#Prowl: I sense something is wrong..where's my hat

[keferon]

Snow bots au anyone? :D

They're back together a year later because it's snowing again❄️

All right! For context: I imagine them hanging out every winter in some kind of resort (a resort that Blurr owns. Because his bar business has expanded that much over time.)

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Presents and Kisses

Reid Garwin x Reader

Word Count: 1,858

Summary: It’s reader’s birthday and Reid has some surprises up his sleeve. Dedicated to the lovely @saviorsong​. Happy Birthday! 

The café was a small, single room operation so sound from both the dining area and the kitchen traveled throughout. And everyone heard when your boyfriend came out of the bathroom, throwing the door open with such force that a bang rang out from where it hit the wall.

The poor barista almost dropped a drink they were making out of surprise.

“Babe, that was the biggest shit I’ve taken this month,” Reid practically shouted as he made his way back to the table.

You didn’t bother to acknowledge that particular comment and kept your attention on Tyler who had also tagged along with you guys. It was better to not entertain poop talk seeing as how you were in public.

“Babe! Did you hear what I said?”

“I think everyone did,” you replied pointedly. He dropped into his chair, hands clutching at his stomach.

You continued chatting with Tyler about a class you were taking and Reid still kept fidgeting and groaning. He was normally dramatic but he was really hamming it up.

You turned to him with a raised brow. That was all it took for him to increase his complaining.

“I think it was the food. It’s gotta be food poisoning, I feel so sick.”

“But we ate from the same plate.”

A glance at the table showed a shared plate that had long been eaten with not a drop of sauce left on the it after you both had all but cleaned the dish. If he actually had food poisoning, shouldn’t you be feeling it too? Your stomach felt perfectly fine, if not satisfied.

“Everyone reacts differently to these things, you know.”

Tyler nodded seriously, corroborating Reid’s claim. Those two were thicker than thieves, always ready to back each other up.

“No telling how bad this could get. I’m gonna head home but you should stay, Ty can hang out with you,” he said.

“Really?” Your tone was colored with incredulously. “Today of all days?”

He completely ignored that and bent down for a kiss. You were extremely tempted to turn away but ended up giving in. Reid may be an idiot, but he was your idiot. Keeping up with the sick-as-a-dog routine, he gingerly hobbled out of the café.

And since he was your idiot, you knew something was definitely up. You didn’t claim to be the smartest person around but Reid wasn’t exactly subtle.

Immediately, your attention turned towards Tyler. If one was plotting, then the other would know.

The brunette raised his hands as if to keep things peaceful. “Okay, okay. Don’t be upset.”

“It’s my birthday and my man just ran out under suspicious circumstances. I have every right to be annoyed.”

“Exactly! You’re the reason why he left!” He paused for an awkward second. “Wow. That came out totally wrong. What I mean is that he’s setting up something nice for you.”

“He is?” you asked suddenly touched.

Reid was a romantic sort. Maybe not always so smooth about it, but a romantic nonetheless. And he did do things for you often, even if a good number of things were in an attempt to apologize for something stupid he did, but he had never done a birthday surprise.

Well, not one where he had kept it a surprise for this long. Normally he couldn’t keep quiet about his plans so you were a bit impressed that you hadn’t noticed until his terrible acting just then.

Tyler nodded again, this time in excitement. “Yep. He needs a few hours to get it ready though…we can either stay here or walk around. Your birthday, your choice.”

His methods may be, well, unconventional, but your heart beat a little faster knowing he was planning something. Your mind wandered, thinking up various possibilities. Two hours couldn’t go by fast enough.

***

It ended up being close to six o’clock before you returned home.

You closed the door gently and toed your shoes off. The quietness seemed that much thicker with anticipation weighing heavily.

A trail of rose petals wound around the living room and trailed down the hallway, presumably to the bedroom, but you got distracted by a tantalizing aroma. 

You followed that into the kitchen instead and found a skillet filled with something delicious. Other bowls with other fantastic side dishes were arranged randomly around it on the countertops.  

And then you noticed the cake. Unlike the others, the cake was displayed on the table, a package of candles lying next to it. You walked closer to get a better view and couldn’t the grin hat spread across your face.

Clearly, he had made the cake himself. Not that that was off-putting to you in any way. It was really quite cute.

He had made a small two-layer cake which in of itself didn’t look too bad. The sides were not traditionally frosted so, the parts that were visible, you could see that the shape and the softness looked about right. Kind of. 

In lieu of normal frosting, he had attempted to coat them with a crumb frosting of some sort. Despite his best effort, the crumbs didn’t hadn’t spread evenly with some parts having barely any and others having too much.

It looked like he also had issues with the frosting on top. You guessed that he had tried to apply it while the cake was still warm because it was thinner than it should have been, almost glaze-like. Some had even started to leak over the sides before it was cool enough to harden up again.

Even with flaws, it was still the sweetest, frumpiest birthday cake you could ever remember someone making for you.

You stuck out a finger trying to taste the crumb coat when you felt a sharp smack to your ass.

“Oww!” Rubbing it, you saw Reid standing behind you with a towel in his hand. “Did you really just spank me with a towel?”

“It’s not time for cake yet,” he said. He was shirtless, tattoos on display, baggy cargo pants riding low on his hips. There was a hint of tiredness in his eyes but it was mostly irritation. “This part was for last. You were supposed to follow the roses first.”

Ah. He was irritated that you messed up the plan. But you were so excited to see what else he had in store that you didn’t answer back with a sharp quip of your own. “Then lead the way.”

With a sigh, he put his hands on your shoulders and walked you out of the kitchen. His grip was gentle though so you knew he wasn’t seriously frustrated with you.

The path of rose petals came back into view and you realized they were from a real flower and not plastic. A warm feeling spread through you and it only grew the closer the closer the path drew you to the bedroom. Reid stayed just behind you the whole way, your gentle guide.

“The flowers are beautiful, Reid.”

“I know. And a normal person would’ve followed them from the start.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. “The food all looked really good though. Three Michelin stars across the board.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just open the door, would ya?”

You pushed the door with your fingers, thoughts racing. What were you going to find? That fancy stationary set you’d been eyeing online? A fluffy, tail-wagging puppy? A chest of kinky toys?

With Reid it could any one of the three. Maybe even all three.

Tons of balloons were inflated and rolling around the floor, so much so that you had to kick a few out of the way to be able to step in. Even a birthday banner hung over the bed when he had thumbtacked it into the wall.

But the gift was unmistakable.

The large woven basket was sitting on the dresser, fibers dyed your favorite color was hard to miss.

Then came the stuff that was practically overflowing from said basket. You rummaged through it like a old woman at a yard sale, pulling out something new with every handful.

Jewelry. A soft blanket. Cans of your favorite type of drink. Hand painted ceramics. Some hard cover additions you’d been meaning to add to your personal library. New head phones. Dozens of origami creatures. A tee from your favorite team. Coffee mugs and several blends of beans. Hand-held tools  to replace your old ones with. And not only a stationary set but a wax letter stamp seal as well.

And everything from the basket to the last gift followed the same theme: it was all in your favorite color.

You jumped into his arms and he caught you. “I’m—this is…this is…”

“What?” he said, his breath tickling your ear and fingers gripping your thighs tightly. “Impressive? Inspiring? The best goddamn gift you’ve ever seen?”

“Touching,” you whispered.

You couldn’t see it, but you could sense the soft expression on his face.

“How did you even manage to find some of this stuff in this color?”

“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you…”

He went on explaining how he started with the just the stationary (you were right and he had noticed you looking at it) in your favorite color.

Then he added the headphones, also in your favorite color.

Then he’d painted the ceramic pieces himself.  

Eventually thinking up even more potential presents to get, he’d come up with the idea to do everything in that color. The tools were the hardest but he was very proud that he’d been able to pull it off with the help of a custom order from a local business.

“This is super touching. Thanks for putting in this much thought and effort,” you said finally lifting your head up to give him a kiss.

It was meant to be a quick peck but Reid’s lips followed yours when you tried to pull back, turning it into something more passionate. He even managed to lick his way into your mouth before you finally parted, panting for air.

“Mmm,” he breathed, lips back on yours. “You’re eager to get to the next event.”

You made a confused sound in your throat which he swallowed. One of his hands traveled up your leg and over your hip to come to a rest on your lower back. He turned you and that’s when you noticed the bed.

The comforter was already pulled slightly down and more rose petals were scattered all around. He laid you down on the mattress and prowled up your body. The petals were even more fragrant now that you were closer to them.

“What’s the next event?” you asked coyly although it wasn’t hard to guess.

“One kiss for every year you’ve been alive,” he said with a cocked smile. “It was either that many kisses or that many orgasms—I figured all those orgasms might be too much for you though.”

You bit his bottom lip and snuck your fingers under the waistband of his cargo pants suggestively. “How about both?”

He watched in rapture as you removed your shirt, eyes glued to your chest.  

“Anything for you, babe. Happy Birthday.”

_______________

Yay! Thanks for reading. I hope this was alright. 

In my mind, Reid is the type of romantic to make you things, hence the food, origami, and ceramics. But sensual time will also be included just because. 

Honestly, he probably heard what Caleb did for his s/o and, in typical competitive fashion, decided he could do better. He roped in Tyler to keep reader distracted and spent a few hours cooking, decorating, and assembling the massive personalized gift basket. 

They likely did reach fulfill the birthday kiss count but how many orgasms they managed to achieve is up to your imagination. 

[erminecore]

I really liked @doodledrawsthings’s A Hat in Time “Coffee Shop AU” idea… but also got me to thinkin. What if Vanessa’s poison was rather more immediate, so she had time to gloat, and so poor Luka had to deal with the idea of coming home to Harriet as a big snakeghost… who won’t recognize him at all?

--

“I’m not here to talk about custody.” Vanessa says, her smile angelic, perfect. She flicks a strand of hair from her shoulder, just to complete the illusion of the person Luka thought she’d been.

Luka’s emptied cup hits the saucer with a clatter. His nerves, which were screaming at him the whole time, rise to a fever pitch. He sharply stands, his stomach rolling, his hands hitting the table with the clatter of cutlery - but if anything, Vanessa’s smile only widens at the show of frustration. “...If this isn’t about custody, then what is this about?”

Vanessa laughs even as Luka’s stomach winds knots like dancing snakes, even as he bends double with the roiling pain of it. She laughs even as he hit the floor, his arm coming up to grip the tablecloth for support - and failing, his nerves turning to jelly, his muscles screaming as if melting under an acid kiss. “Oh, Luka. You should really know better by now. I’m here for revenge.”

From his vantage point on the floor, Luka gets a good view of the tableware as it comes crashing down around him. Forks and knives twirling like dangerous silver dancers around his spinning head, the graceful fall of a teapot in slow motion… but it is his own cup that, rolling to a stop near his arm, that draws his attention. In the tea, he sees the same purple, the same stain that is creeping down his arm - the purple of night, of pouring ink, of scribbled over legal documents and things gone wrong. Luka is aware, painfully aware, that he may be dying.

“What,” he rasps, aware of the spasming of his own arms, of the distant sound of his shirt tearing. His entire body was nothing but a ball of fire and nerves, somehow nebulous, but growing longer all the time, growing larger. “Have you done to me, Vanessa?”

In response, Vanessa stands - perhaps was always standing. Luka doesn’t know. His sense of time, of continuity, is near shattered. But he sees her perfect pink shoes, ribboned and sweet, as she walks over, and deftly kicks the cup away.

“I never wanted the child, you know.” Vanessa says, her voice full of spite. “You should have known that. I just wanted to make you suffer - to remind you whose you were.”

Luka tries to speak, tried to form the words to tell her just how awful she was, just how awful she still is. But the only sound that comes out is a soft gurgling, a pained wheeze. It’s like trying to breathe through a straw. His hands come to his neck and he feels them - large and clumsy, clawed and fumbling, two fingered, inhuman.

“You know? I don’t think you’ll be winning custody now.” Vanessa says, her voice sweet and pleasant. As pleasant as when she cut his hair while he was sleeping. As pleasant as when she told him to choose between her and Harriet. As pleasant as when she told him to stop talking to his tutor at law school. “No one would give a child to a monster like you.”

“You’re the monster!” Luka manages to spit, coughing up something black, something wretched onto the carpet. He forces his gaze upwards and yes, Vanessa’s glaring at him, glaring, but smoothing her face quickly, tightening it into a smile just like always…

“You think so?” She says, with a little chuckle, reaching into her pocket to pull out a silvered hand mirror, no bigger than her palm. It shows very little. But what it reflects nearly stops Luka’s heart.

Glimpses of black, of yellow eyes like a lantern, of fangs lit by an endless glow set above a gaping maw. He’ll never work at a law firm again - he’ll never fit in a law firm again. A long slithering tail where his legs should be… it is no wonder he cannot feel them anymore.

“You always were a little snake, my prince…” Vanessa croons, her eyes twinkling even as the monster in the mirror begins to cry. “Now the whole world will know.”

“...How could you? How could you?!” Luka sobs. He’s not thinking about Vanessa. He’s thinking about poor Harriet. He’s thinking about his job. He’s thinking about his life, in tatters. About the child he has to support. About the case he has to win. How in the world is he even going to get through courtroom doors like this? How is he going to navigate the formal attire required to be his own lawyer? What, is he going to just wear a tie on the day of the hearing and nothing else?

“How could I? How could you?” Vanessa snaps right back, crossing her arms and glaring, glaring as if Luka’s the one in the wrong. “You took my heart and ran away with it! You left me, alone, all alone in the world over a child!”

Luka sees frost beading at the edges of Vanessa’s clenched fists. Sees the tears of fury in her eyes. It explains everything. Magic? Magic. God, of all the people in the world to have magic, it has to be his ex…

“Now you understand, though, don’t you?” She says, her smile smoothing crookedly, uneasily over her face. Jagged lines and uncertain swoops. “You’re mine. Mine and mine alone. You can’t go anywhere else. No one else will accept you. No one will love you, not like me. That wretched child won’t even recognize you now.”

Vanessa reaches down, her pale hands coming to caress Luka’s cheek. Her fingers are still icy, horribly cold, all the worse on Luka’s freshly burned skin. “There’s nowhere else for you to go…”

“...I…” Luka whispers, shivering, trembling in her fingers. He sees her eyes widen. He sees the hope there. It’s the old hope, the hope he fell in love with, the light that was brilliant, that drew him in like a moth to the flame. God, he’d loved her so much, when he first saw her look up from her books, when he saw the boredom drain from her eyes to be replaced by this fire…

But that was then, and this is now.

“...I’m going to be pressing charges.” He hisses, pressing his hands into the dirt, scrabbling, sliding, slipping away into the night, however he can. He doesn’t think about it, can’t think about it - to think about it is to not be thinking about the furious howls of rage behind him, the wintry blasts of ice that shatter and smash tree branches above him - flash frozen in an instant.

Somehow. Somehow he gets away. Hauls himself up to a park bench somewhere, puts his head in his hands. Somehow, he finds a moment to think, but there’s only worry, only the same burning fear, over and over.

“She’s right.” Luka whispers, the horror dawning on him. “There’s no way the kid will recognize me now.”

--

He said he was only supposed to be an an hour, maybe two.

Luka had never been home late before. But, then… he usually didn’t make appointments this suddenly either. Not the day of, not thirty minutes before. But… it was with Harriet’s mom. So maybe that’s what made it special?

Harriet wasn’t supposed to know where, or with who but… she’d kind of listened in. Heard the phone call. It was… easy enough to pick up the details through the shouting, even without poking her head through a crack in the door. Subcon park, eight pm, sharp. They were going to talk about things. Talk about her.

It felt like the only thing anyone ever talked about anymore was her. But not in the way Harriet liked. Not talking about how brilliant she was, or how bright, or what she brought home from school. Talking about who she’d be happier with. Where she belonged. Who owned her.

Luka still talked about how bright she was, of course. How brilliant, how beautiful. But when he spoke about it, he was always… defensive. Or tired. Harriet wasn’t sure which one was worse.

Harriet… isn’t supposed to go out late. Or alone. But her dad is really, really late now. Maybe… maybe he got lost? Maybe it’s time to go look for him, to make sure he’s okay…

Harriet checks her phone again. Still no calls, no texts, nothing. Except, exactly as she’s looking the phone lights up, with a text from her dad -

“Dad

11:48PM

idmworot994 w”

-and nothing else. Not even the usual “Sorry I forgot it was in my pocket, kiddo!” that her dad always sends after scrambled texts. That seals it. He really must be in trouble, or he wouldn’t be so sloppy and un-Luka like…

Harriet snatches her hat from the hatstand, grabs her coat, and rushes out of the front door, into the night, unaware of the bright yellow eyes anxiously following her the whole way…

Luka follows along behind his own daughter, clumsily, awkwardly, anxiously, his body ribboning through the trees like an eel. He feels horrible doing it, but who else will keep an eye on her? Except, now he’s the embodiment of everything that he’s warned her to be afraid of in the night, the very essence of a “stranger.”

How is he going to be able to talk to her? How is he going to warn her about Vanessa, Vanessa who is even now, on the prowl, hunting for the both of them?

He waits until there is light, at least. A light and a bench and… hope. It’s risky. But he can’t wait any longer. He calls out, his voice rasping, low. Will she even recognize it?

“Hey, kiddo?”

Harriet jumps nearly out of her skin, starting back from the light - gazing around wildly into the night. She sees nothing. Just trees, darkness… and two glowing yellow eyes, suspended above a grinning mouth.

“M-monster!” Harriet shrieks, fear tingling up her tiny spine as she scrambles for the bench, crawling under it, losing her hat her haste to take cover and hide. Trembling like a leaf, too scared even to cry…

Luka feels his heart fall out of his chest to shatter on the cold ground below. Wasn’t it just like this? When things started getting rough. When him and Vanessa started fighting, and he had to turn the whole house upside down just to find the poor kid cowering under the bed…

Vanessa was right, of course. He doesn’t see any recognition in Harriet’s eyes. For the first time, he is a stranger, someone new, someone terrifying. Someone awful - a monster. He can’t blame her for hiding. But it still hurts him, leaves a sucking wound that sinks down to the pit of his soul, a chasm that might never heal…

“...H-hey, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He chuckles, clumsily flopping down from the tree tops. The ground is hard, and the impact is harder as he lands in an ungainly heap. But the little giggle Harriet gives is worth it, even if the humor is lost as he shakily pulls himself into the light. “Don’t you recognize me, kiddo?”

Nothing. No reply, no recognition. Not even a response. He’s raised his kid well, even if it’s to his detriment. Don’t talk to suspiciously friendly people. If anything, she crawls further under the bench, keeping a wary eye on him. Luka sighs, running a hand over his head. Of course… it wouldn’t be this easy.

He spots the forgotten hat, lying on the ground, and reaches for it, stretching his arm far, grabbing it - and in that moment, when his eyes shift, Harriet makes a run for it. Smart girl. But he sees her hesitate, as he’s lying there with her favorite thing in the world. In response Luka slowly lifts up his girl’s favorite little topper, smiling forlornly.

“Come on Harriet. It’s me, Luka. I know it might be hard to believe right now but… don’t you recognize your father?”

Harriet stops. Not because she believes him. But because those words are familiar. Because when she was under the bed, sobbing her eyes out because her parents were splitting over her, over her… her dad had leaned down, with that same, forlorn smile, and had said…

“Come on, Harriet. I know it might be hard to believe right now… but it’s going to be okay.”

...In that same tone of voice…

“...D...dad?!” Harriet whispers, leaning down to take the hat, her eyes practically boggling. “What happened to you?”

Luka just laughs. That nervous, over-loud laugh he does when he’s losing a case, and pulls himself closer, wrapping around his daughter for a hug. Harriet tenses under him for the suddenness, the strangeness of it - but she doesn’t try to run. Instead she holds him back, comforting and being comforted at the same time.

“I have no idea. But we need to go. It’s not safe with Vanessa still around.”

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 72: The Unforgivable Curses

"Mum's going to kill me," Frank sighed at the newest bout of trouble their landing had caused, in his own home this time. He had no idea what the implications of that for Harry Potter's story was, possibly the lad and Neville would be spending time together? That seemed to be the theme. Regardless, he'd rather read of that than imagine the scolding his mother was going to provide as he helped Alice pull herself free from the precious potted plants. The rest of their home fared no better.

It was a grand three story in a weathered Victorian design, with pastel shingles along the outside not even faded to time he could hear someone outside shambling around on, a sunroom Lily was blinking painfully inside of, and an attic with a portal window of an excellent view of their entire massive lakefront property he could clearly hear someone going through from the living room.

Reddish-brown dirt now littered the beige carpet, the bright afternoon sun shining in that almost looked like blood he quickly magiced back into place of the carefully designed pot, lest inner spells spill water on the floor next at their due time. The furniture had not been spared, his mother's favorite sofa now had a missing leg from his landing on it he was also quick to repair, but the spell wasn't good enough to hide the blue upholstery had recently been tampered with.

He could see the kitchen beyond, bathed in more natural light with Sirius Black prowling about in his now usual moody way. Frank winced as he carelessly pushed the chair aside his Uncle Algie always sat at and made his way to the back door to the lake beyond. Frank could see the exact counter space he'd landed on, and the ceramic bowl he'd shattered and had yet to fix.

"Hey, it's alright love," Alice placed her hand calmly on his shoulder as he winced for the abundance of noise for the others making their way through his house. "I'm sure whatever destruction we're causing is getting fixed when we're zapped back away."

"We've yet to have proof of that," he snapped, "and somehow, my mum's going to know it was me who did this regardless."

She removed her hand and stepped back, and he winced harder as he heard his own sharp tone well after the fact. "Sorry love," he apologized at once, offering his hand out and relieved she took it immediately.

"I can understand his nerves!" The older Black shouted from the kitchen, clearly no shame in eavesdropping. "Last two times we ended up at someone's home, it didn't end well for them!"

Frank went paler, and Alice shot him a nasty look. Those were his supposed friends he was so callously speaking of, but he didn't seem to think twice of it as he pounded restlessly, and uselessly they all knew by now, on the back door to be free as the others made their way down the staircase.

The long, narrow walkway allowed them to only come down one at a time, so he clearly saw none of them yet had the book. Quick to zip past them and see the damage they'd done, he also didn't want to admit aloud how he was also making a run from Sirius Black's words before anyone could see.

Alice began to follow, and he had half a mind to tell her otherwise, until he groaned in pain to see what they'd done and the thought of her comfort was almost all that sustained him.

Several of the photos lining the wall had been knocked down, their portraits shaking their head disapprovingly and joining the others still on the wall. Aunt Enid's glasses were a sparkling, twisted mess in the middle of the hallway, though whether she'd done that or someone mistakenly had was a fair debate.

Poking his head in, his room alone showed no clear signs of disturbance, but that could have been due to the fact there wasn't much to bother. His bed remained made with his pillow at the wrong end so that the sunlight could shine on that spot all day, the window open and the same small little tear in the flywire all that marked him apart from the rest of the house.

His insides sunk even lower as he wondered, was this still his room, or Neville's? Which time were they in exactly? If this was his sons, shouldn't there be some defining marker? One could argue, as the lad would be at school there wouldn't, but surely Frank was overlooking something...

Alice came up beside him and took his hand again, he squeezed it and wondered what she was thinking of all this, if she was dreading this mess starting as much as he was. Was Neville finally going to tell what had happened to his father? Name his mother? The two hadn't really spoken much of it, with no reason as they had no way to get a clear answer and fear of speculation stilling their tongues.

From below though, the clear sounds of Lily's voice spelling it out left little to the imagination.

"The Unforgivable Curses?" Alice hissed, so quietly it seemed she feared the walls hearing. "That must be, unrelated to, why we're here."

He didn't answer her, he couldn't find his tongue to say anything.

As Lily got properly started, her tone as always weary and unsure as she read of Snape's most resent foul deeds, Frank continued his way uneasily through the rest of his home. His mother's room next, which definitely showed signs someone had landed in here. The frills along the edge of her bed were crooked by a quarter of an inch, her stuffed hat had fallen to the floor upside down giving the bird an even more severe look than ever. He waved his wand in a vain hope to fix this, and still somehow knew he was missing something.

Alice stayed protectively by his side, her lips pursed unpleasantly as she watched her boyfriend pad around his own home with the same unease he had back in the Marauder's places. As Moody entered his classroom for the first time and they made their way up to the attic, she had to fight off the impulse to take his hand and pull him back downstairs with the others just for a distraction. She would have thought she'd love visiting his home, maybe even getting to see a more relaxed and casual side of him she'd been missing lately surrounded by others he didn't know well, but it seemed more the opposite was happening as they made their way to the last floor.

The two had been listening very intently this whole time to Moody's speech to the class, but thanks to the chapter title were not surprised at the lesson he declared they were having. It made some amount of sense to them after all, they were seventeen and heard use of these as common as the body count in the news, but that didn't make hearing of it being taught to fourteen year olds better. Nor why they were in Frank's house had yet to clear anything up.

Frank cast his eyes around at all of the tipped over boxes, the window open letting in a stiff breeze, and shifted his weight restlessly as he once again went to raise his wand and put everything right, then stopped quite suddenly.

The lesson was going along in the background, Ron offering up the Imperius curse first, but what had caught Frank's attention was a photo that had tumbled out of one the highest stacked boxes. He'd never gone threw these himself, his mother had expressly forbade it, but now for the first time he regretted listening to her so keenly as he laid eyes on his dad. He only had a few scattered memories of him in his earliest youth, laughing together mostly as his mother fondly scolded the pair. Her scoldings had only grown worse after he died, the Killing Curse he knew, performed by a Death Eater callously in the middle of the street while Frank had been right next to him.

He rubbed his thumb carefully over the photo, his dad and Aunt Enid laughing at some long forgotten joke, a fanged gerbil in his hands. Was this why they'd been placed here? The Unforgivable Curses mocking him back what he'd lost?

Alice knelt beside him to help sort out the photos as Moody finished demonstrating the effects of Imperio on the spider, and he paused at a picture of what must be his Uncle Algie meeting his mum for the first time to look back towards the doorway in surprise of Neville first being mentioned offering up an answer.

"Merlin I hope my mum never shared this with him," he whispered as he gathered them all up now, trying to ignore how tight his throat was. Looking at the array of life around him frozen forever in these photos made him well understand why his mum kept these tucked away up here. What good would it do to see these all the time? He didn't really regret this foray though, now he knew where they were if ever he did want to see them again.

Alice helped him pack it all away again carefully before sitting in the open window sill with him, the two huddled together for warmth and each other's presence as Neville gave such a bad reaction to seeing the physical effects of the Cruciatus Curse being put on the spider. It didn't seem fair that the one time he'd been shown to take initiative and offer up something for class he needed Hermione to step in and tell the teacher to stop traumatizing him.

Lily's voice quavered as she forced out the last curse, and Harry dwelling on it. What Moody was saying, it shouldn't even be possible, and yet Harry had survived, because of her. She only hesitated a moment before glancing up, and eerily looking right at James Potter.

He was leaning almost casually in the kitchen doorway, the other Marauders scattered around closer than they'd allowed themselves last time but still awkwardly avoiding each other. He wasn't looking at them though, but at her as well, his bright hazel eyes looking darker than she ever could have imagined as he pictured this all as well as her. It took little effort to give him green eyes in her mind, to see her own son's gaze looking to her for an answer for all of this. She still had no idea what she'd say to him, to either of them. How she longed for this not to be true, but growing more used to the idea all the time this was inevitable...

Alice managed a wobegon smile for Moody realizing he'd traumatized Neville and coming over to offer him a word of comfort after class like that, she wished half the DADA teachers they had were so aware of the students. She sniffled softly that couldn't have been her, the chapter title had come and gone in explanation and the two were left with more confusion than ever why Neville seemed so alone in the world.

Frank released her hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulder instead, still not wanting to cut off the air coming in despite the chill as they next heard of Neville actually happy once more, this teacher stepping in and giving him a positive memory now in encouraging him in a subject he was good at. It wasn't as much as they could ask for, but at least of some comfort he wasn't forgotten by everyone.

The story kept on track with Harry though, of course, and the two managed a watery smile for each other, not bothering to hold back laughter the Potter boy resorted to making up his homework for such a useless class. The two even couldn't help playing along at points and started suggesting their own bad predictions, Alice laughing so hard she nearly toppled backward out the window as Frank suggested Trelawney getting a frog in her throat and not teaching classes for a bit.

He kept a steady hold on her, and the two subsided to listen again as the twins were once more mentioned up to something suspicious, but that passed with hardly more explanation. Then Hermione was back, and finally revealed why she'd been darting off to the library so much.

"SPEW?" Alice giggled. "She really couldn't come up with a better name than that."

"I've heard one never can figure out all the problems with names they chose, it's good to bounce the idea off of others," he shrugged.

Both being purebloods, they had no idea what Hermione's real problem was. Alice even had a house elf at her home, though Frank's line had died out two generations ago, his mum still spoke fondly of the little thing. So far Hermione hadn't been able to hold their attention on the topic, all she'd been saying was how mistreated they apparently were when neither of them had heard any such thing, even what had been done to Winky made perfect sense to them. They listened with only mild curiosity as she wrangled her friends into her new club, minds still on Neville and their own future.

James let out a blasting sigh of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding, finally tearing his gaze away from Lily to look on at Sirius. He looked all too pleased with himself at the news he'd sent Harry about heading back to the country, and James wasn't going to deny in that moment how thankful he felt at the idea as well. He still had a bad feeling about this Tournament being around his kid, he was going to need Sirius.

The two shared yet another look of understanding, but Sirius flinched and looked away first. James dithered on the spot, he wanted to go talk to him along with Remus and Peter, at least clear the air, but then Lily was winding up the last of the chapter, and he knew the boys in that dormitory weren't the only ones in for a restless night.

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest 12/13

After the events at the Byers’ house in season two, Steve finds Billy where Max stuck him--in the trunk of his car. 

Previous chapter links

Steve and Max drank their hot chocolate in silence before wandering back to the garage, where El and Billy were applying the last licks of paint to the trim.  

“We’ll need to come back,” El said, putting her hands on her hips, and frowning from the trim, to Max, to Steve.  

