangers, the media, & even some of our peers, just as our Muslim families shamed us when we were caught committing a sin. Jahar & I shared countless hours toking herb, hanging out, & hitting social events. We lived near each other, & often walked home together from parties. We’d hit Cambridge Street, dap each other up with a handclap and bro hug, then head off to our Muslim lives.

He was fun to be around  —  always cracking jokes, coming up with things to do. He was smart, warm, respectful & a good listener; and many of us admired his ability to “code switch,” moving effortlessly between social crowds & people of different races. He was also adept academically, holding his own in honors & Advanced Placement classes. He was generous, too. Whenever I ran short of funds, he’d give me money for lunch & crack “Stop being a broke boy!” in a way I found endearing.

Sometimes, when we were hanging out, he’d get calls from his older brother, Tamerlan, telling him to get home. Jahar mostly heeded these requests without question. (He admired his older brother, and I envied their seeming closeness.) At one point, Jahar told me that his family was arranging a marriage for him & he was considering it. All I could say was, “Well, it’s your life, bro.”

* *

IN SENIOR YEAR, my priorities were playing basketball, finding the right college, my fantasy basketball team, girls, watching the Celtics, partying with friends, the prom, & making sure to get my homework done. In the secular, diverse melting pot that is Cambridge, I had my American life at school & my Muslim life at home. Adhering to the tenets of Islam, especially the daily prayers, was a struggle, & it didn’t help that Jahar, one of my main confidantes, was off at college.

My mother still expected me to act like a strict Muslim, even though by now I was really only going to the mosque on the major holy days. She forbade me from attending “unwholesome” social gatherings, including school dances & any event held at the home of a female. I was not to swear, use drugs or alcohol, or flirt, among other vices. My mother knew little of what I actually did when I left the house, since I usually climbed out my bedroom window after she had gone to bed. But she often guessed at what I was up to, & frequently berated me as unworthy.

I was much more interested in my American life, where religion was immaterial. You were judged on your social standing, whether your personality added life to the party, and how you expressed yourself through fashion or music. When Jahar was back from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth on breaks, it seemed like we picked up right where we left off, cruising the city with the homies in his green Honda, looking for a party. My future felt bright. I was going to attend Bentley University, & become an entrepreneur. I had fulfilled my mother’s American-immigrant dream of getting into college & building a real life in America.

* * *

DURING MY FRESHMAN YEAR at Bentley, I realized that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in school. I took a leave during second semester & went back to Cambridge.

I was at a friend’s house on April 15, 2013, when the bombs went off on Boylston Street. We ended up on a nearby rooftop, watching the commotion — the helicopters scouring the city & flashing police lights everywhere. I felt angry & under attack. I wanted the monsters who had committed this atrocity to get what they deserved.

On the 19th, I was at another friend’s house and still up at 3 a.m. when I got a call. “Turn on the news!” my friend said. They were broadcasting a photo of the possible suspects in the Boston Marathon bombing. “Just look at the picture, fam,” he said to me.

I looked at the blurry image on screen. “What am I supposed to be looking at, bro? I don’t know who that is.”

“Yo, doesn’t he look like Jahar!”

I thought that was outrageous. I fell asleep on the couch, & the next morning I woke up to see my friends huddled around the TV. I had never seen kids my age so absorbed in the morning news. I wondered if maybe a late spring snowstorm was approaching. They told me Cambridge residents had been asked to stay inside, and it did sort of feel like a snow day.

Suddenly, Jahar’s face appeared on the screen — there was no mistaking him this time. He was the bombing suspect still at large, the anchors said. Aside from the sound crackling on the TV, the room was dead silent. I felt like 10,000 volts of electricity were coursing through my body. It had to be a mistake. The Jahar I knew wouldn’t even do something mean, let alone commit an act of terrorism.

