#I still have my old taco bell uniform

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.8 (BAON)

Summary:   It’s been a long night for everyone and dawn might be on the way, but it isn't over yet.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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If Jeff had had his way, they would have been out the door and on the way home before the second round of backup showed up, possibly with a pause for a drive thru run at taco bell for some ill-advised early morning burritos. Security would wave them out without so much as asking for a quick rundown of the evening. There would be no paperwork to fill out, no affidavits to sign, and after a lovely, long night of sleep as the little spoon in Antwan’s arms, they’d be treated to a gourmet breakfast in bed prepared by Gordon Ramsey himself.

Heck if he was gonna dream, might as well dream big.

As it turned out, he didn’t even get to step one. After the bad guys were in various stages of detained, Stretch wanted to sit down for a few minutes before heading downstairs and Jeff didn’t even consider throwing out a protest. He sat down next to his best friend who’d probably just saved his damned life again and waited, torn between trying not to think about everything that had happened or letting it loop around in his mind, so it’d be fresh when they gave their inevitable statements.

In the end, he went with a third, unexpected option: worrying about Stretch.

A minute of sitting here in this horrible building that was probably going to get a starring role in Jeff’s future nightmares, ‘to catch his breath’, he’d said, and yeah, that made some sense. After getting drugged, kidnapped, tied up, and then MacGyvering both an escape and a capture, anyone would need a breather.

Only, he and Stretch had been friends for a little while now and there was something…off. He couldn’t quite explain it. His tired smiles didn’t reach his eye lights, it didn’t make his eye sockets squinch in a skeleton Monster approximation of laugh lines. Maybe that could’ve been excused by him simply being exhausted and stressed; wasn’t like Jeff was his normal cheerful self either, plus Stretch used up a lot of magic teleporting them around, popping in and out to drop off traps while keeping a few steps ahead of the bad guys. Could’ve been, but he’d seen Stretch tired and besides, it was his understanding that if Stretch’s magic got low enough, he’d simply drop. That’s what happened way back when he’d saved all the kids when those Humans broke into New New Home. So why was it different now?

That wrong-smile was stiffly brittle, like it’d been borrowed from someone else and pasted onto Stretch’s face and Jeff didn’t like it, not one bit.

But now wasn’t exactly time for an interrogation, at least not from him. He was pretty damn sure they’d get one of those as a free bonus the minute they walked downstairs, whether they wanted it or not. So he kept quiet and sat with his friend in one of the rooms where the booby trap didn’t get set off. The tile floor was dirty but there was nothing inside but dust and some broken furniture, so they sat on the tiles anyway, leaning against the far wall where they had a good view of the door.

Honestly, as strange as it was that Stretch wanted to linger in this shithole, more surprising to him was that security was letting them instead of hustling them out the door as fast as they could.

That had been quite a moment. They’d still been in the hallway with one guy gagging and the other pinned to the floor in a cage of glowing blue bones that Stretch summoned up from nowhere when Red showed up, not shortcutting in, but hauling ass from the stairwell and that’d been a sight in and of itself. As far as he knew, Red never went above a pace of a casual mosey but there was no drag in his feet this time as he tore his way around the landing. He walked towards them like he’d been taking lessons from Arnold Schwarzenegger, boots heels clacking loudly on the tile floor.

“let go, honey bun, i got ‘im,” Red said. Stretch didn’t look at him, those bones not so much as wavering and he spoke again, a little louder, sharp and short, “brother, let him go. let me take him out.”

Stretch jerked as if he’d been pinched. He looked at Red, orange-tinted eyelights swinging towards him, but almost immediately he flinched, turning away. As the cage of bones faded, a crowd of guys in Embassy Security uniforms swarmed up the stairs behind them, all moving as Red barked out orders. The bad guys were gone in a flash, hauled out in cringing silence, and only when they were mostly alone did Red speak again.

“you two okay?” Red asked them bluntly. “do we need to get the medics up here? talk to me, no bullshit right now, i ain’t in no mood to interpret.”

“we’re not hurt,” Stretch said. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his elbows, and his gaze was on the floor. Jeff nodded in agreement, only to blink as Stretch added, tightly, “i need a few minutes before i can go downstairs, red.”

Red’s sockets narrowed and he nodded slowly. “take all the time you need, honey bun.” His gaze shifted to Jeff and he nearly flinched himself from that piercing stare. It felt as if Red were looking through him, staring right into his little green soul. “what about you, handy andy? stayin’ or goin’? i figure your honey should be here in about fifteen, but you can wait in one of the cars downstairs if you wanna.”

Jeff never hesitated, “I’ll wait here.”

One corner of Red’s mouth rose in a brief smirk. “figured. okay, come on, in here.” He ducked into an empty room, sidestepping the little pile of trash that concealed what Stretch had called a ‘ketchup and mustard gas trap’ in honor of his twin bros from another ‘verse. All Jeff knew was he’d been ordered not to breathe while Stretch mixed some red powder and a yellow liquid together into an old soda can as a special surprise for the asshole du jour of the evening.

“stay here,” Red ordered. “i’ll tell the rabble to keep out.” He hesitated, his tongue flicking over his teeth and if it were anyone else, Jeff would say he was almost nervous. “my bro is on his way. telling ya right now, i ain’t gonna be able to keep him downstairs without collateral damage.”

“no, don’t stop him.” Stretch sank down to the floor in a noodly way that was impressive for a guy made entirely of bones, leaning against the wall. “it won’t hurt. send him up, i’ve already seen it all, a long time ago.”

Red’s expression twisted in a complex grimace. “sorry to hear that.”

Stretch made a sound that was almost amused. “don’t be. i still fell in love with him, didn’t i.” He let his skull fall back against the wall with a light thunk, closing his sockets. Red paused at the trap, dismantling it with expertise that shouldn’t have been a surprise. He paused, the rigged soda can in hand, when Stretch said, softly, “red? thanks.”

“not a problem, honey bun.” There was a certain unexpected gentleness in those words. “take a breather, yeah?”

Stretch nodded tiredly and that was it. Red left and they’d been sitting for close to fifteen minutes now without speaking. Take a breather, right, and Jeff didn’t pretend to be some kind of espionage genius, but he knew doublespeak when he heard it. There was some kind of understanding between Red and Stretch that they didn’t want to say aloud.

And honestly? Jeff didn’t care. Let them keep their secrets, he had an inkling of what his friends had been through in the past, his morbid curiosity wasn’t worth making them relive it. All he wanted was to make sure Stretch was okay now. He shifted a little closer and Stretch didn’t move, didn’t even seem like he’d noticed.

“Stretch,” he asked cautiously, hesitating. Stretch could be awfully prickly when it came to his health and surely Red wouldn’t have left if he’d thought Stretch was in any danger, but still. He had to ask. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“yep,” Stretch said immediately. “just need to catch my breath.” It should have been true, it probably was, but still. Something rang a little false there and Jeff wasn’t sure what.

He didn’t have time to think about it for much longer. This whole building echoed like an empty airplane hanger and he could hear someone coming up the stairs very fast. It was only seconds later that Blue came flying in through the door. As far as Jeff knew, he couldn’t teleport, but he sure didn’t seem like his feet ever touched the ground as he sailed over right into Stretch’s lap. Buried his rounded face into the thin t-shirt they’d been forced to wear, and his shoulders were shaking before Stretch could even get an arm around him.

“hey, shh, it’s okay.” A brother in the lap was finally enough to get Stretch moving. He pulled his brother in close, resting his cheekbone on top of his skull as he murmured a soft litany of comforting words. Whatever Blue was saying was muffled into Stretch’s ribcage. Not that it mattered, his brother seemed to understand, sibling-speak a power all its own, and held him tighter, still whispering that it was all right, he was fine, he really was.

Jeff was so focused on that first happy reunion that he didn’t notice someone new in the doorway. Until he glanced up and his eyes snagged on a face he’d wanted to see for hours and feared he never would again. Antwan stood there, more rumpled and haggard than Jeff had ever seen him, and he was the most wonderful thing Jeff had ever seen.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, he only stood there staring with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Jeff said. His first impulse of delight wavered, and he laughed nervously, wetting his lips, “Okay, not exactly home, but it’s still pretty damn good to see you.”

Antwan still didn’t say anything. He only stood there, staring, and Jeff’s grin was starting to falter when he abruptly walked into the room. Not so much as glancing around, his eyes entirely for Jeff as he all but fell to his knees and pulled Jeff into a tight hug. Blunt fingertips dug into Jeff’s back as if sink directly into him. His shoulders were shaking, his breath hitching, and he made a faint, shuddery sound, almost a broken sob.

“Oh, don’t,” Jeff said softly, close to tears of his own. He settled a hand on Antwan’s head, petting his short hair and painful as this was, he couldn’t remember any time he’d ever felt as loved as he did right now. Not his own family, not any lover he’d had before. There was only Antwan holding him so tightly his ribs ached, warm dampness starting to flow where his face was buried against Jeff’s neck.

More than any comfort for himself, he wanted to hold Antwan close and offer what he could to him. Under his tentative hands, Antwan felt chilly even though it wasn’t a cold night and Jeff spread his fingers wide as if he could warm him that way. Maybe he did, Antwan slowly stopped shivering as he petted and soothed. He leaned heavily against Jeff and they would have sprawled on the floor if the wall weren’t propping them up.

Jeff absently noticed Edge coming in, couldn’t spare a hand to wave at him, but he figured it didn’t matter. Edge only had eye lights for Stretch and that was just fine.

Long moments passed before Antwan finally lifted his head. His eyes were reddened, his lashes matted and damp. “You’re all right?” Antwan asked hoarsely. “They didn’t hurt you?”

All right was a little subjective right now, so Jeff went with as much truth as he could. “I’m not hurt, they barely pushed us around. Not a scratch or a bruise on me.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy. Antwan scowled and plucked at the crappy shirt Jeff was wearing, the one those assholes forced him to put on. He started to speak, broke off, ducked his head and tried again, but whatever words he was trying for didn’t seem to be coming.

It was so bizarre to see him this way. Antwan, who was never hesitant. He was always decisive, whether it was in a courtroom or what restaurant they were going to that night. It was one of the things Jeff loved most about Antwan; left to his own devices, he’d end up spending an hour trying to choose between Italian and Chinese takeout and still end flipping a coin.

Not Antwan. He came in and took control, knew what he wanted and how to make it happen, and he damn well did it. He was a little like Edge in that, the two of them were pretty damn formidable when they did couple’s nights.

Today his tight control seemed to have abandoned him. He’d given up on speaking and now his lips were pressed tightly together, his whole face scrunching up as if trying to keep something from exploding out.

That was worrisome and not only because he was afraid Antwan might be a little nauseous, who knew what shortcuts he’d been dragged on tonight. As much as he loved him, having his boyfriend puke in his lap would be the worst way to end this night and, cautiously, Jeff asked. “Are you okay?”

What finally burst out was about the last thing he’d ever expected, a blurt of words crammed together into not a question, but a demand. “Marry me!”

“Uh…” That wasn’t anywhere on the list of his expectations. In his arms, Antwan shifted restlessly, like he wanted to stand and pace, but didn’t want to let Jeff go.

“This was supposed to be romantic,” Antwan said and his voice sounded like every word pained him, the entire glut escaping him without so much as a breath or a pause. “I had a plan, I have a ring. I was going to take you to dinner at the most expensive place in town and propose by the fountains. We can still do that, I want to do that, but I can’t wait, I can’t.” He shifted his grip to Jeff’s shoulders, giving him a little shake like a punctuation, his face inches away. He was beautiful this close, his dark eyes all but glowing as if he’d picked up the trick from one of the local skeletons. “Edge tried to warn me, he told me time passes too fast, he told me to step up and I didn’t.”

“Yes.”

Antwan didn’t seem to hear, still talking in an endless rush, “When Red came and got me, I died inside, all I could think was that I’d waited too long and lost you because I was a coward, I was an asshole, and I need you—”

“Yes.”

He plowed on like a semi without brakes, rolling over everything in its path. “We don’t have to get married right away if you don’t want, but you should move into my place completely. No more stuff at Blue’s, we’ll get the rest of it tomorrow. No, wait, you should rest tomorrow, you’ve been through a traumatic experience, we can do it the day after. We can do it whenever I can stand to let you go, I can’t, I—"

The rest of the words were stifled under Jeff’s mouth, a firm kiss ending that outpour. His mouth froze, meeting that kiss hesitantly at first then with increasing fervency, and it was warm and wet and wonderful, perfect, so perfect, every word Jeff could manage to shake out of his mental thesaurus.

Antwan groaned into his mouth, shuddering when Jeff broke it and drew away, but he didn’t go far. He leaned back enough to look Antwan directly into those beautiful eyes as he said clearly, “Yes, I will marry you.”

“You will?” Antwan parroted dumbly, then again, louder, “You will. You will!”

He sounded, Jeff thought fondly, as if he were he were trying to convince Jeff as much as himself. Not exactly the way he’d dreamed of getting a proposal and, yeah, there was something to be said for romance, but sitting here on this dirty floor in his ugly-ass kidnapping outfit, he sure didn’t doubt Antwan’s sincerity. His chest ached with love for this wonderful, crazy man and it was only when he heard a heartfelt sigh behind him that he remembered they weren’t alone.

He turned to see the three skeletons in the room were watching with varying degrees of interest. It looked as if Edge pulled Stretch into his own lap and brought Blue along for the ride, making the skeleton stack three deep. It did not escape his notice that Edge holding onto Stretch like he was never going to let go. As fastidious as Edge could be, he only sat there on the dirty floor with him, holding Stretch like he was the most precious thing in the world which, yeah, okay, he was, to Edge.

And it sure as hell didn’t escape his notice Stretch and Blue’s eyes lights were morphed into bright little hearts, both of them watching as if their favorite daytime soap opera couple finally got together in the season finale.

Jeff only grinned, barely embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have as an audience.

That impulse lasted about as long as it took Stretch to open his mouth. “’bout time, antwan, i was starting to think you’d never cowboy up and ask.”

“Shut up,” Antwan said automatically. Some of his normal sass must be rebooting. “I heard how you proposed, it was more like a train wreck than a question. Red bitched for a week about how much cash you lost him.”

“gonna bitch some more this time,” Stretch said, cheerily unoffended. “i got a twenty coming my way.”

“I have fifty,” Blue piped up. He clapped his hands together. “This is so wonderful! We need to have a party, we need to make plans—”

“We need to do a great deal,” Edge interrupted, not unkindly. “To begin with, let’s go home, shall we?”

Stretch must’ve finally breathed enough. He nodded and said, “yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here—whoa!"

Edge barely paused to nudge Blue to his feet before he stood, Stretch in his arms as he strode briskly to the door, “babe, no, your leg!”

His voice dwindled before Jeff could hear the rest of his protest. Blue followed them out, not without a last fond backwards glance, and left them alone.

Jeff smiled at his boyfriend, no, his fiancé and he’d never expected to be able to say that, never dared dream, and now it was his, no take backises from the universe, not this time. Politely, he asked, “you wanna get the fuck out of here?”

“Yes,” Antwan said firmly and Jeff let out a squeak of his own as he was suddenly lifted into Antwan’s arms, held close as he was carried out the door. Unlike Stretch, Jeff wasn’t about to offer a single protest. He only slipped his arms around Antwan’s neck and held on.

He’d let Antwan carry him to hell and back if needs be, but for right now, all he wanted was for his love to take him home.

tbc

[professionalfangirl24601]

AI continues the Riko roast attempt N2

in this one you'll see still no Riko, confused Kevin and Neil's questionable PR skills.

"You know, I get it," Neil said. "Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you're worth a damn off the court—yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it's not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you're physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don't think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone. We'll come to your games in peace, and we'll buy your gear. But we'll only do that if you step aside and give me another go at this thing called life."

Neil watched Kevin in silence for several minutes before deciding that—for once—he had to say something. "Kevin, you're great on the court, and the star players in this league who don't know how to act around each other deserve a big applause. You're a great teammate, a solid community person, and a great player. And I'd take a red-hot Dirk Nowitzki in the Finals any day over you. I like a lot of the things that you do on and off the court. I just don't like you. And I'd really appreciate if you could just not be yourself around us. At least then we can have a conversation."

"Nah," Kevin replied after a long pause. "I'm going to be myself."

Taken aback, Neil nodded. "All right, Kevin. You can be yourself. But, you know, a few rules. First of all, you'll have to leave for all practice and shootarounds, and for team meals. I don't want you fucking up the guy's practice routine or spoiling his warm-up routine. And I don't want you parading around half-naked around the arena, much less take my job from me. And while we're on the subject of nudity, I can't have you acting like a jackass with a blown-up Pepsi banner on my back like some sort of tramp."

"Got it," Kevin replied. "I promise to do my best."

"Good. Now, I also need you to tone down your sarcasm, petulance, and dry wit," Neil added, "and stop throwing your mouth open like some sort of baby duck whenever you're excited about something. It's embarrassing. It makes you look like a little punk kid who's already finished with elementary school. Let's see, since you've become a star, your teammates have won five more playoff series and won one more NBA championship, which makes you the winningest player in the history of the team."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm the best."

Neil sighed. "Yes, Kevin, you are, and you know it. You're also the most hated. I know you probably don't want me to tell you this, but your public is starting to catch on to your royal punkiness. Fans are starting to ask when you're going to stop messing around and start being the good-natured soul that you truly are. And while they're asking, they're not as excited when they see you coming to the game anymore. Now that they're no longer getting everything for free, they're demanding a fraction of your paycheck and coming to games only if they've got a death wish.

A quick look at your recent numbers shows that you're never gonna be able to sustain your market value, so you're losing sponsors faster than a Zippy the Pinhead cartoon. I think it's time that you made some more changes to your image and get back to being the class clown. You're going to have to wear these goofy glasses that are now a part of your uniform. You're going to start speaking in a baby voice and begging reporters for softballs as if you were some poor, innocent baby who just wants to be noticed. Then, you're going to bring every scrap of lunch meat and grease-stained Kleenex into the locker room with you, and you're going to start sucking on garlic-flavored toothpicks as if you were some cheap wannabe poser trying to play the part of an intellectual.

And last, but not least, you're going to start jerking off and spraying your entire body with strong-smelling hairspray before going out for a road game, and after the game, you're going to do it again. And then, when you get home, you're going to do it some more. You'll also start sniffing your own armpits, licking them, and making weird comments like, 'Look at that freakin' blue streak in my dreary locks.' You're going to stand in front of your mirror and constantly ogle yourself in the toilet bowl. You're going to call yourself Ginger, gussy yourself up, and belt out 'White Wedding' in the shower, and if you have a date, you're going to purposely rip her clothes off and pretend that it was your idea all along."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to ignore everything you just said, Neil," Kevin replied, trying to speak without giggling.

"Fine. So, then, what's your big idea, Kevin?"

"Oh, this is priceless." Kevin giggled maniacally, and his teammates yelled for him to shut the hell up.

"You're totally gonna be in movies," Neil said. "You're going to play the bad guy, but make sure you get the girl in the end. You're going to go undercover for weeks and sneak into death-metal concert events, where you're gonna stage fights, mess up everyone's hair, and drink bleach while being the absolute worst thing to ever hit a concert stage. People are gonna love it. You're going to start releasing dark, angst-filled folk-rock ballads, full of powerful emotion and heartache. You're going to start writing scathing criticism of the president and your teammates on your blog, but under a false identity so that nobody will recognize your name when you're actually being serious.

You're gonna get married, have two kids, and then have to suffer through a divorce that's so nasty that your ex-wife's going to get remarried within a month of the divorce. You're going to get beaten up regularly by her new boyfriend, who will be an enormous douche, and then have a car accident, and your legs will be broken so badly that you're going to need crutches. You're going to lose your job as a sportswriter, and then your wife's going to get fired from her job as a waitress because your friends will keep inviting her to your games. You're going to have to drive an old junker car that is crammed with mismatched parts, and you're going to have to flip yourself through traffic lights and weave in and out of oncoming cars while wearing a suit that's way too big for you. You'll bring hundreds of dollars of Taco Bell and Tostitos lunch meat into your home, and you'll be constantly sniffing your fingers like a dog, but somehow, that's going to work for you."

"Why don't you shut up?" Kevin demanded.

"I'm telling you, it's the perfect plan," Neil said Kevin finally stopped laughing and his cheeks began to redden.

"I'm sorry, but I don't get it."

"Well, all I can say is that you're damn lucky that the Sacramento Kings are playing against the San Jose Sharks this season, otherwise I'd lock you in your room right now, and I'd make you eat a full eight-course dinner," Neil replied. "I don't think you're ready for a Gregg Popovich type of coaching. I'll let you take the next couple of days to ponder this information."

"Uh, okay," Kevin said. "Thanks, Neil," he added quickly as he ran off to the bathroom to vomit in the toilet.

[bellakitse]

i found a home in you

For @manesalex

Molly, happy birthday my love, I hope you had the greatest day. You are simply fantastic, I hope you like this.

Weeks after the shed incident, Alex is living with Rosa and Arturo and working in the Crashdown waiting tables. He tries to keep his distance from Michael, which proves difficult with Michael working in the kitchen of the diner, not to mention the fact that he's hopelessly in love with the boy.

* Alex finds the family he needs in Michael, Rosa, and Arturo.

Warings: mentions of child abuse and panic attacks

8.4K

Alex Manes walks away from the tourist family at his section of the café with the practiced smile he has for the alien nuts that like to invade their town in the summer. Alex likes working at the Crashdown; it isn’t exactly what he planned to do right after high school, but he gets to work with one of his best friends, his pay and tips are decent, and Arturo is a good boss that treats him with the fatherly kindness he’s never gotten from his own father.