“Guess it’s a real shop class then,” said Max, stalking over to carry the painted pieces carefully out of the way.  “Except El’s allowed to take shop already.”  She grinned between El and Billy, and Steve stepped closer, sensing a trap as her smirk widened.  “Maybe instead of shop, Billy should teach El home-ec.  Billy knows how to cook.”  

Billy stared at her, frowning warily, but El shrugged.

“All I need to know how to cook are waffles,” she told Steve, who snorted, coughing, and thought hard, watching Max and her brother work shoulder-to-shoulder as though they were used to it.  The sander filled the garage with its grating roar, and El plugged her ears.  

When it was done, Steve was ready.  “What about what goes on the waffles,” he asked triumphantly.  “I bet you don’t know how to make...those things.  You and Max could come over and we could make waffley things.”

El froze, then cocked her head, eyes narrowed.  “...IHOP things?”

Steve nodded, confident.  “He’s good at everything.”

There was a clatter as Billy dropped the board he was holding, and he and Max whispered furious insults at each other as they got it back in place.  Billy turned to stare over, his cheeks red, and his smile strained but present.  “Why the hell you telling this girl I’m some kind of...jam expert,” he asked, as Max glared up at him.

“When the hell you been making jam?” she hissed.  “I never saw you make jam.”

“It’s fine,” Steve waved his hands.  “We can ask Ms. Williams to supervise.  And like—whipped cream.  I bet he can make whipped cream,” he suggested daringly, only to look over to see Billy looking deeply unimpressed.  

“Yeah, anyone can whip cream, Harrington, glad you got such high estimation of my—”

Eleven stood as though struck.  “You can make those things?”

“Don’t you think Max and Eleven should come over, and we can have waffles?” Steve asked Billy, widening his eyes, and trying to send yes, Billy, say yes, telepathically.  

Max rolled her eyes and focused her glower back on the edge she was sanding.  “You know it’ll happen now Steve mentioned waffles.  Can we play your Atari?”

Billy stared down at her head, flicking a weirded-out glance at Steve.  “Y-yeah, we can...get some fruit, or something.  I can...figure out jam,” he told her, nudging Max with his elbow.  She nudged him back with her shoulder, and he shook his head, smiling uncertainly at Steve.

“Oh.  And they want us to come for waffles,” Steve told him.  “At the Byers’.

Billy blinked.  “Will’s house?”

“Tomorrow.  Will must have told us to ask you, like, ninety times,” Max bit out, rolling her eyes.  “He’s gonna cling like a koala.  He’s gonna clamp onto your leg.”  

It should have been a cute thought, and Steve smiled, but Billy’s shoulders clenched, and he stalked off to clatter around in the corner with the skis.  Max glared after him, biting her lips, and then kicked the sawhorse, twice.  

El blinked between them.  “...but you like Will?  Don’t you like Will?”

She looked betrayed, and Steve couldn’t help laughing.  

Neither could Max.  She grinned a little sardonically at El.  “I like Will fine.  Everybody likes Will.”  She stuck her hands in her back pockets, sighing.  “...just...glad my big brother found a kid he likes, I guess.  Great, right?  Just too bad I couldn’t deliver.”

“Oh!” El said, and turned a glare on Billy too, and Steve winced, stepping forward, just as Billy turned the Shopvac on and the noise drowned everything out.  He wandered back over, vacuuming carefully all around the sander and the sawhorses.  He ran the wand over the wood as he brushed it with a dry paintbrush.

He was pretty obviously taking way too long, and finally Max grabbed El’s hand and drug her up into the entryway.  

Max cleared her throat.  “I—I gotta talk to my mom.  Tonight.”

“I’ll go with you,” El offered, but Max shook her head.  Billy finally switched the vacuum off, and Steve resisted the urge to just walk over and hug him, or smack his ass.

“No, I just—I just need to—tell her.  I don’t—” Max said,  taking a deep, shaky breath.  “I don’t know—we can’t—I don’t know what—”

“If you need anything,” Steve said lamely, then steadier, “—if—you could stay in my room.  If she—if you need somewhere to um, to go—”

“Your room,” Billy repeated, squinting at him, while El nodded.  

“We can help you move out,” she told Max, who laughed.

“My mom’s not just going to leave,” she said hoarsely.  “M-maybe she’ll listen, maybe—maybe we could go—we could stay with Grammie a while and—and that would—” she stopped, pinching the bridge of her nose, and taking a deep breath, before looking back up with dry eyes.  “I—maybe.  I have to—I have to try and tell her.”

“Sure,” Billy sighed, his mouth quirked.

“I can help too,” El said again, her voice smaller, and Max reached over and squeezed her hand.  

“Yeah.  Thanks, El.  I—I need a ride home, it’s almost five—”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve nodded.

“Bring her here, and make Steve stay in my room,” Billy said, smirking at Max, and she relaxed a little as she shuddered, making a face.  

“Ew!  Eugh.  You’re so nasty—” the rest got muffled as El hugged her, and Max froze, then cautiously hugged her back.

Billy snorted, squinting at them, opened his mouth, and glanced at Steve before closing it.  He sighed.  “...Steve can drop you off.  I’ll clean up here.”

 When Steve got back, he yelled for Billy, and didn’t hear anything.  There wasn’t a lit cigarette glowing out by the pool, and Billy’s bedroom and bathroom doors were wide open, so Steve prowled around the house a few times before going in and trying his walkie-talkie—but it buzzed from Billy’s room, so he tossed it on the bed, and followed it, burying his head in the comforter.

He could only groan into the comforter so long, so he got his homework out, sat for a while staring at it, and put it away.  He went to clean up the garage, and Billy already had—the remaining box of Steve’s mom’s stuff was moved to a shelf, and all the sawdust had been swept away.  Billy’d moved his car back inside, and left a clear space for Steve’s, and Steve sighed, and grabbed a couple bags of marshmallows to restock the only cupboard he used.  After a few episodes of reruns in space, he turned off Kirk and Spock and muttered every swear word he knew into the pillows in the fort.  “Where the fuck are you,” he asked the Christmas lights, staring up, and hoping Billy wasn’t just...in the snow, somewhere.  He took a deep breath, and then another, his eyes stinging.

His stomach growled.  

He opened the fridge and frowned in, sighing at the tubs of things like margarine, and sour cream, that he couldn’t just eat.  

He swiveled to study the coats by the door, trying to decide whether Billy had one, then just grabbed one, and a scarf and hat, and hauled the armload out and around.  “Where’s my knight,” he called softly.  

In the darkness, Billy snorted.  “My king,” he slurred.  “He calls for aid?” he mumbled, and Steve reached towards his voice and yanked him close by the sweatshirt, pulling him into a kiss that tasted like 120 proof sawdust.  “Jesus,” he whispered against Billy’s mustache, leaning in for another taste.  “You suck down a whole fifth of whiskey as soon as I drove off?”

“Shut up,” Billy hissed, shoving away, and Steve followed, following the sloshing noise of a bottle.  

“You coming back in?”

“Fuck off,” Billy’s footsteps crunched away through the snow, and Steve stopped.  

“Uh, I brought you a coat.  And stuff.”

“Fuck off,” Billy hissed, unevenly, Steve thought, and he stood for a second, wondering whether this was a time to listen, or whether he should think harder, like usual.  

“Um,” he cleared his throat, grimacing.  “Uh, just if you’re gonna stay out, put a coat on, here.”

“Harrington—” Billy snarled, crunching toward him in the snow, and Steve bit his lips together.

“Okay,” he told the angry voice in the dark, “I’ll go, I’ll go, just—just take the coat, okay, just—”

“Give it to me, you fucking sheepdog,” Billy’s hand brushed his arm, then grabbed the coat, and Steve stepped back.  “I’ll wear the damn coat, I won’t fall in the damn pool, go watch a fucking musical.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve laughed, and let his eyes close for a second to take a few deep, easy breaths.  “Okay, I’m—I’m going,” he called over his shoulder, turning back to the house, and rubbing his hands to warm them.  

“She’s a little bitch,” Billy yelled, and Steve stopped.  

“What?”

“Why the fuck you want me hanging around my step-sister, Harrington?” Billy called, laughing.  “You know she shot me up with that shit.  I coulda died.  Now you want us to make nice?”

“She’s...your sister,” Steve said, feeling wrong-footed.  “...you can’t—”

“I can’t what?” Billy asked, the snow crunching under his feet as he stepped up to breathe smoke and whiskey in Steve’s face.  “Can’t hate her?  Can’t wish she’d fucking die?”

“You don’t wish she’d die,” Steve told him, sighing.  “You can’t—”

“Oh, I can,” Billy said, laughing.  “I can, Your Majesty.  I’m not—” 

“Stop it,” Steve argued.  “You don’t—”

“You think?” Billy asked, in the slow, smiley way he’d had right before walking into the Byers’ house, and attacking Lucas for no reason.  “You think I don’t hate her?”

Steve reached out in the dark until he found Billy’s chest.  “Put your damn coat on.  I think…” he trailed off, trying to figure it out, as Billy waited, shivering against his hand.  Steve tried to imagine what it would have been like, thinking your mom had left, living with Neil Hargrove.  He got a handful of sweatshirt and yanked Billy closer, imagining him coming home every day to Neil yelling, or—or yanking him around, or hitting him—“Bi—Billiam,” he stumbled, avoiding Billy’s name, and Billy snorted a laugh.  “...does, um.  Does your dad hit Max?”

“Why the fuck would he hit Max,” Billy growled back.

“Why the fuck would he hit you,” Steve hissed, shaking him, but bit his lip, breathing Billy’s breath, and feeling him tremble.  “He didn’t hit Max, did he.”

“Fuck you,” Billy spat back, sounding a little choked.  

“He brought a kid home he didn’t hit,” Steve whispered, and Billy shoved him off.  

“Fuck you!”

“He’s nice to her, isn’t he,” Steve thought aloud, blowing into his cupped fingers.  “Because of her mom—”

“He’s not nice to her,” Billy gritted out.  “He treats her like shit, he wants her to—he thinks he needs to fix her with a strong father figure,” he said, snorting.  

“He doesn’t hit her, though, I bet,” Steve pressed, and Billy laughed.  

“Fuck you,” he said again, lighting another cigarette.  

“He knows his last wife left him, and he doesn’t wanna piss this one off too much—” Steve muttered, steepling his hands to think.  Billy laughed roughly, his voice shaking with the cold, and Steve sighed.  “Put the coat on, trespasser.  ...he knows he can’t hurt Max or her mom, right,” Steve whispered, putting it together, “—so he takes it out on you.  Whenever he’s pissed—”

“He’s not like that,” Billy hissed back.  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking, but he’s not—it’s—it’s not—”

“Yeah, he is,” Steve shot back.  “Good dads don’t fucking hit kids.”  Billy took a shaky breath, and Steve crunched a couple steps closer to where the orange light of his cigarette lit his face and curls as he inhaled.  “...you don’t hate Max,” Steve said again, gaining confidence.  “You like her too—” 

“I don’t give a shit—” Billy growled.

“You’re jealous as hell,” Steve decided.  “She moved here and she had like five friends in a day.  I fought for her, I fought you.”

“Yeah, we all know who you’re gonna pick,” Billy said, turning away with a jagged laugh.  “I see you testing me out.  Shit.  Screw you, Harrington, I can keep it up, jesus.  I can do this, okay.”

“...what,” Steve asked, caught off-balance.

“Making sure I know my place,” Billy whispered.  “I get it, Harrington.  I get to stay if I can behave.”  

“Shit, is that what your dad did?!” Steve burst out.  “What a shithead, what’d he do, say he’d throw you out?” 

“...nah,” Billy said, but he let Steve get close again, so Steve could see his eyes, resigned in the warm glow of the cigarette.  “That’s you.”

“I won’t—” Steve protested, grimacing.

“Dad wants me home,” Billy said, laughing.  “Says I’m his problem.”

“You’re not a problem,” Steve told him stoutly, and Billy laughed.  

“Yeah, I am—”

“Sometimes you are,” Steve agreed, stomping his feet to warm up.  “Sometimes everybody is though, I mean.  You’re not—you’re more than a problem, you’re—” he waved his hands in frustration, then grabbed Billy’s forearms.  “You’re Billy.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Billy said, laughing, but his smile looked softer.  “Right there.”

“Not a problem,” Steve said nonsensically.  “You’re not.  You—”

“You keep saying he hits kids,” Billy said, leaning closer, and breathing smoke out over the dim orangey light like a dragon.  The smoke whorled around Billy’s hands, and Steve’s, holding his wrists.  “He doesn’t hit kids, Harrington, he only ever hit me—”

“You were a kid,” Steve shot back, shaking Billy, ineffectively, by his forearms.  “You—you’re his kid.  He hits you.”

“Doesn’t hit Max,” Billy whispered.  “Problem is me, Harrington—”

“No,” Steve shook him again, leaning close enough their arms were pressed between them.  “Your dad’s an asshole, that’s the—”

“Fucking...hate a little girl,” Billy said, looking down, then up again, deep into Steve’s eyes.  “Little—fucking—skateboarder—girl, Your Lordship.  I wish she got hit.”  He said it again, slower.  “I wish he hurt her.  That fucked up enough?  I wish he fucking—grabbed her hair and held her face down next to the stove burner.  ‘M’I still not the problem?”  He laughed at Steve’s expression, and Steve wondered what it looked like. 

“B—Knight,” Steve interrupted, but he didn’t have a good answer, so Billy grinned like a carnivore, and kept going.  

“When I can’t breathe I wish he’d hurt her instead,” Billy whispered, yanking his arms free of Steve’s hold, and stepped back.  “You can tell she doesn’t have any fucking idea what to do,” he rasped.  “Just standing there watching, trying to get him to stop, even, and I’m thinking I wish it was her.”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, trying to keep track of Billy’s shape when he turned away, his body hiding the glow of the cigarette.

“Starting to see the cracks, finally?” Billy called back, laughing, and Steve jumped, squinting back into the darkness.  “I see her there and I want her to hurt—”

“Or wishing he’d stop hurting you, maybe,” Steve suggested.  

“Yeah, that’s what I should be hoping, isn’t it,” Billy laughed raggedly.  “What the fuck kinda monster watches her run off and wishes she was drowning too?”

“No, you don’t,” Steve argued, grabbing Billy’s arm to yank him around, to see his face, and Billy shoved him.  Steve stumbled backwards in the snow and fell on his ass, the cement around the pool jarring every bone in his body through the hard-packed snow of their footprints.  

“Fuck,” Billy whispered, dropping next to him, and patting at him clumsily in the dark.  “Shit, Harrington, go—go back inside.  I’m the fucking problem, Harrington, me—not my dad, not Max—” he cut off with a groan, shoving away again and stalking off.

“Stop,” Steve said breathlessly, pushing himself back up to his feet to follow, and Billy laughed again.  

“Stop,” Billy whined.  

“B-babe,” Steve gritted out, stomping after him.  “Quit it, jesus.”

“Waaah, is the truth scary, Your Majesty?” Billy asked, half crying, half laughing as he staggered to a stop, grabbing a scrubby tree for balance, silhouetted against the light of the house.  “Stop it,” he mimicked, like Steve was a whiny toddler.  “Ennnh, fucking baby—you seeing the cracks, now?”

“What?!” 

“Been spackling them over,” Billy laughed.  “Gotta keep it together.  Smooth surface for Steve, right?  Fill those cracks in.  Sand ‘em over, long as you—long as you don’t look close.  Just—I’ve just been hiding the cracks, Harrington, you gotta—you gotta hide the cracks.  But I—I can’t—can’t hide where...Max is,” he laughed, but it sounded harsh.  “That crack’s too big, y’know?  Can’t shovel enough in there, you see it, right?  You see now.”

Steve waited, squinting into the darkness.  “Uh,” he said, into the silence.  “...I know you’re—”

“Dirt gets in the cracks,” Billy whispered, from less than a yard away, and Steve startled again.  “Rots in there.  All the broken places.  Gathers flies and—and maggots—” he trailed off, laughing the kind of laugh that you had to listen carefully to to tell whether it was tears.

“Um,” Steve cut him off, and Billy paused, breathing in wet pants.  Steve bit his lip, thinking.  “Like...fruit?” he finally asked, into the silence, and Billy cracked up laughing.  

“Yeah, your majesty,” he finally answered.  “You’re right, I’m a fruit!  All rotten in the bruised places—I’m a fag, I’m a—I’m a fucking—”

“Shut up, that’s dumb,” Steve gritted out.  “You—you’re not—you’re a—you’re my goddamn boyfriend, not an apple.”

“You saw, you can fucking see it now, I know you—”

“No, listen, shut up,” Steve hissed, putting his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t grab his drunk idiot and shake him.  “Listen.  Listen.  Apples bruise, okay, they rot, they do that, yeah.  People,” he stepped closer, “—people—I’m going in, I swear, I’ll go inside, but listen—people heal, okay.  You’re bruised, yeah, you—” he whispered, but he couldn’t take Billy’s silence, and put a hand out to find his stubbly face, rubbing his thumb over skin sticky with tears.  “He bruised you.  Maybe—maybe he cracked you, I don’t know—”

Billy leaned into his hand, and took a shaky breath.  

“You’re not a banana,” Steve growled.  “You—you’re not gonna turn black and rot away ‘cause he slammed you around, okay, you’re not—”

“It’s inside,” Billy whispered.  “S’not—s’nothing he did, I’m just—”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and then smiled slowly, feeling like the Grinch when he had a wonderful, awful idea.  “Hey,” he leaned in close.  “You saying your mom is bad at makin’ babies?”

“No!” Billy said instantly, and Steve resisted a victorious snort.  

“Yeah,” he agreed.  “She’d beat you up.  She’s a good mom, right?”

Billy growled and bit lightly at his hand, and Steve grabbed his face, ignoring Billy’s snickering, and the tongue licking his fingers. 

He stroked Billy’s cheeks.  “She’s a good mom, and she made a good kid, right?”

Billy shoved him away again.  “...shut your damn face, Harrington.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, listening to him crunch through the snow, and squinting towards his voice.  Steve sighed, and turned back towards the door.  “If you’re bruised, it’s his fault!” he yelled back, and then nearly fell on his ass, flailing his arms, as a snowball swiped his head.  

Billy was still laughing as Steve stomped the snow off his feet, and closed the back door.  

He boiled water, measured out ingredients, unwrapped candy canes, made hot chocolate, and cracked the window, only to hear a thin “PISS OFF, HARRINGTON” from the treeline.  He closed it again.  

 Steve waited hours, then finally stuck his head back out the back porch and yelled as he was grabbed by a black shape leaning over the edge of the porch.  Only the smell of cigarettes and whiskey kept him from punching Billy’s face, but he just leaned into him, his heart thumping with adrenaline.  “Jesus,” he whispered, pulling his half-frozen boyfriend closer.

“...fuck took you so long,” Billy slurred, and Steve grabbed him and shoved him inside, pulling a blanket off the couch and wrapping him up.  Billy curled easily against him, and Steve let them both drop onto the couch with a sigh, and wrapped his dumb blanketed boyfriend up in his arms.  

“Whaddaya mean it took me so long,” Steve growled.  “You told me not to go out there!”

“Yeah, but you don’ listen,” Billy mumbled into his shirt, and Steve sighed.

“You waiting for invitations now, trespasser?” he asked, and Billy squirmed closer.  

“Still came an’ got me.”

“Don’t wait for that,” Steve told him, rubbing his back as he started to shiver.  “Come in when you get cold, shithead.”

“Mmmm,” Billy laughed, warm against his neck.  “Maybe you thought ‘b-bout it a little more,” he slurred.

“No, listen,” Steve told him, shaking him gently.  “What if I’d fallen asleep, babe.  What if I went somewhere.”

“Mmmn,” Billy shook his head, nuzzling deeper in the blankets, and Steve took a deep breath, and manhandled his drunk slug of a boyfriend until he could cup his face.

“Billy,” he whispered, and Billy swallowed, trying to squirm away.  “No, ssh, c’mere, Billy Hargrove.”

“...listening,” Billy sighed, his mouth quirked, but his eyes fixed blearily on Steve’s face.  

“Need you to promise,” Steve told him, and Billy nodded vaguely.  “No, Billy, listen.  You’re in trouble, so I’m calling you Billy.”

Billy frowned, biting his lips together.

Steve kissed them.  “I—I love you.  I got feeblings, right?  So—so, you uh, you have to be nicer to me, okay?”  Billy burst out laughing, and Steve felt himself flush.  “Billy,” he whispered again.

“What happens when I’m in trouble with Steve Harrington,” Billy whispered back, smiling.  He was starting to shiver, and Steve stroked his hands over his boyfriend’s cold face, and neck, and frozen-feeling ears.

“We have to talk like this,” Steve told him, leaning in to press another kiss to Billy’s freezing-cold lips, and pulling back as Billy tried to deepen it.  “Pay attention, babe.  Trespasser.” 

“Okay,” Billy nodded, licking his lips.

“You have to—you gotta come in when you’re cold, okay?  You gotta come in out of the cold.”

“You come back,” Billy whispered, holding his freezing-cold hands over Steve’s on either side of his face.

“Yeah, I-I will, I’ll come get you,” Steve agreed, adjusting his hands on Billy’s face to cover more cold skin.  “But—” he took a shaky breath, “—you have to promise—”

“You’ll come back,” Billy said again, frowning.  “You—you gonna...stop coming?  Harrington?”  He laughed, an explosion of whiskey and smoke, and Steve made a face.

“I’m not gonna—that’s what I’m saying,” Steve hissed.  “You can’t just…you…”

“I’m gonna wait,” Billy whispered, his eyes bleary with whiskey.  “Wait for you.  You gotta come get me.  You don’t…” he took a wet, shaky breath, swallowing hard, “—you don’t want me anymore, don’t come get me.  You get...done.  If—if you’re done.  With me.”

“What if I have to take a shit,” Steve said, shaking him a little.  “What if—what if I eat two-week old Chinese food, and I shit for two hours, and you die, Bi—babe, what if you freeze to death—”

“That’s half a month,” Billy slurred, frowning at him.  He squeezed Steve’s hands, turning his head to kiss Steve’s thumb.  “Don’t eat that.”

“What if I fall asleep,” Steve whispered, starting to shake a little himself.  His eyes blurred with tears, and he blinked them away.  “What if I go to sleep and you go have a smoke and you don’t come back because you’re waiting for me to get up and get you.  I gotta get up and check to see if you’re alive?  I—I can’t sleep when you aren’t next to me?!  I can’t sleep because you might fucking die?!”

“No!  No,” Billy shook his head, wide-eyed, and yanked Steve closer, yanking the blanket around both of them.  “Sorry.  Sorry, shit.  Sorry.”

“Come in when it’s cold,” Steve said again, into to cold bulk of Billy’s shoulder, trying to sound stern, but his voice cracked and wobbled.  “I—I can’t—you gotta—Billy, you gotta come in—”

“I will, I will,” Billy muttered, wrapping both shivering arms around him, and squeezing until Steve’s bones felt like they creaked together.  Steve breathed against Billy’s shoulder, smelling snow, and cigarettes, and he turned his head to breathe against the damp skin of Billy’s neck.  Billy kissed his head.  “...I’ll come in, okay.  Harrington.  You can sleep.”

“I—I’ll just come get you,” Steve mumbled, pretty certain he’d be staring at the ceiling and jumping at imagined noises anyway, and Billy groaned into his hair.  “I’ll stay up for you—”

“...shit, no.  Fuck.  You—you’re right.  Not on you if I’m dumb.  I promise,” he said, pushing Steve away—he struggled, hanging on—so his still-shivering hands could cup Steve’s face, and Billy could look as serious as possible, drunk as hell.  “Harrington,” he whispered.  “Stevie.”

Steve laughed, startled, as his face heated.  “Nobody calls me that,” he whispered back, starting to snicker, and trying to duck his head.

“Stevie,” Billy said, squeezing Steve’s cheeks with a frown.  Steve tried to laugh through fishlips, and Billy smirked.  “Listen,” he said, and Steve nodded, blinking rapidly to try and get his eyes to clear.  “—’m gonna be more...careful, okay,” Billy said softly.  “I’ll—I’ll do better, okay, I’ll be good.  You don’t—you don’t have to—babysit me, okay.”

“‘M’a goo’babys’tr,” Steve mumbled, trying to talk through his squished lips.

“Gonna help you with that,” Billy sighed.  “With me.  Gonna help you make everybody safe, okay?  You don’t have to.”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, watching his face.

“Don’t have to babysit me,” Billy repeated.  “I’ll babysit me.”

“...you’re sure,” Steve pressed, laughing, so Billy wouldn’t notice his eyes—they were stinging, and probably red—or how hard he was trying not to just...stomp off and scream, scrabbling at his hair.  He wanted to just hide in his room again, have his little baby tantrum somewhere his boyfriend couldn’t see, but Billy’s hands held him fast.  Steve took a deep breath, and it caught in his lungs, so he took another.  “Love you,” he whispered, and Billy’s mouth quirked disbelievingly.  “Love you,” Steve emphasized.  “I’m not gonna let you die, so—so don’t tell me you—don’t say you’re gonna be okay, don’t lie to me if—if you need me to—do that.  For you.  Keep you safe.”

Billy watched his face for a long while—whole minutes, it felt like, and then shook his head.  “I’ll come in.  Harrington.  I—I promise, I’ll come in.  And if...if I...can’t take care of...me,” he said roughly, “—I promise I-I’ll tell you.  I won’t lie to you, I’ll say—”

Steve’s tear ducts overreacted and spilled entirely over, while his lungs made a weird noise more appropriate for braking trucks, so he tried to jerk away and get to—somewhere else, where nobody had to calm him down when he wasn’t even the one having a problem, but Billy yanked him into his shivering shoulder again, muttering into his hair.

“Jesus shit,” he whispered.  “Christ, Harrington, I’m—sorry, sorry, fuck.  Sorry.  Shit.  I don’t—I won’t—I won’t let anything happen to me, jesus.  I promise, your majesty.  I’m your knight, right?  I gotta—I gotta be strong, right.  Keep myself safe.  Can’t make you worry about your knight.  Don’t be broken, holy shit—”

“—’m not broken, just—just don’t die in my yard,” Steve sniffled, laughing, and then made another noise like a squashed cat as Billy’s arms tightened.  “I just—I fucking love you,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah,” Billy told him.  “Yeah.  Jesus.  Sorry.  I can—I know you’d come for me, right, I don’t—I don’t need to freak you out.”

“A-asshole,” Steve whispered shakily, groaning.  “—f-fucking...prick.”

“Yeah,” Billy agreed, laughing a little unsteadily himself, and burying his face in Steve’s hair.  “Yeah.  Sorry.  I’m so sorry, shit, I’ll help, okay.  You can—you can relax some, I’ll help you.  Jesus, sorry—sorry—”

“Fucking dipshit,” Steve slid his arms around Billy, squirming further into the blanket.  “God, fucking...love you, you asshole.”

“Mmn,” Billy nodded, sighing shakily, and kissing his ear.

“...sweetie-pie,” Steve tried, and Billy started laughing, his breath hot against Steve’s head.

 The next day, El drug Max over while Billy and Steve stood around smoking.  They were hauling four full trash bags and a trifold cardboard presentation board that brought bitter memories up in Steve of middle-school science class.  

“The hell is all that,” Billy bit out, glaring at the bags, but he yanked his keys out of his jeans and opened Steve’s trunk.

“Max’s mom won’t leave,” El reported, and Max’s eyes went red and shiny.  Billy hesitated, then grabbed more bags and put them in the trunk, but Steve noticed he was gentle.  

“Is this stuff...in case?” Steve guessed, and Max shook her head, sniffling.  She swallowed hard, kicking a rock into the side of somebody’s car, and her tears didn’t spill over.  

Billy’s shoulders were nearly up around his ears, and Steve squeezed his shoulder, stepping between he and Max like Steve was some kind of wall.  He cleared his throat, feeling dumb.  

“She won’t listen,” Max said in a weird, raspy voice.  “She says not to worry.”

“I can blow up his brain,” El said, in the vaguely monotone voice she had when she was the last line of defense, and Billy twitched in Steve’s peripheral vision.  

“Don’t do anything,” Max hissed.  “She knows about you.  She’d be so—she’d hate me.  I gotta—I’ll try again.  Shit.  I shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

El shook her head solemnly, sighing.  

“You can bring her to our place,” Steve said, again, feeling useless.  “If, uh.”

“How come we have to figure this shit out,” Max growled, kicking another rock.  “She’s the mom.”

“...she sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Steve snorted, and Billy turned to glare at him, but Max laughed.

“Yeah,” she sighed.  “My dad, uh, he was...he wasn’t...great either.”  She rubbed her face roughly, groaning, and El dropped an arm around her.  

Bily opened his mouth, glaring, then closed it, and Steve took advantage of the girls’ bowed heads to blow him a kiss.  Billy smirked, digging his fingers into his forearms, and stalked off, lighting up a few cars away.

“Waffles,” declared El, after tucking Max’s hair behind her ear, seeing tears, and freezing in place for several seconds, her hands twitching with indecision.

“What,” Max whispered, wiping her nose.  

“M-Mrs. Byers,” El said.  “And, um, Will, remember, they um, they invited us.  Waffles.  She said she could make waffles.”

“So what?” Max snorted, rubbing her eyes with her sleeves.  

“So,” El said, then bit her lips together.  

“...you want waffles right away?” Steve asked, half tempted to chase Billy, and tell him it was fine he didn’t want his dad murdered, but feeling obligated to stick it out with two girls, one of which was crying, and the other one looking like she wanted to.  “Uh, we could take you girls uh, somewhere, before Will’s—”

“I’m fine,” Max laughed hoarsely.  “Waffles aren’t gonna solve my problems, El.”

El bit her lips together, her eyes glistening with tears, and Steve wondered about the El-scale—what was a one-waffle problem, or a whole-box-of-Eggos problem, and what it told her about Max, hearing that this was a problem too big for waffles.

 Once El just gave up and hugged Max, an awkward moment, as Max’s eyes begged him for help, Steve wandered over to where Billy was smoking, and bumped elbows.  “...El won’t kill your dad,” he whispered, and Billy raised his eyebrows, eyeing him doubtfully.  

“You sure about that?” he asked.  “Kinda sounded like she might no matter what Max said.”