One of the girls’ cellphones rang; the call was from a TV newsroom where her sister’s friend was working. As our friend answered questions, her name appeared on the screen & we heard her voice come from the television. Within minutes, the doorbell rang. Our high school principal came into the house, along with two FBI agents wearing bulletproof vests. The FBI agents said they were looking for Jahar, and collected our cellphones. They had us sit in the living room & pulled us into the kitchen one by one to question us.

It didn’t take long for one of the FBI agents to step in the room and say, “To save time, which one of you knew him the best?” I raised my hand. In the kitchen, they asked what I knew about the bombing  —  nothing  —  where I thought Jahar was, whom he might try to contact. I answered their questions as best I could, and then they left.

Much later on that surreal day, a group of us were walking around Central Square, saying almost nothing. A pizza shop had its TV on & that’s where we saw a news update: A body had been found in a boat in Watertown, it said. Though we’d later learn he’d been captured alive, at that moment we believed our friend was dead. I remember a man riding toward us on his bike screaming like some sort of modern-day Paul Revere: “They caught him! They caught the bomber!”

This infuriated us, and we started screaming insults & epithets at him. I’ll never forget his shocked expression. That’s probably how most people reacted over the next few days when some of us defended Jahar, saying he was a good kid. But really, that’s the Jahar we knew.

* * *

SOON WE KNEW THE FACTS of the despicable acts Jahar committed with his brother, Tamerlan. We witnessed the heartbreak & loss suffered by those they hurt & by the families of those they killed. Jahar left behind an ocean of pain that is still washing across my city, & my country, sowing hatred & division between people who hardly know each other’s lived reality. Jahar wounded those he grew up with as well as millions who practice a religion he perverted with his crime. He made suspects of everyone who knew him.

Jahar put our safety & freedom in direct peril. Cambridge gave way to the real world, a place where I found myself feeling clueless. Like many of my friends, I did not have easy access to a lawyer. Later, I would realize I didn’t have access to what I needed even more: medical advisers, counselors, or therapists. Some of our mutual friends made bad choices & ended up in jail.

In the fall of 2013, I returned to Bentley to start my second semester, but I was still struggling to cope with the aftermath of the bombing, the FBI calls & questions. I felt guilty I even knew Jahar, after what he’d done. I was ashamed about what had happened to his victims  —  I still feel terrible for them. It feels awful that innocent people were hurt by a person I cared so deeply for.

That November after the bombing, three days before midterms, the FBI interrogated me for five hours, as far as I could tell simply because I had been friends with Jahar. I had nothing to tell them; I still felt betrayed by him, & knew he deserved the full brunt of the judicial system. After that interview, I found myself completely unable to focus on my studies. I asked my professors for extensions, but all of them made me take my midterms. I failed several of them, & soon after I took another leave.

This time I entered a downward spiral of addiction, insomnia, severe stomach pains, & depression, which fed off each other. I didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours a night for months. I felt paranoid & distrustful in every social interaction. Every aspect of my American life I had had to figure out on my own, and it seemed as though I hadn’t figured out anything at all. I felt like I had fallen behind my peers, unable to compete with their intelligence, their access, their privilege.

I was exhausted from maintaining multiple, often conflicting identities as a Muslim-American, from not being Muslim enough for my family, but too Muslim to feel secure in a hostile, post-9/11 environment. It was soul crushing; I felt I had lost touch with the person & identity I fought for years to establish. It got to the point where I could no longer follow a normal conversation. I lost around 25 pounds, and the ability to play basketball, which had been my sanctuary.

CONTINUED AT THE LINK

[scipunk63]

Gravity Falls Drabble: Moss Grows On the Other Side

(Inspired by @toasttbutt and our stories about our adorable grandpas! And @hntrgurl13 just because.)

Summary: What the other Pines siblings got up to when Ford returned home.

.

"Better come inside, Sherm."

Shermie picked his head up quickly. He hadn't realized that he had dozed off until just now. The evening sun had sunk so far beyond the horizon and the moon had risen so far that Shermie assumed it must have been at least an hour or two since he first came outside. A gentle, summer night chill had settled over the neighborhood, and he pulled his jacket tightly closed. The frigid air made him a touch uneasy.