Thinking of Jesse leaves him frowning, his fist closing around his notepad as his shoulders tighten. It’s been weeks since he’s seen his father, rationally, he knows he’s not going to see the man anytime soon. Not after what he did to Michael in the shed and not after Alex finally worked up the nerve to file an official police report with Sheriff Valenti, the fresh bruises and belt marks on his body as proof of the abuse. And while the law hasn't done much to punish Jesse Manes, word of him beating his son for being gay had spread around the town like wildfire, the scandal enough for the man to take a post at a new Air Force base hundreds of miles away from Roswell.

“What’s with the upside-down smile, punk?”

Alex looks over at Rosa, losing his scowl as a smile takes over. She looks better with every day that passes, more like the old Rosa; before the drinking and the drugs took control of her life. Her smile is carefree and happy, instead of the veneer she would slap on her face to hide the turmoil inside her.

He’s grateful for that.

For having his friend back, especially now when his own life is a mess. He feels guilty in his private moments for laying his troubles on her, on the Ortecho family as a whole. After reporting his father to the authorities, he didn’t have anywhere to go. High school was over, his plans up in the air, and he wasn’t welcomed in his home, not that he had ever been welcomed to begin with.

Maria was dealing with Mimi’s declining health, Liz had her bags packed and one smitten Max Evans waiting to see the country with her. She offered to stay for him, but he couldn’t do that to her, so he hugged her tight and asked for postcards. He was sure he would be alone, but instead, Rosa had come to the rescue like his pseudo big sister. She was the one who decided Alex should move in with her and her father. He’d been sure that Arturo would say no to Alex sharing a room with Rosa. Gay or not, it was still a boy in his daughter’s bedroom. But the man had just smiled that gentle smile of his and said he would appreciate it if Alex moved in to help Rosa with her recovery. Like Alex was doing him a favor, instead of the older man saving him from being homeless.

“Earth to Alex, come in, Alex.”

Alex rears his head back, the antennas on his head swaying back and forth with the movement. Rosa looks up at them, smirking the same way she does every time she sees them on his head. When Arturo offered him a job to go along with a place in his home, Rosa had insisted that he wear the headgear since there wasn’t a men’s version of the uniform she and Liz wore. Alex wasn’t bothered by it, the uniform and visor he wore for the UFO emporium was more ridiculous than a white headband with two blue balls at the end.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head as he puts his order in the queue, ringing the bell for the cook's attention. “Got a little lost in thought there,” he continues as he starts to make the first milkshake that goes with the order.

Rosa gives him a nod as she looks at the order, pulling out another glass. Alex gives her a grateful smile as she starts to make the other shake. He rings the bell again when no one appears at the cook's window.

“Where the hell is Roberto?” he asks as he adds the chocolate chip mint to the shake.

“He called out; his wife finally went into labor this morning,” Rosa tells him.

“Then who’s-” he starts to ask, but she shoots him an almost apologetic look. He knows better than to buy it though.

Rosa doesn’t actually feel bad about this. She thinks she’s helping by forcing them to interact. “Rosa,” he sighs tiredly, shaking his head.

“It’s not like you can keep dodging the guy, Alex,” she answers, rolling her eyes at him, letting him know once again what she thinks about his avoidance. “He works here.”

“I don’t dodge him,” Alex argues, silently calling himself a liar, that's precisely what he’s been doing since Michael showed up two weeks ago asking Arturo for a job because his hours at the junkyard had been cut. “He works here,” he throws her words back at her childishly. “I give him my orders, he cooks them. No dodging, I’ll prove it to you.” He continues and rings the bell two more times.

“Guerin! Order up, two lunar lunch specials; one beam me up burger with a side of chili orbit rings and an order of take-off tacos,” Alex rattles off the order, proud that his voice doesn’t waver when the boy appears at the small kitchen window where the food gets pass to them. His curls are even wilder from the heat of the kitchen, just begging for Alex to run his hands through them, but Alex doesn’t get to do that anymore. No, Alex doesn’t get to touch Michael Guerin, not after what his father did to the boy.

“Did you get that, or do you need me to repeat it?”

Michael raises an eyebrow at his tone, looking at him with the same tender amusement he's been showing him since he stepped into the cafe, instead of the anger Alex deserves.

Alex can’t begin to understand it. His eyes stray to Michael’s left hand as it rests on the windowsill; the way it always does when he's around the boy, a constant reminder of the pain he has caused Michael. After weeks, it’s healed. If you can call the crooked fingers and still pink puckered skin healed. After his father had finished beating the crap out of him, Alex had gone to find Michael, begged him to go to the hospital to treat his hand. The boy’s refusal, the way his eyes had widened, full of fear, more than the ache of his own body, had been the final push that took him to Sheriff Valenti’s office. He would protect Michael from Jesse Manes, the way he hadn’t been able to in the shed. That was the last time they spoke about anything real. Now it was just lunch specials.

“Good afternoon, Michael,” Michael starts with a playful smile, his honey-colored eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nice of you to fill in for Roberto as he waits to greet his new spawn into the world, Michael. You look great today, Michael,” he continues, a pleased smirk on his face when Alex rolls his eyes. “Why thank you, Alex. You look good too, as usual.”

Alex scowls both at the boy and himself for the pleasure Michael’s flirting gives him. He doesn’t deserve Michael’s attention, his smile, or his warm looks. That was something from before. These days all Alex deserves is his derision. Michael doesn’t seem to want to get with the program though, and continues to act like nothing has changed between them. Like his father didn’t just take a hammer at his hand, but also the potential of their love story. Shattering it into pieces before it had a chance to grow.

Alex stares at him silently with a raised eyebrow, waiting the boy out. After a moment longer, Michael gives in and with a sigh, grabs the order slip, and heads back into the kitchen. Once he's out of sight, Alex drops the hard look, his chest losing the tightness it feels whenever Michael is around him.

"I love you, Alex," Rosa starts as she places the finished milkshake on his tray. "But you’re an idiot."

"Rosa-"

"You are accomplishing nothing by keeping that boy at arm's length," she continues, steamrolling pass anything he can begin to say. "You care about him, he cares about you, and this cold shoulder act you are putting on does nothing but hurt you both."

"It keeps him safe," Alex protests, already tired and once again kicking himself for having confessed to her everything that happened between him and Michael. "Besides I don't de-"

"You say the word deserve one more time," Rosa hisses, her eyes flashed at him, pissed off. "I dare you."

“I don’t deserve him,” Alex hisses back, annoyed. “Not after what happened, what I did to him-“

“What your father did,” she cuts in, the frustration evident in her voice. “What Jesse did, when are you going to get it through your head that you aren’t responsible for what Jesse Manes does, Alex? The guy is a monster and an asshole, and that has nothing to do with you!” she shouts, causing more than one head to turn their way.

Alex takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly past his lips; he does it again just the way he remembers reading on a site about handling anxiety. “We’re not talking about this anymore,” he says quietly. “And we’re definitely not talking about it here,” he continues when it looks like Rosa wants to argue. He takes the shakes they finished making and walks away, feeling her eyes, along with another pair from the kitchen on his back.

The rest of his shift passes in a quiet blur, Rosa doesn’t talk to him more than necessary, not angry but also not in the mood and it’s fine with Alex, he doesn’t have anything to say himself. Intellectually he knows she has a point. His father is hateful, homophobic and abusive, Alex isn’t the reason he’s those things, he’s the target. That doesn’t change the guilt he carries every day on his shoulders. A series of what-if run through his head, What if he had just been straight? What if he hadn’t been so brazen with his taste and had used some discretion until he was far away from Roswell? What if he had never invited Michael to the shed? What if he had never fallen for the boy in the first place? He thinks about all these what-ifs often, but it’s the last one that he can’t regret even knowing the outcome.

He loves Michael, it’s his one truth, and while it causes him a dull ache underneath his ribcage, it also sparks a warmth that starts in his belly and spreads outward, warming him down to his toes.

“I was thinking of going to group tonight,” Rosa says quietly, coming to stand next to him behind the counter after hours of keeping her distance, the Café all but empty as the sun starts to set, it’s never hectic on Tuesday nights.

Alex gives her a nod. “Okay.”

“Dad is out, and I’m supposed to help you close,” she continues, fidgeting with her hands. A sign of her nervous energy, Rosa gets like that sometimes, and the best thing for her is to go and talk it out.

“Go to group,” Alex cuts in, knowing what she’s getting at. “Guerin,” he starts, clearing his throat, his palm suddenly sweaty at the thought of spending time alone with Michael. “Guerin and I can close, this place is dead on Tuesdays anyway.”

Rosa bites down on her bottom lip and shifts from foot to foot. “Are you sure?” she asks, her question a whisper. “I don’t want to force the issue, and I’m sorry about earlier-“

He stops her by placing a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him, he’s not sure when he got taller than her. Knowing Rosa since they were kids, the older girl had always seemed like a giant with her larger than life personality. But in reality, she is so tiny, barely reaching his shoulders. He tugs her softly and chuckles as she slams her small frame into his, her arms circling his waist as he wraps his arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, mumbling against his shirt. “I hate arguing with you.”

He lets out a small amused huff. “I hate it too. I’m sorry.”

She pulls back to look up at him, her hands come up to frame his face, a thumb brushing under his eye, cleaning his slightly smudged eyeliner. “I want you to be happy, punk.”

He swallows through the lump of emotion that catches at his throat. “I know,” he whispers, hugging her once more.

Leaning back, he brushes away one of the locks of hair framing her face. "Go to the group," He repeats with a smile. "And I'll have a movie and popcorn ready for when you come back," he tells her, knowing Rosa always needs something mindless and straightforward to do after she ends an NA meeting.

"Nothing romantic," Rosa warns, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "I know what a sap you actually are, Manes, the emo punk aesthetic doesn't fool me."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Something scary and gory just how you like it, weirdo."

"I'll let you hide your face in my shoulder at the really scary parts," She promises, grinning up at him.

"My hero," He says dryly.

Rosa laughs, her eyes bright, and like always, it soothes something deep inside Alex.

"Okay, let me go upstairs to change."

"Go," He says, giving her a small nudge. "I'll tell Guerin he's stuck with me for the evening."

"Yeah, he'll hate that," Rosa mutters sarcastically as she passes him, dodging his hand when he reaches out to poke her.

"Meddler,” he murmurs, shaking his head. He lets out a breath giving himself a moment before he calls out to Michael to let him know the change of plans.

“Gue-“ he starts as he turns towards the kitchen window, jumping back when he finds that Michael is already standing there. “Jesus, fuck!” he startles. “Do you need a bell? Make some noise, Guerin!”

Michael looks at him innocently, even as a small twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him. Alex narrows his eyes. “Were you just standing there listening to us?”

“No,” Michael drags out, blinking at him slowly.

“That’s really convincing, Guerin, seriously,” Alex rolls his eyes. “We’re closing alone tonight.”

Michael nods with a happy smile that makes something in Alex hurt.

“You start shutting down the kitchen, and I’ll work out here, okay?” he says quickly, taking a step away from him before he does something stupid like reach out and touch him.

Michael’s smile dims a bit at his dismissal, that familiar ache inside of Alex flares up.

“Sure, Alex,” Michael says quietly, turning around to head back into the kitchen, and Alex has to bite his tongue to keep from calling out to him. Instead, he sighs deeply and calls himself an idiot, the voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Rosa’s.

Pushing it aside, he gets back to work, it’s a little past nine, there’s only one customer left, and they close in an hour. He starts wiping down tables on the left side of the café, flipping chairs as he goes.

All the while, he’s lost in thought, Rosa’s words playing back at him along with Michael's reaction every time he pushes him away. He knows he's not being fair to the boy. By keeping him at arm's length to keep him safe from the shit that is Alex’s life, he’s also hurting Michael. He can see it in the way his smiles drop, the way his eyes shutter when Alex dismisses him.

I want you to be happy, punk.

He shakes his head, his happiness is standing in the back of the café probably feeling like shit because of Alex. He lets out another heavy sigh, not knowing what to do, everything inside him screams to keep Michael safe, while also telling him that if he doesn’t hold on to Michael, he’ll never be happy.

“That’s too deep a sigh for sweeping the floor.”

Alex looks up at the comment to find Michael behind the counter emptying out the coffee pots. “You can’t be done with the kitchen already.”

Michael raises an eyebrow at him and then looks meaningfully at the clock above his head, Alex follows his gaze to see that it’s almost ten. Somehow nearly an hour has passed while he’s been thinking, and he hasn’t gotten very far in his part of the cleanup. He looks over to the table where his last customer had been eating, finding an empty table with dirty plates and cash next to it.

He didn’t even notice when the customer left.

“Sorry,” he starts, looking back at Michael, who is watching him concerned. “Guess I got lost in thought. I’ll speed it up.”

Michael shrugs, moving on to the sugar dispensers, lining them up to fill them. “I don’t mind helping you out. I still need to get those last plates into the dishwasher.”

“I’ll take them,” he says quickly, placing the broom in his hand against a booth. “You stay here, and I’ll be back.”

Michael watches him again, saying nothing as he nods.

Alex takes the last of the dirty plates before heading to the back. Everything is put away and wiped down. The dishwasher is ready to go like Michael said, he works fast, especially for a guy with a busted hand, he thinks grimly. Placing the dishes in the dishwasher, Alex starts the machine, the sound of it oddly soothing as he takes a deep breath, psyching himself up to go back outside and be alone with Michael.

He’s in the middle of it when he hears the first strums of a familiar song, smiling to himself as Counting Crows’ Mrs. Potters Lullaby starts to play. He heads back into the front of the café to find Michael wiping down the counter with a smile on his face as he looks down.

Alex stares at him, watching as his smile seemed to grow the longer Alex stands there, finally he looks up at Alex with a sweet grin.

“Why?” he questions, feeling a reluctant smile take over his face.

“Because it always makes you happy to hear it,” Michael answers quietly, the softness of his expression makes Alex’s breath catch.

“It’s really Rosa’s song, she’s just made sure we all love it,” he tells him, thinking of how many times the older girl has made him, Liz and Maria dance to the song. “She’s convinced that it can cure anything.”

Michael raises an eyebrow at him, and Alex finds himself shaking his head even before Michael starts moving. The curly-haired boy doesn’t pay him any mind and instead starts two-footing as he comes around the counter towards the open space next to the jukebox. Michael is a mess of uncoordinated limbs as he white-boy dances to the song, he extends his hand out to Alex silently asking him to join him. Alex shakes his head again, but he can’t help the small noise that escapes his lips as Michael shakes his hips, bopping his head from side to side, singing along with the song.

“You’re so bad at this, Guerin,” Alex laughs helplessly at the ridiculous picture Michael makes, he’s a horrible dancer and Alex isn’t sure how much it’s lack of rhythm and how much it’s Michael playing it up to make him laugh.

“Like you can do any better,” Michael challenges, giving his shoulders a little shimmy that makes Alex wheeze.

“Better than you,” he gets out through his laugh.

“Put up or shut up, Manes.”

Alex stops laughing and looks at Michael, while his words are a playful dare, there is a hopeful pleading look in Michael’s eyes that makes Alex press his hand against his chest to relieve the pressure he feels.

It’s that hopeful look, and the need not to crush it that has Alex moving towards him, his breath catching when Michael gives him a smile so bright, it’s blinding.

He comes to stand in front of him, about two feet away as he starts to dance with the boy. It’s awkward at first, and he’s stiffer than he would like, earning him a mocking look from Michael that has him rolling his eyes as he starts to loosen up.

‘Hey, Mrs. Potter don't go,’ Michael sings softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners when Alex sings the next line.

Caught up in the song, it takes Alex by surprise when he feels Michael’s body brush against his. Michael looks at him from under his eyelashes, biting down on his lip as he watches him for a moment before resting his hands on Alex’s waist.

“Okay?” he asks hesitantly, his touch feather-light, giving Alex no resistance if he wants to step out of his hold.

After weeks of denying himself and Michael, he can’t bring himself to step away, he hurts with the need to have Michael close.

Michael lets out a shaky breath and pulls him closer, while Alex rests his hands on Michael's shoulder. The song’s beat is a touch too fast for a slow dance, but neither mind as they turn in a slow circle, swaying to the music.

“If we had danced at prom, it would have been like this,” Michael says quietly, his hands holding Alex’s waist.

Alex looks at him and can’t help but be surprised by the comment. “You wanted to dance with me at prom?”

Michael lets out a huff. “I wanted more than a dance. I wanted to take you. Take cheesy pictures with you and drink watered-down punch.”

Alex laughs softly, his pulse ticking up when Michael pulls him even closer still, his body pressed against Alex’s.

“And then at some point, I would have convinced you to sneak out of the gym with me and go by the football field’s bleachers and-,” Michael trails off, the smirk on his face sly, probably a result of the blush spreading across Alex’s face.

“And what? Gotten your dick sucked?” Alex asks, the question backfiring as he pictures it. He’s had Michael’s dick in his mouth, and he remembers just how much he liked it.

“Hey,” Michael complains, though his eyes are dancing with amusement. “I would have been a gentleman. It would have been just second base at the most. You can’t blame me for that, you looked really hot that night.”

Alex shakes his head as he looks down to hide his smile, letting out a breathless sound when Michael reaches up, cupping his jaw to tip his face back up.

“Guerin,” he sighs, not sure if he’s asking him to stop or to close the gap between them.

“I miss you,” Michael murmurs back. “I see you all the time, and I miss you, Alex.”

“I miss you too,” he confesses, defenseless to do anything but tell the truth.

Michael lets out a shaky breath before leaning in to press his forehead against his. “Don’t push me away,” he whispers, the pleading tone in his voice has Alex nodding absently as he gets lost in Michael’s honey-colored eyes.

He feels the brush of Michael’s lips against his just as the door to the Crashdown swings open, the bell above it ringing loudly, causing them to spring apart as Rosa walks into the diner.

“I’m back losers!” she’s already calling out, stopping short when she spots them. They’re not holding each other anymore, but they’re closer than she’s seen them before, which is probably why she raises an eyebrow at them.

“Hey,” he breathes, turning to face her, he feels Michael a step behind him, and he finds himself trying to take a calming breath when he feels Michael’s hand on the small of his back.

“Was your meeting okay?” Michael asks Rosa with a friendly smile on his face, though Alex spots his jaw clenched in frustration, and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from making a sound when Michael's hand caresses him. Knowing that Michael still wants him even after everything that’s happened between them, stirs something hot in Alex’s belly.

Rosa nods, her eyes locked on the lack of space between them. “The meeting went fine, the usual hits: don’t do drugs, one day at a time, and we finished with the traditional kumbaya,” she answers with a roll of her eyes, her usual attitude toward narcotics anonymous even though she admits it helps. “Is closing going okay?

Alex turns to Michael and finds his eyes already on him. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, getting a smile for it. “Pretty good.”

“Better than good,” Michael says softly, and it takes everything in Alex not to press himself into his side.

Rosa makes a noise at the back of her throat, making Alex turn from Michael to look back at her, blushing when he spots the smirk tugging on her lips. “Well, great, finish up. You promised me a scary movie, Manes,” she says, turning away as she heads for the stairs that lead to the second floor, leaving them alone.

Alex takes a breath before turning back to Michael, gasping when Michael is right there, pressing his lips against his. Alex moans into it, his fingers finding Michael’s curls as Michael kisses him soft and slow, holding him like he’s something precious.

The kiss doesn’t last long, but after weeks of not tasting Michael, it’s everything.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been not to do that,” Michael whispers against his cheek.

“Trust me, I know,” Alex tells him.

Michael smiles at him as he pulls back. “I should go, you have a movie to get to.”

Alex nods, he knows Rosa is probably upstairs waiting to grill him on the sudden shift in their behavior. “You could stay and watch the movie with us?”

Michael's smile grows. “This is the first time in weeks you’ve let me get close to you,” he starts, holding up his hand when Alex opens his mouth. “I get why, Alex,” he continues quietly, looking down at his battered hand. “My point is, now that you’ve let me kiss you again, if I go upstairs, we’re not watching a movie.”

Alex's body clenches at Michael’s words and the images they invoke.

“And something tells me Rosa would not be happy sitting next to us as I spent the night kissing you.”

Michael steps into his space again, brushing his mouth against the corner of Alex’s. “Go spent time with your friend, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he raises his hand, his thumb caressing Alex’s cheek. “We’ll talk then, okay?”

Alex nods silently, getting another smile from Michael before he heads towards the door. “Good night Alex.”

*

“Come on,” Rosa groans, poking at him as they sit at the counter of the diner waiting for Arturo to come out of the kitchen with their churro pancakes.

It’s his favorite thing about living with them. Every Saturday before they open the café, Arturo makes them breakfast to catch up on the week past. It’s a tradition that warms his heart, Rosa likes to roll her eyes at him, but Liz told him before she left how much Rosa secretly loves them.

“No.”

“Tell me,” Rosa pouts at him, asking him for the third time this morning. He lost count of how many times she asked the night before as they watched The Ring. Finally stopping when she fell asleep mid-movie, while Alex stayed awake, half freaked out by the horror film, half thinking about Michael and their kiss.

“Nothing to tell,” he answers as he pours himself some orange juice, shaking the carton in Rosa’s face before pouring her a glass too.

Rosa gives him a disbelieving look. “I walked into tension you could cut with a knife, so don’t tell me that was nothing.”

“Rosa,” Alex sighs loudly, rolling his eyes when she just continues, ignoring him.

“Not to mention that you're in love with him, so it’s never nothing between you and Guerin.”

“Michael?”

Alex freezes at the voice, turning in his stool to find Arturo on the other side of the counter, balancing three plates of pancakes. Alex watches as the older man places the plates in front of them with a small frown on his face. He glances at Rosa out of the corner of his eye, as she bites down on her bottom lip, looking apologetic at him.