“Um,” Steve said, grimacing, and remembering the stories of El just...breaking necks.  No great loss, he thought to himself, then cleared his throat guiltily.  “We can talk to her.  Tell her you, uh, you don’t want her to—”

“That’s why?” Billy snarled, turning to toss his cigarette away.  “That’s why she shouldn’t?  It’s murder, Harrington—”

“He hit you,” Steve pointed out, mumbling, and Billy reached out, glanced around, and then pulled his hand back and put it in his pocket.  

“...so did you,” Billy hissed back, but he was grinning, a little.  

“I didn’t want to,” Steve growled.  “And I won’t, ever again, I’d never—”

“Yeah, sure,” Billy grinned, but it looked soft, and so did his lips.  Steve cleared his throat, so many protests swarming his mouth that he couldn’t get any of them out.  “You’d never hit me until I’m standing in front of the mugs and you want the marshmallows—”

“I might elbow you—” Steve protested, and Billy leaned in, smirking.  

“Until I tease you about your feeblings,” he whispered, and Steve raised his arm to punch Billy’s shoulder, and glared at it in despair.  Billy threw an arm around his shoulders, and yanked him close.  “...it’s not the same, Harrington,” he whispered.  “I know you want me around.”

“He does too, he loves you, he has to,” Steve argued, and Billy laughed, rubbing his face.  “He does,” Steve insisted.  “He knows you, he’s known you forever!  He loves you. He—he has to—”

“Not sure your math works out,” Billy told him, and he looked fond, which had Steve lurching closer, licking his own lips, until he remembered they were in the school parking lot.

“Not gonna kiss you right now,” Steve informed him, stiffly, “—but I’m right.  If he doesn’t love you, he—” Steve tried to think of an option, remembering chubby-cheeked Billy from the Christmas photos, in his awful knitted overalls.  Steve frowned hard into the middle distance.  “...maybe he’s an alien,” he said slowly, and Billy dissolved into snickers, his face pink-cheeked around his fingers.  

“I don’t get how your brain works,” he whispered.

“It works better than your dad’s,” Steve shot back, sliding his hand down and around Billy’s forearm, where he’d drawn the hearts, and rubbing his thumb over Billy’s sleeve.  “We won’t let El kill your dad, okay, she likes you, she likes Will, she won’t do anything to—to you, she won’t—hurt your family.”  He groaned.  “How come he’s such an asshole?!  Jesus,” Steve asked the air around them, waving his arms, and Billy laughed.  “Come on,” Steve told him. “—we’re going to Will’s for waffles, remember?”

Billy shook his head like he was trying to clear it, but he didn’t argue, and when they piled into the car, he called shotgun and dropped next to Steve.  He grabbed Steve’s hand, trembling for some reason, but when Steve tried to ask, Billy took a deep breath and started an argument with Max and El about whether they needed to bring anything to dinner.  Billy and Steve both felt greasing the wheels with unfamiliar adults was wise, while Max and Eleven sounded perplexed.

El was eventually the only holdout on gifts for Mrs. Byers—from her obvious alarm, Steve suspected she was worried she’d been breaking some unknown taboo—so Steve swung into Bradley’s Big Buy and watched as Billy grabbed flowers, then stared at the sparkling cider.  He spun slowly in place, and Max, picking up his nerves, grabbed and put back four different kinds of fruit.  El advocated filling an entire cart with whipped cream, and Steve let her fill a basket.

“Grab that sparkly juice,” Steve advised, always inclined to charm parents.  “Y’know, that,” he said, waving at the Martinelli’s, and Billy and Max hoisted two bottles under each arm and followed each other to the checkout in silence.  El frowned at them, then slowly did the same, and Steve tried not to laugh, watching the three of them in a solemn row, bottles under their arms, like they were carrying munitions and rations to the front lines.  He considered telling Billy they could go back that night and use the spare cider to fill his pool, then considered the way Billy’s fingers were tight and pale against the bottles, and leaned to whisper, “Surprised you know what to do with an invite, Trespasser.”

“Thought I was your knight,” Billy whispered back, and Steve stared at his smirk.  He was leaning in for a kiss when Max’s foot tromped on the arch of his foot.

 At the Byers’, Billy drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, and grabbed Steve’s arm when he started to climb out of the car.  “So this is it.  This is—this is what you’re doing for Will.  Now.  Momma Byers and ‘Hopper’—” he still enunciated ‘Hopper’ like it was in quotes, “—they’re watching, today is—now.”

“What?” Steve cocked his head, listening, but also watching Max and El haul bags of cider towards House Byers, and trying to evaluate how many of the Party were pressed against the windows.  It looked like an entire school bus in there.  He sighed, shutting his car door.

“At IHOP,” Billy hissed.  “You said you’d—you’d be—queer at people.  So Will’d know what to do.  See what his mom said.  That’s why he wants us here.”

“Oh,” Steve said, swallowing as the terrifying thought of telling Joyce Byers he was queer reared its ugly head.  Maybe I can get her alone before we eat, he told himself, grimacing.  She’s—she’s nice, maybe—maybe she won’t be—too angry.  He took a deep breath.  Better me than Will, anyway.  “I—yeah, maybe, I—” 

He was still squinting at the front windows of the Byers’ house, wondering how the kids hadn’t figured out they were visible, no matter how much they made shushing motions at each other, when Billy came around the car, wiping his palms on his jeans.  He yanked Steve out, and grabbed him like they were about to square dance.  Steve stared at his face, the landscape whirling behind Billy as he dipped Steve into an open-mouthed kiss.  

Steve swore into it, throwing his arms around Billy’s shoulders, then relaxed when he didn’t get dropped on his ass, and tried not to think about the muscles holding him a foot off the ground.  “Giving me so many feeblings,” he mumbled, and Billy did nearly drop him, laughing, but swung him back upright to a chorus of whoops and whistles from the house.

Billy froze, spinning to stare at the kids crowding onto the porch—it looked like Lucas had even brought his little sister, Steve thought, distracted by his heart thudding in his chest, half with adrenaline, and half with all his blood rushing to his dick.  He took a deep breath, watching Billy brace his feet like he expected to get punched.  “Shit, Harrington—I—I—fuck, I thought—”

“It’s fine,” Steve told him, “—come on, it’s okay—”, grabbed his hand, and tugged him towards the house.

Billy made a soft noise in the back of his throat, and didn’t move.  

“Okay, stay there for a sec,” Steve said, diving back into the car for the last bag of cider, and the flowers Billy had grabbed.  

Footsteps crunched, and Will’s voice piped up behind him.  “I’m so sorry!” he panted.  “I’m so sorry, Eleven told me, and Max, and Mike, and he told Nancy, and I told Jonathan, and Max told Lucas, and nobody’d told Dustin, and I thought that was mean—”

“It was,” Dustin’s voice confirmed, as Steve crawled half under his seats looking for an escaped can of whipped cream.  “It was an asshole move, Steve Harrington—”

Steve resurfaced with the groceries, and Billy cleared his throat, saying, hoarsely, “How many goddamn people did I just—” 

“Like a hundred,” Dustin said, and Will punched him in the shoulder.  Dustin snickered, smacking back at him.  “—I mean, all the Wheelers are in there, Hopper brought his deputies, there’s the science guys from the lab, Mrs. Byers’ coworkers from Radio Shack—The Mayor—the President—”

Billy narrowed his eyes at Dustin’s grin, and reached over slowly to brace one hand on his shoulder and shove him sideways.  Dustin staggered, but his grin didn’t falter.

“What the hell,” Billy hissed at Will, who turned to look at the house.

“Not everybody saw?” he said hopefully.

Dustin staggered, cackling.  “Oh, and we videotaped it, too.  I’m gonna play it on the school intercom.  With commentary.  Like a football game—”

Billy stooped to scoop up some snow, and tossed it at Dustin’s face.  About half of it went in Dustin’s open mouth, and Steve raised his eyebrows at the gauntlet of carrying bags of groceries through the sudden battlefield, where Will was packing together a snowball, glaring at Dustin, and Billy was shivering, but cackling into the cuffs of his borrowed sweatshirt.  Dustin smacked Will in the face with a snowball before Will got his properly shaped, and Will yowled in fury, chasing him around the yard.  

El trotted back out, eyes narrowed, and then crouched to form her own snowball, and Mike ran after her, waving a hat and scarf.  Luckily, Joyce Byers and Jonathan met Steve at the door, and relieved him of his bags of whipped cream, flowers, and sparkling cider.  Behind them, Nancy waved her arms at the bags, looking weirded out, and Steve shrugged back at her, rolling his eyes skyward.  She shook her head, laughing.

As Steve turned back to the melee, Lucas wandered out the door past him, adjusting his scarf under his coat and yanking a fluffy hat down over his ears.

Billy’s head jerked up.  He’d been helping Will layer more snow along the top of an existing snow fort, and Steve was distracted for a second thinking about all the hiding places and fortifications Will Byers built, and who he pulled in there every time.  Probably his mom, Steve thought.  Joyce Byers seemed like she threw a mean snowball.  He liked the image of the two of them pelting Jonathan, while Nancy mounted an attack on their flanks.

Billy’s eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath, muttered something to Will, and stuck his hands in the pockets of Steve’s sweatshirt again.  He made for Lucas.  

Lucas looked up, swallowed, and backed away, and Steve nearly stumbled catching up to them.  He ran up to hear Billy stage-whispering “Need to talk to you.  The sheriff’s watching from the kitchen, you’re fine, can—can I just—around the corner of the house?”

He’d chosen his moment well—Will had run out and tripped Dustin, shoveling snow into his face with both arms, while Mike tried to pull him off, and El tried to pull Mike out of the fray, and Max hit everyone with snowballs indiscriminately.  Nobody was watching Lucas and Billy, except Steve.

Lucas glanced over Billy’s shoulder at Steve, who froze, then flexed his biceps, and gave a salute.  Lucas covered a snort with his mitten, and turned his deep frown back on Billy, who was waiting, hunched and scowling at the ground.  “Fine,” Lucas said, and crunched around to the side of the house.

Steve tried to crunch through the snow exactly when they did, the sound of their footsteps—and Dustin cackling as he and El dropped an enormous snowball on Mike’s head—covering the loud crunches of Steve tiptoeing onto the Byer’s porch.  He sank onto the porch swing, listening.  

“Listen, I fucked up, I’m sorry—” Billy started, and Lucas snorted.  Steve winced, and started to stand, but Billy wasn’t knocked out of stride.  “—I shouldn’t—I was—sorry.”

“What, you want me to forgive you?” Lucas asked, sounding pissed.  “You’re such an—”

“No!  No, I don’t care, but uh—I mean.  It’s—ha.  It’s not gonna happen, right?  But you’re—you’re gonna be—around.  You’re one of Steve’s—”

“I’ve got parents, actually,” Lucas informed him.

“You’re Max’s friend, and I’ll—I’m gonna be—around,” Billy pushed on, and Steve half wanted to lean around the corner of the house and cheer for him.  “I just wanted to say you’re, uh, safe.  I know you don’t—”

“Bullshit,” Lucas hissed at him.

“No, you—you are, dammit—sorry,” Billy interrupted.  “Steve would beat me to death with a nailbat if I took another swing at you.  Hopper would help him hide the body.  Look, you don’t have to trust me, just believe I don’t want to die.”

Lucas barked a laugh.

“I can—I’ll stay away from Erica if you want,” Billy told him, “—and, uh, cat girl, Tomoko?  Tomiko?”

“It’s Tomika,” Lucas muttered.

“I’ll tell them I can’t help.  If you want, I’ll even tell them why, and they won’t want my help, but.  You don’t have to be...watching for me.”  There was what felt like a long pause, as Steve tried to crane his neck around the edge of the deck without the swing creaking.  Snow crunched as one of them adjusted his footing.

“...okay,” Lucas said, finally.  “I guess.”

“You want me to stay the hell away from them?  I wanted to know before I went in there,” Billy asked, keeping his voice low.

Lucas didn’t answer again for long minutes, with only the sounds of the snowball fight, and their feet crunching in the snow.  “You know what, you can run all the errands for those morons you want,” he said finally.  “But if you—if you do anything—”

“No, I know,” Billy laughed.  His voice cracked.  “I’m sorry I was such a shitheel.  I’m trying to be...less shitty.”

That dropped into silence, and Steve clenched his hands on the edge of the swing, shivering, and resisting leaning around to see what was going on.

“Won’t be hard,” Lucas muttered.  “Max is scared of you.  She’s—she’s not scared of much.  And you scare her—”

“I know.  Working on a truce with her too,” Billy told him.  

“That what this is?  A truce?”

“I agree to be less shitty, and you agree to wait and see whether I am?  I think that’s a truce,” Billy said, and Lucas laughed, coughing.  

“Might have to help that cat a few more times before I believe you,” he said, but he sounded less hostile.  

“I already told Steve I’d help with his child adoption franchise,” Billy said, and Steve’s mouth fell open in offense.  His eyes narrowed, but Billy was talking again.  “If you want anything, lemme know.  I can start trying to make it up to you.  And Max.  Or—or just tell me to fuck off.”

There was another long pause, and Steve wrung his hands like a soap opera star, but his face heated with pride for Billy, who didn’t start yelling or anything, just waited.

“...truce, then,” Lucas said, finally.  “I guess.”

“Truce,” Billy repeated, and Steve wondered whether they were shaking hands.  He stood carefully so the swing wouldn’t bang against the porch rail, and trotted out into the snow, crossing his arms, as Billy and Lucas came back around the house.  

Their appearance caught Max’s eye, and her head jerked up, wide-eyed as she looked Lucas up and down.  She dropped the snowball she was making, clenching her hands into fists, but Lucas sighed and gave her a thumbs-up, and Billy glanced at him, and then slowly echoed it.  

She stared, then cocked her head, mouth quirking, and took a shaky breath.  When she walked up to Lucas, and Billy walked by them towards Steve, Steve heard her hiss “About time,” at Billy, who glared over at her.  “Thank you,” she mouthed, looking indignant, but Billy stared back before nodding.  

“Good job,” Steve whispered, wondering whether he could just kiss Billy, now, since he’d done it already, in full view of basically everyone they knew.  Billy snorted, ducking his head.  “Y’know,” Steve whispered, dodging another ‘snowball’ from Dustin, who was having a frustrating time getting them to stick together in his mittens, and kept throwing showers of snow that only went about six feet.  “Y’know you don’t—have to do anything—”  Steve bent to scoop up a handful of snow and smack Dustin upside the head with a throw straight out of his days in Little League.

“—I don’t need to apologize to that kid?” Billy raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, I mean, yeah, you needed to do that,” Steve grimaced.  “Uh, that—that was good.  I thought—I thought you, uh, he might piss you off, so I was kinda...listening.”

Billy shrugged.  “Kinda dumb of him to let me get him alone, really.  He knew you were there?”

“Yeah, he saw me,” Steve shrugged, making a face at his current snowball, before surveying the battlefield, and smacking it between Max’s shoulderblades.  “Uh, no, I mean.  I don’t know who all...saw the, um, the—” he stopped, feeling his face heat as he remembered the feeling of Billy’s cold hands against his neck and lower back, the stomach clench of so many eyes, and the heady spin and drop in Billy’s arms, half kiss, half roller coaster.  

“I’m such a moron,” Billy muttered.  “Why the hell aren’t they out here yelling at us?  I thought Will’d get them to the damn window.  Did it even work?”

“We can just talk to Mrs. Byers,” Steve ended on a yelp, imagining Hopper grabbing them by their hoods and shaking them, and telling them to get the hell out.  He was pretty sure Eleven had told the man something, but Billy’s tension had brought up thoughts of his calls to the Party’s houses going unanswered, and no more little nosy shits hanging around his car asking for rides.  Will’s mom telling him not to talk to the Byers’ family.  Nancy having to choose between her new boyfriend, and her new friend.  “Shit,” he mumbled.  “What if she’s pissed?”

Billy took a step towards him, then stopped.  “That didn’t—you didn’t think of that?!” he hissed.  “Jesus christ on a cracker, Harrington.”

Steve blinked at him, imagining the blue-sashed blond dude of sunday school crosslegged on a Saltine.  “What?”

“...it’s a good thing you’ve got a loyal advisor,” Billy whispered, shaking his head.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Byers wandered out, shivering, and yelled “Who wants waffles?!” and El shoved the whole armload of snow she’d been compacting into Max’s arms.  Max twisted her whole body to sling it around at Billy, who put his hands up into claws and roared at her, covered in snow, resulting in the hitherto-never-before-seen sight of Max Hargrove collapsing in giggles.  Lucas and Dustin stared at her as her knees bent, and she slowly collapsed forward to cackle into her arms, crouched in the snow up to her elbows.  

Mrs. Byers was still holding the flowers, frowning at them like she wasn’t sure how they’d ended up in her arms, but she waved at the table, set with Bert and Ernie paper plates and a can of whipped cream by each.  

“There...certainly will be enough whipped cream for everyone,” she said gamely, and Steve wondered which he’d pick, if a genie asked him—Mrs. Byers for his own mother, or Billy’s.  “Get in here,” she rolled her eyes, grinning.  “You’re all crazy, it’s freezing out here!”

“I know, Mom!” Will yelled, but lowered his voice to whisper to Billy and Steve as they sat down.  “Do you think she saw you?  Kissing?”

“Well, I’m not doing it again,” Billy whispered back, and Steve caught Hopper’s frown—he saw us, he thought, swallowing hard, and then Nancy grinned at him across the table.  

She was sitting with Jonathan at the card table, pushed close to extend the seating, and raised a glass of cider to Steve.  He nodded, his stomach clenching, and exchanged another smile with Mrs. Byers.  She can’t have seen, he told himself, as Will hovered around their chairs, telling Billy about losing all but his green marker for two days and drawing everybody in his class as an alien.  

“Right,” Billy narrowed his eyes at him.  “I haveta talk to you later, Ringbearer.”

Will beamed at him, grabbing his arm.  “The waffles aren’t done yet.  I can show you my room.”

The whole gathering watched little Will Byers drag Billy Hargrove off, chattering away.  

“Predators first cull the weak and the small,” said Dustin, and Nancy threw her paper plate at him, and missed.  

Jonathan tripped over the edge of the rug jumping out of his seat to run after them while Nancy’s plate was still rolling around the table on one edge.  Everybody else was still quiet, watching Billy and Will disappear, and Jonathan’s protective charge, so Steve groaned, extricated himself from all the chairs shoved together—smacking the back of Dustin’s head, for good measure—and ran after them.    

 Jonathan had his hand on Will’s doorknob when Steve grabbed it.  

“It’s okay,” he whispered.  “They get along.”

Jonathan stared at him, shaking his head, and Steve squeezed the other boy’s wrist tighter, shaking his head, as they listened to Will saying “And this one I drew you as Boromir.”

“...great,” Billy laughed, a little tense, then, warming Steve’s heart, he summoned up some enthusiasm and added, “—no, I mean, it’s great, really, what’s that, can I even see in that helmet?”, and touched off a lecture on 14th century armor from Will that nearly put Steve to sleep right there in the hallway.  Billy was actually asking questions, so it kept going, and Jonathan listened with his jaw set, then finally glared at Steve and folded his arms, waiting.  

“Okay, okay, short William,” Billy finally said, when Will paused for breath.  “We have to get our stories straight.”

Jonathan grabbed for the door again, eyes wide, and Steve grabbed his arms, wondering how many conversations he was going to end up eavesdropping on in one day.

“We do?” Will asked.  “Why?  Help me put these markers away before I lose them again—about what?”

“Yeah, okay,” something creaked, “—I, uh, I told Steve you threatened me, when—uh, I mean, like Dustin said he’d put sugar in the gas tank of my Camaro if I fucked it up with Steve, and your mom had some stuff to say—”

Will was giggling.  “What did my mom say?!”

“Too scary to repeat,” Billy shuddered audibly, and Will giggled harder.  “And she thought we were just friends, she’s gonna tie my balls to an anchor—”

Jonathan had stopped trying to open the door, in favor of just staring at Steve’s face in the dim light of the hallway.  Steve was trying to cover his laughter, his eyes stinging.

“Anyway, I got—Steve was—anyway.  I was telling him about it, and I said you did the same thing, so we have to—if he asks you, we should say the same thing—”

“Ohhhh,” Will said.  “I have to tie, um, I don’t think I want to, uh, tie your—”

“No!” Billy yelped, laughing.  “No, something else!”

“What should I threaten you with?” Will asked thoughtfully.  “I can’t just tell my mom, it should be different—”

Steve let go of Jonathan’s wrists to lean back against the wall, his shoulders shaking with snickers.

“You don’t actually have to threaten me—” Billy said softly, and it sounded like bedsprings squeaked.

“No, I should!” came Will’s voice.  “I should!”

“I guess if you want to,” Billy groaned.  “I mean, who doesn’t.”

“I should threaten you,” Will announced again.  “And Steve, right?  I’ll threaten Steve too.  Because you’re my friend.  I have to threaten Steve for you!”

“Okay, lil’ buddy,” Billy laughed, sounding fond.

Jonathan was cocking his head like a confused dog, squinting at Steve in the dim light of the hallway, and Steve just shook his head, trying to muffle his snickering.

“Oh!” Will muttered, and the floor stopped creaking as he held still.  “I should threaten Nancy, and uh, and Max, and Lucas—”

From the sound, Billy burst out laughing as hard as Steve was.  “You—you got a lot to do there, Midget William.”

“Maybe the same threat would work for everyone,” Will said plaintively.  “It’d be simpler.”

“Any thoughts?” Billy asked, through giggles.

“I could sneak in and peroxide your hair,” Will offered.  He sounded doubtful.  “I’d have to get my mom to buy peroxide.”

Steve slid down the wall, letting his head lean back against it and clapping both hands over his mouth.

Jonathan sighed and sat down across from him.  “Wait,” he mouthed, his whisper nearly silent.  “—you and Billy Hargrove?!”

Steve shrugged, still muffling giggles, and unable to care what Jonathan Byers thought about who he was dating.  Maybe Jonathan would get some sexy photos of Billy this time through the window, Steve thought, and snickered harder.

Jonathan stared at the wallpaper across the narrow hall, then shook his head.

“You bleach my hair and we’ll have a problem, Smalliam Byers,” Billy said, snorting.  “Besides, I’d wake up.  Steve would wake up.”

“Well, if you screw that up that bad, he won’t be there,” Will pointed out, giggling, “—what did you call me?!”

“Jesus, you’re brutal,” Billy muttered, his laughter sounding pained.  “There you go, there’s my punishment, waking up alone—”

“I’ll get embarrassing stories from Max, and tell him,” Will decided.  “I bet she knows some good ones—I’ll tell Steve all your dumb baby stories—”

Billy cackled harder, and Jonathan stood up, dusting himself off.  “Waffles are gonna be ready, and El will yell,” he whispered, glaring down at Steve, who blinked teary eyes up at him.

Steve nodded, wiping his eyes.  His cheeks hurt from smiling.

 When he rejoined the table, Dustin dropped into Billy’s seat next to him.  “Will’s mom didn’t notice,” he whispered.  “The hell was that, anyway?  Didn’t you see us all?”

Steve tried to think of a way to explain without explaining...Will Byers’ secret queer identity, he thought, trying not to snicker.  His internal voice took the opportunity to sound like Batman.  It must stay secret, or his family, and the world, could be in danger.  “Uh,” he started.  “...um, ah,” he tried again, crossing his arms, and wishing Billy would come back.  “A-animal instinct.  Love?  He’s horny,” he mumbled.  

“Those were options, Steve,” Dustin hissed, eyes narrowed.  “You don’t know which it is?  Anyway, Hopper might have seen you—”

When El shrieked “WAFFLES!” from the kitchen door, Billy wandered out, with Will trailing behind him telling all about ghost stories he could bring over for another sleepover.  Billy ruffled his hair, sidling around the crowded front room to kick the chair Dustin was sitting in.

“I wanna sit next to Billy,” Will told Mike, who’d sat next to Dustin while Billy was in the bedroom talking to Will.

“I sure don’t,” Mike made a face, relinquishing the seat with a shudder, and stepping around the table only to stagger as El threw both arms around his neck.  He laughed as she swung him around in a spin, chanting ‘waffles, waffles, waffles,’ and Hopper finally scooped her up, and plopped her in the chair closest to the kitchen, before helping Joyce bring out plates with a soft smile on his face.  

Billy frowned around, then stood again—the whole table paused to watch—before snorting a laugh and walking into the kitchen.  “Why don’t you go sit down?” he smiled charmingly at Joyce Byers.  “I can keep my nose to the forge in here, you’re juggling enough out there.”

She squinted at him, then looked over at Will, whose face looked torn between disappointment and excitement.  “Thank you!” she said, finally.  “But as soon as I’m done, I’ll let you have a break!”

Billy nodded, bending to stare into the waffle-iron at eye level.  Preparing to meet his foe, Steve thought, and then Joyce dropped into the seat between he and Will, handing them both oven-warm plates of waffles.  

“You sure seem to like him,” she said to Will, grabbing at one of the gajillion bottles of whipped cream El had placed around the table.  

“Um,” Will’s chair thumped as he swung his legs.  He bit his lip.  “Uh, he’s, um, he’s Steve’s friend.”

Steve widened his eyes at Will, hoping he’d realize he was acting like they’d started a crime ring on their sleepover weekend.

“He’s over a lot,” Steve said, digging into his waffle and smiling over with the casual smile guaranteed to make moms invite him to stay for dinner.  “They bonded over Lord of the Rings.”

“And music,” Will breathed, bouncing in his chair.  “He has rock music about the Lord of the Rings, Mom!”  

“And they’re both named William,” Steve rolled his eyes as Will nodded wildly.  

“We’re both named William, Mom!”

Will was talking into almost complete silence, as Hopper, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Erica, Max, Eleven, Nancy, and Jonathan all considered Billy, who was burning a waffle.  He grabbed the smoky thing and threw it in the sink, tensed, and looked over at their silently watching faces.  “Sorry, ma’am,” he laughed.  “Not used to this waffle maker.”

“We made a whole fort in the front room and slept there,” Will continued stubbornly, cutting his waffle so the knife scraped loudly on his plate.  “Didn’t think it was dumb.  I didn’t have to say I can’t—sleep, sometimes.”

Oh, Steve thought, blinking.  That’s why he wanted us down there.

Billy’d started doing the dishes, which was probably loud enough to drown them out, and also why he’d gotten distracted enough to start subtly shuffle-dancing to the music in his head.  Hopper’s frown at him intensified, then turned on Steve.  

Steve tried to dodge his gaze, and looked the other way to find Nancy and Jonathan Byers’ eyes trying to burn a hole in his head.  He grabbed the whipped cream and began slowly coating his entire waffle in perfect rows.  

“...I’m glad you had a good time,” Joyce said, finally, exchanging glances with Will’s little goblin horde of friends.

“He helped Tomika and me get her cat out of a tree,” said Erica, and Mike choked.  Dustin slapped his back.  

“Tomika’s cat?!”  Mike spluttered.  “That’s not a cat, it’s—it’s a beast.  Slashing damage.  Roll a save against Fear.”

“Only for cowards,” Erica huffed.

“I don’t know what she thinks could hurt that cat.  It’s gonna die one day trying to fight a Mack truck,” Lucas sighed, and Erica punched him in the shoulder.

“Billy said he’d help us if we needed it, Lucas,” she hissed.

“Should have just left it in the tree,” Max filled her hand with whipped cream and licked it, and El stared, then stared at the whipped cream bottle.  Max caught El’s stare, and waved the bottle of whipped cream, watching Eleven’s head follow it.  Max grinned, and leaned close to fill El’s hands with whipped cream.  “I told Billy to run, if he saw them coming again.  He looked like he’d been mauled,” Max muttered, carefully putting a twirl around the top of El’s double handful of whipped cream. 

“Good,” Mike snorted, glancing at Lucas, who grimaced faintly.  

“Where the hell was I?!” Dustin glared at Steve.  “Your—uh, Billy meets a wolverine vigilante, and nobody calls me?!”

“No idea,” Steve sighed, remembering Lucas’ panic over his little sister alone with the boy who’d started punching him for no reason.  It was easier to focus on Billy now.  

Steve reminded himself about Tommy, and much easier it’d been, just pretending everything was okay, and going along with whatever dumb shit idea Tommy suggested.  It helped him resist wandering into the kitchen and just pushing Billy against the cupboards for a warm kiss that tasted like strawberries and apple cider.  

He beat me unconscious because I got in his way, Steve told himself, chewing the suddenly tasteless waffle.  There’s good inside him, Luke Skywalker, but there’s other stuff too.  He sighed, wishing he could—time travel, or something, back to before Billy stomped in and beat the shit out of him and terrified the kids—and maybe, he thought idly, before he spray-painted shit about Nancy all over town.  

“I fixed him up,” El told them, breaking Steve’s train of thought.  She beamed at Max, between surveying her hands full of whipped cream with the wide eyes of one given a priceless treasure.  “Nancy’s first aid book said you could use bread to bandage wounds, and I wanted to try it, but nobody had a sandwich.”

“Stick to gauze first,” Hopper laughed, pinching between his eyebrows.  “He rescued a cat out of a tree?” 

“Should have taken some photos,” Jonathan muttered to Nancy.  “Evidence.”

“I can testify for the court,” Max shot over, her eyebrows raised.

Steve was half torn between resigned annoyance that evidence of Billy’s few good actions was questioned, and longing for pictures of Billy wrangling tiny, hissing Marcenia Lyle Alberga out of the tree and stuffing her in his sweatshirt pocket for the climb down.  “Definitely happened,” he shrugged.  “That’s why he’s got band-aids on his fingers.”

“I did those too,” El told Hopper, for some reason.  “I know what to do.”  He waved her off, shaking his head and grinning.  

 At around this point, Billy brought everyone a refill on the waffles, and the kids opened every single bottle of sparkling cider, and Dustin smacked his lips, half-closing his eyes and saying, “1981.  It was a good year.”  

“To Hawkin’s resident Jedi,” Mike said, toasting Eleven, who narrowed her eyes and clinked her glass against his as Max toasted Lucas as Fastest Skateboard Rookie and he burst out laughing, grimacing and rubbing his elbows.  Max elbowed him companiably, and blushed.

“Very fruity on the palate,” Dustin declared, smirking.  Will giggled, and Mrs. Byers made a show of swirling her plastic cup.  