"I'm headed in." With a yawn, he turned to peer over his shoulder at the one who had summoned him from his nap.

At first, he thought it had been his daughter-in-law, but as his vision cleared he saw that it was his little sister. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concern, per the norm, but she hadn't yet changed into her nightclothes. That made Shermie feel a little MORE uneasy, like the feeling when summer changes into fall. When you KNOW that your world is about to change sudden and drastically, usually overnight typically, with no way of stopping it.

"I feel a foreboding, Shirl." Shermie said, "Can't you feel it too?"

"Ei... I'm glad you feel it too." Shirley muttered, "I thought something may have happened to you when you didn't come in."

"No, no... I'm fine. I just feel like- We're going to get some news..." Shermie frowned, rising from his porch swing quickly and heading for the door. "Have my grandkids called today?"

"No, but we did miss a call while we were at the store-" Shirley began.

"If it was the IRS, tell them I already gave them their money!"

"Sherm, it was some crank call saying it was the government and that our brother was incarcerated." Shirley pouted.

"Watch your mouth. Those people have ears everywhere." The two chuckled.

"You sound like Stanford." She shook her head. "Come now. Let's get inside and call the twins anyhow."

With a nod, Shermie headed inside, stopping in the door frame to kiss his sister's forehead. An affectionate gesture and a force of habit that he never seemed to shake, even after all those years and children. It was one of his better habits, next to his insistence on calling his grandkids every night since they went to the Falls for the summer. He hadn't missed a night yet, and he didn't plan to start now-

RING RING RING!!!

"Oh, what now?" Shermie groaned, grabbing the phone and placing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello? Is this Sherman Pines?" A strangely familiar voice asked.

Shermie looked up at the clock on the wall and grimaced. It was already 8:30- If he stayed on the line any longer then he was certain the twins would fall asleep without their phonecall. He was going to have to politely reject this stranger's attempt at a conversation- The Pines way.

"Yes, but I have to call my grandchildren, so I'm hanging up now." Nailed it.

"What- NO! Sherman- It's Stanford-" The voice went on.

"It certainly is not. You don't sound like my brother." He mocked- "Least not the one who says he's Stanford-"

Sherman looked up, just in time to see his sister gesturing wildly towards the speaker phone button. He waved her off, and turned back to click the button on her request.

"Sherman, it's the REAL Stanford! Stanley stole my name and he's been living in my-"

"Hold it-" Sherman stopped and quickly put the phone on speaker. "Now, say that again so Shirley can hear it too."

"O-okay...? I'M the REAL Stanford Pines. Stanley stole my name and he's been living in my house for 30 years now-"

"I KNEW IT!" Shermie shouted, all things aside, and he let a smile of joy cross his old face. "Shirley owes me a beer!"

"Shermie, your doctor says no beer." Shirley growled.

"Um... Not the response I was expecting, but that's fine." Stanford spoke up. "A-anyhow- I've met with Dipper and Mabel."

"Oh! Put them on the line and let me talk to them." Shermie said. "I was just about to call them."

Shermie was a creature of habit. He wasn't going to let one missing brother's return stop him from doing what he did the way he would always do it. His sister on the other hand- not so much.

"Sherman, are you crazy!?" She exclaimed. "W- we need answers! We need to get to the Falls and-"

"First things first and that first thing is my grandkids." Shermie said sternly. "You go off to bed. We'll head out in the morning."

"Sherman-"

"I'm the oldest and what I say goes." He said, firmly.

Shirley shook her head and scurried from the room on a huff. Sherman knew she wouldn't sleep this night, and part of him thought to put a pot of coffee on once he hung up. They would have a lot to talk about.

"Grandpa?" Mabel's little voice came in over the phone. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sweetie! I just called to say good night."

First things first though.