“Yes,” he says quietly, watching the man for a reaction.

“Are you two dating?” Arturo questions, his voice doesn’t give anything away, and it puts Alex on edge that he can’t read the man’s thoughts on the subject. Instinctively he knows Arturo is nothing like his father, but he still can’t help the sliver of fear that runs down his spine.

He looks back at Rosa, letting out a breath when she places a supportive hand over his, taking another breath he turns back to Arturo.

“It’s complicated,” he starts, gripping Rosa’s fingers when Rosa squeezes his hand. “Michael is the reason my dad beat me up the last time. He found me with Michael, shattered his hand, and then punished me for being with him.”

Arturo curses in Spanish, shaking his head, his kind face twisted in anger, which Alex quickly realizes with relief is targeted at his father. “You’re father is an asshole, mijo.”

Alex lets out a startled laugh that grows as Rosa nods emphatically.

“And Michael?” Arturo questions again, in that gentle way of his. “You have feelings for him?”

Alex licks his lips nervously, meeting the other man’s brown eyes, finding nothing but support. “I love him.”

Rosa lets out a short excited scream at his side while Arturo smiles at both of them, reaching out to place his hand on Alex’s like Rosa had done before.

“He’s a nice boy, I like him,” he tells him, his eyes twinkling as the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Handsome too.”

“Papi!” Rosa screeches, laughing loudly, slapping her hand on the counter as she holds her stomach. “You’re going to break Alex’s brain!” she exclaims, making Arturo laugh, obviously amused.

Alex stares at the man in awe, not knowing how to answer, he doesn’t even notice the tears that escape his eyes until Rosa makes a worried noise.

“Alex, sweetie?” she questions, alarmed.

Alex sniffles, running the back of his hand under his nose. “Sorry,” he croaks out, the tears coming out faster the more he wants them to stop. “I'm ridiculous. I just-,” he takes a breath to try and get himself under control. “I just never thought I could talk about this with-“ he trails off, waving his hand in Arturo’s direction, who is looking at him so concerned, it springs fresh tears to his eyes.

“To a dad?” Rosa questions with a small smile, looking at her dad before looking back at Alex. “Liz and I don’t mind sharing him with you, right, Papi?”

Alex lets out a wet laugh as Arturo nods.

“I’d like that,” he whispers, his words causing Arturo to move. He comes around the counter to their side until he’s standing in front of Alex, opening his arms for him.

He looks back at Rosa, who gives him a simple shrug. “When one of us cries, Papi hugs it out. Like churro pancakes, these are the rules of the house.”

Alex laughs again, barely getting out of his seat before Arturo wraps his arms around him. He can’t remember the last time Jesse hugged him, if he ever did, he never held him this tightly.

“There’s nothing wrong with your love, Alex,” he says softly in his ear, his hand cupping the back of his neck. “You know that, right?”

Alex pulls back to look at the man who has offered him more kindness than his own blood and finds that he means what he says, nodding when the man looks at him for assurance. “I’m starting to get that.”

Arturo smiles, pulling him back into a hug that Alex happily returns, his eyes stinging when he feels Rosa hug him from behind, he throws an arm back squeezing her as best he can, Arturo too, silently thanking them for being them.

*

It’s past noon, the café is half-full, and Alex is behind the counter settling someone's bill. He’s not lingering there because Michael keeps finding reasons to stick his head through the kitchen window to say something or just flash him a smile. It has nothing to do with that, no matter how many knowing looks Rosa shoots his way as she moves around the café.

He hears Michael moving around in the kitchen, and has to stop himself from peeking in. Arturo is back there with him fixing some loose shelves, and the last thing he needs is for the man to catch him mooning over his cook no matter how nice he was this morning about everything.

He blushes as he thinks of the grin Arturo, and Rosa sent his way earlier when Michael walked in for his shift. The pleasure he felt at Michael’s soft ‘hey’ and even sweeter smile, obvious to both of them.

He feels his skin grow hotter as he remembers, but he can’t help the smile on his face or the giddiness he feels. He’s been a fool to think he could live without this feeling Michael sparks inside him.

A tub of dirty dishes slams on the counter, startling him out of his thoughts, and he jumps, frowning when he finds Rosa at his side with an evil grin on her face.

“Was that necessary?” he asks, making a face at her when she nods happily.

“To drag you away from your obvious Guerin-induced stupor?” she questions sarcastically. “Absolutely.”

“You’re a brat,” he tells her sincerely, keeping his face stern when she proves him right by sticking her tongue at him.

“And here I was going to do you a favor and give you these dirty dishes,” Rosa says with mock-sadness, making him chuckle.

“And that’s a favor, how?”

Rosa rolls her eyes at him in a way that lets him know she’s questioning his intelligence. “Where do dirty dishes go, Alex?”

Alex instantly looks back at the kitchen window, and Rosa nods at him in a patronizing way.

“Exactly,” she flashes him a shit-eating grin. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Manes. Now take these dishes and go moon at your boy without a wall between you, and take your break while you’re at it. It’s slowing down.

Alex leans in to give her a smacking kiss on her cheek, smiling as Rosa lets out a happy laugh while giving his shoulder a small shove. He takes the half-full tub of dishes and heads to the back, taking a steadying breath as he goes.

“Guerin-“ he starts to call out, stopping short in the middle of the open kitchen when he finds Michael and Arturo talking. Arturo’s back is facing Alex as he speaks, too low for Alex to hear. Michael has a serious look on his face, listening intently, but Alex can’t focus on that. He can’t concentrate on anything but one thing, and that’s what’s in Arturo’s hand.

A hammer.

He doesn’t move it, it rests innocently at his side as he talks with Michael, but Alex can’t breathe, can’t move, all he sees is the hammer and just how close it is to Michael. He doesn’t even realize that his grip has gone slack until the dishes fall on the ground making a loud racket that doesn’t dim out the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears.

Arturo and Michael jump at the noise, the older man turning to face him, there is concern on both their faces, and Alex opens his mouth to reassure them, but nothing comes out, it feels like his throat is closing.

“Alex, mijo?” Arturo starts. “Are you all right?”

He takes a step towards him, the hammer still in his hand, and Alex doesn’t even realize he’s screaming ‘no’ until it stops the man short.

He hears Michael swear, but that’s all he hears; everything else is the hammer slamming over skin and bone, Michael’s screams and his father’s rage. Alex closes his eyes tight, his hands covering his face and ears, everything is so loud, and he can’t make it stop. His chest is starting to hurt, and dimly he knows it’s because he’s not taking a breath but he can’t make himself inhale. Hands pull at him, removing his hands from where they’re digging into his face.

“Alex, Alex, baby, you need to breathe for me.”

Alex blinks rapidly, his eyes can’t seem to focus on anything, all he sees is the hammer and Michael’s hand.

“Alex, please,” Michael pleads. “You need to take a breath for me.”

He tries, he inhales, but he feels the air stuck before it reaches his lungs.

“Again, baby, come on, one breath at a time, in and out,” Michael continues, his hands tilt Alex's face, and for the first time, Alex can see something else other than the hammer or his father’s hateful face.

“He-“ Alex tries, choking on the words and his shame. “He h-hurt you.”

Michael gives him a pained look.

Of course it’s pained, his hand was broken because of Alex.

“I-I let-“

“Stop,” Michael commands.

Alex flinches at the tone of his voice, this is what he’s been waiting for since the day in the shed. Finally, Michael is angry with him the way he should have been from the start.

Michael sighs, his hands that are still holding his face go down to his shoulders, the touch much more gentle than he deserves.  He turns his head, saying something, but Alex doesn’t hear it or to who it’s directed.

“Come on,” Michael wraps an arm around his shoulder as he turns him around. “We’re going upstairs, you need to lie down for a minute.”

Alex tries to shake his head, but Michael isn’t listening as he guides him up to the 2nd-floor apartment.

“Where’s your bedroom, sweetheart?” Michael speaks softly, his words against Alex’s temple as he holds him close.

Alex motions with his hand towards his and Rosa’s room; his body feels heavier with every step, and by the time they make it to his small twin bed, it feels like stone. Michael makes him sit with a gentle but steady press of his hands on his shoulders. He drops to his knees before him. Alex watches him through heavy eyes as he undoes his shoes, taking them off, followed by his socks.

“I can’t stay up here,” he whispers, his throat feels rough as he speaks. “I have work, and I have to apologize to Arturo,” he pauses, his eyes stinging as he remembers the stricken look on the man’s face. “I screamed at him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Michael shakes his head, his fingers feel warm against Alex’s skin as they press into his ankle. “You were yelling at your dad.”

Alex snaps his gaze to Michael, letting out a shuddering breath when he sees the understanding in his eyes.

“It was the hammer,” Michael continues, his grip tightening on Alex's foot. “You saw your dad.”

Alex nods miserably, he doesn’t say out loud that he sees his father all the time, he thinks Michael already knows. “I can’t escape him.”

Michael closes his eyes at that, and when he opens them, they are glassy with unshed tears that pierce Alex’s chest.

“I should have protected you better,” Michael starts, his eyes somewhere around Alex’s chest, so he misses the look of shock and horror that crosses Alex’s face. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him after. I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Alex lets out a wounded noise so deep he can only imagine what it sounds like to Michael, he lifts his gaze to him, looking worried, his hands holding on to Alex’s knees as he continues to kneel in front of Alex.

“You think you have to say sorry to me?” Alex questions, incredulously. He takes Michael’s damaged hand, studying it, comparing it to the uninjured one. One smooth and straight, the other crooked with puckered skin. “He did this to you, and you think you have to apologize to me,” he continues, letting out a humorless laugh, and he can’t see much through his tears.

They spill as he raises his gaze to look at Michael. “He hurt you because of me,” Alex whispers. “He saw that he could hurt me more through you than any of his beatings, so he did, because I love you.”

Michael's fingers tighten on his, his face an open book for Alex to see everything he’s feeling. Michael’s love, his hopes and fears, and even though Alex is sure that he doesn’t deserve him, that he never will, he can’t help but want.

“I love you Michael, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what my father did to you. For pushing you away all these weeks. I thought I was protecting you,” he rushes to say as Michael shakes his head furiously, rising to his feet, his hands gripping the back of Alex’s neck as he hovers over him.

“Shut up, Alex,” he says harshly before giving him a rough kiss that tastes of salt.

“I love you,” he says between kisses, speaking it over and over again as he pushes Alex back into the bed, covering him with his body.

Alex moans into the kiss, his hands touching any piece of Michael he can. They shove at each other’s clothes, frantically pushing up shirts until they land on the floor. Alex pops the button of Michael’s jeans, sticking his hand inside, he finds Michael hard and ready.

“Fuck, Alex,” Michael gasps, pushing into Alex’s hand as he starts to stroke him.

The hold is awkward but he makes it work, Michael shifts to the side as he opens Alex’s pants, pushing them past his hips. Alex makes a noise of protest when Michael pulls his hand off him, only for it to turn into a whimpering moan when Michael presses his cock against his, rubbing them together as he holds them in his hand.

He gasps as he meets Michael’s thrust for frantic thrust, his body tightening with every press of their hot skin against each other. He threads his fingers through Michael’s hair, and pulls him into a bruising kiss when Michael circles the head of his cock with his thumb, it feels like fire spreading throughout his body as he gets closer and closer with every twist and pull of Michael’s clever hand.

“I love you,” Michael whispers yet again, breaking the kiss. He trails soft presses of his lips against Alex’s jaw and cheek, up to his ear, as he keeps telling him he loves him. “I love you so much Alex.”

Alex cries out as he comes, spilling between them. Michael pushes against him a few more times before he’s coming too, adding to the mess. Michael lets out a deep breath as he moves to his side, throwing an arm and a leg over him, while Alex moves his arm around Michael’s shoulder, letting Michael rest his head on his chest.

Neither of them speak as they get their breath back, Michael runs his hand over Alex’s sweaty chest, while Alex twirls a curl around his index finger. It’s only when Alex is being lulled to sleep by Michael’s gentle touch, the emotional toll of the day taking hold that Michael speaks.

“Tell me again,” he whispers into Alex’s skin.

Alex pulls him closer into his arms. “I love you.”

*

When Alex wakes up, his shared room is darker than before, a quick look at his watch lets him know it's after six. He's also alone in his bed, he feels a wave of disappointment that only lasts a moment as he spots a note where Michael was last sleeping.

It simply says, ‘downstairs,’ but it's enough to settle his nerves. He gets up, and looks down at his body. His chest and stomach are clean, and he finds himself smiling at the thought that Michael cleaned him up while he slept. He heads for the bathroom to wash up quickly, slipping on another T-shirt before making his way downstairs back to the diner.

Stepping through the door, he finds that there are a few customers at different tables, while Rosa is behind the counter pouring a cup of coffee. She stops mid-pour as she spots him.

"Hey," he starts to say, barely getting the word out before he's pulled down into a bone-crushing hug. He circles his arms around Rosa's slim waist, hugging her back. "I'm okay," he whispers when he feels her shake.

Rosa lets out a noise that's both a laugh and a sob, as she leans back to look at him. "Yeah, you are," she says like she’s making a promise to him; it quiets something inside him.

“Where’s your dad?” he asks when she lets go of him. “I need to explain what happened.”

Rosa nods towards the back with a soft tilt of her head. “In the back office,” she answers, giving Alex’s arm a squeeze.

Alex makes it through the doors of the kitchen, pausing when he spots Michael flipping a burger, the boy stops to look at him, the expression on his face loving.

He gestures towards the office, and Michael nods in understanding.

“I’ll make you something to eat when you’re done,” Michael answers with a smile that Alex returns.

“Fries?” he asks as Michael’s smile grows.

“I’ll even personally make you the milkshake to dip them in.”

Alex smiles at the boy he loves once more before continuing down the narrow hallway that leads to Arturo’s small office space. He finds the man at his desk, bent over a few papers. Arturo looks up when he knocks, an automatic smile on his face when he sees him.

“Alex,” he starts warmly as he stands up. “Did you get some rest?”

Alex nods, stepping into the small room. “Yes, thank you. Sorry I bailed on my shift.”

Arturo waves his apology away with a gesture of his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Rosa and I had it handled. You look better, are you okay?”

Alex motions yes. “Michael and I had a long-overdue talk, it helped.”

Arturo smiles. “I’m glad, mijo.”

He pauses and neither speak for a moment. Alex doesn’t know where to start but knows he needs to say something.

“About earlier,” he begins, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry about freaking out.”

Arturo shakes his head, coming around his desk towards him. “You don’t have to apologize, Alex. Michael explained what happened.”

“It wasn’t you,” Alex rushes to explain. “I’m not scared of you, I know you would never hurt me or Michael or anyone, it was-“

“The hammer,” Arturo finishes for him quietly. “Yes, Michael explained.”

Alex lets out a breath, grateful that he doesn’t have to say more.

“What your father did, Alex, is evil,” Arturo tells him quietly, but with conviction. “And it has everything to do with him, you did nothing wrong.”

Alex bobs his head, afraid if he opens his mouth now, it will just be him crying. Arturo seems to understand, and just like earlier, he opens his arms to Alex, his arms secure around him when Alex hugs him.

“Thank you, Arturo,” he says quietly as the man pats his back. “For everything.”

“No need to thank me, kid,” he answers as he lets Alex go. “We’re your family now, we’re here for you,” he pats Alex’s back one more time. “Now come on, you must be hungry.”

“Michael is making me fries and a milkshake,” he answers with a smile, blushing at the amused look Arturo gives him.

They walk back into the café to find Rosa sitting at the counter drinking a shake herself, Michael behind it, making another.

“Alex, settle this for us,” Rosa points a fry at him as Alex comes to stand next to Michael, facing her. Arturo goes around to a customer who is signaling for the check. “Isn’t ‘the milky way’ shake your favorite?”

Alex looks at Rosa and then at Michael, who gives him a silent look asking if he’s okay. Alex nods, making Michael smile.

“That one’s really good,” he starts as Rosa starts to give Michael a smug look. “But of the themed ones, ‘the alien encounter’ is my favorite.”

“Ha!” Michael shouts victoriously, snaking an arm around Alex’s waist, giving him a loud kiss on his cheek. “Told you, Ortecho. I know my man.”

Rosa rolls her eyes at him. “Whatever, you only knew cause you can’t keep your eyes off him. Stalker.”

Michael shrugs, not denying the accusation, and Alex tries not to blush when Michael looks at him with loving eyes. “Can you blame me? Look at him,” Michael answers, and now Alex can’t stop the blush that spreads through him.

Rosa pretends to gag, though her wide smile gives her away as she and Michael start bickering at each other. Alex takes the shake from Michael’s hand, taking a sip as he watches them, laughing to himself as they argue.

He finds Arturo looking over at the three of them with a fatherly look on his face, the older man shakes his head, laughing, when Alex rolls his eyes at him.

He feels Michael’s hand brush against his, and he turns his palm, linking their fingers together, feeling happier and safer than he has in a long time.

In this little alien-themed diner, he’s found the boy he loves, an older sister, and a loving father.

For the first time, he truly has a family.

*

A year from now, when he moves out of the Ortecho’s apartment into a tiny place with Michael, and he and Michael, along with Rosa, start ENMU, they will still have the Crashdown to come home to.

[heylookafanfic]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The reader is college aged, so about 19-26 years old :). I’m also going to try my best with making all my imagines gender neutral! I might accidentally forget in the future so, please don’t hesitate to remind me via inbox! Enjoy!

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader,  Robin x Reader

brief summary: You and Hopper are dating but after a conversation with Robin at work, you start to feel a bit insecure bc of the slight age gap in your relationship.

word count: 1,911 words requested: no, this one came to mind warnings: age gap, mention of abuse, mention of anxiety, mention of depression (drinking and smoking as a coping mechanism), but mainly fluff!

You worked at Scoops Ahoy with Steve and Robin as a summer gig. College is expensive and textbooks aren’t going to pay for themselves. You actually enjoyed working in there because it was in the mall which meant after you got off for the night, you got to grab a large piece of gooey pizza from the food court. The absolute highlight of your day.

12:45pm - Lunch time.

Steve offered to stay out front and sell ice cream while you and Robin ate lunch in the food court. You sat down and began eating a bagged lunch that Hop packed you.

“What’s that say? Robin asked

There was a Post-It note taped to the side of your lunch

She pulled it off and mockingly read: "Have a great day pumpkin!”

“Pumpkin???” she chuckled

“What? Your mom doesn’t call you little pet names?” you defensively joked

The note was obviously from Hop but you  quickly played it off like your mom wrote it.

“My mom and I are on a first name basis - the only thing she calls me is Robin” she chuckled

“You should call her Batman so you guys will be Batman and Robin” you laughed

“Yeah, never happen– woah”

Robin looked past you which made you turn around

“What?” you asked

“Tammy Thompson. Floral romper. Next to Taco Bell”

“I see her but, what about her?”

“ ‘Grade school crush’ Tammy Thompson”

“OH” you said as you caught on

“Dude, she got hot! Like, she was always cute in grade school but she’s gorgeous”

“Is she still your type?

"I don’t know. I don’t really have a type Y/N”

“I find that hard to believe. You think Phoebe Cates is– and I quote, ’outrageously hot’ ” you joke

“SHE IS!” Robin laughs

“What about you Y/N? You got a type?”

“Not really. If the right person comes along, then whatever happens, happens” you shrugged

“You liar, I see you hangin’ around that sheriff dude all the time. You can’t tell me you don’t have the hots for him”

“What?! No! Never in a million years. Hopper’s a family friend and only a family friend”

“Are you sure about that because, every time he stops by the shop, I see the way you make googly eyes at him” she said

“Googly eyes? Maybe that’s you making googly eyes at him Robin!” you laughed

“I like girls, remember?” she laughed

“Well, that’s good news because I was about to say, he looks quite a bit older than you” she continued

You continued eating your lunch but still listened to what Robin was saying

“Like, imagine dating some dude old enough to be your dad. Like, he’d hold your hand while you cross the street and he’d read a bedtime story before bed and you gotta get permission to leave the house and think about what it be like having– christ, I’m gonna vomit!” she laughed

You were secretly hurt by what Robin said because little did she know, she was right about you and Hopper except it’s not a crush– you and Jim are going on 8 months in a serious relationship. It all started after fighting off the demidogs with the kids, Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, and Hopper. Jim offered you to stay with him and El until things died down but you declined because you still had college courses to take care of. Although lab experiments are pretty much running rampid through Hawkins, school wasn’t going to close down for a snow day, let alone Demidogs. College was 2 hours away from Hawkins but that never stopped Hop from driving the distance to “check in” on you. Flat tire? Hop was on the way. Need a space heater for your dorm? Hop wouldn’t let you spend a dime on buying one, he’d be on his way with one in the back of the truck and maybe a little homemade meal prepped by yours truly. Basically, he found any excuse to come and see you. After a heart-to-heart one day after ranting about being a bit homesick, he asked you to move in with him and El.

*Flashback*

“You’ll be in Hawkins and even if it means waking up at the crack of dawn to drive you to class, it’ll be worth it.” he said

“Hop, I don’t want to inconvenience you at all. I mean, it’s a 2 hour drive there and back, that’s a lot of gas, you still have to go to work and is El really going to be okay by herself for a few hours?” you questioned

“Gas isn’t a problem, the truck uses it regardless of where I’m going, and yes, El will be perfectly fine. The kid survived this whole time without me and did you forget she has–”

“telekinesis” you both said

After saying your good byes to your dorm mate and packing your things, you were officially a resident of casa de Hopper. He was thrilled that he’d get to see you everyday. Nothing was official yet but he had a hunch that maybe things would move a long a bit. He apologized for not having a room for you but you didn’t mind the little area of the cabin he prepared for you. You had feelings for him from the jump but after seeing him out of uniform and being an amazing dad to El, you were absolutely sold. Being able to see Hop put this whole 'tough guy’ persona away behind closed doors and being vulnerable at times, had you wishing he’d actually ask you out.