“Hold it on the roof of your mouth for a moment,” she said, in a bad French accent, “—then you will feel the flavor,” and Will cackled harder, covering his mouth so he didn’t spit cider.

When Billy sauntered out with more waffles, Will dubbed him “Most Honorable Cat Wrangler”, amist cheers, and Mrs. Byers stood back up to give him his seat next to Steve.  She walked back in the kitchen to exclaim “Oh, you didn’t have to wash everything.”

“I housetrained him!” yelled Max, and Dustin dubbed her the Great High Housetrainer.  Will flopped half into Billy’s lap, proclaiming him the Favored Lasagna Maker to the King in a flood of giggles.  

Nancy, then Jonathan, got up to offer help to Joyce clear the table, and Hopper began collecting plates, a spare fork behind his ear to stab every free-range strawberry segment scattered across the tablecloth and stick it in his mouth.

Steve, now officially the King Of Ceramic Monsters and Lord Nailbat, got up to pee after five cups of cider.  

He’d finished fixing his hair, and was just unzipping his pants, when he heard a thump and creak what sounded like inches away, and realized it was through the wall.  He frowned at it, extracting his dick from his briefs, to hear a horrible wet sound, like a garbage disposal full of slugs, and then, clearly, and inches away, Nancy’s voice saying “Um, mmm—uh, maybe less tongue?”

Steve clapped his hand over his mouth, hearing himself squeak.  He stared at the wall.

“You said you wanted it sloppy,” Jonathan replied, and Steve stared from the toilet, to the wall, taking a step away.  The floor creaked, and the squeaking of Jonathan’s ancient rusty bedsprings stopped.  

“Something creaked,” Jonathan whispered.  “Wait, wait, wha—what if that was Will—”

“They’re all busy cleaning up,” Nancy whispered back, and Steve held very still, wondering whether he could tiptoe outside, and pee on a tree, or whether he’d look up to see another lineup of children—probably holding up point cards, like Olympic judges were assessing his dick.  Yes, wait, he thought desperately.  Just let me take a piss and leave.

The noise started again, sucking and slurping.  Steve yanked his zipper back up, pressing his hand so hard over his mouth to muffle his laughter that he started seeing stars from lack of oxygen, and started to fear he’d pee down his own leg.  He inched to the door, and poked his head out to see a bunch of neon knit triangles—El’s sweater, he realized, right outside the door.  

“Aren’t you glad to be getting along better with him?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Max’s choked-up voice replied, and Steve pulled the door nearly closed again as she continued.  “I don’t—he’s such a prick, El!  He’s—he’s so goddamned mean, he’s always—now he’s just what, just nice now, and I’m supposed to trust him?”

Steve leaned against the sink, scrabbling at his newly-fixed hair.  Behind him, through the bathroom wall, the awful saliva-demon noise changed, and Nancy yelped.  “Why is that cold—” she hissed, and he wheezed into the back of his hand, shaking with suppressed giggles.  He wondered why Max and El couldn’t hear the horror going on through the wall—maybe Jonathan had blankets nailed to his door, or maybe they were just too caught up in talking about Billy.

“You don’t...you don’t have to be friends with him,” El offered, sounding uncertain, and Max laughed, sounding a little unhinged.  

“I know!  I know!  He’s—he’s a waste of space, but he—we were—”

Steve felt bad, leaning closer, but it helped drown out what sounded like a dog licking itself on the other side of the wall.  He plugged the ear facing what must be Jonathan’s bedroom.

“Was he...nice sometimes?” El asked, and Max stomped, growling.  

“I guess?” she hissed back.  “Yeah?  Sometimes he’d—give me skating advice, or—or he’d be mad, and Billy’d push me to the side like a shithead and—and draw the—draw—he’d get hurt.”  El was quiet, and Max’s voice got shakier.  “I didn’t—I don’t know what to do when Billy gets hurt.”

“I’ll save you,” El said, her voice low, and Steve couldn’t help smiling as he pictured her seeing the Batsignal, and grabbing her mask.  

“I don’t need saving,” Max said hoarsely, with a snort.  “My mom needs saving.  Billy needs—he could—I think he’s—”

“What?” El asked, sounding as confused as Steve was.

“I think he’s—pretending to be nice, for Steve,” Max whispered.  “He always—he’s good for a while, you know, he’s good in...stores, he’s nice if people are watching.  But then as soon as we’re alone—”

Even the sound of a loud bedspring creak, two squawks, a thud, and an explosion of giggles through the wall didn’t distract Steve from considering Max’s point.  

“But he’s been nice to Will,” Max went on, the floor creaked as she stomped in a circle, but Nancy and Jonathan were laughing too hard to hear.  “I just—how come he can keep it together for Will, y’know?  He never built me any goddamn pillow forts, this is to show off for Steve.”

“Maybe...maybe he wasn’t trying before,” El offered, and Max made kind of an awful noise, deep in her throat.  

“Yeah,” she whispered.  “I—I don’t think he was.  He—y’know, he took me once, out to a skate park.  He knew the skaters, it wasn’t just—he ignored me the whole time—but mom was upset because of something, and he’d been nasty to us all day, and Billy—he grabbed me, and he hauled me off to the skate park.  It was—I thought he—”

“I will take you to the skate park,” El told her, and Max laughed, sniffling.  “When you are sad.  Billy can come if he’s nice to you.  If you want him there.  I will take you to the skate park.”

Max’s sniffling sounded wetter.  “I-I’ll teach you to do flips.  I—we could—get you a board—Billy’s old one—”

“I could ask for one,” El said.  “Do you want another waffle?”

“I never want to eat waffles again,” Max laughed, making gulping noises.  “I’m so sick of waffles, El.”

“...I—we could—I—” El stumbled under this new load of information, and Max giggled harder.  

“I’m not hungry, El.  Let’s—let’s go back.  Let me blow my nose.”  

At this, she pushed the door to the bathroom open, clonking it into Steve’s knee, and he scrambled back, holding his finger over his mouth and pointing to the wall, through which came clearly the sound of Nancy and Jonathan reading a love poem, in unison.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered, as Max laughed so hard she had to lean against the bathroom counter.  

“Oh my god,” she whispered back.  “How long have you been stuck in here?!”

“Blow your nose,” he held out a handful of toilet paper.  “It’ll sound just like their kissing.”

“Were you listening to them?” El asked under her breath, frowning as Nancy and Jonathan started kissing again.  

“I didn’t want to,” he hissed back.  “I was trying to pee—”

“Hurry up,” Nancy’s voice came through the wall, and Jonathan said “It’s a really small room, okay—”, and Max and Steve’s eyes met in horror.

“Heeeeellllp,” Max wheezed, snickering.  She grabbed El’s arm in one hand, and Steve’s in the other, and drug them out of the bathroom and down the hall, back into the kitchen/dining part of the trailer.  “Oh my god, what was that—”

 “Harrington,” Billy said, seated at the dinner table with his face a little too blank, as his little sister drug Steve into the front room.  “Where’ve you been,” he hissed, as Steve dropped into the seat next to him, registering the general silence.  The sounds of giggling and screaming came from out front, in the snow, and Billy had been alone in the Byers’ front room with Hopper and Joyce.  

“So you’re staying at Steve’s house,” Joyce was saying.  She and Hopper had matching frowns, and folded arms.

Max looked from the two of them to her brother, and rubbed her face.  She groaned.  “Who wants to snowball fight,” she asked joylessly.  “Billy, last one outside is...a soggy waffle.”

“Thank you,” he hissed, laughing unevenly, the cider cup in his hand twitching towards her in a weak toast.  He stood, glancing at the door, but froze at Mrs. Byers’ voice.  

“Wait,” she said, and Billy dropped back into the chair with a shaky sigh.  “Steve’s parents are okay with that?” she continued, underailable.  

“They’re fine,” Steve told her, resisting the urge to squirm like a toddler who has to potty.  “Can we—”

“But you’re the—” she frowned at Hopper, then Billy again.  “You are the one who showed up and started the fight?  Broke my dishes?”

Billy nodded, glancing at Hopper.  His shoulderblades hit the back of his chair, and he twitched.  “Yes ma’am.”

“Why?!” Mrs. Byers flailed her arms, and Billy stared past her.

“It was unacceptable,” he said.  Steve slid his hand over and squeezed Billy’s knee, and he jerked, shooting a startled frown back at Steve.  “There was no good reason, ma’am.  I apologize, and it will never happen again.” 

Hopper crossed his arms, backing all the way away to the far wall and turning to frown out the window, and Billy’s gaze flicked after him, then back to Joyce, who was squinting at him, her arms hovering in midair.  Billy’s shoulders relaxed, a little.

“What?” Joyce asked, frowning from Steve’s face to Hopper’s back.

Max wandered over and lingered by the door with El, both of them looking torn.

“I can make it up to you,” Billy told the wall behind Joyce.  “I can replace the plate.  I can—” he cut off, gasping a shuddery breath as Hopper turned to face them.

“You got a couple more boys on call if you have any chores need doing,” Hopper said to Mrs. Byers, and Steve willed her to say that was fine.  Billy tensed again every time Hopper talked, and Steve wanted to reach over and squeeze his hand even more than he wanted to use a goddamn toilet.  

“Sorry we made a mess,” he said quickly, trying to extract Billy, instead of thinking about his bladder.  “We, um, there was a lot happening—”

Joyce Byers wasn’t stupid, and her eyes were widening as she watched Billy twitch every time Hopper moved.  

“You’re...staying with Steve,” she said again, looking over at Hopper, who nodded.  

“It’s fine,” Steve told her, swallowing.  “He and Will, um, they—they get on, they have—stuff to talk about,” he said, clumsily trying not to mention what he was coming to think of as the gay thing, but Joyce Byers seemed to get something else out of his rambling, because she sat down across from them.

“Will doesn’t have a lot of people he wants to talk to,” she said, reaching toward Billy’s hands on the table, then yanking her hands back and folding them together.  “If—if he’s found somebody that he has—things—in common—”

“Lonnie is a piece of work, but you got Will out of there,” Hopper said, and Steve blinked, wondering who the hell that was.  “Your kids got lucky.”

“Oh, oh no,” Joyce said, for whatever reason, and Steve couldn’t take it anymore.  

He stood up, squeezing Billy’s shoulder.  “We haveta go now,” he said, unable to resist the call of his bladder, or return to the Byers’ bathroom.  

“You boys are welcome anytime,” Joyce said, leaning to catch Billy’s eye.  

He frowned at her, but nodded.  “Just tell me what you want me to do,” he told her, and she leaned forward across the table, grabbing his hands.  

“Honey,” she said, staring Billy down, “—you make my kid way too happy for me to care about a plate.  Okay?”  Her hands looked tiny and white against Billy’s big tanned ones.  “You too, hon,” she said louder, frowning over at Max, who frowned warily.  Joyce smiled a little sadly.  “Have your mom give me a call, sweetie.”

Billy had kind of...frozen, and Steve kneed him in the side, hoping his engine would engage.  

“Come on, trespasser, we’re going.”

“Come again next time,” Mrs. Byers said, squeezing Billy’s hands, and smiling up at Steve.  

Steve, as ever when faced with somebody’s mom, fought down the urge to suggest they just stay.  Probably Billy was a better cook than Jonathan.  Steve was a better babysitter.  She probably doesn’t mean forever, he told himself, smiling.  She didn’t mean ‘I’ll keep you’.  “Billy can make lasagna,” he said instead, and Billy glared up, his cheeks reddening.  He hadn’t pulled his hands back from Mrs. Byers’, and Steve watched her pat them, like she had Will’s, after she took off his little snow-covered gloves.  

Billy watched her hands with the weird blank look he got sometimes, and Steve leaned against his side, trying to remind him he was there.

“Everyone likes lasagna,” Mrs. Byers told Billy, and his eyes flicked back to her face.  “Would it be evil of me to trade on my broken plate to get some lasagna?”

“No,” Max answered, from the door.  “Billy, make Will’s mom some lasagna.  You broke her plate.”

“He doesn’t have to!” Mrs. Byers protested, and Billy snorted a laugh, watching her hands again, and shooting a wary glance at Hopper.

“No, I—I can do that.  Uh, Will likes it.  Lasagna.”

“There!” Mrs. Byers squeezed Billy’s hands again, and looked over at Hopper.  “Aren’t I lucky he broke a plate?  Now I get lasagna.”  

Hopper shook his head, then met Steve’s eyes.  He jerked his head at the door, smiling, and Steve sighed with relief.  

“What’s lasagna,” El whispered to Max, sounding suspicious.

“Seriously,” Steve said, “—we need to go, uh, can we—I need to—”

“Oh, hey,” said Max.  “Can you drop me close to my house?  Like, a ways away—”

“We didn’t talk about—” El frowned at Hopper.

“I think we talked enough,” he said, nodding at Billy, who was letting Steve haul him to his feet, but hadn’t tried to pull away from Joyce Byers.

“Too many people here anyway,” said Max, rubbing her eyes, and El squeezed her hand.  

“I will go with Max,” she told Hopper, who opened his mouth, narrowed his eyes at Max’s red-splotched face, and nodded.  

“See you at home, kid,” he waved, then turned his glower on Steve and Billy.  “Treat your cargo with care,” he said, and Joyce laughed.

Once they got outside, Steve took a deep breath.  “Holy fucking christ I have to pee.”

Billy and Max both burst into snickers, white-faced and shiny-eyed, and Lucas hailed Max.  El shoved Max towards Lucas, then turned to stop Billy with a hand on his chest.  

“What do you need for skateboarding,” she asked, without it sounding like a question.  “For Max.”

“Uh,” he blinked at her.

“When Max was sad once, you took her skateboarding.  She liked it,” El told him, and he lowered his eyes, biting his lips.

“Really have to pee,” Steve hissed at them.  

“It’s snowing,” Billy told El.  “There’s nowhere—”

“So, a roof,” she said, unmoving, and crossed her arms.

“Uh,” Billy frowned, stroking his mustache.  “There’s not much around.  Even if we broke into the gym, it’s just a big empty room—”

“Nancy could break in again,” El said, folding her arms, and Billy blinked at her.

“The princess broke into the gym?” he asked, and Steve remembered he needed to sit his boyfriend down, sometime, and tell him the whole story.  

Sometime his bladder wasn’t about to explode.  “I’m about to make yellow snow,” Steve hissed, and Billy shoved his shoulder.  

“Go in the bushes, your majesty, nobody’s watching!”

“What if Mrs. Byers sees my dick,” Steve asked, crossing his arms, but Billy pushed him again, so he stumbled off into the darkening twilight.  He crouched in a bush, hoping he didn’t get poison ivy, and watched Billy and El talk seriously, both nodding, and looking over at Max.

[enkelimagnus]

Clary/Others, Clary/Jace, squint and you miss it Clary/Jace/Jonathan and Jace/Jonathan, Rated M, 1483 words

Criminals AU

Jace watched quietly as the blonde girl at the bar knocked back a glass of whiskey that would have made most of the men in the room tumble to the ground. He smirked. None of the big and loud businessmen knew that she could hold her alcohol better than the entire rest of the crowd combined. He saw her zero on their target for the night. --------------- Jonathan and Clary are on the prowl again, to get revenge on someone who has wrong them. Jace helps.

This was inspired by Dom Sherwood's appearance in Penny Dreadful City of Angels, as well as the photos of Luke Baines and Kat McNamara from the 2018 UNICEF Masquerade Ball. This involved murder and sexual content both implied and not. Title from Alice Cooper's I'm Your Gun. This fic is kinda dedicated to @shadowhuntersnonsense because of the... kinda everything? Big thanks to the ever lovely DarayFlair for help betaing this! Read on AO3

Jace watched quietly as the blonde girl at the bar knocked back a glass of whiskey that would have made most of the men in the room tumble to the ground. He smirked. None of the big and loud businessmen knew that she could hold her alcohol better than the entire rest of the crowd combined.

As always, it was almost pathetic to watch them believe her show of drunkenness. To watch their eyes get darker as she giggled and put her hands on their chest to steady herself, all 5 feet 5 of slim pale skin and blonde hair.

He saw her zero on their target for the night, a tall guy who could have been very handsome if he had drank less. His face was flushed and puffy. Nevertheless, this was not about attractiveness.

He thumbed over the bulk of the gun at his hip. The weight was almost comforting now. He couldn’t remember the last day he hadn’t worn it.

The girl stood up. She was wobbly on her legs, so much so that she ended up draping herself over the lap of the man she’d been eyeing. Jace smirked as she giggled loudly. Her hair fell over her bare shoulders as she shook her head, trying to express how sorry she was. Words were escaping her. She was rambling, her whispering voice slurred and too loud.

One day, there would be a man who didn’t fall for her little act. That day would probably be the biggest fight he would ever be in.

The man’s face was now pressed against the girl’s cleavage, the bustier neckline of her dress allowing him more than an eyeful. Her green eyes caught Jace’s from the other side of the room. Her grin went from hesitant and embarrassed to predatory.

Jace couldn’t help but smirk back at her.

Jonathan slid past Jace then, nodding at him. His eyes also shone with barely disguised pleasure as the trap closed around their prey. Jace felt a shudder run down his back. They seemed to be in a spectacular mood. If everything went well, tonight would be very enjoyable.

“Ready?” Jonathan asked as he stopped for a second next to Jace.

His hair was blonde too, they’d decided to both go blonde at the same time. It was slicked down and shiny with product. His suit was perfectly fitted to his slim form. The leather of the harness shone, polished and clean, when the lights of the lounge reflected on it and on the metal buckles.

Jace nodded quietly, a move so small Jonathan wouldn’t have seen it had he not been close enough for Jace to feel his breath on his cheek.

“Good,” Jonathan exhaled, before he pushed the door of the VIP room open and disappeared inside.

Jace forced himself not to watch the other man walk away, keeping himself as still and quiet as necessary. The least attention on him, the easier and cleaner this would be.

It was a bit of a useless rule, considering that the Morgensterns liked him in 1930s style suits with matching fedora hats, but… Who was he to disobey orders from them?

“Come on,” the girl’s voice resounded drunkenly in the smoke-filled lounge. “Let’s go to the VIP salon… I have something to show you, to thank you for helping me out…”

She winked at the man, failing to be discreet. He tried to refuse but she was tugging on his tie already, pulling him to her teasingly.

“I’m sure you can spare a moment…” She pouted before licking her lips suggestively. “I really want to say thank you…”

Jace could basically feel the cogs in the man’s head turning, arousal and alcohol completely dampening his sense of self-preservation. It was pathetic, and incredibly entertaining. The other men at the table mocked him, throwing jabs about his manliness out. How stupid of them. Did they know they were dooming their friend?

Finally, with claps and cheers of his friends, the man stood up. The girl's hand grabbed his, pulling him to her. She seemed to be muttering something, and that Jace couldn’t hear. He knew it was probably salacious, about the size of his dick or something.

Her other hand travelled down to his crotch and Jace hummed under his breath. He was right. He knew that little dance well enough. And he knew the way she liked to seduce men. She usually used the same techniques on him, despite him not needing her to do any of that to turn him on.

She pulled the man in Jace’s direction, towards the door to the VIP room. Jace was standing right next to it, slightly to its left. Her eyes were dark with lust and glee when she walked past him. Jace almost bit his lip. The ‘party’ afterwards would be so much fun.

The man she was dragging by the hand barely spared Jace a glance before the door slammed shut behind them. Jace tilted his head to the side, just a little. The tainted glass insert in the door was enough for him to see shapes and bodies. He was always in for a show with these men.

Black dress faded to blonde hair as the girl got on her knees in front of the man and unbuttoned his pants. Jace couldn’t see details but he knew exactly what she was doing. She started bobbing her head and he finally gave in and bit his lip. Watching her like this felt wrong. But then again, her brother was in the room, watching from a dark corner. The baseline for wrong in their little team was quite high.

She blew him for a while. He was lasting much longer than the usual ones, Jace noted. Eventually, he heard the telltale groan that came with an orgasm.

Jace moved seamlessly. He slid through the door that the girl had left unlocked, shutting it behind him.

The man looked at him with wide eyes. Jace flipped on the switch of the room’s main lamp . Golden light exploded in, casting away the shadows. And in the chair in the now lit room, eyes dark and trained on the red-faced man with his pants still down and his cock still out, was Jonathan Morgenstern.

The man’s eyes opened wider even, fear painted on his features.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered despite himself.

The girl laughed. Without her signature red hair, it was less easy to recognize her at first glance, it seemed, especially when inebriated. 

Now that she stood next to Jonathan, her identity was obvious to the man she’d just blown.

“How was he, sister?” Jonathan asked as Clary Morgenstern sat on his lap, sighing a little and licking the corners of her mouth, where semen had escaped.

“He was tasty enough, but not as good as our Jace,” she pouted. “Not enough to have it weigh in the balance of his fate.”

Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. “You heard my little sister, Walker. You didn’t please her enough.”

Walker was sweating. He was so afraid he wasn’t even thinking about his pants still being down. Pathetic.

Jonathan continued. “You also didn’t please me at all. My merchandise was once again confiscated by the authorities upon entering the docks. I thought you were handling that for us,” he said. His voice was cold.

Jace hoped to never find himself on the other side of that tone.

“I’m sorry, Mr Morgenstern,” Walker trembled. “It won’t happen again.”

Jonathan smirked at him. “No it won’t. We’re replacing you. We’ll make sure your wife knows you were fucking my sister’s mouth before you died. I think she’ll be very happy.”

The man opened his mouth to beg, but Jace was too fast. He grabbed his gun out of his holster, sliding it out from behind his coat and aimed between Walker’s eyes. He was an excellent shot, and at this distance. The bang resounded in Jace’s ears, followed by the crash of a dead body hitting the ground. It was a familiar sound.

Clary hopped from her brother’s lap, going to snuggle against Jace’s chest.

“You did so good, puppy,” she grinned at him. “We’re gonna have so much fun when we’re home.”

Jace put his gun away.

Jonathan nodded as he stood up from his chair and stretched out his arms slightly. “Let’s go,” he ordered. His tone was far less demanding than it had been with Walker. This softer voice was reserved for Clary and Jace. Jonathan’s hand reached up, resting on the back of Jace’s neck. The firm pressure made Jace’s nerves sing.

Oh yes. They were going to have so much fun when they were home. The three of them walked out, more or less intertwined. They didn’t care if someone was watching them.

They probably knew better than to keep the Morgensterns from walking out of their latest crime scene.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

"😓A misunderstood character is ostracized, perhaps even threatened, for their peculiar habits, interests, or studies" - this is gonna be v specific but like.... Drabble where vetinari and downey giggle about people gossiping about vetinari being a vampire? Perhaps? Pls?

Thank you so much for the ask! i’m not sure if this is quite what you were hoping for, but I hope you enjoy. 

--

Midnight and Downey hears clicking so he’s half-awake, then fully awake and thinking there’s someone in the room with him. He can’t see them but knows a presence when it is felt, only: he can’t move. The clicking increases, an insect-noise, as something prowls near his head and he does not wish to look over but does, because he can’t help it, and there sits a monstrous creature poised with stinger above his face and the weight on his chest holding him down reminds him of that one poor man accused of witchcraft, or was it being vampire?, all those hundreds of years ago who was pressed to death in the main square. The rocks they put on his chest were later used to build the base of the Brass Bridge. When you walk over them you walk over his ghost. 

And now Downey is awake. Awake and sitting upright, which means he can move, but he’s still seeing the insect so there remains whispers of the dream. It is a dream, he reminds himself, because he has had such before and, more importantly, he knows all the insects on the Disc and the one he imagined next to him is not one of them. If he is going to go and discover a new species it won’t be whilst half-asleep in the middle of the city. 

He rubs eyes, looks to pillow beside him and finds it empty.

Sinking back into bed he pulls the eiderdown up around his head and burrows in an attempt to reclaim even a shred of disturbed sleep. 

But it’s gone. His mind is already going fast-fast-fast there are so many things he must do as Term moves into exam season and holiday festivities must be planned and budgeted for and rooms prepped for new students joining them for Winter term after Hogswatch. Then there’s City Council matters and Guild matters and three jobs lined up, hasn’t he already decided he’s too busy, tired and old for this?, and then there’s the never ending social calendar. Which he enjoys. But, it can be a bit much. 

Bedroom silence is as maddening as his racing mind. He’s staring at the thin pool of moonlight on the floor. It’s autumn, so skies are a perpetual grey with only a weak sun to splash watery gold and pink across horizon at morning and evening. The grey continues into the night obscuring stars. So everything is a shadow of its summertime self. 

He is restless. His nerves are up. He has spooked himself and remains half-convinced there’s someone in the room with him. The presence, he repeats to himself, was the dream and the dream was made of stress.

He rolls around for a bit. Then, out of a sense of paranoia, he retrieves a blade from between mattress and headboard, and prowls about his room but finds nothing and neither do Alsace nor Harold. He ought to be content if not pleased.

Fear is an anathema to him. One of the first rules of performing assassin is knowing that you are the most dangerous thing that walks the streets. And if you don’t know it in yourself, for certain, then at least exude it to others. Smoke and mirrors &tc. 

One autumn, as a boy of seven, he developed a deep fear of vampires. They can turn into mist, slide into bedrooms through keyholes and hide under the bed or in the closet. They drink your blood and make you one of them whether you wish it or not. 

The fear left him as he grew up. At first, because he learned how to kill them. Then, later, he met a few, became friends or an approximation of friends, with a few. Olivia Hunter, one example, said, it’s being damned for a sin you’ve no part in. People look and say ‘We know your kind’ when they know nothing of anything. What is my kind? Genuan? Black? Woman? Secretary? Vampire? Omnian? 

And that’s a sentiment he understands, was raised to understand, for his grandmother would talk about the bad old days in Brindisi when she was a girl and they had to leave, which happens sometimes, because people decide they know your kind and whatever it is, it’s unwanted. 

He dresses. Alsace and Harold become very excited at this sudden change in events. As always, he takes a circuitous route through the city to the palace. He weaves through alleys, up and down stairs and closes, trots this way and that across streets. For a time, he loiters on the Brass Bridge and peers at different stones. The foundation stone’s date has worn away with time so when you trace fingers over it there is only the merest indentation. Was this the stone that finally killed that man all those years ago? He’s never seen a witch stoning and has no desire to. There are some violences and brutalities that go too far. 

The palace is shades of moth-wing grey. Downey slips in between shadows and up to the patrician’s bedroom where, as expected, Vetinari is up. The man is seated at his desk half-dressed with robe wrapped around him and a blanket over shoulders. 

‘Have you considered a brazier?’ Downey asks upon entrance. Vetinari flicks a look at him. ‘It would help with your consistent lack of heating.’ 

‘I am quite content, Downey. If the temperature was comfortable people might wish to stay.’ 

Downey feigns offence. He drapes himself across the bed and stares up at canopy. Alsace and Harold make themselves at home by the meager fire next to Mr. Fusspot who remains unphased by the sudden presence of dogs easily three times his size. He snores on in peaceful slumber. 

‘May I be of assistance?’ Vetinari’s voice drifts over coupled with the ruffle of paper. 

‘Oh no, you’re fine.’ 

‘Is there a reason you’re here?’ 

‘Must there always be a motive for my coming? I had a desire to be mildly chilled and to stare up at your canopy.’ 

Vetinari makes a noise, a scoff or snort. Downey smiles at the fabric above him. 

‘We didn’t have plans,’ Vetinari says, quietly, to himself and his desk. Downey does not respond. Vetinari’s penchant for exact order crops up time to time. They are both men with strong affinity for order, but applied in very different areas of their lives. 

Downey orders butterflies and beetles and natural and manmade poisons. He also orders accounts, aligns the debit-credit column of the guild, his wardrobe, his drinks cabinet. He does not order his personal life. He doesn’t need to, Vetinari orders it for him. 

‘You know,’ Downey drawls as a thought occurs. ‘Your desire to have cold rooms and no creature comforts is probably why people think you’re a vampire.’ 

A cough from the direction of the window. 

Downey props himself up and looks over. ‘Tolerant of extreme temperatures? Lack of expected, human reactions to circumstances? Patience of a rock? Never seen sleeping?’ 

‘You have seen me sleep.’ A lofty, disinterested expression, ‘and you can attest to my ability to react appropriately in certain, ah, circumstances.’ 

It’s a lascivious grin on Downey’s face. Vetinari tells him that he is being lewd. Downey replies that he is not being lewd at all. Vetinari says, ‘very well, your face is making lewd insinuations.’ Downey begs his pardon with great animation, delighting in the other man’s long suffering sigh. He delights in most things Vetinari does, including his more obsessive ticks. It’s a pleasure to know there’s someone who won’t judge you for talking to your plants and will understand the extreme stress of holding one’s tongue when someone is wrong about biology in public. Which happens with great regularity. 

A huff, Vetinari decants from his desk to the bed where Downey, who has pried boots off and deposited cloak, scarf, hat, gloves, frock, and so on, on the floor, happily scoots beneath covers. 

‘And you have very cold hands,’ Downey continues. 

Vetinari snorts, ‘the people of this great city really have nothing better to do than speculate upon my supposed inhumanity?’ 

‘I think it’s an improvement over their wildly inaccurate speculations about your manhood.’ 

Vetinari’s face is a portrait. Downey kisses it. 

He continues, ‘I would correct them, of course. But that would cause more grief than it’s worth. Now, you as a vampire on the other hand, I can see their reasoning.’ 

‘I’ve eaten food in public. I drink…wine.’ 

Downey snorts, ‘Mr. Warrender at the Cloak and Dagger believes it all to be an elaborate ruse.’ 

‘I see,’

‘He was going on about this the other night,’ Downey begins plucking at Vetinari’s robe which he considers an affront as it is another layer of clothing to take off. ‘I think he managed to make a few converts to his cause. He says that he’s never seen you handle coin before therefore you’re avoiding silver. You don’t attend religious ceremonies because of holy ground. Your robe is annoying me deeply. And you rarely go out, uncovered, in daylight due to discomfort in the sun.’ 

‘I’m not sure Mr. Warrender would have any opinion on my robe. Downey, I’m quite busy tonight.’ 

‘Yes, I’m here now. Your metaphorical dance card is full for the remainder of the evening.’ 

Vetinari stares. Downey stares back. Vetinari opens his mouth to reply, apparently reconsiders it, and sighs. Downey kisses him again as it seems the right course of action. 

Downey rolls Vetinari over to his back, snaking a hand beneath robe, down, pulling up nightshift beneath. Vetinari liftst hips to allow the clothes to be hitched up, ‘why are you here, Downey?’ 

Downey raises an eyebrow. Looks down at their bodies then back up.

‘That’s not why you’re here. This is a symptom, not the cause.’ 

‘I dislike that. Being associated with disease isn’t something I enjoy, but I’ll save my annoyance for tomorrow. I was awake and restless.’ 

‘Right.’ A beat. ‘My apologies.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Downey hums. He cannot think how to explain: I had a dream and spooked myself. So he chooses not to. He continues with vague answers and determined exploration of Vetinari’s body, a boney, you’re-a-bit-of-a-shut-in sort of experience. Being opposites in most regards, Vetinari has nothing spare, all strung together with skin and only the amount of muscle needed to operate a body compared to Downey’s more, as he puts it to himself, comfortable, frame.  

As teenagers, therefore posturing with great energy and determination, Vetinari once said: I’m an aesthete. Downey hadn’t been entirely sure what an aesthete was so made some general scag-dog-botherer related insult and went off to ask Ludo what it meant. Ludo explained asceticism with a wry expression. Downey then spent the remainder of the day mocking Vetinari for being a nerdy prat. 

Downey thinks that to be fair to sixteen-year-old Vetinari the young man hadn’t been wrong. He was, and is, very much an aesthete. But, Downey adds on, he was also a nerdy prat. 

Not that he, himself, was a joy and pleasure to be around at that age. Eleven to five-and-twenty, he thinks, those are terrible years where no one is at their best.  

Vetinari scoops an arm around Downey’s neck and leans up, pressing their mouths together. ‘Would you still be here if I was a vampire?’ 

‘Yes. Though, there’d be very strict boundaries.’ 

‘Naturally.’ 

‘’I’ve no desire for immortality. The one thing I wonder is,’ Downey settles on his side. ‘Would you still be you if you were one? It’s a rude question so I haven’t asked anyone I know.’ 

Vetinari shrugs. How does never dying change a person? How does not tasting, not needing sleep, not bodily changing, shape an individual? Would that change be any different from the normal changes all people go through as life forms them forever into something new? 

Neither choose to answer the questions. Downey figures they were rhetorical more than anything. But even if they weren’t, he has no answer. He likes his humanity. He’s content with being merely mortal. There is a thrill to life that he thinks wouldn’t be there if you knew you weren’t going to die. Pleasures would lose their meaning. He likes luscious fox fur, richly patterned cambric, heavy brocades because he knows they are his but for a limited time. When he dies they’ll be of no use save to cover the body until it’s cremated. But doesn’t that limitation of enjoyment make it all the sweeter? There will be a finite end to champagne and oysters and music and dancing and gold and silver. 

But as a vampire, at least with regards to the clothing and objects, you would have it forever. One fades, buy another. 

Perhaps they find meaning in other things less worldly than clothes and beautiful things. 

What a terrible concept. 

‘You had a mistress who was one, didn’t you?’ Downey asks. 

‘Mistress,’ Vetinari’s bemused by the word. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ 

‘What was her view?’ 

‘On how she was before? She didn’t speak of it much, but I think she takes the long view of things. So time is both fast and slow. She said that because relations with humans are so fleeting she found them more precious.’ 

Downey pulls a face. See, finding meaning in less worldly things. Vetinari flashes a smile, returns to his usual impassive self. 

‘I don’t think it’s life that would suit you, Downey.’ 

‘I’d have to become philosophical, which is a horror. I would be required to place value in things other than material wealth. Absolutely terrible.’ 

Vetinari props himself up on an elbow and takes to considering Downey’s face with great intent. Downey looks away. He frets that Vetinari is going to say something about him being more than what he intends himself to be. Which Vetinari tends to do because he enjoys telling Downey home-truths. 

Life delivers. Vetinari says, ‘I think you hold things beyond material wealth as important. A limited amount,’ he amends. ‘Perhaps a very limited amount. But nonetheless, they exist.’ 

This is too much, Downey can feel a flush crawling up his chest and neck so leans up, gives a messy kiss, then rolls over in search of his clothes. He says he should go back to the Guild. It’s late, he has much to do in the morning. Vetinari sits up and watches him dress. Downey swans about, makes it a bit of a theatrical moment, then the final flourish, he places his hat on. 

‘I will see you tomorrow,’ Downey says. 

‘You will. Or today, as the case may be. We are well into the small hours.’ 

At the door Downey pauses. Behind him is the sound of Vetinari dressing. The shift of linens, bare feet on soft, wooden floors. 

‘I don’t think it would be a life that suits you either,’ Downey says to the doorframe. His palm rests flat against it, a profile to Vetinari’s line of sight. 

‘Immortality, or vampirism in particular?’ 

‘Both.’ Or maybe, Downey doesn’t think, he wishes to believe that for his own sake. He doesn’t like to think of Vetinari going on, existing as some lonesome, grey rock in the midst of human life for any longer than he already has. 

‘Possibly. Quite possibly you’re very right.’ 

Downey sucks in a breath through teeth then, because he enjoys hurdling head first off cliffs from time to time, ‘I’m glad things are working out, you know. Between us. Despite the fact that you’re a nerdy prat, Dog-botherer.’ 

He’s gone before Vetinari can reply though he imagines he heard a soft exhale of a laugh. One of those dry ones Vetinari gives when amused but feeling many things at the same time. It’s a ghost of a sound and follows Downey through streets homeward. He wishes to remember it forever.

[connorssock]

Large scale operations across the less than wholesome part of the city thankfully weren’t a common occurrence for the DPD. But when it had to be done, everybody pulled together and worked as a unit, even when paired with someone they weren’t accustomed to. Hank and Gavin were each assigned rookies who’d been on the force for a couple of months at most while Connor and Nines were given access to the command centre to help organise the search.

It didn’t help that snow had started falling, the DPD stab proof vests did nothing to keep the chill out as Gavin and Rogers prowled the back alleys. If conditions got much worse then command would pull the operation, delay it for later. It was unlikely the gang they were after would do anything is such adverse weather.

“You hear that?” Rogers asked, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.

Gavin shook his head the frowned as he tried to listen. There was nothing but the susurration as the snow settled around them.

“You take point, I’ll take the back, lets check it out,” he ordered.

“Sure thing, Detective,” Rogers held back a smile.

He turned down the alley and as soon as he was out of Gavin’s sight, took a few more turns until he was out on the main road again. With the cold and snow, there was no way the gang was going to be around, it was a fool’s errand. Rogers stepped into the coffee shop and sighed as the warmth hit him.

There was only one more sip of his coffee left when his radio crackled to life, command had called the search off, all units were to report back to the vans. Emptying his cup, Rogers wandered out and plastered a look of innocence on his face in preparation for seeing Gavin again. Excuses were ready at the tip of his tongue about taking the wrong turn, the high rises blocking their radio signal, following a trail which turned out to be nothing more than a stray dog. They all sounded pretty legitimate in his head, he was confident he could get away with it.

At the van, people were being called by name, checked off like school children. It made Rogers want to roll his eyes, they weren’t some unruly idiots that needed to be supervised.

“Rogers and Reed,” Connor called and Rogers stepped forward.

There was no sign of Gavin pushing forward and people peered around.

“Where’s Detective Reed?” Connor asked him.

Curious eyes turned on him and Rogers tried to find words, any excuse he could.

“I don’t know. We got separated. Then the order came through to return so I thought we’d meet up again here.”

“How did you get split up?” Hank’s gruff voice from behind threw him.

“There was a noise, I tracked it but it was only a stray dog,” Rogers was clutching at his lies as Nines sauntered up next to Connor.

“Why are you lying?” Connor’s question was so simple and yet nothing Rogers could say was going to be enough. He threw his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, this whole operation was a bust, we knew it from the start. It was dumb to send us out into the snow and I was dying for a coffee. Everybody knows that being partnered with Reed is a punishment detail so I told him I heard something, we split up and I grabbed a coffee. And look where we are, the operation’s been called off. He’s probably out of radio range and will turn up at the precinct later on just and pissed off as usual. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is, Officer,” Hank all but spat his title, “is that you left your partner alone on an active operation. Detective Reed is a highly regarded member of this team, being assigned as his partner is an honour not a punishment. You’d do well to learn from him because his work is always of a high standard.”

Behind Connor, Nines was already talking lowly into his radio and he nodded at Hank while a hand unobtrusively turned white to interface with Connor.

The clipboard of names was passed over to Miller as Hank pulled his hat back on.

“Nines, Connor,” he called, “you’re with me.”

They trudged through the snow which was falling thick and heavy by then. Between Connor and Nines they had the section covered by Rogers and Gavin up on a map and were making detailed plans of tracking their path.

They didn’t need to plan. Hank kicked at the snow as they walked when something shiny caught on his foot.

“Shit,” he swore as he picked up a DPD badge. Not three paces from it was a broken radio, stamped on. They rounded the corner and Nines’ scanners picked up evidence of a scuffle and traces of blood on the walls.

A little way down the alley, a figure was propped up against the wall, snow had settled on them even as the ground around them was red. Hank swore again and the three of them ran towards Gavin.

His breaths were shallow, pulse fluttered weakly as the fingers of one hand were curled around his other arm, trying to put pressure on the gashes though blood seeped out between lax fingers sluggishly.

“Officer down, I repeat officer down,” Connor radioed it in, “requesting immediate medical assistance to my location.”

Nines brushed the snow from Gavin’s hair and shoulders, eased him to lie down, head pillowed on his lap while Hank pulled his coat off and draped it over him and Connor did the same.

The medics were quick to arrive, Nines helped ease Gavin onto their stretcher and they rushed away with him while a forensics team helped secure the scene. There was nothing left or the three of them to do except return to work.

“He got lucky,” Nines muttered lowly, “hypothermia slowed down his bleeding. On a hot summer day he likely would have bled out before we found him.”

Connor’s LED matched the red of Nines’ while Hank cursed. They got back to the precinct and noted with a twisted sense of satisfaction that Roger’s desk was already cleared and Fowler’s office glass was frosted up. It didn’t stop the sounds of yelling from escaping.

At long last, the door opened and Rogers emerged looking pale and clutching a box. One of the android officers escorted him out while Fowler motioned towards Nines.

“You’ve got the rest of the day off. Go to the hospital, make sure Gavin’s okay. Also, give him this.” Nines took the $10 note with a hesitant look. “He won our bet. Said Rogers was too much of a loose cannon for detective work. You can tell him the department’s quota for hot headed idiots is already filled. We didn’t need to break in another him.”

At the hospital, Gavin was dozing fitfully under a heated blanket. There was a bruise already dark and puffy on his temple and across his cheek, the contrast made the rest of his skin sallow in comparison. A thick bandage wrapped around his arm and a bag of fluids dripped steadily.

Quietly, Nines settled in the visitor’s chair, and sat vigil. Each time Gavin looked to be uncomfortable, face scrunched up as dreams plagued him, he ran careful fingers through his hair to settle him. It worked and Gavin sighed into his pillow with each little reassurance. At long last he blinked awake and watched Nines.

“What’s the score, hardcore?” he croaked.

“Captain Fowler says,” Nines straightened up as he prepared to imitate Fowler’s voice, “the department’s quota for hot headed idiots is already filled. We didn’t need to break in another him.”

That at least had Gavin huffing out a laugh.

“Did you give you $10?”

Nines nodded and pulled the money from his pocket.

“Great,” Gavin’s eyes lit up, “there’s a toy shop on the corner by the place that does the great hot dogs. They have a miniature cannon that shoots marbles for $6. Could you get that and leave it on his desk please?”

“I am not your personal messenger, you’re going to have to do that yourself,” Nines replied but he leaned forward to kiss the pout from Gavin’s lips.

“Good,” he hummed. “Your body temperature is almost back to normal, blood pressure still lower than desirable but it’s improving.”

“You know what would help boost both?” Gavin leered.

“I am not making love you in in a hospital!” Nines tried to keep his voice quiet and not too scandalised. Gavin snickered.

“I was going to suggest cuddles you pervert.”

Not that Nines believed him, but he still carefully snuggled under the cover Gavin had lifted for him and dutifully turned his ventilation off to overheat just enough for Gavin to relish in the warmth.

Three days later when Gavin returned to work, he watched Fowler walk into his office with a grin. As expected, Fowler was back in his doorway and glaring down at him, cannon in hand. Cheekily, Gavin saluted him and burst out laughing when a second cannon appeared in Fowler’s other hand - it had a 9 carefully painted on it in CyberLife Sans.

[merlevum]

Dormiens rex De Aurora

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum Characters: Gladiolus Amicitia, Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Nyx Ulric Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, cyrofreeze, cryovat Summary: Gladio must travel through a fall Insomnia. Ignis does his best not to let him dwell on his thoughts. 

Gladio regained his strength and retained his body heat without needing extra clothing or the thermal blankets after the second day. The moment Gladio was given the go-ahead, he started his usual routine of stretching and limbering out his stiff body. A thousand years certainly had not been kind in that regard, but after the third day, he was feeling at least somewhat better. Ignis brought him clothes, showing him to a shower they had brought the second day Gladio was more fully awake. They warned him about taking too hot of a shower before leaving him.

The clothes, while not exactly his usual Crownsguard uniform, were comfortable enough. Supple leather pants and a fitted shirt accompanied by combat boots and a set of boxers and socks. Well, it was better than what he had before. His Shield tattoo peaked out where his shirt stopped, but that didn’t bother him. Not really. It was meant to be seen and meant to warn people to step the hell away from him or anyone he was with. Every shield from the Amicitia family had gotten something either a tattoo, a pendant, badge, whatever to show exactly who they were. Though the Amicitia genes probably did more for him than the tattoo. Even his father had a tattoo of the bird with wings wide open on his shoulder. Apparently, his old man had worn more sleeveless shirts than even Gladio. Slicking back his hair, he noticed at least he didn’t need to cut it for a while, guess being frozen had some perks. Though, it looked like he could do with a bit of a shave. Maybe he could ask Ignis for some stuff.

The week passed in a flurry of trying to get his body back into condition and watching over Noct. Ignis and Prompto were in and out throughout the week, making sure the pretense they had come up with was kept when it came to their scientist. Gladio still wasn’t sure about all of this, but he was going to be damned if he was going to stay in this room for one more day. Aside from sitting still, he hated having to hide like this. The four walls around him were starting to get rather cramped, but he couldn’t leave with Noct still asleep.

No one said what they speculated, but Gladio was starting to worry if fears of Noct ever waking up were going to be confirmed one day. The prince was known for napping, but this was getting ridiculous, but then there had been that one time. Gladio shoved the thought away as he straightened his form a bit and focused on his push-ups. He had worked up a decent sweat and working on a cool down.

“Good afternoon, Gladio. I’m glad to see that you are able to move around without too much trouble,” Ignis stood in the doorway, shifting his glasses. Gladio noticed the slight twinge to the assistant’s cheeks but figured it was from walking here from the outpost. Apparently, Ignis had explained earlier that week, the climb from cryovat building to the outpost was a bit of a distance. “Have the doctors finished clearing you?”

‘Yeah, perfect bill of health. More than I can say for sleeping beauty though.”

Gladio knew he was being bitter and irritable, but he couldn’t help it. A week in a room without windows, or any sense of what was going on outside of the room was really grating on him. He still couldn’t pull his sword from the Amiger, so he was forced to continue to strengthen his core. Without some form of protection, Gladio knew he would need to be ready to protect Noct with his own body for when he finally woke up. Still, he couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t get access. Was it because of Noct, or was it because of King Regis?

“That’s not fair, Gladio and you know that,” Ignis said with a sigh.

“Fair or not, I’ve been stuck in this room. Noct hasn’t woken up, and I’m damn tired of just standing here doing nothing.”

Gladio practically prowled the room he was confined to. Ignis could have compared him to a coeurl if he hadn’t felt a twinge of guilt. The medical team had already alerted him to Gladio’s foul mood. Perhaps it was time he let Gladio see what the outside world looked like now after a thousand years. He bit his lip, wondering if he really should let Gladio go out. They would have to go through Insomnia first and foremost and then come back down through Insomnia to get back here. Was Gladio ready to face that?

“Gladio would you--” he stepped closer to the Shield, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Would you join me for a walk? You’ll want to put on the jacket, it’s rather cold out there and we can’t have someone recognize you’re not from here because of your skin.”

“My skin? What’s wrong with my skin?” Gladio was not in the mood for half baked truths today and frankly, he didn’t give a damn about hurting Ignis’s feelings at the moment either. He shrugged out of the comforting hand to face him.

Gladio was taller, but then he was used to towering over people. He was an Amicitia after all, and their male line tended to be rather tall. Still, Ignis wasn’t small by any means and if the grip he felt the past week and the way he had gotten him out of the cryovat, Ignis wasn’t weak either. But if Ignis thought they weren’t going to be butting heads or Gladio was just going to follow everything Ignis wanted, he had another thing coming. Gladio didn’t follow blindly.

“If you haven’t noticed, Prompto and I are both fairly light skinned. When Insomnia fell, according to history, so too did daylight. The nights grew longer until there was no sunlight. Since then, people have had to make due with artificial light. When it comes back, we will all have to adjust to the actual sunlight again. Since you’ve been frozen, your skin has not had to go through the lack of sunlight. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb, I’m afraid. And while I trust our little outpost, there is always the chance that someone loyal to the empire will spot you.”

There was no sunlight? Ignis and Prompto had never seen a sunset or even a sunrise? Their world was just dark? “W-Wait, what do you mean? Why is night? Wasn’t that connected to the Starscourge?”

“It was and still is. Gladio, we haven’t solved the problem of the Starscourge completely. We've only been able to reverse the effects of those who are infected but not yet turned.” Ignis leaned against the wall, watching Gladio. “Why don’t we continue this while we head to the outpost. Talk like this scares the medical team and I dare say you could do with a bit of fresh air.”

Grunting in response, Gladio grabbed the jacket he supposed would have gone knee length for most, but only to his own waist. It covered up his tattoo and skin. Ignis handed him a pair of leather gloves and a hat. Gladio didn’t like hiding. He wasn’t a spy, he wasn’t some outlaw, and yet he here he was. He technically was supposed to be dead and the only place he could even think to call home was supposedly gone. Begrudgingly he dawned on what Ignis gave him and then followed him out of the room.

Unlike when his father had taken him down, Gladio found there was a broken down stairwell that they used instead of the elevator. Who knew if the elevator was still operational? Or maybe, just maybe, they didn’t know how to use it? You needed a code to get it working, especially to come down here, but the stairs worked too. He could use the exercise honestly.

“The Starscourge, did you ever figure out what it truly was?” Ignis asked, shifting his glasses as he led Gladio through the building.

“We didn’t. All we knew was the Oracle had the power to cure it. If King Regis or anyone else knew, they didn’t tell Noct or me.” Gladio grunted. His legs protested a little as they started their incline. At least he was moving now, he could focus on the way his body moved instead of how helpless he was in the room.

“Right.” Ignis seemed accustomed to the climb making Gladio wonder how many times had he come down here? “The Starscourge is actually an organism which takes away the light. People have described it as “drinking the light” away. I don’t think they’re wrong necessarily, since many of the victims, start showing signs of darkening and black skin, along with a black fluid coming from the body. Once the scourge takes over the body completely, the person turns into a daemon.”

Ignis glanced back when he didn’t hear the familiar sound of Gladio’s boots. The Shield had stopped, staring at him with his mouth agape.

“Are you kidding? Those things? Those creatures were human once? How the hell--” Gladio ran a hand over his face. Ignis frowned, unsure of why such news would come as a surprise. “You said the cure you have doesn’t actually reverse this, right? So, with no daylight and you telling me about the daemons, then it means that you still have issues with it."

Ignis nodded, eyes working towards the conclusion that Gladio and the others from Insomnia had fought daemons but knew nothing of their origins.

"Great. Another thing to add to my growing list of shit to worry about.” Gladio started walking again. Just another damned thing to mull over until Noct woke up.

Ignis hummed. “You won’t have to worry about daemons until you leave the outpost. For some reason, Insomnia is one of the few places daemons dare not to venture after it’s fall. We’re still not exactly sure why though.”

The way Ignis spoke, Gladio knew he couldn’t fault the guy. They were just part of two different worlds. Insomnia was his home and standing strong before he was under. Ignis was trying to spare him, Gladio could tell, but the way Ignis spoke, it was clear Insomnia was just history. Insomnia was just a pile of ruins. But nothing could have fully prepared Gladio for what he saw when they stepped through the front doors of the cryovat building and into the streets of Insomnia.

What Gladio remembered and felt was just yesterday, was nothing like what he compared it now. Standing at the entrance of the building, all he could do was stare. He had grown up on these streets. Played and goofed off with others. He drank with the Glaives at certain bars and even picked up his sister. All of it. It was just all gone. Where once tall buildings stood, with streets winding this way and that to connect all of Insomnia, lay in ruins. Even the more crowded areas he could remember where the Glaive stayed, or the barracks of some of the Crownsguard, it was all different. There was no music coming from the streets and vendors he used to frequent. No car engines purring as they drove past. There was no sound of the wall guards or anyone he knew. It was deadly silent, save the humming of the large floodlights that illuminate the path Ignis wanted them to take.

“Gladio....if you need time--”

“We should keep moving.” He would have to face this some time or another. Now or never, so he could start to move forward. “Insomnia fell, and it won’t be coming back the same way. Not when you said something was built on top of it.”

Ignis stayed quiet but stayed close as he followed the floodlights. Gladio was grateful, not really wanting to talk about the Starscourge or Insomnia anymore, not when his home looked like this. Mostly though, he just didn’t trust his voice to break. Not when he saw all the destruction Niflheim had done to his home. What the Starscourge had done to the people he loved.

All of this was just too much for the Shield, but if he just shoved it down, at least for now, everything would be okay. But this wasn’t just someplace he didn’t know. This was his home. Some of the roads were still there from what Gladio could see in the pitch black of night and the black structure that was built overhead. As they walked there were pieces of buildings and craters in the streets, things they had to avoid. The way Ignis took them, it was to one of the main roads that would lead out of the city. Overhead, he could barely make out a distinct dome structure thanks to the floodlights. It was solid, yes, but what was it made out of? How would Noct react to all of this? Gladio was barely taking it in because of how dark it was and focusing on anything but who might have lived there or if he recognized a storefront at all.

“.....Fucking, Six.” Gladio’s breath hitched at seeing the remains of his own home thanks to a floodlight.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

His fucking home was half destroyed and in ruins. Iris. Jared. Talcott. Shit. He couldn’t keep it together. The tears started again as he sank to the ground. Ignis turned when he heard the curse. Staring in the direction Gladio looked, he pursed his lips.

“Gladio....” Ignis reached out but let his hand fall. How was he supposed to comfort the Shield? There was nothing he could say, no consolation that might provide some hope. This happened a thousand years ago. “Gladio, it’s best not to dwell on this. At least not yet.”

The Shield looked up at Ignis, eyes filled with confusion before his brows knitted together and Ignis knew he had said the wrong thing.

“Not dwell on this? Shit, Ignis! Yesterday I was fucking around with the Glaives and making plans to go out drinking at the bar that was just down the road from here.” He stood, clenching his fists, but Ignis didn’t move. “That house--That’s my house. How can I not dwell on it! My family is gone. My home is gone! How the fuck should I feel?”

Ignis looked away from Gladio lips a thin line. He expected Gladio to crack, but now he had to choose his words carefully if he was going to get the Shield to come around again.

“Gladio, grieve all you like, but it won’t change the circumstances. If you dwell on this, put the blame on yourself or the empire, or whoever, you’ll spiral deep to a path you’ll not come away from unscathed. Revenge does things to a person. His highness needs you when he wakes, but not someone who is bent on only revenge and doesn't think with a clear head.”

“If he wakes,” Gladio said through clenched jaws.

“Gladiolus! Listen to your--”

“I wouldn’t say another word Ignis.” Gladio drew up to his full height, eyes narrowed. “You won’t like what happens next.”

“Is that a threat? For fuck's sake.” Ignis sighed. He rolled up his sleeves, staring at Gladio from above his glasses. “You won’t listen to reason, will you? No, you’re the type that needs to be reminded you aren’t at the top of the class.”

Gladio clenched his fists. How dare Ignis think he can lecture him. Neither of them knew shit about each other.

“If that’s how you wish this to go, Gladiolus. Just remember, I did not want it to come to this. But it seems you think I don’t care. When I know what it’s like to lose those close to you. I might not understand what it must be like to see your homes in ruins like this, but then I’ve never really had a place to call home.”

What? Gladio let go of the breath he seemed to have held without him realizing. Ignis watched him, rather unimpressed, but Gladio relaxed a little. What the hell was he doing? Ignis had done nothing but try to help him and this was how he returned his thanks? He rubbed his hand over his face, letting out a long sigh, the anger was suddenly gone.

“I....I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at Ignis. “I just--”

“It’s a lot to take in. I understand that much, Gladio.” Ignis seemed satisfied with Gladio’s lack of rushing at him to step closer again. “Listen, you can grieve and you can yell and be mad at the world, but it won’t change what has happened. But you and his highness obviously have something you must do otherwise you wouldn’t have been put into the cryovat. You have a job, Gladio.”

He nodded. Of course, he had a job to do. Gladio wiped the tears from his eyes. He didn’t know how to really come to terms with all of this, but Ignis was right. It was the duty of the prince to keep moving forward and Gladio would have to do the same.

“Walk tall....”

“Excuse me?” Ignis asked, rather confused.

“It’s what his majesty would say so those who left to go on a mission. He’d tell them to walk tall.” Gladio gave the man a half smile. “I shouldn’t have....threatened you like that. You’re only trying to help.”

Ignis nodded. “Then we should best be on our way. There are makeshift stairs from where this road leads out of Insomnia. The outpost is just above us, where we can find Nyx.”

Gladio followed Ignis’s lead once again. Though he couldn’t help but glance back at his home.

Missing a step, he realized that he needed to go back to his house. At least once. There would be the family armoury there. If he couldn’t summon anything from the Amiger, at least he’d have a weapon to defend himself from daemons. He didn’t care if Ignis thought they were safe here if it was perpetually dark, no place was safe. Besides, Ignis was right, he had a job to do. Protect Noct and in turn the people who were left to the fate of Niflheim and for that his resolve strengthened. Insomnia might have been in ruins, but it’s people weren’t. That much was clear when he traced the pattern of some symbol that’s on the labcoat Ignis was wearing. The motif of Insomnia was there even if it was combined with that of Niflheim. He wondered if Ignis knew? Where there other signs of Insomnia still out there now? Catching Ignis watching him, Gladio looked down at the ground, his cheeks burning.

The road to come out of the city was long, even by car. Walking it was rather tedious and Gladio could feel the intrusive thoughts starting to creep back. The sooner they were out of Insomnia the better.

“Hey, Iggy? C-Can you just talk about something? Anything’s fine. Just something.”

“If you’re sure,” Ignis said, continuing on the road, careful of a small crater. Gladio stared at Ignis’s back so he didn’t have to look down in the crater and see something that might trigger more memories. “Well, since you’ve been asleep for so long, why don’t I talk to you about the outpost a bit.”

“Sure.” He could see the muscles pulling and straining of Ignis’s back as they made the steady climb up towards where the old wall of Insomnia still held in parts.

“The history between Insomnia and the creation of the outpost is hazy at best, but from what Nyx and I have gathered, it seems the outpost is where the current resistance started. We had no idea about Insomnia bellow it’s depths, but we found that the area was free of daemons. As I've stated before we don't know why, but we took it as a sign that this place would be safe.’ Ignis glanced back. “I say we, but I mean the people who started the outpost almost 800 years ago.”

Gladio nodded, trying not to look at the buildings they passed. If he focused on Ignis's voice, everything didn't feel like it was crushing around him. Not to mention he caught Ignis looking at him with those concerned green eyes of his.

“The world was plunged in darkness, Niflheim included, but they were prepared for the daemons and anything else that might have happened as if they were aware of it. Regardless, the outpost started off like any other, just trying to protect it’s people. Now though, it is the unofficial start of the Hunters. They protect the people when they can, but mostly they are considered hunters of the daemons.”

Gladio furrowed his brows. Start of the hunters? "Wait, Ignis. There were already hunters when Insomnia was...well you know. What happened to them?"

"Hmm. We weren't aware that there were. I did say our research had holes and gaps. Perhaps something happened to the original band of Hunters.”

The two came upon the man-made steps Ignis warned of. Looking up, Gladio took a deep breath. It would be a bit of a climb and his legs were already starting to hurt from just the trek here. He really needed to get back into training his tired muscles. He nodded for Ignis to continue when the other glanced at him as if calculating if Gladio needed a break or not. The steps were made from clay, but they were well used, meaning Ignis and the others came down here pretty frequently. Did they check Insomnia as someone would ruins? No, he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“--Nyx always did say that they served a purpose here.”

Shit. Ignis had kept talking. “Um...What about you? Are you part of the Hunters?”

“Me? Gods no. I’m a man of the sciences, not of a man to go traipsing about after daemons. No, I’ll leave that one to Nyx. He’s much better suited that I am.” Ignis gave Gladio a smile. “But I do know the signs, and I do help them when they need something.”

Gladio didn’t believe that for one minute. Ignis was ready to tussle with him earlier as if he was confident enough to know he could beat Gladio in a fight. There was no way someone confident enough for that didn’t go out and help the Hunters with fighting daemons, but Gladio said none of this. If Ignis didn’t want to tell him everything that was fine, so long as it didn’t hinder Noct and the mission they were on. His legs hurt, muscles he supposed that haven't been used for a thousand years and encased with ice, he couldn't expect his body to react the same way it normally would.

“Signs?” Gladio could tell Ignis was slowing down to match Gladio's steps for his sake, to which he was eternally grateful.

‘Yes, the Hunters have certain signs to show where their loyalty lies. Those who wear certain badges or who make certain gestures are loyal to the resistance. I did mention the resistance started here. Over the last two hundred years, we have certainly expanded, but we’re still without a way of bringing about the dawn. But now that we know you and his Highness are here, I’m sure the Hunters will have a different outlook.”