One night, you were sitting on the porch, letting the sounds of the surrounding woods serenade you, when he sat beside you. He brought you a coffee and just sat in silence. The way you looked as you admired the stars– you literally had a twinkle in your eye. Taking a deep breath, he went for it. The man just full on let his heart out to you before quickly regretting it. You looked at him and chuckled. In that moment, he was sure he ruined your friendship, you’d want to move out and never speak to him again. You told him that you have the same feelings for him but never had the courage to say anything. He let out a sigh of relief and cracked the biggest smile. Things went quiet again  until he asked if he could kiss you (consent first!). You nodded and you two lovebirds did a passionate but sweet kiss.That smile quickly went away. He pulled back and took a breath. You asked him what was wrong and he simply said

“It’s not right”

“What?”

“Us”

“Huh?”

“Me and you Y/N. I feel like I took advantage of you”

“What?! No, of course not. In what way?” you asked

“You’re in your 20’s, I’m in my 40’s. There’s an age gap”

“Okay– I don’t see how that’s a problem though”

“When everyone sees us, they’re going to think I’m only using you for sex. Come on, you know if a guy my age is with someone your age, there’s obviously something going on there. The younger person is never the 'secretary’ or 'assistant’.” he said

“Hop, are we or are we not 2 consenting adults?”

“Yeah”

“Do we both have honest mutual feelings for each other?”

He nodded his head

“So, what does it matter what everyone else thinks? We’re both happy. I haven’t been truly happy in a while but when you’re around, the world isn’t so bad” you said

He cracked a smile again.

“Listen, if it makes you feel better we don’t have to tell anyone about us. We can tell them when we’re ready. Deal?” you continued

He put his pinky finger out.

“Oh, so we’re pinky promising now?” you chuckled

“I guess you can say we’re getting pretty serious” he laughed

*End of flashback*

7:00pm– Closing Time

Hop pulled up to the front of the mall and waited for you.

7:00 was his favorite time of the day because that meant he got to see his whole world walk out of the doors of the Starcourt Mall every day. He was blasting “You Make My Dreams” by Hall & Oats with the windows rolled up. It was the song to your realationship but, he’d rather be caught dead than be caught listening to Hall & Oats.

You walked through the doors, yanking off your “AHOY” hat when you hear

“Y/N!”

Getting in the car, you plop down in the passenger side and put your seatbelt on.

Usually “You Make My Dreams” would have you dancing in your seat but you were offaly quiet.

“You okay?” he asked as he turn the music down

“Yeah”

“Now, when you say 'yeah’ ,you’re obviously lying. Seriously, is everything okay?”

You sighed

“Remember when we 1st got together, and we talked about our age?”

“Mhm”

“Robin and I were talking and she mentioned how dating a 'guy old enough to be your dad’ is gross.”

“Did you tell her about us?!” he panicked

“No, of course not. She brought age gaps up when we were talking about crushes and I have anxiety over it now. Are we–”

Hop put his finger up to his lip and shh’d you. He knew you overthink too much and that lead to your anxiety triggering. He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over yours.

“Y/N, the minute I laid my eyes on you–”

He paused before choking up a bit

“–I felt the same feeling I felt when I first met Diane. After Sarah passed, we divorced and I never thought I’d be happy again. I turned to cigs and alcohol for help but I dug myself deeper in this hole. Meeting Joyce gave me hope, but I saw how happy she was with Bob and– I wanted what she had. Coming home to someone who gives a damn about you every day. All the stress from fighting the demagorgon and being a dad again, I was ready to throw in the towel. Then, I met you. You were so laidback and carefree and had this aura I can’t describe. You always knew how to light up a room. When I got to know you better and you told me about the hell your dad put you and your mom through, I saw how strong you were and I needed that in my life. I needed someone who can keep me grounded when life becomes too much. That was you. You went back to college and I felt my life falling apart again. That’s why I came to see you so much. When you said you wanted to move in, I drove home that night on top of the world. I told El and we drank hot chocolate the whole night as a celebration. You wanna know the best part, that night we started dating was the absolute best night I had in years. I felt like kid again. Like, my playground crush just said yes to swinging together. Y/N, you are the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Like you said, 'what does it matter what everyone else thinks? We’re both happy’. ”

He kissed you and that kiss had to be at least a minute long.

“You feel better?” he chuckled

“No” you said

“Seriously?”

“I’m kidding, yes I feel better” you chuckled

“Good, now let’s go home” he said with a side smile

[chiseler]

The Long, Sad Death of the NYC Newsstand

Up until 2003, New York’s newsstands—those charmingly ramshackle wood-and-aluminum sidewalk constructs where scurrying commuters could grab a morning paper, a pack of smokes and the new issue of Leg Show on their way to the train—were all privately owned and operated by the scruffy characters who inhabited them. All a would-be news dealer had to do was fill out some forms, give the city a check for $1000, and in return they’d receive a two-year license. The license gave them rights to a location, but the costs of building the stand and operating the business was the responsibility of the new owner. That said, within zoning regulations, they could do what they wanted with their stand: paint it whatever garish color they liked, design it after the Taj Mahal, sell Ju-Ju powders along with The Irish Times and racing forms, and keep all the profits at the end of the day. They even, under certain circumstances, maintained the right to sell the newsstand and the license if they so chose. All that changed in 2003, but I’ll get back to that. It was hardly the beginning or the end of the city’s war on newsstands, a war which began soon after newsstands became such an iconic part of New York’s sidewalk landscape.

If we can accept Hollywood films as providing an accurate historical record, ad-hoc open-fronted newsstands had been a familiar and welcome part of daily life in New York since at least the first half of the nineteenth century. Most, again if we accept the Hollywood myth, were owned and operated by gruff but lovable cigar-chomping midgets or preternaturally wise blindos, colorful outsiders who inevitably knew far more about what was going on than what was reported in any of the periodicals they sold. Newsstand operators were the eyes and ears of the community, knew everyone, and acted as invaluable sources for cops and reporters in search of tips. Especially the blind ones.

We may have no choice but to accept the mainstream studio version, as historians seem flummoxed when it comes to pinpointing exactly when or where the first of New York’s newsstands appeared. All they can say for certain is that the hundreds of newsstands that dotted street corners and subway stations across the five boroughs  were modeled in function if not form after similar news outlets which had been commonplace in England, France and Italy since the late eighteenth century. But there is at least a small kernel of truth to the mainstream studio version, if you’ll allow me an aside.

For over half a century, thanks to a program spearheaded by the NY State Commission for the Blind, a handful of the city’s newsstands—in City Hall, the King’s County Courthouse, and a select few subway stations—were designated to be run by blind operators exclusively. It seemed a more humane alternative to forcing the blind to sell pencils out of a tin cup. Whether or not these blind news vendors acted as infallible informants for newspapermen and the cops is unknown, but the program was an extremely popular and desirable one within the blind community, allowing those lucky enough to take over a newsstand to earn a living wage. Unfortunately the program was so popular that in the early ’90s I was told the waiting list was so long it would likely be twenty years or more before I was set up in my own operation. Now I have to imagine the wait is even longer, but more about that later, too.

By the late nineteenth century New York’s stand alone sidewalk newsstands had evolved into their iconic form: a shack, usually painted green, constructed of wood and metal, with a low shelf along the front to hold bundles of newspapers, another shelf above that to hold candy and other snacks, and open window through which the proprietor conducted business, with cigarettes and magazines displayed on the wall behind him.

As beloved and essential as the newsstands became among New Yorkers, they’d always had a rough go of it. During the newspaper wars of the 1880s and ’90s, when competing papers quite literally battled each other in pursuit of higher circulation numbers, it was often the newsstand operators who caught the brunt of the violence. If, thanks to personal political leanings or, more often, a little monthly handout, a news vendor opted to carry The World, say, and not The Herald-Tribune, he might find himself beaten bloody by Herald-Tribune deliverymen, his newsstand torched or bombed. A similar fate often also awaited those vendors who, out of respect for the First Amendment or a sense of egalitarianism, refused to play favorites by foolishly carrying all the city dailies.

Not long after the Newspaper Wars were resolved, the city took up the fight to make your average news vendor’s life miserable. In 1911, the city prepared legislation to get rid of newsstands altogether by revoking the owners’ licenses, arguing the stands blocked foot traffic. Newsstand operators banded together against the threat. In a public hearing, the Newsdealers Association President William Merican told members of city council, “Why, there are some men who cannot eat their breakfast without a newspaper. Think of the women in the crush of the subway and elevated. They are exposed to every kind of indignity and hardship. They buy newspapers to make them forget their misery. If the public cannot get their newspapers on the street, they will find the inconvenience intolerable.”

The mayor was swayed by the argument, and the proposed legislation was shelved, at least for a little while.

A decade later in the early Twenties the NY Times took up the fight to do something about what the city’s wealthy and powerful considered an eyesore. Citing the Municipal Art Society’s plans to design polished modernist newsstands that would blend organically with their surroundings, the Times wrote “Why should the sidewalk news stand remain in the architectural class of the squatter’s shanty and the chicken coop? Why shouldn’t it be beautiful or at least not offensive to the eye?”

What the Times clearly didn’t realize was that by then, and over the decades to come, news vendors were not only designing and decorating their stands to reflect the personalities of the owner and the community, but selling things catering specifically to the neighborhood. You can’t get more organic than that. A Financial District newsstand served a different clientele and purpose than one in the East Village, and one in Park Slope served a different clientele and purpose than one in Flushing. (Well, at least that was the case in the twentieth century, even if it isn’t anymore.)

A number of newsstands, especially in the outer boroughs, evolved into mini community centers, with folks from the neighborhood hanging out with the owner to catch up with the news and each other. Some vendors gave their stands unique paint jobs (in some instances adorning the sides with murals), others hung Chinese lanterns or installed awnings, while still others abandoned the standard shack format altogether for more architecturally interesting designs. Despite the general perception, virtually no two stands were identical.

Ignoring (or more likely unaware of) this, the city pushed ahead with their efforts to beautify the stands,. In the ’50s and ’60s the city began once again drafting plans and sponsoring contests with an eye toward replacing the glorified chicken coops with sleek and uniform metal and glass designs, but none of their efforts went anywhere. Beyond that, there were the seemingly bi-annual efforts mounted by city council and various morality watchdog groups to ban the sale of porn. Every time the city pushed on this issue, the newsstand operators once again pushed back, arguing that porn sales represented a huge percentage of their annual profits, and by taking that away, the city would be putting them out of business.

In 1987, Hudson News was founded. Hudson News was an international chain operation, essentially the Taco Bell of storefront newsstands, whose slick and jazzy neon logo quickly became a familiar sight in airports and train stations across the country. It seems Hudson News represented exactly what New York officials had been looking for since the turn of the century.  After grabbing spots in Penn Station, Grand Central, JFK and LaGuardia in the early ’90s, Hudson News and the city both took aim at the newsstands in the subway. Suddenly it was argued that the newsstands which had been there forever were not only obstructions to commuter movement, but blocked police sight lines on the platforms as well, preventing them from stopping crime. It was an insane argument no one had brought up before, but it worked. Before long, a number of the old subway newsstands were replaced with stand-alone Hudson News kiosks. The ironic thing of course, is that the Hudson News stands were much bigger and brighter, presenting even more of an obstacle to commuters and cops alike. But they were much nicer looking and covered with neon piping, so that was okay.

For the moment anyway, the sidewalk newsstands were safe.

Then along came Rudy Giuliani, The new Law and Order mayor who made his own bid to get rid of New York’s newsstands. Along with his efforts to scrub the city clean of porn, Giuliani argued the newspapers sold at these stands sometimes blew away, adding to New York’s litter problem. The only solution, as part of his Quality of Life campaign, was to get rid of the newsstands altogether. Once again the vendors and their customers alike pushed back.

Although Giuiliani was able to clean up Times Square and Coney Island, by the time he left office those sloppy newsstands remained steadfast, and New Yorkers were still wandering knee-deep in scattered fluttering pages of The Financial Times and The Guardian.

It took his successor, Michael Bloomberg, to do what Giuliani couldn’t. Always with a mind toward the tidy and seemly and sterile, Bloomberg had long found the city’s newsstands an eyesore. In 2003 he signed what was called The Street Furniture Bill. As he put it, the aim of the bill was “to rationalize the streets of the city, where right now it's a hodgepodge of unattractive things.” The quote says a lot about Bloomberg, how he perceived New York, as well as how and why NYC turned into Des Moines.

With an eye toward faceless uniformity, the city cut a deal with the Spanish company Cemusa to design not only clean and pleasant newsstands, but matching public toilets and other bits of street furniture as well. Soon, it seemed, Bloomberg would have his dream, and wherever you went in New York, it would look just like every other part of New York.

Four years later, the city began seizing those ugly hodge-podge newsstands away from their longtime independent owners, people who had in some cases owned and operated their own newsstands for forty years or more, replacing them with identical steel and glass boxes decorated with enormous digital ads. In a blink, those faces you saw behind the newsstand windows were now mere employees, and all profits from those digital ads went straight to the Cemusa company.

By 2009, over 200 old newsstands had been removed, replaced by 300 sleek and shiny boxes with those goddamn digital ads all over them. But by then it was a moot point. With the internet killing off newspapers and magazines, and with everyone staring dead-eyed into phones instead of picking up a copy of the Daily News on the fly, newsstands themselves became all but irrelevant. As quickly as those slick and flashy boxes appeared, they began to vanish. Nowadays you’d be hard pressed to find a sidewalk newsstand anywhere in New York, though there are still a few in the subways and train stations, where Hudson News is still king.

In a final and ironic insult, in 2013, long after most of New York’s newsstands were nothing but a grubby and fading memory, every last one of them  operated by Angelo Rossitto in a newsboys cap, the city spent an estimated $90,000 on a new newsstand design to replace the one which had been in the lobby of the Brooklyn criminal courts building for over forty years. As that had always been one of the stands set aside for blind operators, the primary goal of the new design was that it be blind accessible.

Once completed, it was discovered this fancy new newsstand, which had been designed with absolutely no input from a single blindo, let alone the one who would be working there, was not in the least accessible, and so had to be scrapped. The city then dumped even more money into yet another design, but by then it was too late. No matter how popular and valuable that State Commission for the Blind program was, the New York newsstand had gone the way of the dodo, making the hubbub over the blind-friendly design for the Brooklyn courthouse irrelevant.

I can’t help but suspect the city’s alleged good-hearted move to do something decent for the disabled community (one member of it, anyway) in fact cloaked a deeply cynical effort to deal out one last fatal blow in the century-old effort to do away with newsstands altogether, making the city that much less interesting.

Well, they got what they wanted, though aesthetics aside, the more conspiratorial sections of my brain still wonders what was really behind the push.

.by Jim Knipfel

[septemberliterature]

tag game!

i was tagged by @goldbonne​ thank you for the tag, it was so much fun to this! <3

i. do you associate your protagonists with specific things (songs, items, seasons)?

yes! oh my gosh, i do it too much. i only associate them with songs and i have one for every singled character in the foreboding.

ii. what would your story be like if it was told from a different character’s perspective?

two gold kings is a bit of a mess in terms of perspective. it’s third person and everyone’s point of view. it’s very confusing and i need to fix that up. the foreboding would be really cool from side/other main characters/secondary characters. 

iii. who are your biggest inspirations/who got you into writing/made you want to continue writing?

at the moment, i’m reading a book by leigh bardugo and her writing is superb! i gather inspiration from loads of authors and books i read, as well as some blogs on here. i got into writing just by reading books and knowing that that’s what i wanted to learn. i keep writing because i enjoy it and the support from others.

iv. how do you develop characters? are there any exercises that you do?

character creation and development is a very chaotic process for me. i do a bit of something and then something else comes to mind and i work on that (probably why it can take me hours to really develop a character). names and a simple backstory come to me first so i work from there. 

v. in your opinion, when is the best time to write (day, morning, night, after hanging out with friends)?

i don’t write at any specific part of the day, i just write when i feel like it but i find that i get most of my writing done either at night or the morning. 

vi. if your wip(s) was suddenly turned into a horror/thriller what tropes/cliches would your characters assume (poc who dies in the first two minutes, scary clowns, misdirect killer...)? and for the horror/thriller wip owners, what would happen to your characters if they were in a rom-com?

oh wow! this is such an interesting question. i would love to see how my characters from two gold kings would do in an old-school murder, horror film. azriel would definitely sacrifice himself for the safety of the rest. theo would be the brains of the operation. evalyn would be such a badass during the fight scenes with the killer. annis would be the rock of the group, supporting everyone and preventing them from losing their minds. ed would be would just be super helpful but probably freaking out the entire time. 

vii. re-read the first wip/piece of writing you can find. what is the best and worst line?

i actually lost ALL of my really old short stories when my old laptop’s hard-drive completely died, so that’s a shame. it would’ve been really funny to read those again. what i do have is my really cringy, old wattpad story.

worst line:

 "For a man your age, you've got a sense of style" I laughed,

"It's the women's uniform for your age. The Head of Equipment picked it out. She said it was one with the 'youngsters'" he said bluntly.

i could barf.

best line:

"Well, I was thinking we could stop off at Taco Bell and get some food" he responds. A confused and unamused expression appeared on my face.

"I'm kidding! Be fun for once. I've known you for about ten minutes and you seem more uptight than my Mum and that's saying something." he acknowledged.

"There's an old friend of mine who once knew Jeru personally, I thought we could get some background knowledge on him before we attempt anything too severe" he continued.

"Wow! That's the first smart thing you've said all day!" I sneered.

wow, 14-year-old me trying to be snarky and aNgsTy. this isn’t even remotely good but i couldn’t read anymore, the structure is so off as well. 

viii.are there any unspoken rules between your characters in your wip(s)?

i can’t think of any...

ix. do you give your characters birthdays, myer-briggs types.. when you first made them as a guide or at the end when you know them?

i gave my characters birthdays at the end and tried to do it based on which zodiac sign they would best fit into. astrology is just something that interests me lol. 

x. do you write each scene in a separate doc or just have one fat document for the whole wip?

i have two docs: one for planning, character profiles, outlining and worldbuilding - it’s just one info dump - and then one for where i write the story itself. 

my questions:

i. what character from your wip(s) would you consider to be most like you?

ii. what’s the first line of your oldest project/wip you still have?

iii. choose a character from a wip and introduce them in ten words.

iv. what high school stereotypes would your characters fit into?

v. what’s a story idea you’ve had but you’ve been hesitant to develop?

vi. can you share your favourite line from your wip(s)?

vii. what was the last book you read? rate it out of five stars.

viii. how did you get the inspiration for your newest wip?

ix. if your wip was put in an ‘end of the world’ scenario, how would your characters react? how would your world be impacted? 

x. what're three random facts about your wip/characters/world? 

tagging: @farrradays @awriteblrtime @amongwriters @quilloftheclouds @owl-writes (ignore if you don’t want to do this)

[absoluteturnip]

Some Drifted, Missing (and Some Drifted, Found) CH.1

Summary: Soooo basically I got an idea inspired by Shay’s post here. Horror movie AU but slightly to the left? And then it became chapters. “What if the sides were idiot teenagers playing with a Ouija board and then they had to save themselves from supernatural creatures.” 

If it interests anyone, Deceit is in here, he’s called Dee, we keep it simple up in this b*tch. And he’s not the villain/monster and is twins with Logan because I wrote it once with a friend and it’s now a personal hc. Rip. I also started this before DWIT came out so I’m gonna... omit Remus.

Pairings: No romantic, just platonic DLAMP

Triggers: non-major character death, murder mention (very brief and non-descriptive!), sympathetic Deceit, swearing, minor crimes (B&E basically), ouija boards, uh... spooks? I’m new to tagging triggers for my writing, so feel free to tell me if i'm missing things!!

Taglist: @sidespromptblog @effortiswhatmatters

AO3 Link

/wee-juh/ noun. a device consisting of a small board, or planchette, on legs that rest on a larger board marked with words, letters of the alphabet, etc., and that by moving over the larger board and touching the words, letters, etc, while the fingers of spiritualists, mediums, or others rest lightly upon it, is employed to answer questions, give messages, etc.

The five teenagers stood at the gate to the oldest house in their combined neighborhoods. An awkward hush settled over their group as they stared at the old, rotting corpse of a building perched in the very center of an overgrown yard.

The tallest, and by far the lankiest and most gothic looking, of the five shrunk back behind two of his friends with a soft whine, “Guys this is an awful idea. People have died in there! And people who’ve gone in to explore or find shit have gone missing!”

One of the boys, an almost equally tall but muscular brunet, laughs loudly as his bright green eyes light up with the idea of an adventure, “Oh, come now Virgil, those are just stories to keep us off the property! Plus, Jason Toddler, there have probably been as many deaths at the local Taco Bell!”

Virgil grimaces and shifts to stand behind a different friend, “Thanks Roman, not helping.”

Roman shrugs a little, apologetic, as one of the brown eyed and strawberry blond twins shoves him, “Hey! Don’t scare Virgil, only I get to do that!”

The other twin, identical except for the thick framed glasses, rolls his eyes, “Very mature, Dee. Now, are we going or not?”

The fifth in the group, a little blonde who sported round glasses and was who Virgil had tried to hide behind, laughs, “Slow down, Logan. Let’s get Virge calmed down first, okay? I want everyone to be on board before we go in!”

Logan adjusted his glasses with a sharp nod, “Right, of course Patton. Virgil, there is truly nothing to fear as the so-called ‘paranormal’ does not exist. That is what we are here to prove tonight, is it not?”