Ignis waved his hand to dismiss the comments, but Gladio could see the hope behind Ignis’s glasses. They had all been fighting to preserve themselves without any real promise of finding the answer to the empire and the Starscourge. Gladio looked away, not sure if Noct and he would even be able to provide that. They didn’t know any secrets that might help and if the Astrals knew, they were certainly quiet about it all.

"Hasn't the empire caught on to it?" Gladio asked, trying to find some badge or way of knowing that Ignis was part of the resistance.

"Gladio, we've been around for two hundred years, we know how to hide things well enough. Do you see the symbol on my back? Within it, and only if you look closely and know where to look you will find a crest the resistance first found in some book. Nyx said it was from the Kingsglaive? But perhaps you would know better than us." Ignis shrugged out of his lab coat as he came to a stop. He pointed where the crest was on the symbol.

Sure enough, Gladio recognized the crest of the Kingsglaive.

"Did you know what they did?" Gladio asked, as he handed the coat back to Ignis and they continued walking.

"I'm afraid not. We know they were an organization, but other than that nothing. Much of Insomnia's history before the fall was either burned or left in rubble." Ignis watched Gladio's face twist in discomfort, but at least the Shield was holding on.

"The Kingsglaive were a group of people who were....outlanders as some called them. They were from Lucian territories whose homes were destroyed by the Niffs. They sought refuge in Insomnia and a lot of them went into the service of the Kingsglaive for various reasons. They used the magic the king offered to them to be able to warp and use magic themselves, but they had to learn how to. Drautos was the head of them." Gladio supposed if he couldn't access the Amiger, he doubted any of the Glaives could have accessed that power either if there were any. With what Ignis told him, he doubted they had, perhaps Niflheim had gotten rid of them all.  

"Magic? Fascinating. Do you possess this power as well?" Ignis asked, pulling out a little notebook from one of the pockets on his lab coat.

"Not at the moment. I think since freezing, that power is supposed to pass on to Noct, but since he hasn't touched the crystal or worn the ring, he doesn't have that power yet." Gladio wondered if they would get that power back if Noct wore the ring. Maybe, but if his lessons as shield and protecting Noct were right, Noct would need to touch the crystal first.

"I see. Well, let's hope we can wake his highness. I'd very much like to see this magic in action. Though, if the crystal is involved somehow, then there might be a problem. The crystal lies in Niflheim." Ignis watched Gladio, waiting for him to grow in despair, but the Shield only sighed.

"If that's the case, then we have a long road ahead of us."

Gladio's breathing was laboured by the time they reached the top of the stairs with a thin layer of sweat settling on his skin.

"Though, I honestly can say I don’t understand much about magic. I was only part of the Kingsglaive for a short period of time before I was put at the task of being the Prince's Shield. I had different lessons to learn then."

Ignis hummed as he punched in a code on a panel to make the metal door before them open, letting in a cool breeze that felt wonderful against his flushed cheeks. Motioning for Gladio to go through first, the Shield stepped up and into the night sky and open land.

Instead of the barren lands surrounding Insomnia, Gladio found that bits of forestry had started to reclaim the land again. Perhaps the fall of Insomnia meant that the land could repair itself from the harm that the Lucians and Niffs had done to the land. Seeing the trees, and feeling the breeze for Gladio felt like the first time in a long time. Sure they wind and breezes in Insomnia, but there was just something about the outdoors like this that really helped to relax the mind. He loved camping, and his father had taken him a few times, it was nothing like this. Those times were orchestrated and in special environments.

"Enjoying the view?" Ignis asked, closing the door. "We keep it sealed with a code only we know so that no one else can get in."

Gladio nodded, still drinking in his surrounding. Ignis smirked, knowing the Shield had not even turned around yet. When Gladio did, the awe in his turned into complete and utter surprise.

"What the--" Gladio smacked Ignis on the arm, sending the poor man pitching forward. "Iggy, you said this was supposed to be an outpost. This is like a city!"

The outpost was almost the size of Insomnia. There were plenty of buildings, though none of them had the same regal appearance as Insomnia once held. These were more crudely built, but safe enough to house in. Lights illuminated the city from the middle to the outside with floodlights, probably to keep the daemons and other creatures at bay. Smoke rose above the structures, sending wonderful smells of food that Gladio hadn't had for a week. Oh, they were going to hit a vendor or two before they headed back down to Noct. There was some music, but the biggest difference Gladio loved about this place, there were people. Laughter, conversations, yelling, everything! It wasn't deathly quiet, or silent to leave him with only his thoughts. This place was alive. The world had succumbed to the darkness, but the people were still very much alive and thriving.

Iggy laughed, a sound that had Gladio stare at him. He straightened his glasses, watching Gladio.

"It is an outpost. A rather large one, at least on a map. Forgive me, I thought you might enjoy seeing it for yourself instead of me trying to describe it to you. The less Niflheim knows the better. Come on, we need to get through the residential area before we get to Nyx." Pulling out a phone, Ignis texted Nyx now that he had reception. "By the way Gladio, why are you calling me Iggy?"

[spookadoop]

American Sweetheart (Sweet Pea)

“Every snake has a soft underbelly...and she’s yours.”

Three | Four | Five

You hadn’t spoken a word to Sweet Pea after the night he made it clear just how against the idea of you becoming a Serpent he was. You both seemed to have a mutual hostility towards each other. It also temporarily knocked your idea of becoming a Serpent out of your head. You explained it to Toni at the Wyrm like this, anything that increased the time you had to spend around the anger-inducing boy was something you did not need in your life. 

“Sweet Pea will get over it eventually,” Toni replied, sliding a glass of water to you.

“I just wanna know why he’s so against it. I mean, I know I’m not from the Southside - but you guys don’t seem to mind...So why does he?” You asked, mumbling to yourself near the end. Toni gave you a pitying smile.

“Sweet Pea has his own reasoning about things. It’s impossible to know what’s going through his head, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know what he’s doing half the time. I’m sure he thinks he’s doing something good by not wanting you to join our bloodthirsty, evil gang,” She comforted, nodding her head to where the sullen boy sat, discussing something with Fangs, no doubt something “only Serpents were allowed to know”.

You glanced over at him, narrowing your eyes. “Doubtful,” You mumbled. “He just hates me.”

As if sensing your eyes on him, Sweet Pea looked up from where he was talking to Fangs, gaze meeting yours. Noticing your bottom lip sticking out in a pout he tightened his own into a line.

“Why don’t you just stop being a dick and talk to her?” Fangs asked from beside him. He effectively scared the living shit out of the other boy, causing him to spill his drink on the table .

“Nice job, Fogarty,” He growled out, slamming his glass upright on the table. He snatched napkins from a nearby table, angrily cleaning up the mess. Fangs rolled his eyes, lifting his cup to his lips as Jughead walked through the doors.

“I have an announcement to make” The beanie-clad boy called out.”My dad’s getting out of jail.” The bar erupted into cheers at the news, glad their leader would soon rejoin them.

“And when he does,” Jughead continued, “I’ll bring him up to speed about our plans with Mayor McCoy.”

You smiled, glad to see your friend in such high spirits, only to drop that smiled when you heard Tallboy speak. “That’s brilliant...”

Jughead’s eyes shot to the man. “Do you have a problem with that, Tallboy?”

“Your old man?” He asked, standing up from his seat. “No, I got no problem with him. You want us to sit down with the Mayor.”

“I do,” Jughead replied, looking around the bar. “He’s right. I think we can bring the Southside back. But, it’s going to take work. And it’s going to take compromise.”

Tallboy laughed humorlessly as you glanced at Toni, fearing Tallboy might try to fight Jug.

“Bring the Southside back... You’ve been here all of five minutes.” The bearded man sneered, glaring at Jughead.

“Tallboy, I’m sick of you acting like a little bitch. Whispering behind my back hat I’m half a Serpent? That I don’t belong here?” Let’s put it to a vote,” Jughead growled out, eyes narrowing at the man.  He turned his eyes from Tallboy to the rest of the bar’s occupants. “If you guys think what I’m doing is wrong, I’ll step aside.”

Toni stood up, “All those who stand with Jughead and think Tallboy should shut the hell up?” She called, raising her hand, followed by many others. You looked over at Sweet Pea, feeling a spark of happiness that his hand went up in the air as he walked closer to where Jughead and Tallboy stood. You wanted to raise your hand too, but didn’t. You still weren’t a Serpent.

You smirked slightly when Tallboy walked away silently, noting the hint of pride that appeared in Jughead’s eyes at the support he was receiving from his fellow Serpents. You whispered in Toni’s ear, not wanting to interfere with the atmosphere left from the dominance showdown, letting her know you were leaving, promising to text her once you got home so she would know you were safe.

You slipped through the crowds and out into the chilly night air. You got maybe a few yards out of the parking lot before you began to get paranoid. The Black Hood was still on the prowl, for all you knew he could be just out of your eyesight that very moment. Just watching... waiting to attack...

You let out a scream at the sound of an engine revving. You let out a breath of relief when you realized it was the familiar purr of a Harley behind you, not the growl of some murder machine. You turned around, lips tightening into a line at the sigh of the motorcycle’s rider.

“What do you want, Sweet Pea?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Sweet Pea exhaled through his nose, “It’s not safe for Southsiders to be out here alone at night. Not with all the crazy, self-entitled Northsiders running around and blaming us for their problems.”

“Us?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned your back on the boy, walking away at a slow pace. “I’m not a Southsider, remember? From what you say, I’m a self-entitled Northsider. Isn’t that right, Sweets?” You spat out, hearing his bike slowly creeping behind you.

"You live on the Southside of town. To them, you’re just as bad as an actual Southsider. Now get the fuck on my bike so I can take you home,” The boy shot back, irritation coating his words.

You growled under your breath. “I’m not a Southsider. I’m not a Serpent. Therefore, you have no duty to protect me. Now leave me alone.”

“Sweet Pea, I am telling you to leave me alone,” You growled, quickly getting fed up with the Serpent.

“And I’m telling you to get on my fucking bike so I can take you home. The others would be pissed if I let you get murdered or something.”

“Yeah, of course that’s why. Because you obviously don’t care,” You retorted under your breath, refusing to stop walking.

“What was that?” Sweet Pea snapped, stopping his bike. “You wanna say again?” He asked as he stepped off his bike, almost daring you to repeat yourself. You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face the boy, hands shoved in the pockets of your jeans.

“I said,” You started, eyes narrowed into slits, preparing yourself for the fight you knew was about to come. “That of course that’s why you’re doing this, because you obviously don’t fucking care about me, you’ve made that pretty fucking clear!”

You typically weren’t a person for cussing, only doing it on occasion thanks to your overly strict father, but when you were around Sweet Pea it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own. He just had a way of making your blood boil without even actively trying. His mere presence made you want to knock yourself out with an encyclopedia.

“Bullshit,” Sweet Pea scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I haven’t been that bad to you.”

Your jaw dropped in pure astonishment at the audacity he had to say that. “Haven’t been hat bad? Haven’t been that bad!? Yes, you have! You have been a fucking asshole to me ever since I came here! Maybe if you pulled your goddamn head out of your ass  for once, you’d see that! Since I step foot in the Southside you have made it your duty to relentlessly remind me just how much I don’ fit in here! Don’t you think I fucking know that!? It isn’t exactly some big secret I stick out like a sore fucking thumb, Sweet Pea! I’m not the one pretending to be something I’m not!”

“Oh and I am!?” He shot back. He clenched his fists together, stalking closer until the two of you were face-to-face. Well, face-to-abdomen. “Newsflash, Princess. I act exactly like me and no one else.” He growled, obviously trying to keep his anger under control. You let out a humorless laugh, staring up into his furious eyes with your own.

“You pretend to be such an emotionless badass, like violence is your first and second nature. But in all reality? You’re fucking not! No one is emotionless, Sweets! No matter how much you try to fucking act like it! You have emotions, whether you like it or not! Eventually, you’re gonna have to fucking show some type of emotion! But I’m not going to endure your bullshit any longer to find out,” You spat out, turning around and storming off. Sweet Pea made no move to stop you, standing quietly as you watched him disappear.

You made your way into your trailer, dragging your feet with every step. The only person awake when you walked in was your mom, sitting at the kitchen table with a small photo album in front of her. You frowned when you saw the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Mom? What are you doing?” You called out, watching her shaking figure freeze.

“Oh, you’re home. Hi, honey,” Your mom sniffled, wiping her eyes. “Just looking at an old photo album from when I was a teenager. Reminiscing. You look just like I did when I was your age you know? Well, almost”

You walked over, eyes falling on a photo of her kissing a dark haired boy with high cheekbones and a tattoo you couldn’t decipher. “Who’s that?”

“Just an old boyfriend,” Your mom whispered, lips pulling into a sad smile. Raising an eyebrow, you flipped through the rest of the album. “I guess I kind of do look like you did...” You paused, pointing to a picture that held a younger version of your mom with a tanned skinned boy at a birthday party. “What about him? Who’s he?”

“Oh...Just an old friend I haven’t seen in a long time,” She sighed, voice laced with sorrow. She cleared her throat, closing the album. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay, keep an eye out for your brother’s for me? They’re off with some friends getting into some type of trouble like always.”

You nodded as she kissed your cheek, walking off to her bedroom. Once her door was closed and her light was off, your eyes fell back to the album. You glanced back to your mom’s door, making sure it stayed closed as you slid into a chair. You gnawed on your bottom lip, flipping open the album. Your mom never really spoke about her past, and from the dates written on the album cover she should have been dating your dad sometime in it. She should have photos of them together right? Maybe you could find photos where your mom and dad actually looked in love, not like their marriage was some business arrangement.

You flipped through the pages of the album, examining each photo and the dates they were taken. A lot of the photos were taken with that dark haired boy, with very few captions. Most of them consisted of some version of “My love and I...” followed by a series of hearts. Your eyebrows furrowed as you passed through the year your mom and dad said they stared dating. There were no photos of them together, they were all either filled with the tan boy, the dark haired boy, or your mom’s other friends. Not a single picture had anything to do with Oswald Hart.

You had seen pictures of your dad as a teenager, so it wasn’t like you just didn’t recognize him. Your brothers looked a lot like him, Travis being his almost exact replica. He wasn’t in the album at all. It was mostly the brunet. Shaking your head, you closed the album. You were still wound up after your fight with Sweet Pea, so you figured you were just out of it. However, there was something you just couldn’t seem to shake off.

That guy looked a lot like Jughead.

(Babydoll finally snapped and something shady was discovered about her mom. What do you guys think is gonna happen next? Sorry it’s so short! I’m trying to get back into my old writing ways, bear with me! The sequel to Old Habits Die Hard is also almost finished!)

@lady1505 @sweet-peas-serpents @teaparadiso @nonononononono-i-cant @trash-can-beebo @k-n-e @iwannadiehere @sweetpeaprompts @hsloves12 @polskii-darria @sarasmismyonlydefence @oceanshockey

[shiggydabs]

A Bad Case of Mistaken Identity (ShigaDabi Fic)

Word Count: 1724 Verse: HeroSwap (the heroes are villains and the villains are heroes) Summary: Tenko and Dabi encounter a villain who switches their personalities.

You can also read this fic on Ao3.

Chapter 1/2: A Run-In

They weren’t on duty, technically.

They weren’t supposed to use their quirks, technically.

They weren’t heroes, technically.

But when they heard someone scream, a villain on the prowl, they knew they had to do something more than just watch. Dabi and Tenko Shimura – first year heroes attending UA, hero names “Dabi” and “Houou.” Quirks cremation and decay... befitting of villains better than heroes, and yet they did their best to serve the path of righteousness. Despite lacking their heroic attire or equipment they ran after the source of the screaming, keeping an eye out for any heroes or villains. When no pros were in sight yet the terrorizer was, they acted despite their inhibitions, the threats of punishment, suspension or expulsion. “You go left,” Dabi said as he went right.

The villain whipped around at the sound. He wore a long trench coat and a large hat, shrouding most of his figure. Behind him lay an innocent in terror, none too confident in the sight of two random kids hoping to save the day... “What’s this?” the villain questioned, looking between the two. “Some munchkins trying to stir up trouble?”

“We’ll give you one chance to surrender,” Tenko said.

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It should,” Dabi added. “He’s a feisty one. I wouldn’t want to put up with him.”

“Kids shouldn’t be getting involved in hero business,” the villain said. He held something in his right hand, a cane. There was no way to be subtle, he was dangerous, maybe even something a couple of kids shouldn’t try to handle... but there were here, now, and there weren’t about to abandon an innocent out of fear. What heroes would they be then? “I hope you’re fast–” he raised his cane, pointed at Dabi. “–as you think you are.”

“Duck–!” Tenko yelled. A beam of light shot out, whiffing Dabi’s sleeve as he rolled out of the way, melting his shirt. Tenko charged forward, kicking off the ground, a strike to the face of the shrouded man, knocking him off balance. The villain stumbled, swinging wildly with the cane. Tenko was struck in the jaw, sending him back. He saw a flash of blue fire in the corner of his eye, made out the figure of Dabi readying his quirk.

“That really pissed me off,” Dabi said. The villain scrambled to the side as a wave of fire came over him, burning his trench coat and the edge of his hat. As he went down he fired another beam from his cane, this one meeting its mark, striking Dabi in the chest with enough force to throw him against the wall of the alleyway.

“DABI!” Tenko exclaimed. He got to his feet, braced to charge, before the cane was aimed at him. The light was blinding. Deafening. It was the last thing he saw before the whole world faded away.

Tenko awoke with a stir. His head hurt terribly, he frowned as he stared up at the sky. “What...” he muttered. His entire body was numb, everything felt off. He grimaced as someone stood above him... it took a moment before he made out the outline of a pro hero. He couldn’t remember his name, someone otherwise faceless in the grand scheme of rankings. He stood with a figure Tenko did recognize though, Sensei Chizome, ever concerned.

“These are my students,” he said.

“What are their names?” the pro asked.

“Dabi and Shimura.”

The pro hero looked down at Tenko. “Hey, can you hear me? Dabi?”

Tenko frowned. “I’m not...” he said, before he winced, some terrible pain. He turned his head, looking to where Dabi had fallen. “He’s...” He raised his hand, only to see purple scars marking it up and down. Immediately his eyes widened, his heart skipped a beat, his mind marked with confusion as he flexed a scarred hand. Wait, what? He was... he was Tenko, wasn’t he? Tenko Shimura? He felt like Tenko Shimura. He thought like him, shared the same memories as him... but he wasn't him. It was undeniable, the staples and scars ran up his arm, underneath a jacket that was seen so often it was practically signature, trailing along the rest of his body. Tenko looked up and saw himself laying some distance away.

What the Hell was going on?

“You said this one was Dabi?” the pro asked Chizome.

“Yes, Dabi.”

“He doesn’t seem to think so. Must have some head trauma.”

“I–” Tenko (?) frowned and tried to roll over, but the smallest movement stung unbearably. Whatever he’d gotten hit with put him utterly out of commission. He couldn’t imagine a little cane doing so much harm... that blast really must pack some punch, especially if it was scrambling who he was, his memories, his feelings. It didn’t make sense. Who was he anymore? An ambulance arrived and hauled him off on a stretcher, Tenko not far behind. Consciousness slipped in and out unbearably. The next thing he could remember was the clean white walls and soft comfort of a hospital bed. Still pained, not perfect, but alive.

Just with a bad case of mistaken identity.

“What the fuck...” He turned to find the source of the sound, spotting himself (Tenko?) in the bed one over. He was in hospital gowns, laying simply. It was a comfort to know that he (Dabi, or perhaps Tenko) wasn’t the only one out of his wits here. “You’re... me?”

“Dabi?” Tenko questioned

“What the fuck.” His doppelganger sat upright then, biting back pain as he straightened out. He took a moment to look around the room, then down at himself, eyeing the gloves that he wore, ever for protection. Without a doubt something was wrong. “Am I... you?” He made eye contact with Dabi or, who at least looked to be Dabi. “Tenko?”

“Yeah.”

“...what happened to us?”

“I don’t know I–” The door opened.

Both of them turned as a police officer entered the room, followed by Chizome. Their Sensei looked them both over with a sigh. “The officer needs to speak with you two,” he began, arms crossed. “A witness informed us that you two tried to take on a villain. Barring the fact that it was a stupid idea, the police need any information you can give them. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sensei,” Dabi said.

“Yeah,” Tenko said.

Chizome frowned, giving each of them a hard once over, before stepping away. The interview was brief, mostly asking for details regarding anything that might have stood out – the outfit, the cane. It was about halfway through the conversation when it finally struck Tenko “Oh no–” he said as he looked to Dabi. The police officer quirked a brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think–” Tenko hesitated. Chizome’s attention was back on him.

“What is it, Dabi?”

“I...” Tenko swallowed hard. “D–Tenko and I were both struck with this... beam of light. It came from his cane. It might have been his quirk.” The officer nodded, writing that down on his notepad. “After uh... Tenko was hit with it he went down immediately. When I got hit by it I did too. It knocked us both out.” Which was as much of a half truth as Tenko had ever told, but Tenko didn’t speak up and so they maintained the lie.

“Is there anything else you remember.”

“No si–no.”

The police officer nodded. He wrote down something else before closing his notebook. “Well, if you remember anything else please call the station. We’re going to need as much information as we can get to catch this guy.” Or rather, for the pro heroes to catch this guy. The officer put his hat back on, nodded to Chizome, and then stepped out of the room. Their Sensei remained, looking both of them over. It became apparent that he was suspicious of something, and while Tenko remained stone-faced, Dabi whittled away, slipping farther under the blankets to avoid another interrogation.

“You two aren’t hiding anything, are you?”

“...no.”

“Nope.”

His frown stiffened, but he made his way for the door nonetheless. “I expect you both back in class once you’re well. No excuses.” And then he was gone.

The days went by in some odd blur. Tenko grew used to being called “Dabi” and Dabi grew used to be called “Tenko” (although they both still, occasionally, reacted to the other as their own, it was only natural). Nurses came and went, tending to them both, reassuring and kind. Friends came too, Jin and Toga for one, they only visited briefly but were all laughs and smiles. Joking through-and-through. “With a noggin as thick as yours, I can’t believe you got knocked out so fast!” Jin had said to Dabi. Fellow students came as well. Chisaki did briefly (and surprisingly), not mustering much sympathy but at least having the courtesy to give Tenko the homework (not Dabi though, no one expected him to actually do the work). Not surprisingly, Kurono was in tow. Those two hardly ever seemed to part.

Family came too... for Tenko at least. Sensei and Kurogiri. They both arrived like concerned, doting parents, hovering over Tenko’s bed the whole time, asking questions, offering gifts, assuring him that whoever had done this would be caught. No one came for Dabi. Tenko’s heart sunk. No one came for Dabi.

When night fell and the room lights were shut off, Tenko finally spoke up. “How long do you think we’ll be like this?” he muttered. Dabi frowned.

“Hearing myself is... weird.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t know. What do you think happened?”

“It must have been that villain’s quirk, it had to be. What else could it have been?”

“Yeah.” Dabi frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Should we–should we keep lying?”

“Sure, why not. When everything turns out alright we’ll say it was a prank.”

“A prank... okay.”

“Just run with it.”

It was hard to make out much of anything in the dark, but Tenko could see Dabi move, reaching out his hand between the beds, waiting for Tenko to reciprocate. After a moment Tenko did, sheepishly, reaching out so their fingers met in the middle, too far for them to hold onto anything other than the memories of each other. “We’ll be alright.” And Tenko fell asleep with that thought in mind. We’ll be alright.

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Fanfiction - Just Around The Corner

Summary:  Anti, just like the other Egos, always looks forward to the holiday season, especially Christmas. For him, the fun begins as soon as the clock strikes December 1st. For the rest of them, that's when they need to brace themselves for whatever the Glitch has planned to make them suffer.

Jackieboy noticed something wasn’t right as soon as December 1st rolled around. Whereas Anti would—should be prowling into the kitchen for his breakfast of bloody meat like any other day, today he strode into view with a spring in his step, one which set off several of Jackieboy’s internal alarms. The rest sounded the call as soon as the Glitch peered around at the other Egos, his fangs bared in a smile.

“H͞a̶pp̢y ̵holi͝day͜ ̷season̵,” he purred, his voice crackling and breaking with a much more noticeable amount of static than usual.

The older Egos didn’t answer him, of course. They could scarcely dare to wonder what he meant by those words; their minds were already racing for an explanation of his optimism, but they couldn’t help being distracted when Jameson made the mistake of tipping his hat in response to the “well-wishes”. Chase gave Jameson a warning look, but it was too late; the young gentleman’s gesture had caught Anti’s eye.

“At least so̸m͝eone͡ here has s҉ome͢ c͢ommon co̶urt̵e̴sy̷,” he remarked, his smile widening as his head tilted. A glitching half of his head stayed contorted, flickering against his shoulder even when he moved, flinging open the fridge and grabbing his meat plate, strolling casually back out to eat alone.

“JJ, Anti doesn’t deserve you being polite around him. You may not remember it, but he tried to attack you when you showed yourself to the fans. He’s evil,” Chase began in his firm “dad voice” to Jameson as Jackieboy glanced uneasily at Marvin.

“Okay, I know he glitches more and more as the holidays get closer, but that was worse than usual,” the magician announced what they were both thinking. “He shouldn’t be like that until…what, two weeks from now?”

“That’s how it was last year, but you know him. He likes to keep us guessing,” Jackieboy mused grimly, moving to sip his coffee and then hesitating when he noticed how Schneep’s cup was shaking between his hands. “Hey…” he murmured, reaching across toward him. “This doesn’t mean—”

“He did not need a holiday to attack me,” Schneep reminded them shakily. “Take me away from you for weeks ’till you find me…It was August. There was no reason, rhyme…What if it’s like that for one of you? Chase, last year—it was nothing for Anti to poison his eggnog, was it? He spent Christmas in hospital!” Looking a bit ill, he peeked down at his coffee and abruptly pushed it away. “And the year before that, he sabotaged my sled…I nearly break my neck, and I’ve heard of the year before, when he tried to strangle Marvin with the tinsel—”

Marvin winced at the memory, instinctively tugging on the knot to his cape, and Jackieboy growled, “That’s not going to happen again. We’re all gonna be safe because we’re gonna protect each other with everything we have.” Schneep didn’t look convinced, so Jackieboy softened his tone, explaining, “That’s the difference between then and now, Henrik: last year, the year before that, the year before that, not all of us were here. Now, I can’t think of a better group. We know what he’s capable of.” He looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes and concluding emphatically, “Not even Anti is strong enough to take on all of us.”

***

Seeing as all of them had been rather unsettled by Anti’s “holiday cheer”, the next few days were spent on edge and their nights were spent sleeping very lightly. As such, it was no surprise that Jackieboy immediately lunged upright in bed, reeling back a preemptive fist, as staticky strains of “Silent Night” echoed through the halls.

Not so far away, Schneep stared with terrified eyes toward the door of his lab, his late-night reading falling through his fingers to land with a thump on his desk.

Chase, meanwhile, curled tightly into himself and covered his head with his blankets, not quite waking but sensing in his subconscious that something was wrong.

Marvin padded gingerly out of his room, his wand casting the dim hallway in an eerie green glow. Every shadow, any shadow, could very well be Anti, taunting him with a game of hide-and-seek. Who was seeking who? The music, hauntingly slow, continued looping as Marvin crept through the tunnel of darkness just outside the light’s reach. That was when he felt fingers brush the back of his arm. Yelping, he whirled around, already poised with a spell—only to slump in relief when he found the wide-eyed Jameson standing behind him.

“Oh, it’s you! Make some noise when you’re coming, why don’t you?!” he hissed. He knew JJ’s aura would have canceled out any noise the gentleman might have made, but at the moment he was too high-strung to care about semantics. Jameson didn’t object to it either; in fact, he didn’t mince any words, as he might have under any other circumstance. His sepia speech slide was bright in the darkness.

“Marvin, is this Antisepticeye?”

Marvin blinked at the question for a moment or two, startled by it. It was uncanny…He forgot about Jameson sometimes. Not the man himself, of course, but sometimes he forgot that Jameson was new at this. It was only now, with his hands wringing in front of him, moustache twitching nervously, tousled hair hanging in front of his eyes, that Jameson looked his age.

At last, with a sad smile falling onto his face, Marvin sighed, “Don’t you worry, JJ. You’ll learn to sense it. When it comes to things like this, it couldn’t be anyone else.”

Jameson looked as if he was about to reply, but a squeal of static stopped both him and the music. As soon as the last echoes of “Silent Night” faded away, Jameson looked back to Marvin with cautious anticipation.

“It’s stopped…” his slide stated the obvious.

“That doesn’t mean he’s done,” Marvin warned, moving to skirt past him but unprotesting when Jameson spun around and clutched at his arm, keeping pace with him. The pair of them scoured each room of Egos Central again and again until dawn broke, but they found nothing.

***

A few days later, Chase pried his eyes open with a struggle, wanting nothing more than to sleep for another few hours. A promise was a promise, however; he was going to spend this morning helping Marvin decorate. Jackieboy had left to patrol the city in the wee hours, he knew, and they were planning to surprise him with a Christmas message on the top of the roof, one he would instantly see when he flew home.

He would get to show Jameson how it was done, he realized, and that thought made him pick up the pace just that much more. As he flung open his door, however, he stopped up short just before tripping on something that had been left outside his door.

Bewildered, he crouched, picking up the beautiful white poinsettia and examining it from every angle. When he found the small golden card peeking through the leaves, he couldn’t help but wonder if his kids had insisted their mother send him a gift. That was something they would do. The calligraphy printed on the card did say, “With Love from Me to You”.

The signature underneath it was as sloppy as a child’s, but once Chase deciphered the first two letters, he dropped the card and the plant as if they had burned him. Leaping to his feet, he sprinted down the hall and round the corner, only to see Marvin standing motionless outside his door, an identical white poinsettia at his feet.

“Marv,” Chase gasped, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Anti—”

“I know,” Marvin murmured, gesturing to his left with nothing less than revulsion. “Jackie got one too. I wouldn’t be surprised if—” The door to the lab slammed only a moment later and Marvin winced. “That’s what I was afraid of. Chase, check on Jameson; I’ll try and calm Schneep down until Jackieboy can take over. I’ll see if he can come home early; we need him.”

It wasn’t too surprising that they had all received the strange gifts, Chase discovered when Jameson met him halfway between their rooms, thrusting the plant out helplessly for him to examine.

They ended up surprising Jackieboy with quite a different message when he got home, but as much as they poked and prodded and pulled at them, there was nothing special about them as far as they could see. If Anti was giving them, there had to be a reason. What could he gain from this? Was it just to make them paranoid?

“What should we do with them?” Chase asked quietly as Jackieboy paced the length of the kitchen. “I…don’t think he’d appreciate it much if we threw them away.”

“Set them right where you found them,” Jackieboy ordered tersely. “He’s playing some sort of game and if we skip our turn, he’s bound to take it for us.”

Thus decided, they planted their gifts next to their doors and left them there—ignored, but certainly not forgotten. A light coating of dust fell over them and the cards that went with them ended up smudged and sticky on the floor as the Egos walked over them. Four days later, on December 11th, Chase stepped in another sticky substance. It was a dark puddle, one which he recoiled from immediately as he glanced wildly toward his poinsettia.

It was still white in some places, but others were now stained red—dripping red.

Chase bolted, leaving streaked, bloody shoeprints in his wake, but before he could even stretch out his hand to bang on Marvin’s door, he was shocked to find that both his and Jackieboy’s poinsettias were still purely white. When he looked further, toward the lab, Schneep’s was untouched too. Jameson’s was unstained as well.

Why him? Chase wondered frantically as he pommeled Marvin’s door in an effort to wake him. Why him? Why him?

***

Three days later, on December 15th, he was no longer alone. Schneep’s explosion of panicked German could be heard in every part of the house and for once, none of them had to wonder what he was saying.

***

On December 18th, it was Marvin’s turn.

***

December 21st, Jackieboy came unspeakably close to punching a wall when he found the same, and his red boots were stained an even darker red.

***

On Christmas Eve, Jameson was quivering where he sat on the couch between Schneep and Marvin, staring wordlessly at the sullied plant he had set on the coffee table. There was no explanation for it, no taunt, no attack…They had hardly seen Anti at all this month and during whatever fleeting glimpses they had gotten, he had been glitching and fizzing so violently that he was practically intangible.

All they had were bloody plants.

“I…I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about this,” Jackieboy admitted at last, his gritted teeth making it clear that he hated admitting his helplessness. “I can’t pound him into the ground if I don’t know where he is.”

A long silence followed these words, but eventually Chase ventured weakly, “T-Tomorrow’s Christmas. I know this isn’t like other years, but…he’s never hurt us on Christmas. All we can do, at this point, is try to salvage it, right?”

No sooner had he spoken those words did the first notes of “Silent Night” begin to play, very low and muffled, as if they were almost out of earshot. Bare seconds later, the noise faded back out, and the group shared a moment of sheer astonishment.

“Call me crazy,” Marvin breathed, “but I think he might’ve just agreed to that…”

Chase huffed a small laugh and Schneep quietly slid an arm around Jameson, who looked significantly more reassured, ducking his head in relief.

Jackieboy wasn’t about to buy that for a millisecond.

***

Christmas Day passed without incident. Jackieboy did his very best to enjoy it the way the others did; there were a few precious moments when he was able to keep his attention on them, smiling at their reactions to their gifts and accepting their hugs of gratitude, but it wasn’t where his attention ought to be and he knew it. The game wasn’t over. It was never over and they had taken their turn by enjoying their holiday. It was Anti’s move.

One by one, they made it through the stockings…the gifts…the dinner…the cleanup…and, at long last, their goodnights. Each of them wanted nothing more than to stay with the others and hold onto the lingering warmth and joy of Christmas Day, but eventually they all had to sleep.

None of them would, for each returned to his room and froze dead in his tracks when he saw that the stained white poinsettia had vanished—replaced by a big, beautiful red one. Jackieboy clenched his fists so tightly that his palms bled inside his gloves and he lifted his head slowly as his enemy assembled himself across from him.

“It’s al͜mo̡s͞t ͡t͝i͘me,” Anti chuckled, playing with his knife and shifting his weight back and forth. “Are you r̢ea̶dy̸ to rin̢g ̶in t҉h̨e New ͡Y͝ea͘r? I wonder what’s w̶ai̕tn҉g̸ just around t̴h͢e cor̢n͝er…especially for t͜͢h͏a͟t̢ J̛͘a̵m̡͜e̕͠͡ş̡o̴͡n.”

“I wonder,” Jackieboy agreed venomously. “What I do know is that if you come anywhere close to him, I’m going to hunt you down and it won’t matter if you try to glitch your way out. I’m not going to stop until I shove my fist down your throat so far and so fast that I cauterize that nice little slash of yours from the inside.”

Anti laughed again, sounding almost impressed with the threat, and then his form convulsed and dissolved into nothingness. He wasn’t gone; Jackieboy could still hear his static buzzing around the room, circling him, predatory, and the hiss that followed was mocking.

“No, ͟yoų ͝won’t, hero. ͡You'͘re j̧us̵ţ l͝i͘ke ̡th͞e҉m. You'͟l͏l jus̴t ͜wa̷tch̷.͟”

[overlord-off-record]

I don’t know what’s wrong with Hadrian. I, on the other hand, am suffering malaise of the sinuses accompanied by exhaustion and general strangeness of behavior.

Someone help me name this series.

---

Hadrian Greenclaw left his meeting with the Heterodyne feeling both confident and cowed, and overall rather pleased. The crisp autumn night felt good, and the breeze tasted of woodsmoke and new beginnings. Alight with civic pride, he decided to take the long way home, to enjoy the perfect Mechanicsburg evening.

One of the more contrary Jägers waved at him on the way past, and Hadrian failed to take warning. Basking in the Heterodyne's favor, he waved back. Jorgi gave him a pointy grin.

"Hyu'z pretty beeg schtuff now."

Internally, Hadrian agreed, but he said, "Time will tell." Best to exercise caution. He continued on his way, not really reflecting on receiving unexpected attention from a Jäger. Even if he had, it may not have saved him.

As he rounded a corner, something snatched him up from above. He suppressed a yelp, as any true son of Mechanicsburg would, and he looked upward. Wings darkened the sky, the shape almost like a modified Torchman. Who would dare…?

It deposited him on a rooftop and continued on into the night, denying him any decent glimpse of it. Rude. Scowling, Hadrian dusted himself off.

"Hadrian Greenclaw."

He froze, his gaze skimming the roof for the source of the voice. How had he missed noticing—There. A man lounged against a mostly-decorative gargoyle, blending too well with the architecture. Hadrian squinted into the shadows. "You could have made an appointment."

"I don't think so." The man stepped forward, melodramatically allowing the faint light from below to catch at his crimson hair, his pince-nez, his flawlessly tailored coat. Tarvek Sturmvoraus. Of course Hadrian had seen him around town, but from a distance. He suppose it reasonable that once he had drawn the attention of the Heterodyne, her playthings would also take notice. He tried for indifference.

"No? What urgent matter cannot be discussed over tea or aperitifs?"

Sturmvoraus fixed him with a sharp stare that made Hadrian wonder about the rumors he had heard of this man. Hero of the siege, master of the weasels, and all that rubbish. But this man before him looked nothing like the fashionable fool who laughed and made ill-advised bets with the Jägers. This man looked like murder wrapped up in silk and velvet.

"Vanamonde von Mekkhan," Sturmvoraus growled, something Sparky thrumming in the lower registers of his voice. Hadrian suppressed a shudder. Wulfenbach was the dangerous one, the one with terrible impulse control and a strong tendency to leave a trail of explosions wherever he went. Still, it was widely whispered that the Castle had grown fond of both of them, so Sturmvoraus must have a more lethal side. But Vanamonde…?

"I thought you were the Heterodyne's toy," Hadrian said, then marveled at his own ability to stick his foot in his mouth. He followed his unfortunate remark with another: "What on earth does von Mekkhan have to do with you?"

He might as well have offered insult to Sturmvoraus' entire bloodline, the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "Vanamonde is my friend," he growled, his voice softer and, terrifyingly, Sparkier. "You damaged him."

Hadrian bristled. "Oh, he was asking for it." Uh-oh. Why did he let this man provoke him?

"You. Do. Not. Harm. My. Friends." With each word, Tarvek Sturmvoraus prowled nearer, his head tilted low like a predator's, his shoulders tense but his limbs unsettlingly loose, relaxed, ready to strike. Hadrian scoffed.

"I do what needs doing, just as my family has always done."

"What needs doing?" Sturmvoraus echoed, his voice still soft. He gave a little shake of his head. "No." With a speed that took Hadrian entirely by surprise, Sturmvoraus struck, hurling him off the roof.

Hadrian entertained a brief contemplation of his own mortality before he slammed against something solid, which swore and deposited him right back on the roof. "You idiot! We discussed this! No killing!"

Sturmvoraus affected an air of aggrieved dignity. "Please. I knew you would catch him."

"How did you know that?" Hadrian ventured. He probably should not have asked.

"Because she's been following me all evening."

"Because Tragic Falls are so childishly easy they come free with most assassination contracts."

Sturmvoraus momentarily lost interest in his prey. "Are you calling me childish?"

"No. I'm calling you simple."

Hadrian's attempt to sidle away failed when he choked back a snort. They both returned their attention to him, so he said, "Are the two of you siblings or something?"

"I'm killing him," Sturmvoraus declared.

The woman who had saved Hadrian rolled her eyes. "You are not killing him. Agatha likes him." She jabbed a finger at Sturmvoraus. "So does Van."

"He tried to kill Vanamonde."

"It was a misunderstanding," Hadrian insisted. He felt a bit awful about it, but only because he had been wrong about Vanamonde. He would not hesitate to kill any traitor.

"Those wounds are no misunderstanding." Sturmvoraus glared, but his associate would have none of it.

"Come on," she scoffed, "how many times have you and Gil damaged each other?"

"That's different."

"You might at least ask Van his opinion before skulking off to avenge his wardrobe."

"Violetta—"

"Don't bother denying it."

Hadrian wondered at his life, that he could have such a nice evening, and then in the space of a few minutes watch it collapse into attempted homicide followed by theater of the absurd. He shook his head at the both of them. Sturmvoraus noticed, and renewed his murderous mission.

"You," he said. "Greenclaw. You will not harm Vanamonde von Mekkhan ever again."

The man's tone rankled. Hadrian glared. "Under whose authority?" As though rule of law had much to do with him anyway. To his surprise, Sturmvoraus scoffed.

"You think authority has anything to do with it?"

Hadrian shook his head. "Why should it? You did just try to kill me."

Violetta rolled her eyes. "Not very hard," she grumbled, and in utter defiance of his better judgment, Hadrian found himself growing a little fond of her surly demeanor. It helped that she reacted to Sturmvoraus with scorn and disdain.

"You really don't need to menace me over the seneschal," Hadrian said. "Not that you're terribly good at it," he added, lying just to provoke Sturmvoraus. He had definitely thought he would fall to his death a few minutes ago.

"Hm," Sturmvoraus said, his eyes narrowed and his head tilted a little to one side. A bit of a catlike smirk played about his lips in a most chilling way, proving Hadrian wrong. He stood his ground, and he loathed every single hair that rose on the back of his neck.

"If it's all the same to you," Hadrian said, feigning nonchalance, "I do have better things to do with my time. It's been… enlightening, but I'd best be on my way."

"No."

Something in the simplicity of the reply incensed Hadrian, reminding him that this man enjoyed high social standing far beyond Mechanicsburg, far from the golden light of the Heterodyne's favor. "Valois." He spat the name as an insult, rather more reflexively than by intent. Schooling his face not to show it, he braced for retaliation.

Sturmvoraus laughed.

Unable to hide his confusion, Hadrian glanced at Violetta, then back to Sturmvoraus, whose amusement seemed genuine enough. What trick was this?

"Oh, stop that." Violetta slapped at Sturmvoraus' arm, but his mirth would not be contained.

Hadrian considered the Sparky tones in the man's voice moments earlier. They should probably flee. "That was funny?" Sure, fine, some people just had no sense of self-preservation.

Sturmvoraus grinned, and for once the sharp edges mostly stayed behind his teeth. "I've been waiting for that response in this town for years." He turned away. "Walk with me, Greenclaw."

Where, precisely? Before Hadrian could voice the thought, Sturmvoraus stepped off the edge of the roof.

"He's out of his mind."

"You'd better follow him," Violetta said. "He gets crabby if he has to wait."

Feeling churlishly skeptical, Hadrian followed to the edge of the roof, and he peered downward. A story and a half below, Sturmvoraus dangled from a drainpipe as though he swung from buildings every evening. How dare he act so casual about this nonsense? Hadrian glanced back to Violetta one more time, but she just shrugged.

With a sigh, Hadrian hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Nonsense, it seemed, would occupy him a little longer this evening. If he could judge by the last few minutes, someone would surely lose a hat before the night was over.

[whyyallsweatin]

Repulsive, unattractive male scrounging around for women in Victoria BC.

Samuel David Wootton is a known woman harasser in Victoria BC. He usually preys on local women via social media and dating sites. He will attempt to make contact through less obvious means, like commenting or taking interest in an item a woman might list on marketplace, or follow a woman he found in a local Facebook group. He doesn’t seem to have many friends, so it’s doubtful that he meets people through mutual friends because, as stated, he doesn’t have any friends.

There are several reasons why women find this man repulsive. The first reason is that he is unattractive. This photo highlights what it is that makes him so unattractive. The creepy, strained look on his face, prominent nose, awkward haircut, and jogging pants all scream that he takes little to no effort in his appearance and that he simply doesn’t recognize that he is, compared to other men, beneath the median standards for attractiveness – despite not being morbidly obese. He prefers to wear jogging pants and unstylish hoodies from big box retail stores like Walmart. I suspect his underwear are the George brand from the aforementioned big box store. I also suspect that those very underwear are riddled with holes and are practically threadbare. In addition to that he wears dated sneakers with big, thick sports socks he purchased from Walmart or Costco. The socks are often pulled up over the bottom of his jogging pants.

The next reason why he is repulsive is his lifestyle. He appears to live in a really slummy apartment – likely in the downtrodden areas of Esquimalt. He sent me a photo of himself cooking and I could see the stove was really old, filthy and the pan he was using was from the 80s. He was cooking some kind of mixed meats and vegetables combination that consisted of defrosted vegetables and cheap cuts of meat. Maybe even generic hot dog wieners. I didn’t spend much time looking at it, but I believe I saw wieners in the concoction. He drives a beat up old van that’s loaded with junk, including embarrassing jester style hats that he wears in attempts to provide people he meets with physical humour. The van itself is full of cigarette packs, parts for various pieces of cheap furniture, junk he collected from the side of the road and an assortment of clothing in various states of decay. He has a small dog that he uses to attract people and spoof them into thinking he lives a life that consists of some kind of normalacy.

The next reason why he is repulsive isn’t really important because you can’t really get past the first two, so his integrity doesn’t really matter. But the reason I’m going to describe is his integrity. When I met him online, I was instantly turned off. I placed an add for my studio and he wrote me in response a bunch of creepy, sexually suggestive messages. After this I updated the add to include the phrase “please don’t ask me out on dates or send me sexual messages.” He immediately messaged me again, indicating he felt bad for what he had done after seeing my original add. He then indicated that we knew the same people. Since it was a very old friend of mine – I agreed to let him come see my studio thinking he might be ok if he knew a good friend of mine. He came over and I let him in. I showed him some of the crafts he could make and he started making something, only to quit and then go lay down on my futon. I suspect he thought it was time to cuddle so I told him I had to go home and he finally left after hours of having to sit there and watch him sleep and think he was right at home.

I should also mention that he indicated that he had been sober for 16 years. Knowing the old friend he mentioned we have in common, I suspected he was into all kinds of party drugs during the late nineties and early two-thousands. He claimed he was into healthy things and, despite appearances he was doing well in life.

I didn’t see him after that and went into hiding. However, several weeks later I’d see him message me on various different social media apps. I had no idea how he found all my profiles, but I felt sick knowing he had been creeping around so hard. He would phone me on Facebook messenger and I’d avoid the calls.

A few months later, I moved to Langford and my dignity slipped. I agreed to meet him for lunch and he bought some Pho for me at a restaurant in my area. He then wanted to go to the beach and tried to put his arm around me and hug me and other things. I felt sick. I told him I had to go home and do my chores and finally got him to drop me off. He then came back later asking me if I wanted ice cream. I said sure since I was bored and, while unattracted to him, was still not utterly disgusted and repulsed by him enough to say no.

At the restaurant where we got ice cream he tried to put his arm around me and hug, even tried to lean in for a kiss but I turned away.

After I got home, he began phoning me on Facebook messenger and messaging me on every social media app and texting my phone. He started to ask invasive questions about my sexuality and how he didn’t want things to be awkward but wanted to be intimate with a woman. He said, “hey, I do like you!” As if that was something I should be flattered by. I didn’t respond with anything but polite rejections until he started to get hostile and make derogatory statements about me. I blocked him on Facebook and then he texted me indicating that I had used him for money when all he paid for was Pho. He then tried to get a few insults in, but since I knew they were insults that were fuelled by his refusal to address his inadequacy in the face of rejection, I just blocked him on my phone. I don’t need to amuse myself with the pathetic names he wanted to throw out in attempt to make me feel as deeply inadequate as he knew he was.

So, appearance, lifestyle and integrity are all things that you first notice about this particular predator that are off putting. I was happy to have blocked him and not hear from him again. However, I was wrong – I would hear about him again.

One night I was cruising around on POF losers. It’s a Facebook page where people report losers on dating sites. Lo behold, a woman posted Samuel David Wootton. I was shocked – according to the comments he was well known to women in Victoria and was a frequent harasser and stalker of women. He’d use all kinds of means to get someone’s attention – through free ads, marketplace, pages devoted to things unrelated to dating, etc. Super creepy stuff. The post the woman made included at conversation she had with him where he became enraged that she hadn’t responded to him on POF immediately. He said something like, “I need someone who can keep up with me, who’s passionate about meeting new people.” Stuff like that – clearly he knew he was rejected already so he started dropping insult bombs in order to level the playing field – in his mind at least. When the woman responded to his lewd comments, he then made absolutely disgusting, sexually degrading remarks to her.

Everyone in the comment section knew who he was or had had run ins with him. I pictured him driving around day in day out in his van looking for people who had things on their yard to pick up for free, bottles, junk, whatever, in hopes of meeting a woman.

I decided to post my experiences with him on the POF page and found that even more people had had run ins with him. Laughing stock is not harsh enough to describe what people were saying about him. Someone who’s just unattractive or unsuccessful isn’t really a bad person – but Samuel David Wootton is those things and a bad person. He lurks around social media and neighbourhood prowling on women who are unsuspecting and then goes full on bezerk when they don’t pay attention to him. He tries to act as if he’s better than them when he gets rejected, but the truth is he’s not able to recognize his faults. There are some faults, though, that can’t be corrected.

While luckily never had to see his genitals, legend has it that they are microscopic. This isn’t something I can’t to go into detail about since the thought of his sweaty, worm like appendage hiding under a threadbare pair of George underwear disgusts me.

Now, this is where it gets really interesting. Several weeks later I get a message from a woman claiming to be his girlfriend. She had read the posts on POF and wanted to know when he had been approaching the women who posted him. She had been dating him for over a year as I recall and I informed her what times he attempted to pursue me and showed her the messages. As it turns out, he lives with her and she owns the van he drives around in while skulking. Myself and the other woman who posted him filled her in on his activities and she through him out of the house and took the keys for the van.

I suspect now, that he does not have a lifeline, he is in full creep mode. He may be on foot – wandering around neighbourhoods looking for women. He may be in a men’s shelter using the free computers to lurk around on social media in hopes of finding a woman. We don’t know. Part of me wants to know so I know how to avoid him, and part of me doesn’t want to know since I can sense the presence of his George brand holy underwear, jester hat and jogging pants just thinking about him and that’s unpleasant to me.

So in summary – Samuel David Wootton is 1. unattractive 2. has a repulsive lifestyle 3. lacks integrity -as a result can’t handle rejection -rejection is met with him firing back with derogatory or insulting language -actually had a girlfriend, to everyone’s surprise, but chose to creep around on her

And one final note – his character can be summed up by simply processing the underlying meaning of his Facebook quote: Try correcting a foolish person, they’ll hate you, try correcting a wise soul and they’ll appreciate you!!

I’m sure he posted that quote as a kind of words to live by but what’s disturbing about it is that only people who think they’re right often would post this sort of bullshit. Stupid people try and look smart, smart people don’t know they’re smart because they always try to learn from things – even mistakes. Stupid people think they’re an authority on things, so I bet Samuel David Wootton goes around ‘correcting’ people while he’s scrounging for empty bottles and free trash. He probably does so thinking he’s some kind of wise soul for having all the answers, when in fact he is the lowest form of life known to mankind. Even horrible people who’ve committed horrible crimes have had charisma and charm - but this guy? Nothing. Imagine if you were a victim of his, he’s not even smart or strong or anything. At least a lot of serial killers were smart or had enough charisma to at least initially impress upon people that they were ok. This guy? There’s no response but rejection to his appearance and personality.

Based on these facts, its only a matter of time before he cracks and uses his out of shape gross stature to outweigh a woman or any victim really because he has no option to actually date a real woman. He has to get what he wants via force because no one wants him or likes him. His repulsive ways are palpable. He has no other option other than to be a predator in order to fulfill his biological urges. So beware.

[verdigrisprowl]

July 3 Dancitron Movie Night - The Prestige

The movie actually managed to catch Prowl’s fleeting, lethargic attention. He wasn’t delighted with one of the plot twists but they watched an episode of a “how magic tricks work” show and that made up for it.

Soundwave told Bevel that Tarantulas is dangerous and to ask Prowl about it. Prowl spent .2 seconds confessing just how attracted he is to Tarantulas, and then dragged him.

Prowl lingered after the movie, Soundwave swung his legs into his lap, and it descended into fluff so fine it could float away in a light breeze. And Prowl had a Very Important Revelation about himself. He’s now like, 9% less depressed, yaaaaaay.