The group watches as Virgil takes a few steadying breaths and stands up straight, “Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit. You’re right, let’s fucking go.”

Patton bounces on his toes, blue eyes sparkling, “Aaah, I’m proud of you kiddo! Let’s go, go, go!”

Dee rolls his eyes with a grin, kicking the front gate open, “A’ight bitches, up you get, Ro and I have a bet to win! Ro, you got the Ouija?”

The brunet grins, passing Dee the case, “Yep! Time to blow some non-believer’s minds.”

Virgil shoulders past Roman and Dee, heading for the porch, “I couldn’t handle your stalling, get up here already before my sanity kicks in.” He turns to face them as they scramble to catch up and sees Logan opening his mouth, “Just because the paranormal isn’t real, doesn’t mean this place is safe, dude. It’s old as dirt.”

Logan sighs, looking around as he joins Virgil on the porch, “I will concede to that point, I suppose.”

“Lo, quit being a posh bitch. There aren’t any of your debate buddies, you’re fine to quit being the Smart Twin™,” Dee snorts, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, did you just say the trademark symbol out loud?” Logan openly stares at his twin, stunned, “Bitch, what the fuck?”

Patton laughs, “Alright, settle down everybody. I’ll be counting for the swear jar, remember that!”

Roman whines, stomping a little on the porch steps, “Paaaat! That’s not fair, what if something spooks us?”

“Easy, don’t swear when you scream,” Virgil snickers, “I know it’s a difficult concept, but I believe in you.”

Patton giggles, “Okay, okay, no fighting. Now... about this door. Is it locked?”

Dee reaches for the knob, twisting it to test, “Yep, locked. I could maybe kick it in; can definitely kick it in with Roman or Lo’s help.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I got it,” Patton shimmies through the group to crouch at eye level with the lock, “Oh! It’s an old tumbler lock, this’ll be easy.”

“Patton, what ar‒” Roman’s voice peters out as they all watch Patton pull out a small soft case of lockpicks and start on unlocking the door.

“This’ll ruin the lock but‒ c’mon baby, c’mon don’t be mean‒ it works in a real pinch. Ah-ha! Here we go,” Patton wiggles in excitement as he stands up, opening the door and turning to face the group.

“Um, guys? Is something wrong?” Patton’s smile falls as he sees his friends’ disbelief and shock.

The twins are the first to shake off their surprise as they both clear their throats with a shake of their heads, completely in-sync, “No, just, uh, new information!”

Patton’s smile came back almost instantly, “Well? What are we waiting for then? Let’s go!”

The four watch as the endlessly sunny blonde spins on his heel and skips into the old house. Him spinning back around and waving for them to follow finally spurs them into action, Roman and Dee scrambling to catch up as Virgil and Logan share a concerned look before following their friends.

Inside, it is silent. Almost to an oppressive degree. Everything is coated in dust and grime but there was still furniture. It looks like nobody had ever moved out. The floorboards still has visible wear patterns from the old owners, but they weren’t completely rotted out like the boys thought they would be. The paint is faded in places from where the light came through the windows but otherwise it was a uniform, dark burgundy color that made the rooms feel smaller than they actually were in the late evening sun. The group walks through the house, chattering softly about little things they see as they walk through the still-furnished living room and dining room, in awe of the old architecture looming above them. 

Roman and Dee are determined to find an old room with a nice atmosphere to set up their ouija board for a session, covertly keeping a close eye on each other and the rest of their group. They definitely aren’t afraid of the idea of ghosts, no siree. Just worried about the others wandering off in a weird, old, condemned house.

They wander into a large library, coated in dust but otherwise looking like the residents might walk in at any moment to catch them trespassing. The book titles are hard to read, the dust is so thick, but Logan immediately started wandering the edges of the room to try to see what the shelves held in them. Light streaks in from a cobweb coated window and hit the desk in the middle of the room perfectly, obviously arranged there for that exact reason.

Dee glances over at Roman and holds up the weathered travel-case and rattles it with raised eyebrows before gesturing to the desk in front of him. It's their best bet, in his opinion, short of setting up on the floor. Which, again, in his personal opinion, is nasty and he could see some weird stains on the carpeting that hasn’t been cleaned in who knows how long.

Roman nodded, clapping his hands together, “Alright! Logan, Virgil, time to finalize the bet. If we contact a spirit, you both owe Dee and me ten bucks each. If we don’t, we owe you both ten bucks each. So that’s twenty from each loser and twenty to each winner. Sound good?”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he stalks over to grin at his twin and their friend, “I’m fine with that, if Dee and Virgil are. Vee?”

“Yeah, sounds good. We’ll be winning anyways.”

“Oh you’re on,” Dee grins, leaning over the desk to offer his hand to shake Virgil’s.

Roman does the same with Logan as Patton tilts his head, scrolling through his phone. “So we’re here because of the murders, right? The double homicide that happened to the original owners?”

“Well, yeah?” Roman broke off his staring contest with Logan for a moment, “Why?”

“Well we’ve chosen a fitting room, I can tell you that much!” He grimaced as he stepped around the stains on the carpet before looking at his phone again, “Because these are blood.”

[anonthenullifier]

Do you think Tommy and Billy would ever given a tour of Stark Industries? I mean their Dad did technically help run it in a previous life.

Thanks for the ask!  I don’t think this is what you were looking for, but it is the first thing that came to my mind after reading your ask. I do apologize if the characterization is off at all, I don’t usually write from either of the twin’s perspectives but it was the only way to do this story . Hope you enjoy!

“And now we move into what many consider the true heart of the tour,” a peppy smile goes with a peppy wave of her arms and the impressively uniformed pep in the tour guide’s step, “the hall of heroes.”

“Kill me now,” Tommy groans next to him, mood perpetually spiraling downward for the last hour, “please just blink me out of this reality.”

The field trip isn’t that bad. Well, it’s not great, but it could be worse, like the time they went to the wastewater plant and there was a leak. “This is the last room.” It is also, admittedly, the worst room to be in as children of Avengers. Being in a shrine devoted to worshipping your parents and family while surrounded by peers that already view you differently kind of sucks.

“We’re at Stark Industries,” Billy waits for his brother to make some sort of point, shrugging off the aggravation in his voice and inspecting the first generation uniforms of their parents. The plaque has an asterisk that leads the eye down to a note stating all uniforms on display are originals, graciously donated by the heroes except for The Vision’s (Billy frowns at the unneeded The) which is a replica due to the still unexplained power he has to shift molecules.

Tommy begrudgingly joins in staring at the uniforms, “This crap is not what we should be seeing. We’re not fucking tourists.”

“Language.”  

Dad has been trying, and failing miserably, to curb impolite language, so when he is not around, Billy takes joy in turn-coating his allegiance and policing it. “Oh bugger off, traitor.” They both laugh at the loophole they discovered early on. If dad doesn’t realize they’re cussing, then they can do it freely, until mom stares them down, anyway. “I’m serious, I want to see the top secret stuff, not,” he flings his hands out at the post-Thanos uniforms, “this.”

They’ve listened to their grandpa wax poetically about his innovations, sat dumbfounded at the technical questions from both their dad and their other science minded relatives. There is so much more than old Iron Man uniforms and the ten different shields good ole Captain America has used to protect freedom. “Mom and dad are meeting us at the end, we could just ask-“

Tommy recoils at the comment, side-eying him the same way you would a person espousing mind control through frozen corn kernels on the street corner (though that actually ended up partially correct and led to a few months without corn in the house and deep, empty looks on their parents’ faces). “You trying to steal the funkiller crown from dad?” Hands turn Billy toward a small, gray door with a white and red sign stating Authorized Personnel Only. “You know the good stuff is back there.”

“No,” even if they can easily distract the chaperones and slip away from their classmates, it’s not worth it. “In less than a day, I get to go with Teddy on a houseboat.”

Tommy’s unempathetic stare is typical when matters of his relationship come up, “And…?”

“And I’m not risking it.”

Billy moves on to the current day display (all replicas), fingers tapping through the buttons on a screen introducing him to the training rooms and the Stark tech that is changing not just the world but universes too. Unfortunately the twin devil on his shoulder follows. “We won’t get caught.”

“We get caught 91.35% of the time,” a stat so graciously computed by dad three weeks ago when Tommy ran (literally) out and got them Taco Bell for lunch and then proceeded to proudly eat his chalupa in front of the teacher monitoring the lunchroom.

A scoff signals this fight is nowhere near done, “One, even dad admits his computation is flawed,” a margin of error assumed of plus or minus five percent for instances of misconduct that went fully undetected, “and two, that means we have a ten percent shot at success.” This is said as if ten percent is equatable to seventy five.

“Or we don’t and I have a hundred percent shot at a weekend without mom and dad.”

“Traitor.” Tommy shoves him out of the way, taking over control of the interactive display. “Yo display lady.”

A pleasant, lightly accented voice streams from the luminescent screen, “How may I help you?”

“Where are these rooms?”

A three second lag exists between the question and response, “Official training rooms are located at the Avengers compound, while beta-testing and highly complex simulations are housed here at Stark industries.”

Tommy stares at him, assuming this is somehow convincing. “No.”

“How many records are held by Vision?”

More silence and then the screen displays a table of dates and times, “Vision,” no The this time, likely because it was programmed by grandpa, “has eight time trial records across the two facilities.”

Another look from his brother implies this is all they need to know. Billy shakes his head. “And Scarlet Witch?”

The screen dissolves before providing new information. “Scarlet Witch has five records for time and three for amount of damage caused.”

“Go, mom!” Tommy is always more impressed by damage than time, something Steve has issues handling in their own training with the Young Avenger Initiative. “What about as a team?”

It’s to the credit of Tony’s programming that the AI understands the request in relation to the prior two questions. “Scarlet Witch and Vision, as a team, hold ten time records and eight damage records, including a combined record on training course Twenty Three, level of difficulty Wish You Were Never Born that has gone unchallenged for over eleven years.”

“Unchallenged.”

A smarmy confidence rests in Tommy’s eyes and finally the logic of his questioning clicks.  “No way.”

Tommy glares at him before returning to the screen, “Where’s that course?”

“Course Twenty Three is located here at Stark Industries.”

There’s something infuriatingly infectious about his brother’s need to rebel as a means of satisfying his drive to surpass others. It’s so tempting to say yes, but Billy digs his heels in, refusing to go along yet again with one of Tommy’s plans that, though always fun, never have fun consequences and dammit, he wants to spend the weekend with Teddy. “Not a chance.”

Exasperation fills every inch of Tommy’s flail. They move on and the silence is nice, if not a bit unsettling. “Question.”

Billy makes sure his annoyance is firmly on display. “What?”

“Would you rather try and break their record or,” a lightning fast push spins Billy around, “watch Cody manhandle mom?” Mortification gnaws at his resolve, their classmate groping the mannequin from the brief time the Scarlet Witch wore a leotard and tights. It’s when Cody makes direct eye contact with them and starts pantomiming his intentions that Billy’s hands snap shut, blue energy tingling under his skin. “You take him down, guarantee that houseboat is gone.” An arm loops amicably around his shoulder, pivoting him towards the authorized access door. “We go see the good stuff and you have slightly better odds.” Billy is turned back to Cody, who has only grown more vigorous in his lewd gesticulating, “No houseboat,” and then back to the door as if there are only two options, “or a shit ton of fun and possibly a houseboat.”

Billy sighs and Tommy’s mouth tips into a beaming smile. “Fine.” Immediately his mind starts justifying the decision, an 8.65% chance not the worst odds in the world, plus, if they aren’t in the room when the prototype of the next-gen Iron Man happens to fall on Cody, then no one can point at him as the culprit.

Wordlessly they carry out the escape, Billy always taking on the role of distraction through subtle manipulations of perceived reality and Tommy gleefully vibrating his molecules to slip through the wall and open the door. “Let’s go.”

For some reason, he had assumed walking through the door would be like that one movie they watched, with the oompa-loompas, a door opening and a world beyond imagination appearing before them -flying suits, disappearing materials, explosions, scientists in white coats and blue gloves. Instead it’s just a hallway with beige walls and linoleum floors and doors lining the way. “So, what’s the plan?”

A thrilled, unconcerned lift of his brother’s shoulders drops their chances of success at least a percent, “Walk like we own the place and see what we find.” It’s sadly not his worst plan.

And walk they do, Tommy’s chest puffed out and arms swinging in casual authority. Technically, they sort of own some of the place, via dad’s stake in the company, so it’s not like they are being overly deceptive. Each hallway looks the same, making it difficult to track exactly where they are going, until they find another door stating Credentials Required and a face scanner affixed to the wall. Tommy doesn’t even hesitate in shimmying through the wall, so Billy follows, hands parting the space in front of him so he can walk through, closing reality behind him with some hesitation, certain there have to be cameras somewhere tracking them.

That concern is tossed aside because now they find the cinematic reveal, an open hangar in front of them with some sort of alien-esque ship on the ground and four floors of glass doored, luminescent laboratories spanning the reach of their eyes. “The good stuff.” This is far better than replica uniforms. “Let’s go find the simulation.”

“But look at this stuff!”

The self-confidence he had admired earlier also goes hand-in-hand with a tendency for fixation. “Yeah, I see it.”

Billy does his best to keep pace with his twin, who has a habit of speeding up his walk when excited while forgetting other people can’t move nearly as fast. That combined with Billy’s desire to peer into every lab space and marvel at the work, makes their trip stream by incomprehensibly. He thinks he saw a phasing suit, maybe a new particle generator, some sort of extraterrestrial looking staff, a portal to a mountain side, what he thinks might be a baby raptor, and also their grandma, who he usually loves seeing but pulled Tommy out of view before she could spot them. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Fantastic.”

“Where are you going?”

The voice is instantly recognizable, one they’ve grown up hearing and it’s a little judgmental and a little bit amused. Tommy swings around and puts on the fakest innocent smile the world has ever seen. “Hey, Grandpa!”

Tony smirks, unconvinced by the tone of the greeting, but he isn’t angry, which is a good start. “How are my favorite rebels doing?”

“Great, on a field trip.” Billy is in awe of people like Tommy and Tony who can act so natural, can just ooze bravado and a sense of entitlement on a whim.

There is a nod and a contemplative droop of his goatee. “Seems you got lost.”

Tommy nods along, “Yeah, been trying to find our classmates, have you seen them?”

Now Tony chuckles, slapping his hands together, giddy at the lie but still showing no signs of annoyance or reprimand. “I have not, but I imagine they can’t phase through walls like you two can.” Billy, personally, wilts at the calling out, while Tommy shrugs again, matching Tony’s stance and attitude. “What do you two want to see?”

“What?” It comes out before Billy can catch it, surprised at the quick approval of their misdeeds.

“I asked what you wanted to see,” Tony stares at them, concerned he has somehow slipped into another language, “There has to be a reason you barged through my walls.” Learning to function in both the superhero world and just being a teenager with parents who have rules you don’t agree with, requires an ability to spot entrapment, certain phrases purposely worded as openings for waltzing right into admonishment. When neither of them take the bait, Tony acts hurt, a shake of his head and a pained, expertly acted, clutched chest. “I thought I was the cool, eccentric grandfather,” a smile threatens to wash away Billy’s anxiety as Tony continues in pantomimed betrayal. “Is it Thor? Would you tell Thor what you want? I mean, I don’t blame you, those gorgeous, puppy dog eyes are a killer.” A snigger from Tommy and all apprehension leaves the atmosphere, Tony’s toothy grin absolving all guilt of their sneaking around. “Seriously, what do you want to see? I’ve got a brand spanking new interdimensional travel lab, some Skrull-based camouflage trials, there’s a spaceship downstairs, Helen has an updated, palm-sized cradle.”

All of it, every last one is what Billy wants to see, but Tommy beats him to the request, “We want to do simulation twenty three, Wish You Were Never Born.”

Understanding dawns on Tony’s face, “Want to show the parental units up, huh?”

“Yep.” Tommy is close to vibrating through the floor.

“It’s really dangerous,” the mood darkens until Tony presents them a masterclass, uncaring shrug they’ve seen numerous times in his press conferences and Senate hearings, “but I’m not your parents and so it is my duty to aid and abet your delinquency.”

An ecstatic arm closes around Billy’s shoulder as they follow their grandpa down four different hallways and three staircases, emerging into a vast, utterly empty warehouse. “You all have suits?” Tommy whips off his sweatshirt to reveal the Stark crafted, green and white suit he always wears under his clothes, yanking his goggles from his back pocket and pulling them down over his face. Since this seems to actually be happening, Billy waves his hands, materializing his own caped suit in place of his jeans and t-shirt. “All right then, let me go upstairs real fast.”

The climb into the observation booth is agonizing under Tommy’s uncontainable excitement, his feet a blur as he warms up, running in place. “Quick disclaimer, boys,” they look up at Stark’s face through the window, “there are numerous things that can seriously maim you in this course, kind of why your parents hold the record, the whole made of vibranium slant your dad’s got going makes him uniquely qualified to handle a lot of this and your mom is terrifying as well, so together, magic.” A seed of doubt sprouts in Billy’s mind, yet it is not given time to be nurtured a, “Anyway, best of luck!” and then the room comes alive around them.

To say the difficulty level name is apt is a bit of an understatement. At any given time there are over a dozen different foes, and for each type of challenge, there are at least a dozen individuals within it. It ranges from laser guns, incendiary robots that look an awful lot like Ultron, replicas of the Black Order, phasing, flame wielding alien things, and Billy’s least favorite right now, microscopic, swarming jellyfish that blister the skin on contact. In amongst the chaos of fighting, he can hear Tommy cycle between “Shit, shit, shit,” “Oh my God!”, “What the fuck is that,” and maniacal glee. Slowly, and painfully, they take down the threats, sometimes combining forces to remove a particularly difficult foe, and sometimes splitting up to decimate the weaker challenges.  

Looming over them is a very large clock, ticking away at their time and next to it, is the record of their parents. Their own clock continues, the numbers growing more similar to the goal and Billy assesses the surroundings, only taser faced bear-like creatures and giant bouncing orbs made of some sort of sticky, burning compound left. “Tommy!” His brother skids into view, mouth in a perennial smile and lungs heaving as he waits for the next strategy. “We have ten seconds, I say we vaporize.”

What seemed impossible is proven wrong, Tommy’s lips curving even higher as he fiddles with his goggles. “You hold them steady.”

“Will do.”

It’s a technique they birthed from their mistakes, the possibilities of their powers unknown and often discovered in embarrassing and unintentional ways. Like vaporizing soccer fields during gym class. Billy winds his powers around the last group of adversaries, wincing at the weight of their resistance as he adds more and more force to his hold. While he does this, Tommy runs a large circle around the bound creatures, legs pumping faster and faster with each lap until even Billy can’t track his position. That’s when it happens, a sonic boom that spreads through the warehouse, shoving Billy to the ground, puffs of smoke making the air murky, and then there is a “Hell yeah!” and the telltale sound of the buzzer their own training uses to signal success.

Tommy collapses on the ground next to Billy, “That was amazing.” All Billy can manage is a nod, lungs and body aching. “Do you think we did it?”

“Though impressive, unfortunately you were 8.65 seconds over.” Disappointing, but not bad. Far more worrisome is the unmistakably even English accent informing them of their failure.

Billy strains to sit up, glancing over his shoulder at the deep scowls of disappointment on his parents’ faces, next to the apologetic wince of Tony. “Fuck.”

“Language, William.” Tommy snorts and is met with a jab of blue to his chest. 

Two strikes in less than three seconds and the houseboat is most definitely floating away, “Sorry, dad.”

“What are you two doing here?” This time it’s their mom, her accent thicker when she’s angry and currently it sounds like she just moved here from Sokovia.

A hand pats Billy’s arm, a reassurance that really isn’t helping. “The field trip was just so boring.” Nor is Tommy’s attempt at defending their choice providing any hope of bringing the boat back. “We just wanted to see stuff.”

The intercom clicks and they are presented with a predictably logical alternative, “You could have asked us after the field trip. You had shown interest in a more detailed tour the other night, hence the reason why your mother and I were meeting you here instead of at home.”

Billy flops his head to stare deep into his twin’s goggled eyes, “I suggested that.”

“Shut up.”

Another click and mom is back on the microphone, “We’ve been speaking with the Altman’s,” any last, clinging hope withers away, “they were really looking forward to having you with them this weekend,” the feeling is mutual, “they suggested a nice compromise.” He waits to learn what this is, worried if he asks it will harm any goodwill left. “They invited all of us along on the trip.” 

Despair is far heavier than the physical toll of the course, and isn’t helped at all by the thumbs up next to him and the out-of-breath, “Yes, I love houseboats!”

[mulbery-street]

Rules: 21 answers then tag 21 people

I got tagged by both @pantaloonwarrior and @sippingthechlorine , thanks guys!

Nickname: My nickname is Idem, an old screen name some friends gave me several years ago.

Zodiac: Leo

Height: 5' 4 / 162.5 cm

Last movie I saw: I saw Captain Marvel the other day and it was amazing!

Last thing I googled: Online image flipper haha, I wanted to fix a selfie so the text on the shirt was the right direction

Favorite Musician: Hmmm, honestly at the moment I've gotta say Twenty One Pilots skskssk

Song stuck in my head: Hoty 💜

Other blogs: My main is @damien-iplier

Followers: Around 170 on here 💛

Following: Ah man, since this is a side blog I don't have a specific amount on here, but I've been on Tumblr for 6 years (yikes) so I'm following a lot of people

Amount of sleep: Lately it's been around 6-8 hours

Lucky numbers: 7

Dream job: Hhhh I wish I knew,,, I love art and music and poetry, but careers for those things are difficult so I dunno

What I’m wearing: My work uniform, but underneath my work uniform is my 2014 Vessel shirt I bought the other day and I'm love it

Favorite food: Either legit Mexican food (sorry Taco Bell) or sandwiches

Language: English and Spanish

Can I play an Instrument: Piano, guitar, uke, and my vocal chords

Favorite song: Hhhhhhh I can't pick a favorite, I love too many songs. I'm a lover of music, so I can't pick

Random Fact: I'm left handed :D

Describe yourself in aesthetic things: Soft grunge, crystals, sunsets, and purples.

I'm still pretty new in the whole tøp Tumblr fandom, so I'm just gonna tag who I can, hope y'all don't mind. If you wanna do this though and I didn't tag you though, feel free to do it and tag me!

I’m tagging: @number1nedstan @gnctyler @fall-out-of-formation @homtown @fleshoutthe-door

[lalka-laski]

1 - What are some of your favourite scents/smells? Lavender, cedarwood, Glenn's body wash & deodorant, fresh laundry, rainy days

2 - Do you enjoy watching murder mystery/crime programmes? Do you prefer fictional shows or ones based on real-life cases? I admit I like Dateline (we call it "murder porn") but I find the whole true crime genre a little unsettling. Imagine one of your loved ones is brutally murdered and then generations to come pop some popcorn and put up their feet to watch the grisly details play out in a re-enactment. It's just weird.

3 - What was the last parcel you received in the mail? Was it something you ordered yourself or was it a gift? An Amazon package of some shoes that I'll be returning because (shocker) they were too small. Damn my Fred Flintstone feet!

4 - Is there anyone you send e-mails to on a regular basis? Outside of work, nah

5 - What’s your favourite colour combination? Are any rooms in your house decorated in that particular scheme? Pink & white I suppose. That's the color scheme of my bedroom & bathroom

6 - Do you prefer white, milk or dark chocolate? What about flavoured chocolate? Milk chocolate over everything. I don't trust people who "prefer" dark. I think they're lying to make themselves look better

7 - What was the last reason for you leaving the room you’re currently in? To go put some clothes in the dryer

8 - How many surveys have you taken so far today? Do you have any plans to take more after this one? This is my third of the morning and I'm showing no signs of stopping. Thursday shifts are very survey dense...

9 - If you eat it, what type of meat is your favourite? If you’re vegetarian/vegan, do you like meat substitutes like quorn or tofu? I like Quorn but my favorite brands are probably Morningstar and Impossible. I'm so impressed with how far veggie food has come!

10 - What was the last thing you looked up on Google? Histrionic personality disorder

11 - What’s the next major holiday coming up for you? Do you have any interesting plans? Halloween! I think my sister is throwing a party but I'm not entirely sure

12 - Do you live in an area where masks are compulsory in order to enter shops? They're advised in most places but not mandatory. I still wear mine everywhere though, for fear of looking like a Trumpster.

13 - Did you wear any kind of uniform to school? If so, describe it. If not, did you at least have some kind of dress code to follow? No uniforms but we did have some bogus & very misogynistic rules that I think are standard for most American schools.

14 - Is there anything unusual or out of the ordinary in the room you’re currently in? I work in a fertility clinic so I guess a lot of this stuff is "out of the ordinary" compared to most workplaces

15 - Who was the last person you spoke to via Messenger, if you have it? Glenn

16 - Have you ever been badly sunburned? What did you do in order to make it less painful afterwards? Story of my whole entire pasty life! I once had a sunburn so bad I had to stay home from school for a few days.

17 - When was the last time you went swimming in the sea? Do you prefer swimming in the sea or in a pool? I've never been in the sea, although I did swim in a lake last weekend

18 - What’s something you need to buy in the near future? Are you waiting until you get paid to buy it? I need to pay my electric bill that's loooong overdue...

19 - What have you eaten so far today? Do you have plans to eat anything else before you go to bed? Despite it only being 8 am, I've already had a slice of pizza, a piece of pita bread & hummus, and a glass of coke. (And I wonder why I have stomach issues??) And yes, I plan to eat plenty more before bedtime tonight.

20 - Do you parents still buy you Easter eggs even though you’re fully grown? Yes, I love Easter baskets! And the candy is by far the best of any holiday.

21 - The last time you were in a car, where were you going and what were you doing there? Driving home from my parents house (and a pit stop at Taco Bell). Glenn & I stopped by to have a chat with my mom & dad.

22 - Do your parents have any opinions that you consider to be old-fashioned or odd? My dad has quite a few but he's learned over the years of living in a house of 4 headstrong, liberal women, not to be very vocal about them. It works for all of us.

23 - What time did you get out of bed this morning? Is that normal for you? 5:45ish? That's actually a smidge earlier than usual for me but I couldn't sleep and I figured getting up and out of bed was better than going back to sleep and making myself groggy.

24 - What normal things do you miss the most since COVID hit? Eating out at a restaurant!!

25 - What style of jeans/trousers are your favourite? Skinny jeans. Hate all you want, Gen Zers (or whatever the fuck y'all are called)

26 - Does it bother you when you recognise an actor but can’t remember what else you’ve seen them in? YES! I have no idea how humanity survived before IMDB!

27 - Are you generally more introverted or extroverted? Does this have a negative impact on you in any way? I'm an introvert in the sense that I prefer being alone or in a small group doing quiet, calm activities.

28 - If you were on Mastermind (a UK quiz show where you need in-depth knowledge of a certain subject), what would your preferred topic be? The Killers discography, Hilary Duff movies

29 - What’s your favourite flavour of cookie? Have you ever tried those cookies that are stuffed with things like brownies or cheesecake? Oatmeal chocolate chip. And no, but sign me the hell up!

30 - When was the last time you tried out a new recipe? Did it work out as well as you hoped? Sadly it's been awhile. I LOVE cooking but I haven't made the time to prep and plan a good meal in awhile.

[rockatanskette]

I have a lot of memories of working at Taco Bell and crying in the car on my way to work and crying in the walk-in at work and having fight-or-flight responses when any blonde Southern ladies walked in with a bag and a receipt in hand, but honestly? Some of the most vivid memories I have of working fast food is the smiles old ladies would give me on Sundays when I complimented their hats, or the way a customer's eyes would light up if I remembered their usual order, or how when I was finally in a position to quit that dump, one of the regulars came in on my last day and gave me a $20 bill while I was still in my uniform because she knew I wasn't allowed to accept tips on the job, but I wasn't working there anymore was I? And even after that, when I was working an office job that destroyed my mental health and pushed me so far to the brink I wasn't even scared of it anymore, the thing that kept me going was that I had two days a week that I could afford to go to a different Taco Bell on my way to work. And the morning cashier there would smile at me and talk to me and have my order rung up before I even rolled down my window because she saw me and remembered me and I existed in her life and if something happened to me I wouldn't anymore. And I told her once that she always made my day brighter, but I wish I could have told her that I think she saved my life.

It makes me so fucking angry that somehow that work isn't considered valuable or important or worthy of respect or paying a living wage, because capitalism decided hospitality was a meaningless buzz word and not the foundation of connection and meaning and being kind to each other. There's no such thing as worthless labor and there never has been and I've felt the weight of that lie on my shoulders every time I put that stupid purple-black snapback on my head and I wish that girl could have seen in those moments that what she was doing was important, even if nobody, including herself, thought so. Even if nobody in the goddamn world saw it. Because someone she smiled at did. I'm sure of it.

[biwindblade]

i was tagged by @bevioletskies so thank youuuuu 

nickname(s): bella, bells, bell, bella jane gender: female sign: scorpio height: around 5’2-3ish (i’m 160cm) time: 1:15 PM  fave band(s): coldplay, the neighbourhood, fleetwood mac, majid jordan (they’re a duo but still), years & years, dnce fave solo artist(s): drake, sza, khalid, bipolar sunshine, kimbra, miguel, alunageorge, rihanna, fyfe, lorde, carly rae jepsen, tyler the creator song stuck in my head: afterthought - disclosure “every time i’m alone - i’m reliving the moment - does it enter your mind - have i already blown it?” last movie i saw: spiderman: homecoming, i watched it on tuesday afternoon because i was feeling a bit sad so i wanted to cheer myself up last show i watched: brooklyn nine nine, i’m catching up on the newest episode when did i create my blog: september 2015, i think???? what do i post: a lot of things, but it’s pretty marvel-orientated at the moment BECAUSE IT’S TWENTY DAYS UNTIL INFINITY WAR (for me, at least), but usually marvel, pixar, star wars, brooklyn nine nine.  last thing i googled: redbubble, because i want to get a new phone case but i don’t really have the money at the moment so i’m looking at designs do i have any other blogs: yes! my old blog which i kind of abandoned which is @gcmoras do i get asks: not a lot, but when i do i love them, sometimes i don’t answer them though because i forget they’re there! but, if y’all wanna send some through feel free, starmora requests would be noice why did i choose my url: it’s a reference to civil war where tony calls peter ‘underoos’, i saved it the day the trailer dropped, which would make it over two years old now oh my gosh following: 1381, WHAT followed by: almost 683, it skyrocketed a bit last year because of guardians, so hello fellow guardians fans!!!! average hours of sleep: eight or nine????? lucky number: 4 instruments: i am hopeless at all instruments apart from my voice rip what i am wearing: my school uniform disgustinggggg dream job: a film director, but it would also be really cool to be a screenwriter, i’m working on my own story to develop into a film at the moment!!! dream trip: disneyland in california or new york (also space) fave food: this is so hard because i have so many but i’m gonna say chocolate milk tea with tapoica pearls and, chicken tacos (i make really good guac) nationality: chilean-australian (i’m a biracial baby) fave song: at the moment it’s borders by fyfe last book i read: i haven’t read a book in forever but i think it was away by michael gow which i attempted to read because we had to read it for english top 3 fictional universes i wanna join: marvel (even though it would genuinely be frightening to live with superheroes), brooklyn nine nine and teenage mutant ninja turtles

i tag @kill-mon-ger, @interabangs, @kaijunewton, @phil-the-stone and literally anyone else who wants to take the time to do this ☆

[besseme-blog]

Introduction

Let me introduce myself i was born and raised in the good ole US of A. When you think of an American I am what you would picture blond hair blue eyed white boy from small town USA population 7,000 three traffic lights a pigglie wiggie and two gas stations. I grew up the typical American life conservative Christian background Roman Catholic to be exact my grandma was strict and staunch go to church or burn in hell. My parents not so much they believed in god but never forced a certain religion on me honestly later I learned from them they believed in god but not in religion I wish I knew that then it would have saved me a lot of pain over the years. I grew up playing outside with my friends running the neighborhood and swimming in the local swimming hole things that small town boys do. As I started to grow up it was then I was exposed to organized religion and at the time standing in a corn field in Georgia with a redneck with a shotgun cradled in his arms preaching god and Jesus to me that only his religion is the chosen one and all others that don’t believe in his way will burn in hell and die! Needless to say for a twelve year old boy it scared the shit out of me and till now I believe it started to shape me to the mind set I have now.

More to follow.....

Growing up I was the typical all American boy playing baseball football and volleyball chasing girls and drinking beer (When I can get it) smoking a little wacky tobacco it was an amazing childhood even today I think back on my years growing up and I realize I caught the tail end of the days when being a kid meant being a kid. Mom and dad never forced religion on me actually they tried to keep away from it realizing that I should make my own choices in life and that someone else shouldn’t tell me how to live my life by what a book written thousands of years ago tells me I should and I shouldn’t do I appreciate that their mind set is find out yourself if that’s how you want to live. If I only could have realized that they were doing it for my own good and well being I wouldn’t have been thru the hell I have been thru or current predicament I’m in now.

I had a childhood roll model my uncle I’ll leave his name out of this due to fears of my identity being discovered. He was a true blue all American born in raised in the Deep South total Christian till end enlisted in Army voluntary when the Vietnam war was raging on served honorably highly decorated on the battlefields of SE Asia and continued to served till he retired from active duty at 35 yrs in uniform. He inspired me he motivated me and I made my mind up my senior year to join the military and serve my great nation like my uncle.

More to follow.

Senior year in high school and let me tell you what a year it was! I had really bloomed into a man I was working out every day and sometimes even the night I was 6 foot and 220 lbs of solid muscle had a few of the local girls I went to school with on each arm was popular in school and one hell of a football player but I was barely making it thru school. My parents decided to get me a tutor to help me pass I’m not stupid or dumb I just hated school I hated learning about things that I knew I would never use in the outside world Algebra 🤣 please when have we ever used that? Maybe if you were an engineer or scientist but me I had only one goal in life get into boot camp and get my hands on a M16 rifle.

As the year progressed my first report card came out well it wasn’t pretty a couple of B’s in subjects I liked namely social studies, English, History and our extra curricular classes like PE and auto mechanics. Math and Spanish I barely passed D in both. My parents sat me down and told me if I didn’t start passing these two subjects I either had to quit my part time job ( That meant bye bye truck ) or agree to being tutored in both subjects once a week. Ok that’s easy I loved my job and my truck so let’s do this and I’ll get a tutor.

My math tutor was this sweet lady former math teacher at our local high school well liked throughout town and well respected she whipped my butt in shape with math and there was no cheating or half ass processes it was show her how you did it and you better get it right the first time or your butt was doing it over and over again till it’s burned in your brain and she would keep me there till pass ten at night sometimes till I got it right!

Hey sounds tough but I passed!!

Spanish same thing one of the local ladies from town Rose was her name her mother came from Havana Cuba fled the country as Castro and his his rebels were beating Batista’s army back to the sea. Her father was a Major in Batista army and fought against Castro’s rebels. When Santiago fell to Castro’s forces he traveled to Havana mainly hitchhiking rides and if that didn’t work he would jam his service weapon in their face and make them take him. He was a total badass soldier and after two months finally made it to Havana as much of the country was in Chaos. He went to the airport trying to find a flight out of Havana but to no avail. As Castro’s forces encircled the city and people started to grow desperate namely Government, Military and the richest of Havana he caught a lucky break he heard of a freighter anchored off Havana buying up as much rum cigars sugar as they could get their hands on. He as a Major in the Army still had some power so he contacted the freighter and made a deal take me and my pregnant wife with you and I’ll help you raid one of the government warehouses on the wharves. They agreed the crew and him raided the warehouse at midnight and even convicted the army guards posted there to help in the raid in exchange for safe passage to the states. Christmas Day 1958 the ship pulled anchor and steamed towards Miami Jan 1st 1959 Cuba fell to Castro. Her father ( My Tutor ) was a legend in my eyes so I studied my ass off with them to pass my Spanish and got a B! And he presented me his his Cuban issue Army cover as a gift and shared a shot of rum. I will always respect that man. Rest In Peace Armando you were a true badass soldier and family man. More to come........

Work and I guess you can call it lust love.

Once my midterms were finally over and I got sort of good grades my parents were finally off my back. I didn’t have to go to the tutors during midterm break and was able to work full time at my high school job. Most kids my age in school were working at Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Blockbuster and some of the other popular places. Me on the other hand I wasn’t like the normal kids I found that flipping burgers and asking for your order too boring and meaningless so I went to work at one of the local boat yards. Being surrounded by water there was a boat yard almost on every street most of them catered to tourists renting boats or the snow birds that migrated down to warmer climates every years. I got hired at one of the smaller but nice boat yards that had slips for rent or own that people lived full time on. Boats everywhere and of every type nice multi million dollar types with more luxury than the Hilton to small sailboat types that a single person could live on. We did the maintenance around the yard the occasional maintenance on the slips and boat maintenance when paid enough.

I was hired for one purpose only that’s to dive in the harbor and to not only clean the pillions on the piers but the harbor it’s self. And let me tell ya’ll that’s some nasty ass work and quite honestly dangerous. Visibility sucks mud silt seaweed and harbor trash everywhere and the local sea life which includes things that sting things that bite and things that can and will eat you if they have a chance. Next to the harbor was a canal and there are residential homes and condos on that canal and almost all of them had boats and they loved to fish not in the canal but out in the ocean and they would bring their fish back clean them fillet them and throw their carcasses into the canal which created a god awful nastiness in the canal and attracted predators.

Barracudas- imagine a silver arrow underwater full of teeth and a bad attitude that is a Cuda. They could be small as 6 inches or as long as 6 feet. I ran into all the sizes diving the harbor and most just left me alone but sometimes there would be one that would follow me and in that inky darkness it’s not a good feeling.

Sharks- Yup they were there too every time you say shark someone would think of Jaws lucky that where I grew up there were no white sharks but there were others.

Bulls- Meanest damn things you can imagine honestly I think they are more dangerous than any other sharks and they have a bad temper too. Ran into them a few times while scouring the bottom and one chased my ass right up the boat ramp.

Tigers- bigger than bulls but equally as dangerous but not with the attitude of a bull they are the types that check you out first before they attack ran head on to a big one while removing a palm frond from the bottom he was probably around 9 foot long and I almost shit myself he swam right past me and I’ll never forget that tail it was so strong I moved when he swam by me. I was lucky three yrs after I enlisted a guy that lived on the canal where the recreational boats were lost a leg to a bull shark when he jumped on top of it by accident.

I loved my job I had a great time with a great group of guys. Mr. Smith he was my boss he was the nephew of the owner of the boat yard from Buffalo NY he was a hard ass worker day and night he had a wife and two kids a boy and girl and he was a family man even though he worked 7 days a week he always made time for them.

Mr. Mark- Army veteran served in Nam ground pounded in the rice paddies he saw some pretty hardcore action there but he never acted weird and crazy like some do after a few beers he would be back in the rice paddies chasing the Cong quite a few nights we had to carry his ass back to his truck take the keys make sure there was no guns nearby and let him sleep it off.

Mr. Jaime- Young guy 22 served in the Air Force got out had no goal in life but to work and live in a warm climate I asked him onetime what did you do in the Air Force and he said as little as possible.

The Boat yard people

They were a mixed bunch there were two types the year round residential ones they had the Beverly Hills of the boat yard the far end docks with the shore power and potable water hook ups. They were the ones who had more money than they knew what to do with and the multi million dollars live aboards most of them were really likable and easy going they were all pretty much retired with nothing really to do all day but ride around the boatyard on their bikes or electric carts most would start drinking at noon and by 6 pm were pretty shit faced. There was this nice couple from New York Ike and Fran they were Jewish but not very religious Ike used to say that why should we follow a book written 3000 yrs ago by a group of sand people living in the most inhospitable place on earth that thought when water fell from the sky (Rain) it was a gift from god. Ike make a ton of money in the real estate industry up north and they would always meet me at the docks before I would start diving to clean the basin and would always tell me what ever shellfish (Crabs and lobsters) or snappers or groupers I catch they would pay me for. Ike was scared of the ocean he served in the Navy and had a bad experience while swimming in Guam he told something dragged him to the bottom he swore up and down it was a giant shark ( Personally I think Ike was drunk and imagined the whole thing) I used to bring them conches stone crab and lobster every dive I did and he would always give me 25 dollars for my catch no matter how small or large. Ike didn’t believe in the whole kosher thing he thought it was a scam and a way for religious Jews to make money off people who believe that they will burn in hell if they don’t follow the ways of sand people 3000 yrs ago. They were good people and later on I found out they had both passed on and I hope the Rest In Peace. There were the Domingo brothers Hector and Juan two Cubans ran away from Cuba when Fidel took over these two practically swam in money both made their fortune by running dope from the Bahamas to the keys and Miami they had fast cars tons of gold and after Federal agents raided their yacht in the marina they had an arsenal of high powered military type weapons I remember a DEA agent bringing out AK’s M16’s UZI’s and all sorts of handguns. I didn’t have much dealings with the brothers they kept to themselves most of the time from what I read later on they both got twenty years in jail and the feds confiscated their boat and cars.

Terry and Trish

Well picture this two old party hard lesbians that was Trish and Terry they were in their 60’s made their money in hair dressing salons in New Jersey and they were always the life of the party they would start drinking at 1200 pm then they would start smoking weed around 3 pm and by 8 pm both were so wasted I had to make sure they got on their boat and in bed before one of them fell over and drowned or eaten by a damn shark. They were good people never found out what happened to them they were always against me joining the military they couldn’t understand why I wanted to go to war and die for someone else.

Karen and Tony

These two people were the youngest ones in the Beverly Hills in the marina Tony was 55 and Karen was 48 Tony served in the army during Vietnam as a MP I suspected there was much more to that story I’ll explain why later on. Karen who would alter my life and have a huge impact on me was a former teacher in Pennsylvania and a former hippie girl Tony and her met when he was on leave from the Army in the late 60’s. Tony made his fortune in boat batteries and had offices in Florida, Belize and Thailand Tony used to split his time between them two months in Belize and two months in Thailand and the rest in Florida they lived aboard a very nice yacht custom made job with all the luxury and comfort you could ask for. They both liked to work out in the local gym same place I worked out in and when tony was around they would bike ride around the island. Karen was an attractive woman between the bike riding and the gym she kept her self in shape and she always wore a two piece bikini either black or white and she liked her wine a lot she would usually start drinking after her morning or early afternoon bike rides. Tony hardly drank only once and awhile he would have a beer or two but other than that he kept himself sober most of the time.

The ghetto docks

The Beverly Hills section is the high rent district of the marina the upper shelf of the place the lower dock slips were the low rent section they were the part timers usually the drifters who floated in or snow birds from up north escaping the winter. Their boats well let’s just say from small sailboats to regular fishing boats with a small cabin with barely enough room to move around. The low rent docks didn’t get the service like Beverly Hills did they were responsible for their water their power and garbage removal and sewage removal no pumping into the basin they had to call the local honey pot to come pump them out. Beverly Hills they had power and water and sewage removal provided by the marina and garbage removal three times a day they just had to place it in the trash bins placed at the foot of the dock plus they had twenty four hour service if their power went out or water they could call Ralph and he would have one of us reset the breaker or restart the water pump. There were some interesting creatures in the low rent district for sure just a quick list.

The felon-

He was on the run from the law in Maine from what we found out later he shot his brother in the chest and fled he was halfway to freedom when he ran aground off the lower part of Florida and had to dock till repairs were done. He almost made it to South America the Panamanian coast guard caught him illegally fishing in their waters and arrested him. He was deported back to America minus his sailboat and is serving a 30 yr sentence for attempted murder.

The gay pedofile named skip-

The name same says it all he drugged and raped a 16 yr boy in NC and fled from the police he kept a low profile till one night he invited me over to his place to watch porn and have a beer of course. I declined and he left the marina a week later he didn’t make it far his boat caught fire off an reef at 2 am and he had to abandon ship and was never seen again. Police found the wreckage and identification number on the boat and declared him lost at sea.

The mentaposal married drug addict-

She was a trip OMG that woman was something I will never forget she was hooked on something and she didn’t care one way or the other about anything her old man was locked up in jail awaiting trial for drug dealing and looking at a lot of time. She was high almost 24/7 she had no money she couldn’t hold a job she would get fired after a a few weeks she always had the shadiest characters coming in and out from her boat she was trading sex for drugs and had no cares in the world. Jaime used to give her 20 dollars for BJ’s in the work shed after hours and bragged how he used to make her throw up by rough throat sex she was finally evicted from the dock she didn’t pay her rent for 6 months we had to call the sheriffs department when she started throwing things into the basin. She died after I joined the Navy overdose of cocaine.

More to come.......

[vznessa-archive]

One More Chance

* Vanessa Moore & Mike Dallas ( @allstarmiked ) * tw: smut * Takes place after Cam’s party Sunday. 

Dallas gently led Vanessa out to his car, his arm safely wrapped around her waist, his jacket draped over her shoulders. He opened the car door and helped her in before slipping around to the driver's side. He climbed in and started the car, heading home. Blindly, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. "You okay, V?" He whispered in the dark, thanking whatever God is out there that he had only drank two beers the whole night.

Vanessa followed Dallas, still clutching onto his arm still as they moved towards the car. the party was still wrapped around her head as she sat in the passenger side, her eyes glued to their hands interlocked. "Yeah, I'm.. fine. Just had a little fight with Cam," she spoke, trying to act as if it wasn't a big deal. The last thing she wanted to do was make Dallas angry with Cam, but she was too shaken up to try and hide it.

Dallas nodded and stayed silent as he drove. As they turned onto his street, he looked at Vanessa. "Did you need to pick up anything? Taco Bell run?" He teased before pulling into the driveway. He turned off the engine and looked at Vanessa. "Do you want to talk about the fight or what has you so upset?" He asked gently, their hands still connected.

Vanessa "He kissed me," Vanessa blurted out, not daring to look at Dallas. Her eyes stayed staring at his house. "And like not in the closet, when we went upstairs," she clarified. "I don't know if I led him on to think to do that, but he said when we were in the closet he wished he had done it and I was confused and then he kissed me again." her voice rambled. "I'm sorry," she added.

Dallas stared at her and he felt his blood pressure rise. "It's not your fault." He said quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for." He gently cupped her chin and turned her head towards him. "It's not your fault, it doesn't matter if you did lead him on, that's not right." He muttered quietly. "Come on, let's go to bed."

Vanessa didn't say much after, just nodding along. "Yeah, let's... let's go inside," Vanessa spoke weakly. She got out the car, moving along with him inside the house. "Your mom's not gonna be upset that I'm here?" she asked as they moved through the house. The last time Vanessa was here she left in a bit of a rage, she only hoped that it wouldn't make things worse while she was here. "I can go home if you're mom will be upset."

Dallas shook his head and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Nah, she'll be happy that we're safe." He said softly. "She likes you, y'know?" He toed off his shoes and put them in the closet before leading Vanessa to his room. Rifling through his drawers, he pulled out a pair of shorts and a shrunken tshirt sh used to wear before. "Stay. She'll probably even make us waffles in the morning." He said with a smile. "I'll leave and let you change."

Vanessa: "You sure after I practically chewed her out?" Vanessa asked, the doubt obvious in her tone. Once they were in the room she plotted down on the bed, just watching his movements. She hadn't been in this room for a while, two years to be exact, but it still felt all the same. "You still have this?" Vanessa smiled, holding the shirt in her hand. She lifted his hoodie off, replacing it with one of his old t-shirts. "What like you've never seen me naked before?" she shook her head laughing.

Dallas nodded. "Yeah, she said she deserved it and hoped that you felt better no." He said with a shrug. Blushing, his ears turning red, he gave her a shy smile. "I wasn't sure what you were comfortable with." He admitted. "Yeah, I still have it. Couldn't bear to throw it out." H unbuttoned his pants and tugged them off, tossing them in the hamper and took off his shirt, pulling the blankets down on his bed. "Deja vu, hunh?"

Vanessa sighed, "It didn't." She rolled her eyes playfully, noticing the redness growing. "You've seen me at my worst with a big ol' baby belly. I think I can handle you seeing my topless," Vanessa grinned. She looked down at herself in the shirt, not able to contain the smile that crossed her face. "You know the last time I spent the night here..." she started. "You were pitch drunk. Some hockey party and I had to practically drag you home. We stayed up all night staring at the stars outside your window til I bored you to sleep."

Dallas gave her a small smile. "You were hot even with the baby belly." He said honestly. "You'll always be hot." Laughing he rolled his eyes. "Ah yes, the old Dallas. Drunk most of the time." He admitted sitting down on the bed and moving to the far side of the bed. "Well now we can just talk until we fall asleep." He reached over and shut off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust.

Vanessa "I was a balloon," Vanessa corrected. She leaned back into the bed, her eyes gazing to towards the ceiling until the light flicked off. "Old Dallas wasn't too bad. He used to bring me coffees before his practice 'cause he knew I would wait up for him to get home. Used to give me his Lettermen jacket during pep rallys to show me off as his girl even if it drowned me in my cheer uniform. He wasn't too bad of a guy," Vanessa explained with a soft smile. "And talk about what exactly? Don't think we could have the same hopes and dreams conversation anymore."

Dallas gave her a smile and rolled his eyes. "The new Dallas could do that too." He said with a shrug. "I just wasn't sure where we stood anymore." He said honestly. Propping himself up on his elbow he looked at Vanessa. "Why not? Have your dreams changed so much that they no longer exist? You know mine, make it to the NHL and get my family out of the hood. What about yours?"

Vanessa "Then besides not drinking and not sleeping around, what else has changed about New Dallas," Vanessa asked, turning to look towards her ex. "Guess I don't know either," she agreed with a slight shrug. "Thought I was gonna go to some big Art school, get some bit time apprenticeship, then move to LA and start over," she started hopeful. "I can't really do that now."

Dallas shrugged. "Why not?" He asked softly. "You're still amazing at art and singing....why wouldn't you get a scholarship? I mean, what if we were in the same city and I took care of Rock? Or I...helped pay for your school?" He asked quietly. "Because if I get drafted I could...and I would."

Vanessa "I took a whole semester off, Mike. My grades are fine, but I'm already behind and I can't afford to take care of Rock, work full time, and go to Summer School full time. I know already how you feel about it already, but maybe just... Getting my GED, maybe just working at the community center with my mom or something," Vanessa explained. Vanessa leaned up right away at his suggestion," No. Absolutely not."

Dallas shook his head. "I mean, I'll have some weights and stuff in the summer, but I won't have hockey. Let me take care of Rock. And please, let me do SOMETHING." He said softly. "Apply to schools and then we'll cross the bridge about money when we come to it. I mean, what if I get drafted to LA and then I could pay for things?" He suggested

Vanessa "You know I'm not going to ask you to do that," Vanessa explained. "You're going to be training in the Summer and talking to agents. I know you never go out of hockey mode, and that's fine, Mike, honestly. You being in Rocky's life is enough. You're doing something," she added. Vanessa leaned back into the pillow, letting the silence move in for a moment. "I can't even afford some of those application fees even if I wanted to apply. It's just a pipe dream."

Dallas sighed and rolled over onto his back and stared at ceiling. "NHL is a pipedream too. You did your part to support mine, I will do whatever you need for me to support you." He said honestly. "Let me pay the application fees and we can talk after that."

Vanessa "It's not a pipe dream, you're being scouted. People are already looking your way. I'm just some random singer in the choir room," Vanessa replied. As he looked up to the ceiling, Vanessa moved closer, leaning her head on Dallas' chest for some sense of warmth. "Fine. Knowing I'm never going to hear the end of this. One application. That's it."

Dallas shrugged. "Wasn't like that when I left for Guelph." He reasoned. Opening his arms to her, he rubbed her back softly as they laid there. "For now." He said with a laugh. His hand slipped under her shirt, running his fingers up her bare skin.

Vanessa "We all knew you were gonna be the one who got out. You just hadn't seen it yet," Vanessa spoke sweetly. "I can't just your roadie and follow you around on the road? Seems like a lot more fun then another four years of school." she joked.

Dallas smiled and ran his fingers through her hair softly. "You can go to school and when you have time off you can come to my games, I'll fly you and Rock." Pressing a kiss to her forehead he sighed softly. "Have you ever thought of giving us another shot?" He whispered softly.

Vanessa "Don't think those entrance essays wanna hear the same old teen mom story they've probably heard a million times," Vanessa rolled her eyes playfully. "We'll probably still be here. Living with my dad and helping around the warehouse. It won't be nothing new, but knowing you you'll wanna stay close to your mom and be with Team Canada," she added. Vanessa paused for a minute, looking up to Dallas. "I did, a lot actually when you came back.

Dallas gave her a soft look but didn't say anything. He stayed silent for a long time, just holding her to his chest before he spoke. "Would you want to give it a try now?" He asked softly. "From the beginning."

Vanessa felt the silence growing after his question. What was she supposed to say to something like this? She was just as dumbfounded for an answer as he was asking it. "From the beginning?" Vanessa asked confused. "Like, you wanna try to be a family or to be me and you again?"

Dallas smiled softly. "I wanna be a family, but not like we jump into bed and it's all good. Like we go slowly and take things as they come. I want to give Rocky a family, and...I still love you, V. I never stopped." He sighed softly. "The new house we're moving into...it has 3 bedrooms upstairs and two in the basement. Mom said that if you want...you and Rock can have the basement or a room upstairs."

Vanessa "You really still love me?" Vanessa questioned. There were flashes of weakness crossing her eyes listening to Dallas speak. Could he really feel this way about her. "I can't ask that of your mother, especially after what I said to her. I'm fine at my house, but I appreciate the offer. Maybe if we're both here to late we can crash in one of those rooms," she smiled.

Dallas stared at her silently as he tried to form what he wanted to say. "Yeah, of course, I do. Isn't it obvious?" He asked. "She offered." He said with a smile. "Honestly. You know she'd beat my ass if I was lying. She wants you to be part of our family, V." He rolled onto his back and pulled her softly with him so she was on top of him and he stared up at her.

Vanessa bit down on the inside of her lip," Kind of have been oblivious to that kind of thing honestly." It had been a while since Vanessa actually believed Dallas thought of her in this romantic way, but say by day it built back up. "She'd also beat your ass if she knew you were down here shirtless and I only had a t shirt on," she smirked as he moved her on top of him. "And now she'd beat /my/ ass," she added jokingly.

Dallas smiled softly. "I TRIED to drop hints." He teased. "Because its true. I'm still in love with you." Laughing he shook his head. "We already have a kid...and I have shorts on." Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her nose. "Promise me you'll think about it? Taking a room in the new house." He laid there staring at her before cupping her cheek. "Can I kiss you now?"

Vanessa "And as we both know I'm an idiot who doesn't notice anything," Vanessa giggled. "Doesn't mean we can't get into more trouble," she added with a smirk. "I'll think about both of your offers, okay? I just... need time to think," she answered honestly. Vanessa shook her head laughing, leaning down to kiss Dallas. "You've already got me on top of you half dressed, don't think you really need to ask to kiss me," she teased before pressing her lips to Dallas' again.

Dallas smiled. "Take all the time you need." He said softly. Kissing her deeply, Dallas raked his fingertips over her bare skin as their lips and tongues danced a practiced dance. Once he was out of air he pulled away and smiled at her. "So, does this mean we're back together?" He whispered staring up at her.

Vanessa "You'll be my first call when I know," Vanessa smiled off. "This means we're talking and you're very very lucky to be getting a second chance," she grinned, leaning up. Vanessa lifted off her shirt, now only in her bra and spanks. "It's getting a little.. hot," she smirked.

Dallas stared at Vanessa and he felt himself blush a deep red, his ears burning...and then he felt the blood rush elsewhere. "Y-Yeah." he stammered looking up at her. There had been no one since Vanessa, more than two years, and his body and brain, were reacting to seeing her with so little clothing. "You're gorgeous." He said lowly.

Vanessa 's smile only grew noticing the blush growing on Dallas face. It was nice to see she still had the same effect on him that she used to. Her hand caressed his cheek softly at his words. "You're too sweet," she whispered. She smiled with a light laugh, her hand trailing down Dallas' chest softly. "You're not too bad yourself."

Dallas swallowed a few times to try to calm himself, though it didn't work as well as he had hoped. Even after all these years, her smile made his stomach flip and his heart race. Reaching up, he pulled her down softly for a kiss, their lips and tongues meeting softly. "Tell me when you want to stop." He whispered in between kisses.

Vanessa "What if I don't want you to," Vanessa smirked, moving into the kiss. She hadn't been this way with Dallas in over a year, but once her body was pressed against his again it felt like home. Their bodies connected once more, she let her hands linger down his sides, moving to untie his shorts.

Dallas kissed her back deeply. "Then I won't." He replied softly, his eyes watching her as her fingers undid his shorts. He pushed them down his hips before reaching up and unclipping Vanessa's bra. As he slid the cloth off her shoulders, he inhaled sharply watching as her breasts came into view.

Vanessa could feel her stomach turning into butterflies as his hands guided over her skin. She tugged down on her bottom lip, feeling herself just as exposed as she was comfortable in this moment. As his pants were slipped off, Vanessa moved her underwear to the side then lowering herself onto Dallas' member. A soft moan escaped her lips once her body had settled into his length.

Dallas moaned softly, his eyes slipping closed. "Are you...on something?" He whispered softly. "I have condoms in my nightstand." His hands rested on her hips as he held her tight. He could feel her body clench around his and he took a few moments to collect himself.

Vanessa "Mhmmm," Vanessa nodded to his question, her body tightening in itself. She looked down into Dallas' eyes and began rocking her hips back and forth. "Fuck.." she managed out, almost breathless.

Dallas started to thrust, his hips rolling. Despite not doing this together for over a year, their bodies quickly found a rhythm as they moved together. He kept his eyes on her as she rocked, his hands moving up and down her skin softly.

Vanessa moved in time with Dallas, their bodies finding rhythm with each other quickly. For two people to have been disconnected for so long, their bodies matched to each other quickly like missing puzzle pieces. As she continued to rock her hips, Vanessa leaned down to Dallas' lips, her kisses starting off soft and turning rough quickly.

Dallas kept his rhythm, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other snaking down between her legs and rubbing her clit softly in time with their thrusts. He kissed her deeply, getting lost in the feelings. "God, Vee." He panted against her lips before kissing her again roughly.

Vanessa The second Dallas groaned her name, Vanessa could feel herself growing closer to climax. Nothing gave her more chills than hearing someone moaning for her. She picked up the space of her hips as she noticed him growing more into the moment. Vanessa tried her best to keep as quiet as possible, but she couldn't help but moan against his lips.

Dallas increased his speed as he watched her. "Vanessa..." He moaned, his voice quiet. He knew that his mom was working until the morning, but he still wanted to stay quiet. His finish was coming quickly as he gripped into her skin, swallowing her moan. "I'm close." He panted against her lips.

Vanessa felt like she couldn't contain herself the harder Dallas began to thrust into her. "Mike," she moaned out, her volume louder than before. She gripped onto his bare skin, trying to keep herself on pace as much as she could, but her body began to shake once she reached her point.

Dallas felt Vanessa's body clench and shake around him and he knew that he was a goner. His thrusting became erratic and with one hard thrust he came inside of her with a loud moan of her name. He kept rolling his hips slowly until he was finished and he stared up at her before pulling her down for a soft kiss. Their lips met gently as he stayed buried inside of her.

Vanessa let her body fall back as Dallas finally finished, a wave of calmness washed over her body. She couldn't help the smile on her face as she was pulled down only inches from his face. "Hi," she whispered.

Dallas grinned and gently rolled over so they were face to face. "Hi." He whispered back, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. "How are you feeling?" He whispered sliding out of her body and pulling over to grab a sheet to cover them.

Vanessa: "Better now," Vanessa grinned. She snuggled up to Dallas, her head resting comfortably on his chest. "I would ask you, but I could tell by your moans pretty good," she teased.

Dallas couldn't help but laugh as he wrapped his arm around Vanessa. "Yeah, pretty good." He echoed, raking his fingers through her soft hair. "I've missed you, Vee." He whispered as he just held her close.

Vanessa: "I missed you too, Mikey," she replied, using her childhood nickname for him.

[beaglelinefics]

My Soulmate Has to be an Asshole

Doyoung X Reader (Gender Neutral)

Writer: Jaime

Summary: Soulmate AU in which when one soulmate dyes their hair, it changes the color of the other soulmate’s hair.

Masterlist

            To say you were upset when you woke up would be an understatement. When you went to bed the night before, you expected to get up the next morning with the same color hair as when you fell asleep, but no, apparently that was too much to ask for. Because when you walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day and looked in the mirror, you were greeted with purple hair. Purple hair! Your eye twitched just a bit as you realized your soulmate had dyed their hair yet again. The first few years of your life had been fine; you’d lived on with your natural hair color, but then someone must have changed within your soulmate because suddenly you woke up with your hair a shade of brown that you’d never had before. That was fine, though, at least it was a nice, natural color that wouldn’t get you in too much trouble with any school officials or, you know, your parents, but then sometime last year you woke up with—surprise!—orange hair. And that’s when you started resenting your soulmate. Just a bit. You’d had to go to class with orange hair, and, just your luck, was served detention for dyeing your hair such an outlandish color. Even with the explanation that it wasn’t your fault, you had to sit there in silence for an entire week. You weren’t really looking forward to explaining the new change to your boss later today or your friends, for that matter. Their soulmates didn’t dye their hair bright colors!

            So, with one last silent curse at your soulmate, you got ready and stuffed your hair into a hat before leaving your apartment to get to the class you had that morning. You spent the entire journey planning on how to avoid your friends until you could pick up a box of black hair dye from the convenience store. You figured that someone so obsessed with bright colors would be pissed at suddenly having black hair, and honestly all you wanted right now was some revenge. You’d heard stories of some people dyeing their hair rainbow in retaliation, but you assumed your soulmate would actually appreciate that. So, no, they would be waking up to a head of natural—and boring in their opinion probably—black hair. And when you finally met them, they better square up because you were not going to be happy. Not after all they put you. You were still a bit bitter about the whole detention situation. That had been the one disciplinary action on your entire record! You wouldn’t let that stand, even if you met your soulmate twenty years from now. You were known to hold a grudge, and a grudge you would hold.

            “Hey, nice hat,” one of the kids in your class complimented as you sat down beside them. “Is it new?”

            “No, I just haven’t had an excuse to wear it until now,” you answered lowly. “Woke up today with a surprise from my soulmate.”

            “Ah,” he replied in understanding, “I see. How bad is it?”

            “It’s pretty bad.” You leaned in so you could continue talking as the professor entered the room. “It’s purple.”

            He winced empathetically when he heard exactly what color you had been blessed with that morning. “Could be worse, though,” he offered with a shrug. “My friend once dyed his hair bright red. I feel sorry for his soulmate.”

            “Yikes.”

            “Tell me about it. And another friend dyes his hair practically every two months.”

            “What a terrible person.”

            “I know, right? I don’t know what possesses him to do it, honestly. I get the feeling his soulmate will actually murder him when they finally meet.”

            “I know I would.”

            He let out a laugh before focusing on the professor who had begun to speak. You, too, turned your attention to the lesson and took notes as diligently as you could while still fuming from the events of the morning. Honestly you hoped you met your soulmate soon so you could yell at them because who even had purple hair? You’d had a hard time finding a job with the whole orange hair thing, and you didn’t want to think of what your boss would think about you suddenly having purple hair, even if it wasn’t your fault. One could only be so understanding before the rules and regulations forced their hand. You were pretty sure the restaurant you worked for had pretty strict rules about hair color, which was ridiculous considering the whole soulmate thing. Like where did they get off? Not everyone had normal soulmates! Some people were unfortunately stuck with soulmates who liked dyeing their hair strange colors! You let out a groan as your class ended, meaning you would have to face the music with your employer.

            “Work?” your classmate guessed with a sympathetic smile.

            “Yep. And they aren’t so tolerant with bright hair colors.”

            “Good luck, bro.”

            “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

            You waved goodbye to each other before going your separate ways, him probably off to his dorm and you off to work. You mentally prepared yourself for the tongue lashing you were going to receive when you took off the hat and passed by your boss. You wondered if it was too late to get that job at Taco Bell… you hated the smell of it in there, but you’d be willing for the money. After you got fired here, you were going to be desperate for one just to get food on the table. Your roommate had a habit of eating literally everything in sight, and he enjoyed eating his way through your paycheck. You slowly changed into your uniform, loitering by your employee locker to stall until your shift started so you wouldn’t have to take your hat off just yet. You glared enviously at all your co-workers with normal hair. Why couldn’t you be so lucky?

            “Y/N,” your boss called almost immediately after you ducked out of the employee changing room, “could you come here for a moment? What happened with your hair?”

            “Uh, y’know, I really wish I knew, but unfortunately it was like this when I woke up.”

            You nervously tugged at the silvery-purple locks, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the woman who signed your paycheck every two weeks. She eyed your hair in disappointment, but ultimately there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t really your fault if your soulmate dyed their hair. Unfortunately it was something everyone had to deal with, so she just gave you a look and sent you on your way. You didn’t need to be told twice. Free from any scolding, you quickly scampered to your post at the hostess stand and smiled brightly at all the customers who came in looking for a nice meal. Oh man, when you got your hands on your soulmate…

            “Jeffrey!”

            A crash and loud curse could be heard as your roommate scrambled to his feet to flee from your wrath. He knew that snappy tone, and he knew to stay far away from you when you spoke in it. Unfortunately for him, you were determined and on the war path. You wrapped your arms around his waist and tugged him down with you as you plopped down on the couch. He looked up at you with wide eyes, offering you an innocent smile when he saw just how angry you were; he hoped he wasn’t the cause of your anger because that usually didn’t turn out too great for him.

            “So, uh, rough day at work?”

            You wordlessly yanked off your hat, displaying your newly colored tresses to him, and he threw back his head to laugh at your misery.

            “Oh my god, that’s so great!”

            “Jaehyun, this is not funny,” you whined as you smacked his arm. “You don’t have to deal with stuff like this!”

            He continued to laugh but maneuvered you so you were tucked into his side comfortably; usually you wouldn’t get too mad at him if he was cuddling you. You two would often act touchy with each other, probably more than most roommates should, but when you were stressed college students, you would take all the comfort you could get, and until you guys met your soulmates, that comfort would just come from each other. He rubbed your arm in an attempt to sooth you as his laughter finally died down.

            “I’m sorry, dude, I just couldn’t help it,” he apologized with a small snicker. “It’s funny how your soulmate is never content with a natural hair color like me.”

            “Dyeing your hair blonde isn’t much better, Jeffrey,” you grumbled while curling into him some more. “Pretty sure your soulmate was still upset with you for that.”

            “Probably. But at least their hair wasn’t purple when they woke up.”

            “I’ll kill them. I really will.”

            “Right, okay, sweetheart.”

            “I will!” You pouted up at him and poked his side. “You’re going to help, right?”

            “Oh, you know me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

            “You literally almost punched an old woman for taking the last box of pizza rolls at the grocery store last week.”

            “I am a growing boy! I need them more than her!”

            “Note to self: make sure my soulmate has the last box of pizza rolls when you two meet.”

            “Oh, hell, if they do, bitch better square up!”

            You laughed and shook your head fondly at your roommate. When you two first moved in, you weren’t sure how well it was going to work out. It was your first time living away from home, and to have your first roommate be a guy? Yeah, you were terrified. But you two bonded over a severe love of food and drama, and now you were practically inseparable. It really helped when it came time for post Valentine’s Day sales on chocolate. You guys loaded up with as much candy you could carry and stashed them all over the apartment to get you guys through until the post Halloween sales. It really was like a match made in heaven. If you hadn’t woken up with your orange hair after Jaehyun had dyed his blonde, you would have been sure you were soulmates. But, alas, fate had not deemed you two to spend eternity together. So you were left plotting your soulmate’s murder with Jaehyun.

            “What if they’re cute?” he asked later that night as you two started to drift off. “Could you really kill such a fine piece of ass?”

            “I don’t care if they’re Beyoncé,” you replied with a snort. “They’re going to pay for what they’ve done.”

            “…Could you really kill Beyoncé?” he whispered in horror as if you’d just said you had murdered a puppy.

            “…Okay, so maybe I’ll let it slide if they’re Beyoncé.” There was no way in hell you could ever even raise your voice at Beyoncé, let alone kill her. “Anyone else, though, and they’re catching these hands.”

            “Let me just say that Jay-Z is so lucky to have Beyoncé in his life,” Jaehyun said drowsily as he tugged you tighter to his chest. “That man… he gets to wake up every morning to the presence of an actual goddess.”

            You yawned right in his face and blinked back the few tears that had formed from the sheer intensity of the action. “I get to wake up to the presence of an actual pig.”

            He laughed sleepily and blew a raspberry into the inside of your elbow. “A cute pig, though.”

            “Eh, I guess.”

            You smiled at your best friend and fell asleep happy, finally getting over the anger you felt when looking in the mirror that morning. If there was one thing Jaehyun was good for, it was making you feel better when you were in a shitty mood. It was like a superpower really, but you wouldn’t ever tell him because it wasn’t fair that he had another one besides inhaling food at the speed of light. It was probably better for everyone if you just kept this one to yourself. His soulmate was going to be very lucky when they finally met Jaehyun; the kid could cook a mean meal, eat his own weight in junk food, and could honestly achieve world peace with his smile. All you got was some dick who thought purple hair was cool.

            “What about him?”

            “Jeffrey, his hair is blonde.”

            You and Jaehyun were eating ice cream in the park one fine day, people watching and having a blast pointing out people who could possibly be their friend’s soulmate. So far, Jaehyun had a solid five people, and you had a solid none. Apparently no one shared your fun hair color; who would’ve thought?

            “How can you tell?” he asked as he took a spoonful of your treat. “He’s wearing that ridiculous fedora.”

            “Look at his sideburns.”

            “Ew, look at them.” He gagged dramatically before patting your leg. “I’m pretty sure I just threw up a bit in my mouth.”

            “Congrats. You’re disgusting.”

            “Listen, I paid for your ice cream. I could very well ruin your whole life right now if I wanted to.” He mimicked smacking the cone from her hand. “One little flick of my wrist and BOOM! Entire life shatters to pieces onto the pavement right before your eyes.”

            “…I’ve been living with a sociopath this entire time without knowing,” you told him as you tried to shield your ice cream from the monster beside you. “Oh my god, I’ve been cuddling with a sociopath this entire time! I gave you my food,” you finished in a horrified whisper.

            “Yeah you better watch your back.”

            He wrapped an arm around you as you both went back to eating your ice cream, all threats forgotten as they enjoyed the nice weather. It had been raining the past few weeks, and you two had finally left the nest you’d made for yourselves to chase the sunshine. It was the first day either of you had been outside without being completely covered in what seemed like at least a month. You admired how his hair seemed almost golden in the light from the sun, and he twirled his fingers through your purple hair, which you’d both actually grown fond of.

            “Oh, hey, there’s Mark,” you pointed out lazily.

            You watched the younger boy talk excitedly to his friend as the pair drew closer to where you were lounging on the bench. Both Mark and his friend wore snapbacks, a change from Mark’s usual choice of beanies. Guess the coming of spring meant he needed to mix it up from his winter wardrobe. You and Jaehyun lifted your hands to wave to the boy who eagerly waved back and changed his path so he could make his way over to where you two were soaking up the sun.

            “Hey, Mark,” Jaehyun greeted. “You guys taking advantage of the break in rain?”

            “Doyoung and I were actually heading to meet up with Johnny and Winwin to get some coffee. Do you guys want to join?”

            “Oh, ew, gross,” you said in mock disgust. “Spending time with that giant? I mean, I love Winwin, but having to be around Johnny?” You exchanged a look with Jaehyun and laughed. “Count us in.”

            The two of you stood from the bench and threw away the napkins soaked with melted ice cream before joining Mark and his friend. You looked at the tall boy curiously and nudged Mark with your elbow.

            “Are you going to introduce us to your friend or…?”

            “Oh, right! Guys, this is Doyoung. He just moved in with Taeil. Doyoung, this is Jaehyun and Y/N. They’re roommates.”

            You shook his hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Doyoung. Tell me, has Ten tried to bring you a cake yet? If not, look out for that. Johnny told me he never washes his hands before baking.” You blinked when you noticed he was staring at your hair, probably not even listening to what you were saying. “Oh, yeah, sorry about this. I woke up last month with purple hair. It really isn’t as bad as when my soulmate decided to dye his hair orange.”

            “Have you met them?” he blurted out as he was finally shaken from whatever trance he’d been in before. “Have you met your soulmate yet?”

            “Ha, nope!” Jaehyun answered for you. “They’re still plotting how to get back at them for all this.”

            “You don’t like it?”

            “I got detention for the whole orange hair thing,” you told him with a frown. “That was the only thing I’d ever gotten in trouble for.”

            He laughed nervously and gave Mark a wide-eyed look. The other boy just grinned and shrugged. “It’s all you, man,” he said to Doyoung with a grin.

            “What? Am I missing something here?”

            Doyoung slowly reached up to take off his hat, revealing his hair to be the exact color as yours. You kind of just stood there, staring at him slack jawed. This was your soulmate? The cute, lanky dude Mark just happened to be friends with? Oh, hell, now you couldn’t kill him! You sighed and extended your arm to lightly punch Doyoung’s.

            “Why do you have to be cute?” you whined. “Now I can’t be angry with you for my hair!”

            “You think I’m cute?”

            “That does not make it any less annoying that you dyed our hair such strange colors, sir. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

            “Okay, but you think I’m cute?”

            “My hair is purple!”

            “Hey, it looks cute on you! And you obviously think it looks cute on me!”

            “That isn’t the point! Square up, Doyoung, because I am not living the rest of my life with these outlandish colors you have a thing for!”

            “Whoa, wait, can’t we compromise!”

            “A week of detention!”

            “Alright, okay, I can respect tha—ow!”

          The two of you were laughing as you chased Doyoung, your soulmate, around the park, pretending to still be angry for the whole orange and purple hair thing. To be honest, you didn’t have any room to feel anger, not with how happy you were to have actually found the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with. Hell, you’d let him dye his hair green if it meant you could spend eternity looking at that bunny smile of his. You’d spent the last few years cursing your unknown soulmate, but now that you’d found him, you’d spend the next many loving him, crazy hair and all.

[aion-rsa]

How Wonder Twins Became the Funniest DC Superhero Book

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Mark Russell and Stephen Byrne have made the Wonder Twins the most unlikely superhero reboot success story of our time.

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For all of the high profile storm clouds gathering on the horizon of the DC Universe between Year of the Villain, some decidedly Crisis-y vibes in Justice League, and the fact that the Batman Who Laughs gets his jollies by turning the heroes of the DC Universe into evil versions of themselves, you might think that it's all bad vibes in the DCU. Ah, but you would be wrong. Each month, Wonder Twins (yes, those Wonder Twins) delivers a blast of hilarity and social commentary, all set right under the noses of the Justice League at the Hall of Justice. Imagine a DC superhero comic as steeped in deep superhero and animation knowledge as a show like Venture Bros., packed with the same irreverent and manic energy, and with a similarly sympathetic eye towards the failings of its heroes and villains. That's Wonder Twins.

And really, it shouldn't work. The titular Wonder Twins, Zan and Jayna, were alien sidekicks from the planet Exxor who hung around on episodes of the Super Friends in the late 1970s and early '80s. Both are shape shifters, although their respective power sets are somewhat limited in this regard. Jan can take on the "form of" anything related to water, while Jan takes on the "shape of" various animals. Of course they can only activate these powers when they're together, and really, there's only so many times a giant purple eagle can carry a bucket of water with a face on it to put out a fire or whatever, so their powers aren't exactly their most compelling aspect. Nor are there purple uniforms, snazzy as they are, or weirdly uncool-cool-for-like-5-minutes-in-the-late-90s-then-uncool-again haircuts really the thing that makes Wonder Twins such a great book.

No, that would be the jokes. So many of them. All of the jokes allowed by the Comics Code were that still a thing (which it thankfully is not). Jokes from the minds, pens, and brushes of Mark Russell (of the similarly hilarious and shockingly poignant The Flintstones and The Snagglepuss Chronicles) and Stephen Byrne (lots of cool things but especially a bunch of gorgeously animated genre-fan friendly viral videos that you have almost certainly seen...and if you haven't you should fix that right now). Jokes that are packed into the backgrounds of panels and arrive at such a pace you sometimes have moved on to another page before they've all fully landed. Hell, even jokes at the expense of Superman and that notorious buzzkill Batman. 

But threaded through the humor is a genuine understanding of the human condition, a sympathetic eye given to all who deserve it (even the book's villains), and a genuine understanding of and even respect for how the DC Universe should work, even when we're all laughing with (or at) the sheer ridiculousness of it all. It's that balance that probably helped Wonder Twins, originally planned as a six part mini-series get expanded to 12. And with the first volume out now collecting those initial six issues, there's no better time to get to know Zan and Jayna...or the creators behind them. So...activate! 

Den of Geek: The thing that really strikes me about this book is how animated it feels even on the page. What’s your process is like working together? Are you acting these scripts out? Are you hearing the script in your head when you start doing it? 

Mark Russell: Well it starts with the process of trying to think of what I would tell myself if I had the ability to go back in time and talk to myself as a 16 or 17-year-old kid and think about what that means in the modern context. If I can tell them one thing today, what would it be? I try to tell it in as visual way as possible. I know that Stephen's going to take the ball and run with that in ways I can't even foresee. Our process is mainly me just telling him what I have to say and just waiting for him to come up with visual ways to make that happen.

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Stephen Byrne: I guess from an art perspective, I have a background in animation and the main place where people know the characters from originally was the Super Friends cartoon. So I'm sort of trying to bring a little touch of that vibe into it with the bright colors and the simple line work, but then to inject it with more darkness and deepness and emotion. You can be more creative with the types of compositions and shots you're doing that they wouldn't have had the budget for in the old Wonder Twins cartoon. I want it to feel artistically familiar to how people know the characters, but also make it a much more emotional and meaningful.

Mark: I feel like Wonder Twins is ultimately sort of a dystopian book, but I feel like a dystopian America will be colorful. 

Stephen: Doesn't dystopia imply futuristic? Isn't it just present day dystopia?

Mark: Right. It's a dystopia that will take place in the next 18 months. I feel like dystopias you see in literature are all gray and dark like George Orwell's 1984. They all kind of look like East Germany in 1976. I feel like in dystopian America, we might not even recognize the dystopia because it will look like a Taco Bell. It'll be like, purple and orange and stuff. That's why Steven is so good because he represents these dystopian topics, but in a way that's very sort of colorful and almost attractive.

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Stephen: I like that because I think of the book as dealing with some of the unresolvable tragedies of our time. That's overall in the themes, but then moment to moment on every single page, there's something that'll make you laugh or some funny joke. I try and keep it light and brief in the moment to moment because the story carries that extra satirical social commentary.

Mark: I think the central theme of the story is that the world is terrible, but we find things worth saving in it, that our lives are still good despite the fact the world is terrible.

Stephen: Sometimes.

Mark: We find ways to make life worth living and I think that's what the Wonder Twins do. They make the life they have worth living, even though they’re exiled on a planet they know nothing about, living in a sort of screwed up culture that they had no role in creating, but they find a way to make it work for them.

There's so many background gags in there ... are these all written by Mark or is Stephen sneaking stuff in the background too?

Mark: I think it's both..

Stephen: But I'd say it's mostly you and you started doing it and then once in a while I will take the lead and put it in something because I know that's kind of the tone of what you're going for.

Mark: That's kind of how I get to know an artist. I say, "Here's some background gags I want you to sneak in at some point." Then I think that they get me after that point. They get the sensibility and they feel more comfortable including their own thing. I think the worst thing you can do is just have every scene in what looks like a CSI set. There needs to be things that give you your character and your perspective in the background that set it apart from other sorts of things. I'm very adamant about writing in background gags or details that will give it this air of not being like the set of a primetime TV show.

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Stephen: That's funny because I used to do satirical newspaper cartoons and I would do the main joke or whatever in the strip, but if possible, I would always sneak a little something in the background for people. I think people like that if they notice something that they know not everyone noticed. You get a little extra satisfaction out of it.

Mark: It makes the world feel more fully populated. Oh, this isn't just somebody making it up as they go along. They've created this whole world for me to live in.

Any of those jokes not make it into the final book?

Stephen: I probably didn't know about it. By the time it got to me, they were already gone.

Mark: There's some that were just a little too dark to make it into the Wonder Twins comic. It's like ‘we don't really need these jokes in a comic about a guy who turns into water’ was one of the comments I got from one of the editors.

Anything that you're allowed to talk about or not?

Mark: I'll leave it there.

Okay, that's fair. Stephen, have there ever been any that you had to get on Skype and say, "Mark, I'm not doing this. I'm not drawing this."

Stephen: No, I don't think so. I think by the time...

Mark: The editors get to do that. Then by the time Steven sees it, it's a little sanitized.

Stephen: When it gets to me, it's all very above board.

What kind of voices do you envision for these characters because obviously we all remember the Super Friends voices, but possibly my favorite panel in this whole series is still from the date story when Zan is like, "I'll have the scared tuna," with this look on his face. The only voice I can ever hear when I read that panel is Hank Venture's. How do you guys envision their voices?

Mark: Well I kind of approached the Wonder Twins like they’re one really well adjusted person tragically split in half. Jayna's the one with the deeper intelligence and the wittiness and Zan's the guy who's optimistic and ready for any adventure, but he's kind of dopey and clueless about the world at the same time. That's the way I tried to have that. He's ultimately just optimistic and ready to venture opinions about things he knows nothing about. Jayna's more shy and sort of a quiet genius, but not ready to talk about the things that she knows very well.

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Stephen: I hadn't specifically thought about their voices, but I think their characters come through in the words really strongly. When I'm drawing Zan, he's always over-excited and making a fool of himself and being sort of zany and weird, living in the moment. He's like a puppy. Whatever's going on, he's just excited about. Then I think of Jayna as much more introspective, contemplative, thoughtful...

Mark: She sees the deeper tragedy in everything around her.

Stephen: Yeah, very self serious. Zan is usually bouncing off the walls and smiling and she's usually sitting, thinking about everything that's terrible all the time. I have thought about it in the way that I do their body language and stuff like that, but not specifically their voices.

Mark: Jayna's probably more of the person I am and Zan's probably more of the person I wish I was.

Stephen: Yeah, I'm a Jayna for sure.

How much of this book is an actual critique of superheroes and how much of this is you trying to relate to superheroes in terms of this world?

Mark: Well, I think a lot of it is my critique of society in general, which is that our institutions no longer serve us. The institutions were created to serve us, but then at some point it changes. And so we then begin serving the institutions, and we forget why they exist except for that we know that we must serve them. And I feel at some point the superheroes themselves become an institution, and they forget why they're superheroes. They forget why they're doing this. They just know that this is what they've always done. And so I try to question that. I try to force them into these circumstances where they have to wonder why am I doing this or is this the best way to serve society, five superheroes converging on a purse snatcher? Is this really what society needs more than anything? I couldn't be doing anything else more valuable with my powers than this? I try to ask these questions in my scripts.

Stephen: I think of it as a commentary on superheroes but also a celebration at the same time. Like the best self-referential work, it can poke fun at the thing it's about also being a great version of what it's about.

What about body language? The body language that you give Superman is not the body language you often associate with the character.

Stephen: We're seeing him in a different context than we usually would. And so he's dealing with interns which isn't his usual thing. And so you're just getting to see a slightly different side of him.

Mark: He's more of a father figure in this one because he's got these two foundlings that he brought over from Exxor to Earth. He's their father figure now. It's his super power not being so much his speed or his strength, but his wisdom, and it's a side of Superman you don't see a lot, but just him understanding what it is as an outsider the human race needs. And then explaining that to Zan and Jayna I think sort of defined Superman for this series in a different way than he is sometimes presented in other series.

You're often writing characters who are the smartest people in the room. You have a Filo Math and Polly Math and you just did that great Riddler special as well. That's not the easiest thing to do, especially in the superhero world. So how do you put yourself in that head space and then how do you distinguish them from the characters that are less visible?

Mark: I just think smart people are more interesting. I also think that we are all sort of the geniuses of ourselves. We all understand our own perspective better than anybody else. So what I try to do is just give the character room to explore right or wrong. This is why I feel the way I do and make a stand for why they are the way they are. And I feel like that's what allows people to connect with these characters to make them feel relevant. It's like we all have that moment where the world does not understand us, but if we only had this moment where we could talk to somebody through the pages of a comic book and explain ourselves, then we would be the heroes of our own story.

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Stephen: My answer is much less sophisticated. I draw the intelligent people wearing suits and ties and glasses. There's some body language and expression stuff too, but that's definitely part of it is just sort of the way they present themselves. They're smart people.

Since that was way too straightforward and serious an answer, let's go back to the funny stuff. And what do you feel is the most ridiculous thing you've gotten to draw in the book so far? Whether it was the funniest or whether it was a thing that you were just like, how the hell am I going to make this work in this comic?

Stephen: First thing that came to mind, although there's so many, right? It's like there's something every issue that's insane. But the first thing that comes to mind was a giant gorilla punching an alcoholic vampire through the air, which I was just like, this is so weird and funny and comedic in tone and yet in like three pages time, you're going to get an emotional punch in the gut for the conclusion of that story, which was so tragic. So I love drawing the funny stuff and I love drawing the emotional stuff and I love that you can kind of oscillate between them in such a short space of time. I think a lot of that is down to Mr. Russell.

Mark: And I think one of the things I try to bring out in the scripts is that these are two dimensional, funny comic book characters where there's always a third dimension lurking somewhere in the background. There is a backstory or a tragic shadow to this person that makes what they're doing makes sense and Stephen does a very good job of bringing that out in the artwork.

Mike Cecchini is the Editor in Chief of Den of Geek. You can read more of his work here. Follow him on Twitter @wayoutstuff.

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Interview Mike Cecchini

Nov 13, 2019

DC Entertainment

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