Today imsweetlyeclectic 7:52 pm hello~ ItsyBitsySpyers 7:53 pm ((@imsweetlyeclectic: hi! please feel welcome to watch ooc! but do note this is an ic stream so that's gonna be the focus 😄 )) imsweetlyeclectic 7:53 pm (okay~ i am working on trying to figure out how to play my muse~) ItsyBitsySpyers 7:54 pm ((all righty 😃 )) *Soundwave settles down in his usual seat and nods to Bevel... who's about to experience Disapproval Of Her Life Choices.* Impact 7:56 pm *bounces in* What's the movie? 3:D ItsyBitsySpyers 7:56 pm @Bevel : [[You are not going to Tarantulas.]] [[Something called The Prestige.]] Impact 7:57 pm Huh, never heard of it! ItsyBitsySpyers 7:59 pm [[He is told it has something to do with human 'magic'.]] Impact 8:00 pm Oooh! Bevel 8:00 pm *she's barely through the door when she gets Soundwave's ping* @Soundwave: Why? *waves to Impact with a smile* Impact 8:01 pm *waves!* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:03 pm @Bevel : [[He is not a mech to be underestimated. And he can have medical scans and texts if he is that interested. If he finds out you are a shapeshifter, or the circumstances of your creation, you may be in danger.]] Prowl 8:05 pm *appears. flops. elbows on knees and chin in hands.* Impact 8:05 pm *waves at Prowl* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:05 pm ((FIVE MINUTE WARNING grab your snacks and drinks now)) *Nods to Prowl* Impact 8:05 pm ((I can't believe I'm actually at the beginning of a movie for once :D)) Windchill 8:05 pm *APPEARS.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:06 pm [[Greetings, Windchill.]] Prowl 8:06 pm *vague nod at... whoever's acknowledging him. multiple people? a nod for the whole room.* Bevel 8:06 pm @Soundwave: If he tried anything weird I could punch him? *waves to Prowl* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:07 pm @Bevel : [[He can outsize you. By nearly ninety feet.]] Bevel 8:07 pm ... boomtank 8:07 pm -peers in- Windchill 8:07 pm *Collectively waves at everyone before picking a seat.* Impact 8:07 pm *waves at Beatbox!* Windchill 8:07 pm Did you sorry saps miss me? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:07 pm [[Greetings, Blaster.]] Impact 8:08 pm ((I meant blaster, herpaderp)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:08 pm *Rumble comes running downstairs with Frenzy hard on his heels* //Are we late? Did we - hey, Windchill!// Windchill 8:08 pm *Waits in anticipation of a "no" or several.* boomtank 8:08 pm -whoops spotted- Hey, Soundwave -and waves at Impact- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:08 pm @Bevel : [[If you would like confirmation, ask Prowl.]] Bevel 8:08 pm *ok, she can admit that probably puts her at an disadvantage* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:08 pm *Nod to the mech who's sitting all thinking-pose* Windchill 8:09 pm *Turns just enough to greet the twins with a wave, too.* Prowl 8:09 pm *what? he already nodded back. what's he got another nod for.* Bevel 8:09 pm @Soundwave: ...ok ItsyBitsySpyers 8:09 pm *...Soundwave senses a disturbance in the Force* Windchill 8:10 pm *Whirl isn't here, so he's going to spread out into as many other nearby chairs as possible before the film starts. Rude!* Impact 8:11 pm *Gets herself settled next to Bevel as she is becoming accustomed to* Bevel 8:11 pm *Bevel senses... not really anything tbh, she's more tied to others than to whoever just showed up* Primus 8:11 pm [Ahaaa. I need to get icons again. ouo;;;] ItsyBitsySpyers 8:11 pm ((ALL RIGHT Y'ALL. Customary pre-movie warning... sorta. I was tired and didn't pre-screen the movie very far. I know there's a slur in the first little bit and I think there's some animal or human death later. Beyond that I do not know, so just be aware)) Windchill 8:11 pm (( o7 )) boomtank 8:11 pm ((kaaay Impact 8:12 pm ((gotcha)) *offers Bevel snacks* hats! ItsyBitsySpyers 8:13 pm *Frenzy darts over to try scrambling on top of Windchill The Couch. Rumble heads over to Prowl and the Boss.* Bevel 8:13 pm *accepts snacks with a quiet thank you* Primus 8:14 pm *Don't mind the fluffy dragon way up high somewhere watching. Haven't figured which muse will come and play* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:14 pm *Noted, not minded.* Windchill 8:14 pm *Feigns a gasp. His lap has been stolen!* boomtank 8:15 pm -settles into a chair nearby- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:15 pm *Oh, a murder? Scoots forward a little.* boomtank 8:17 pm -oh. wow- Windchill 8:17 pm This could be interesting. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:18 pm //A suh-what.// Primus 8:18 pm *Lurkingdonotmindhimoverhere* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:18 pm *You can't get the drop on a telepath, Primus. But he won't call attention to you.* Impact 8:18 pm *squints up at Primus* Windchill 8:19 pm *Doesn't give a damn enough to notice, frankly.* Bevel 8:19 pm *will not mind him at all* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:19 pm [[If he is going to die, what good is holding the secret of a trick?]] Impact 8:19 pm *shrugs* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:20 pm [[It is not a vital matter.]] Windchill 8:20 pm Ego? boomtank 8:20 pm -hello there- Primus 8:20 pm *Hush you* Prowl 8:20 pm *oh, ciphers. prowl's had more than enough of ciphers.* boomtank 8:20 pm -mn....no- Impact 8:21 pm *is honestly getting all these human men's faces and names confused* Windchill 8:21 pm Is this that one...never mind. I think I've heard of it. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:22 pm [[The one what?]] [[The murder hotel movie? Not that one.]] Windchill 8:22 pm If I say anything more I'm either spoiling it or completely wrong. boomtank 8:22 pm -view's better on the ground, not up in the rafters, you know- Primus 8:22 pm *Comfy up here. Away from prying optics; except Impact and Blaster's* Bevel 8:23 pm ...Smeagol. Impact 8:23 pm ! You're right! ItsyBitsySpyers 8:23 pm //That's not Smeagol. Smeagol's all... creepy 'n big-eyed 'n scrap.// Bevel 8:24 pm No! MedicalMurdersaurus 8:24 pm *flops backwards over the sofa* Bevel 8:24 pm That is Gollum. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:24 pm *now rules the sofa* Impact 8:24 pm There's a difference! MedicalMurdersaurus 8:24 pm *upside down birb prince* boomtank 8:24 pm -overhead godding, hmn?- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:24 pm *Rumble flaps his hand* Bevel 8:24 pm *will fight you, Rumble* Primus 8:24 pm *Observing, nothing more* Bevel 8:24 pm @Prowl: How big can Tarantulus get? MedicalMurdersaurus 8:24 pm Why them kill lady? Bevel 8:25 pm Magic? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:25 pm //Magic trick. Gonna see if she gets out.// Windchill 8:25 pm Because she's ugly. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:25 pm Them should shoot. It faster. Impact 8:25 pm The trick is she's gonna be okay! MedicalMurdersaurus 8:25 pm Stab faster too Or REAL drop That not big drop ItsyBitsySpyers 8:25 pm \\...HOW'D SHE--\\ boomtank 8:25 pm -m'kay then- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:25 pm *Frenzy scratches his helm and frowns* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:26 pm Bullet catch? What bullet catch? boomtank 8:26 pm Huh. She got out. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:26 pm Shoot from far enough away, catch any bullet in body keheh Bevel 8:26 pm *laughs* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:26 pm *Rumble snickers* Windchill 8:26 pm *snorts.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:27 pm Them fakers? Not real escaping? Prowl 8:27 pm *blink. Bevel knows Tarantulas?* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:27 pm Boring. boomtank 8:28 pm Ah... Impact 8:28 pm The trick is they gotta make it LOOK real, and be fun to watch! MedicalMurdersaurus 8:28 pm Them should fight for real. That more fun. Easier planning too keheh. Impact 8:29 pm THEY'RE SMOOCHING Windchill 8:30 pm Lame. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:30 pm When they cut someone in half? Bevel 8:30 pm Ugh. Windchill 8:30 pm When you give your boyfriend a name it has to be AWFUL. that's the law. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:30 pm Me Swoop want that part, not talky part ItsyBitsySpyers 8:30 pm [[Why would anyone give their companion an -awful- name?]] Prowl 8:30 pm *well.* @Bevel «I've never seen his maximum size. From his specs—likely over a hundred feet.» MedicalMurdersaurus 8:30 pm Bird :V Him smush bird Windchill 8:31 pm Because...it's funny. Prowl 8:31 pm To prevent drawing the attention an impressive name would have? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:31 pm [[But drawing attention is part of the theater.]] Windchill 8:31 pm Ugh. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm //...Yeah, I ain't tellin' 'Beak about that.// MedicalMurdersaurus 8:32 pm Dead Primus 8:32 pm Very observant kid. Impact 8:32 pm 😨 Bevel 8:32 pm *ok, that's not ninety feet taller but sixty is still... a lot* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:32 pm Where bird????? BIRD bird Her Bird ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm //Not squashed.// MedicalMurdersaurus 8:32 pm Her flat already :> ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm \\PFFF\\ boomtank 8:32 pm ... Windchill 8:32 pm Did you sit on her? MedicalMurdersaurus 8:32 pm NO boomtank 8:32 pm That...was...yikes Windchill 8:33 pm I think you did. Prowl 8:33 pm @Bevel «Why?» Impact 8:33 pm Tricks shouldn't kill birds! MedicalMurdersaurus 8:33 pm Nuh uh Windchill 8:33 pm They shouldn't. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:33 pm Me Swoop nice to Bird Her best friend Windchill 8:33 pm *They're gonna kill a lot more than birds if he's got this right, but he's keeping mum.* I sit on my best friend all of the time. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:34 pm Best friend flat now? keheh Windchill 8:34 pm No, he's too powerful for even my butt. Bevel 8:34 pm @Prowl: Soundwave said I need to stay away from him because he could be dangerous and said he was really big. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:34 pm KEEHEE Primus 8:34 pm *Crosses his arms and puts his helm down on them* Hrmph... MedicalMurdersaurus 8:35 pm *kicks feet in the air* *so much talking, can't even* Impact 8:35 pm *thinks she knows where this is going and is CONCERNED* HE'S DOING THE KNOT DIFFERENT Windchill 8:36 pm *Frowns.* boomtank 8:36 pm Oh no Impact 8:36 pm *covers eyes* boomtank 8:36 pm Ohno Windchill 8:36 pm He didn't kiss her either. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:36 pm Why her keep dropping Go out Jump off stuff More fun Bevel 8:36 pm [[brb i know where this is going and nope MedicalMurdersaurus 8:37 pm ???? Impact 8:37 pm *peeks through fingers* Prowl 8:37 pm ((in the middle of the act is NOT the place to try a new knot)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:37 pm [[Humans cannot breathe water, Swoop. It will kill them.]] boomtank 8:37 pm -whines- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:37 pm *Glance at Blaster* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:37 pm Her pretty dumb, keheh Impact 8:38 pm *sad sound* boomtank 8:38 pm That...no Windchill 8:38 pm *Cups his chin in his hand.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:38 pm Why her in water if Her suck at water? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:38 pm //Punch his fraggin' lights out.// Windchill 8:38 pm *Quietly enraged sound.* Primus 8:39 pm *Vents slowly* Impact 8:39 pm PUNCH HIM Prowl 8:39 pm Is the shouting necessary. boomtank 8:39 pm -settles back down and huffs- Impact 8:40 pm *hides face against Bevel* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:40 pm Soundwave. This movie kill people BORING. When movie do people on fire or explode or melt or something. Bevel 8:40 pm *pats Impact gently* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:40 pm [[It isn't that sort of movie, Swoop.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:40 pm why Windchill 8:40 pm *Ears perk up at the word "fire."* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:41 pm Blank and bullet in hand, duh This trick suck too ItsyBitsySpyers 8:42 pm //What kinda death wish is this? He knows some smartaft's gonna do it 'n he's gonna use it anyway?// boomtank 8:42 pm -glances up at Primus- -you okay up there?- Windchill 8:42 pm *He's got a terrible joke. He was saving it for Whirl, but seeing as Whirl's been a pissypants of late and isn't here, maybe he'll test it out first.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:43 pm *keeps watching upside down, holds his toes and waits for something violent... maybe... if we're lucky* Prowl 8:43 pm @Bevel «... He IS dangerous. But he's not equally dangerous to all people. Why does Soundwave want you to stay away from him?» Primus 8:43 pm *Is all good. Just half interested in this whole thing. Pretty simple acts* Windchill 8:44 pm *Lightly prods at Frenzy if he's still there.* boomtank 8:44 pm -m'kay then. If you say so- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:44 pm *Frenzy is indeed there.* \\SUP?\\ Impact 8:44 pm *still hiding face* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:44 pm Him put a thing ItsyBitsySpyers 8:44 pm //Oh, scrap.// Windchill 8:44 pm Predictable. Anyway. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:45 pm Lame. Shoot finger. Finger, whatever. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:45 pm *Rumble's pretty glad Whirl's not here.* Windchill 8:45 pm *Pokes Frenzy again.* Have you ever been caught on fire? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:45 pm \\OH, YEAH. FRAGGIN' SUCKS. WHY?\\ Windchill 8:45 pm ...I'll bet you looked really hot. Prowl 8:46 pm ... They dragged her out of the tank. Couldn't they have SEEN which knot was tied? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:46 pm \\HA!\\ Impact 8:46 pm *Sits up. Stares at Prowl* That's right! ItsyBitsySpyers 8:46 pm [[Perhaps the swollen rope made it difficult to tell?]] Windchill 8:46 pm More like it's a plot hole, ha. boomtank 8:47 pm They were probably too worried about her than the knots Bevel 8:47 pm @Prowl: Because I am a Shifter. Prowl 8:47 pm Swollen or not, unless earth ropes turn into an identical mush when wet, it should be possible to tell which way the fiber is going. Shockwave 8:47 pm ((Well well well, what are we watching here?)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:47 pm ((yo! The Prestige)) Bevel 8:47 pm Maybe she get the knot almost undone? Shockwave 8:47 pm ((Never heard of it before, but I don't mind jumping in anyways.)) MedicalMurdersaurus 8:47 pm *slowly goes limp and just sliiiiiiiiides off the sofa onto the floor* Primus 8:48 pm The knot was still fairly enough the same when out of the water. Shockwave 8:48 pm *Enters, taking a seat not too far from the screen.* Prowl 8:48 pm *... shifter. that's... yes. he saw that, didn't he? in the documentaries.* @Bevel «Any shape, any face?» MedicalMurdersaurus 8:48 pm Her in a box Everyone in a box Impact 8:48 pm *hides face* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:48 pm Box box box everywhere box ItsyBitsySpyers 8:48 pm *Soundwave nods to Shockwave* Shockwave 8:49 pm *He returns the silent greeting.* Windchill 8:49 pm They simply didn't look at it. either due to an oversight on their part and considering that someone just died, understandable...or the script writers overlooked it as well. boomtank 8:49 pm -hey, Primus have room up there for another?- Bevel 8:49 pm *will keep Impact from seeing anything too terrible* Windchill 8:49 pm This had better not be the bird crushing trick again I swear to god. Impact 8:49 pm *appreciates it* *peek* bird okay? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:50 pm [[It lives.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 8:50 pm Bird get yank keheheh Bevel 8:50 pm Yeah. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:50 pm string Impact 8:50 pm *phew* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:50 pm leg Why them so many bird and box and bird in box Primus 8:51 pm *Why does Blaster want to come up here? Can make more room since he kinda made the rafters anwyay* Windchill 8:51 pm *scratches chin* I suppose it's meant to make the audience feel better about this magician, even though he was just was willing to crush the bird. I don't buy it. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:52 pm Soundwave, where Bird :< boomtank 8:52 pm -new occupants made him say no- ItsyBitsySpyers 8:52 pm {{Resting.}} MedicalMurdersaurus 8:52 pm :> ItsyBitsySpyers 8:53 pm //Well, he ain't workin' no more.// MedicalMurdersaurus 8:53 pm Hi Bird *waves from the floor* Windchill 8:53 pm These guys don't care about the collateral damage. Primus 8:53 pm *Drapes a wing down to the floor, the feathers changing to work as stairs for Blaster. Come on up* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:53 pm *Bird floats downstairs and flops by Swoop.* Impact 8:53 pm Is this movie gonna have a happy ending at all? Bevel 8:54 pm @Prowl: Mostly yeah. boomtank 8:54 pm -moving seats, don't mind him- Prowl 8:54 pm The man who's being stalked and harrassed dies. Windchill 8:54 pm I wouldn't count on it, short stack. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:54 pm *scoops Bird as carefully as possible (for him) and sets her on his chest, for maximum upside down movie watching* Prowl 8:54 pm No. It's not going to have a happy ending. He's going to keep stalking and harassing him until he kills him. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:54 pm *Excellent. A good perch.* Impact 8:54 pm *unhappy wiggles in chair* Windchill 8:54 pm *snorts.* boomtank 8:54 pm -now up in the rafters with Primus- Hi. Prowl 8:55 pm ... Or the other way around. One kills the other. *he can't keep track.* Windchill 8:55 pm They're going to do the crushed bird trick. But with people. Impact 8:55 pm o_o Primus 8:55 pm *Retracts the wing, the bladed feathers resetting so the wing draped over Blaster* Hi. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:55 pm *is cool with the subpar murder in the movie now that he has his bffl* Impact 8:55 pm *hugs Bevel* I think I don't wanna watch the rest. Windchill 8:56 pm Or, that's what I'd bet on. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:56 pm *Soundwave is oddly reminded of that spark field business* Bevel 8:56 pm Good idea, Impact Impact 8:56 pm G'night. *One more hug before scooting off the couch.* boomtank 8:56 pm -has a blanket now too, apparently- Interesting movie, huh? Bevel 8:56 pm Night. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:56 pm [[Goodnight, Impact.]] Windchill 8:57 pm *Waves.* Impact 8:57 pm *Waves at Prowl and Soundwave as she heads out.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:57 pm Ooo Shockwave 8:57 pm *Leaning forward in interest.* Primus 8:57 pm Mhm. Happening over the course of years. Playing with our sense of perspective and timing. MedicalMurdersaurus 8:57 pm Someone electricute :> Shockwave 8:57 pm *He's heard a good bit about this "Nikola Tesla" human.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:57 pm ZAP Windchill 8:58 pm What a fantastic hat. boomtank 8:58 pm It appears so. To hold a grudge that long... Windchill 8:59 pm Oh wait, that's the little girl from the beginning. The one they called an orphan. Shockwave 8:59 pm *...Disappointed that the electricity scene ended so quickly.* Windchill 8:59 pm *Rubs under his eyes.* MedicalMurdersaurus 8:59 pm him in box now Primus 8:59 pm *Shrugs* It happens, Blaster. He did something stupid. They both did. And it cost a beloved's life. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:00 pm everyone box whole world every movie Primus 9:00 pm [Bloody fireworks going off already.] Windchill 9:00 pm A magic Whirl, you guys. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:01 pm *Rumble laughs* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:01 pm kehhehhehhh THAT one good trick boomtank 9:01 pm HAH! Windchill 9:01 pm That's a dangerous stunt to pull in a prison. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:01 pm \\WHAT DO MAGIC WHIRLS DO?\\ MedicalMurdersaurus 9:01 pm oooo Shockwave 9:01 pm *The intrigue, it is back.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:02 pm *Not the bullet catch, that's for sure* Windchill 9:02 pm You know...that's a good question. We'll have to ask him. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:02 pm ((Yes, this is who you think it is)) Shockwave 9:02 pm ((....The Parks and Rec guy?) ((//Tilts head.)) MedicalMurdersaurus 9:03 pm *looks at their collars, touches his own collar* Prowl 9:03 pm @Bevel «Permit me to tell you about Tarantulas from my perspective.» Primus 9:03 pm I do enjoy these little electricity tricks. Windchill 9:03 pm (( It's David Bowie I think. )) ItsyBitsySpyers 9:03 pm ((Windchill gets it)) Bevel 9:03 pm @Prowl: Ok. Shockwave 9:03 pm (( /Oh./)) Bevel 9:03 pm [[Bowie <3 Shockwave 9:03 pm (( Couldn't recognize him without the hair.)) boomtank 9:03 pm They are intersting ItsyBitsySpyers 9:04 pm [[What is 'it'?]] Windchill 9:04 pm I'm not saying ANYTHING. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:05 pm [[Good. That was not a question he actually wanted answered.]] Windchill 9:05 pm Fantastic. I already told you anyway. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:06 pm Why him hit rings? That no trick at all. Jingle jingle. Primus 9:06 pm The rings connect and disconnect. Basic, simple, trick. Nothing more. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:07 pm Boring Windchill 9:07 pm Nice observational skills. Let me guess, Sarah gets offed soon. boomtank 9:08 pm Huh. That makes sense. Windchill 9:09 pm Wow that's almost as bad as one of my jokes. *blinks in mild offense.* Prowl 9:11 pm @Bevel «I adore Tarantulas with all my spark. There are no bounds to my admiration for him. So what I say about him, I don't say out of spite.» boomtank 9:14 pm ....-huffs- MedicalMurdersaurus 9:14 pm That pretty okay trick For hat trick Prowl 9:14 pm @Bevel «But if he finds out what you can do, he will hound you in every way he can—he will sneak into your quarters invisible and infinitesimally small, he will wheedle and manipulate, he will find a way to replace your doctor so he can examine you from the inside.» boomtank 9:14 pm He's obsessed and this is going to end badly Windchill 9:14 pm Of course it is. boomtank 9:15 pm -tugs Primus' feathers closer- Primus 9:15 pm *Looks at Blaster* Hm? boomtank 9:15 pm This is going to end badly for all parties Prowl 9:16 pm @Bevel «And once he's found out everything he can by looking, touching, and asking, he will gut you open and steal the rest of your secrets from your corpse.» MedicalMurdersaurus 9:16 pm *exvents hot air to get nap levels of toasty comfortable* boomtank 9:16 pm More are going to die and yikes Bevel 9:16 pm *her plating clamps down tight at the last bit from Prowl* Primus 9:16 pm Of course. This revolves around two murders. Even if one is accidental. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:17 pm *yaaaaaaaaaawn* Bevel 9:17 pm @Prowl: Thank you for telling me, Prowl. I will, um, I think I will listen to Soundwave. boomtank 9:18 pm Yeah, I know, but good grief can they not? Prowl 9:18 pm @Bevel «... I took it Soundwave told you something similar?» Primus 9:18 pm This will only end in more death with how everyone is acting. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:19 pm *Is fascinated by this particular rivalry* boomtank 9:19 pm -sighs- I know. But still.... Primus 9:20 pm *Shifts and pats* A deep rivalry runs between them. Windchill 9:20 pm Nice. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:20 pm *stretches and flops flat for maximum floor napping* Windchill 9:21 pm Not so nice. But very devious. Bevel 9:21 pm @Prowl: Kinda yeah. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:22 pm [[Clever reputation destruction work.]] Primus 9:23 pm *Lets one wing and arm dangle down. The other holding up his helm* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:24 pm *And he's gone too far, now.* Windchill 9:24 pm *Frowns.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:24 pm *zzzzz* boomtank 9:25 pm -hums- Yeah, they...seriously? You started this because...dude Primus 9:25 pm *Moves his digits, having little dish of jelly treats to land on Swoop's helm for him and bird, if the dinobot wakes up* A deadly rivalry that blinds, Blaster. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:25 pm *does not, is a lump for now* boomtank 9:26 pm Emphasis on the 'deadly' part, huh? Windchill 9:26 pm *Steeples his fingers.* Horse. At least it has horses. Primus 9:28 pm This timeline through the movie is irritating to keep track of, even for me. Windchill 9:28 pm I'm not having any trouble with it. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:28 pm [[It is like the war over again.]] Windchill 9:29 pm *This is said rather smugly, naturally.* boomtank 9:29 pm Yikes...and they are kinda crazy. Many kinds of crazy. Primus 9:29 pm So you can plainly explain every little detail then? As to the truth when it gets revealed to everyone else? Windchill 9:30 pm They haven't revealed everything yet, so no. Windchill 9:31 pm But that doesn't make the timeline confusing. boomtank 9:32 pm -prods- I still don't get all of this. Or any of it. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:32 pm *smells the jelly treats enough to take a sleepy peak at them* Primus 9:33 pm The movie is having fun sliding between the present and the past. Switching between the characters and weaving an entwined tale. And murder. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:34 pm *half awake stare at jellies* boomtank 9:34 pm I am still so confused ItsyBitsySpyers 9:35 pm ((key to his dairy lmao)) Windchill 9:35 pm *snorts.* Here we go. boomtank 9:36 pm Ohno MedicalMurdersaurus 9:36 pm *sleepy pats at the jelly* Windchill 9:36 pm Oh my god. Shockwave 9:36 pm //Intrigued. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:36 pm *Soundwave leans back on the couch. Firs tthe bird, now a cat. He's not thrilled with this.* Primus 9:37 pm *Twitches a talon so one jelly "floats" above Swoop's mouth* Windchill 9:37 pm There are now two cats, right? boomtank 9:37 pm What the... ItsyBitsySpyers 9:37 pm [[...Primus.]] MedicalMurdersaurus 9:37 pm *crosseyed look at the jelly* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:37 pm *Er. Sorry.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:37 pm ?? Bevel 9:38 pm ...he made doubles? boomtank 9:38 pm He...duplicated....EVERYTHING Primus 9:38 pm *Jelly plops* Prowl 9:38 pm ... It's a trick. Windchill 9:38 pm Those cats need homes. Prowl 9:38 pm He bought a bunch of hats and dumped them in the backyard. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:39 pm [[Hm. It would not be so difficult to find another feline as well. He has seen them roaming Earth streets in numbers.]] Windchill 9:39 pm That would hardly make for an interesting story. *sneers.* Prowl 9:39 pm I can't even tell the two main characters apart; it wouldn't be hard to find two similarly identical cats. Primus 9:39 pm *Watches the group talk about this* Bevel 9:39 pm Too many tricks. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:40 pm *catches the jelly between two clawtips* Primus 9:40 pm Not everything is a "trick." ItsyBitsySpyers 9:40 pm [[It should be easier to tell them apart now that he will be leaving his missing fingers out.]] Shockwave 9:40 pm ((Ah, I must bid adieu for the night. It was nice to stop in.)) ItsyBitsySpyers 9:40 pm ((night!)) Bevel 9:40 pm [[night boomtank 9:40 pm ((g'night! Primus 9:40 pm *Jelly wiggles then plays dead* Windchill 9:40 pm She's almost as bad as they are. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:41 pm *is the conquering hero, defeated the jelly* boomtank 9:41 pm -leans over on Primus- What is going oooon? MedicalMurdersaurus 9:41 pm *cuts it in half with his talons, sets one half on bird and eats the other* Prowl 9:41 pm ... Tesla burned down his own house and ran away with the money. *that's his theory* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:42 pm *could just eat only half the jellies, does not even consider this, kills them one at a time and leaves half on Bird's wings* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:43 pm *Bird lazily picks them up in her feelers and munches them* Primus 9:43 pm *Pats Blaster* Nothing good. Windchill 9:43 pm *Leans forward, but not enough to crush Frenzy.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:44 pm \\HEY, WHAT--\\ Windchill 9:44 pm Check out my underboob. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:44 pm \\WHY DO I WANNA DO THAT?\\ Windchill 9:45 pm Because they're amazing. Anyway. Seems to me that Angier framed Alfred for his death to be rid of him. boomtank 9:45 pm -leans more- I...I can tell... Bevel 9:45 pm I think the double died in the beginning. Primus 9:46 pm *Pats Blaster* Prowl 9:46 pm ... It appears possible. Windchill 9:46 pm When Angier has been duplicating himself. Though from a narrative standpoint. I'm going to guess the doubles are who survive. Not the original Angier. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:47 pm \\YEAH, ALL RIGHT.\\ Gonna. Get himself a look? Frenzy supposes? Not that he can see much but chest? boomtank 9:47 pm ........... Prowl 9:47 pm I dislike that possibility. I'd prefer the trick to actually be a trick, even unexplained. Bevel 9:47 pm *really glad Impact left now* boomtank 9:47 pm -buries face- Windchill 9:47 pm It would mirror the birds in the beginning, where the original dies. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:47 pm Bird Prowl 9:47 pm Rather than... movie fantasy. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:48 pm You better at bird than aaaaaaaaaaaaall movie birds Primus 9:48 pm *Small chuff* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:48 pm {{Of course. Bird is best bird.}} Windchill 9:48 pm *Presses his underboob closer just in case Frenzy missed it the first time.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:48 pm *What? What is it?* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:49 pm You Bird do magic? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:49 pm {{Yes! Here, here, you bring Bird snack plate. Go, get.}} boomtank 9:50 pm -still hiding face, nope- MedicalMurdersaurus 9:50 pm Get...? *sleepy blinks* Windchill 9:50 pm *Sits up now. Boob time is over.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:51 pm Ok Windchill 9:51 pm Gross. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:51 pm {{Yes, yes! New snack plate. You bring.}} MedicalMurdersaurus 9:51 pm Where is ItsyBitsySpyers 9:51 pm *Lazy point with feeler to bar covered in snack offerings* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:51 pm Ok Windchill 9:52 pm Well, that's true. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:52 pm *sets Bird on the sofa, literally rolls up onto his feet, and retrieves the snacks* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:53 pm *Give, give* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:54 pm *grabs as much as he can, then toddles back to sit on the floor in front of the sofa* Primus 9:54 pm *Shifts to stretch himself out before flopping back down with Blaster* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:54 pm *Grabs the plate in feelers and holds it close.* {{Swoop ready see Bird making plate disappear? Eh?}} boomtank 9:54 pm -peers out to watch- -after getting flopped on- MedicalMurdersaurus 9:55 pm *thinks he knows this trick* yah, keehee Do ItsyBitsySpyers 9:55 pm *NYOOM up the staircase she goes, laughing all the way* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:55 pm :V Primus 9:55 pm Heh... MedicalMurdersaurus 9:55 pm *thought she was sleepy??? where did that come from???* ..... boomtank 9:55 pm Wow... ItsyBitsySpyers 9:55 pm *Misdirection, dear minion.* MedicalMurdersaurus 9:55 pm *welp* Windchill 9:56 pm He's drowning under the stage, is what. Primus 9:56 pm Never underestimate her, Swoop. MedicalMurdersaurus 9:56 pm *rockets after Bird*KEHHEHHEHHE Prowl 9:56 pm ... So he didn't kill him. He never even attempted to kill him. Windchill 9:56 pm *Already said that.* Did they explain how Freddie here's trick worked when I wasn't paying attention? Prowl 9:57 pm *u never said "he never even attempted to kill him," fuck off* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:57 pm [[No, not yet.]] Prowl 9:57 pm He happened to be there to witness one of the doubles committing suicide. He was lured in to be framed. Windchill 9:58 pm It might be irrelevant at this point. We'll see. *Already said that.* *Windchill stop thinking like a butthead.* Prowl 9:58 pm *doesn't count if the mun didn't see it woop woop* Primus 9:58 pm We now see things come partly "full circle," heh. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:59 pm [[This is taking the crushing of birds a bit far.]] Primus 9:59 pm Familiar scenario Windchill 10:00 pm Crushing the birds was too far in the first place, if you asked me. Primus 10:00 pm Back then, what did they care? They used canaries for mines. Windchill 10:00 pm Some did, they illustrated that. If nobody cared they'd still be doing it today. boomtank 10:01 pm -puffs- Many kinds of crazy... Prowl 10:01 pm *who commits suicide a hundred times just to spite one guy* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:01 pm *...................Ah.* Windchill 10:02 pm *Tries to not look smug.* Bevel 10:02 pm *oh hey she was right* Windchill 10:02 pm She was already in the middle of that, asshole. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:02 pm *He sees something. Not Caldlow.* Windchill 10:04 pm I guess we get to see how this ends now. Horribly, I'm sure. Prowl 10:07 pm *chinhands* Maybe Fallon is a duplicate too. Of the other guy. "Today I love you, today I don't love you." He instructed someone to take his daughter to the zoo—which he promised to do himself—and to convince Sarah he loves her He has a mysterious past. We really know nothing about him as a character. boomtank 10:08 pm -watching closely now- Windchill 10:08 pm Hmm. Prowl 10:08 pm I think they switch off. Maybe they're twins. Primus 10:09 pm The little boy knew the trick. Bevel 10:09 pm *trying to follow this* Prowl 10:09 pm Brothers. ... When she said "the wound's bleeding like it's fresh." ItsyBitsySpyers 10:09 pm *Soundwave looks over at Prowl admiringly. A little later than himself, but then, he's surrounded by twins.* Prowl 10:09 pm That's when Fallon cut his fingers off. Windchill 10:10 pm Nice. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:11 pm [[She said he had the prosthetics.]] *Gestures to screen.* Prowl 10:12 pm That's why he didn't know the knot he tied. boomtank 10:12 pm -wild gestures at screen- Primus 10:12 pm All the little things. Windchill 10:12 pm Yeah, that explains everything pretty neatly I think. boomtank 10:12 pm -nearly ove-balances- EEP! Primus 10:13 pm *Grabs Blaster* boomtank 10:13 pm -clings to- H-hey. Windchill 10:14 pm Just die already, we know. Primus 10:14 pm Don't go falling. You wanted to join me up here. Bevel 10:14 pm ...so he did duplicate himself? boomtank 10:14 pm Yup Kinda...overestimated things? Primus 10:15 pm Mhm boomtank 10:15 pm So...uh...pull me up? Primus 10:16 pm *Sets back down onto the floor instead, since the movie was about over* boomtank 10:16 pm Thanks Prowl 10:16 pm *mutters* I hope this is the one that loves the child. Windchill 10:17 pm I think they both did. boomtank 10:17 pm ...That was interesting Windchill 10:18 pm That was bloody awful. Primus 10:18 pm *Hangs upside down, his knees hooked on the rafter* Heh. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:18 pm [[It was fascinating.]] boomtank 10:18 pm -tugs at- Primus 10:18 pm Left you small clues, and one big one, throughout the movie Windchill 10:19 pm Fascinating and awful. MedicalMurdersaurus 10:19 pm ((Swoop is happy upstairs eating a small percentage of the treats that Bird lets him. Imma head out. Night!)) ItsyBitsySpyers 10:19 pm ((Byeee!)) boomtank 10:19 pm ((g'night! Windchill 10:19 pm It was well written. Prowl 10:19 pm In a story about the mundane, easily-explainable workings behind tricks that only look like magic to the uneducated, Windchill 10:19 pm (( Bye! )) Bevel 10:19 pm *still not sure she followed all of that but hey the little girl is gonna be happy so good ending?* Prowl 10:19 pm they had to resort to actual "magic" to make one of the tricks work. Primus 10:20 pm Magic is still unexplained science Windchill 10:20 pm I don't think that's what it was about. Prowl 10:20 pm I don't care that they call it "science." Insufficiently understood science is indistinguishable from magic, and they did not make it sufficiently understood. Windchill 10:20 pm It was about obsession and sacrifice. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:20 pm [[Of course they didn't. Magicians don't reveal secrets.]] Windchill 10:20 pm The magic was just a vehicle for that story. Prowl 10:21 pm Every other secret in the movie was revealed. That's a flimsy argument. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:21 pm [[No, it isn't. They did say at the beginning, no matter how much they beg and plead, you leave them wanting to know one thing.]] [[He told the boy with the coin that.]] Windchill 10:22 pm The audience is supposed to know it's pretend "science," so I disagree. I feel it is irrelevant to the story how well the science holds up in the real world. Prowl 10:22 pm And it was about obsession and sacrifice within a setting of magic-appearing-but-factually-mundane tricks. Introducing an actual bit of "magic" that breaks the laws of science as it's known to humans breaks the limits established by their own story. Windchill 10:22 pm If you're capable of any suspension of disbelief, it works. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:22 pm [[It is supposed to be a 'wonder'.]] Prowl 10:23 pm It's no different than setting up a movie as a murder mystery and then revealing in the last fifteen minutes that it was supernatural all along. Bevel 10:23 pm [[mun agrees with Prowl Prowl 10:23 pm If that's not there from the beginning, then they're defying their own genre. Windchill 10:23 pm If you think using the fake science breaks the rules of the story, that's fair. Prowl 10:23 pm Within the first act or so of a movie, it makes a contract with the viewer about WHICH disbelief you are expected to suspend. Windchill 10:24 pm I don't recall. Primus 10:24 pm Like mass shifting not existing only to have it happen later for a Cube. [Ooh sweet, that's on netflix? ouo Bevel 10:25 pm I wish I could mass shift. Prowl 10:25 pm And the contract this movie made at the beginning was that they would reveal their secrets—or if not reveal them, assure the audience that there ARE secrets to be revealed. Not science-slash-magic. Bevel 10:25 pm *not really following the conversation can you tell* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:25 pm ((NETFLIX CAN YOU STOP BEING WEIRD)) Windchill 10:25 pm I just don't believe that's what the story is about and so I am okay with letting it slide. Prowl 10:26 pm Hm. Windchill 10:26 pm I think the audience was supposed to take the, *he uses the quote fingers* "he duplicated himself with magic!" reveal as the big secret. Prowl 10:26 pm They may indeed have been shooting for what you said—or who said it? One of you said it's supposed to be a "piece of wonder." Primus 10:27 pm *Lets go of the rafters to casually turn mid-air to land o his pedes* This is amusing to listen to. Prowl 10:27 pm If that's what they were shooting for—it's dumb and they shouldn't have. Windchill 10:27 pm Not how the magic worked, because the audience wouldn't understand that. Humans haven't actually accomplished that in science, so they can't explain it in the film with real science. That's the flaw. They could have come up with a different plot that didn't rely on pretend science. Prowl 10:28 pm Humans are capable of creating convincing-looking fake science. Yes—they could have. They SHOULD have. Windchill 10:28 pm I have to disagree there. It's just a story, so I don't much care. Bevel 10:29 pm What happened to the drunk guy that the one magician was using for his double? Did he just go away? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:29 pm [[Paid well and moved on, he assumes.]] Windchill 10:29 pm ...I think so? Prowl 10:29 pm I don't care beyond the fact that the resolution didn't satisfy me. Bevel 10:29 pm They should have used him instead of the weird science/magic. Windchill 10:29 pm They didn't show it that I remember. Mind, my memory can be spotty. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:29 pm [[He will try to find a more satisfying film for the next week, then.]] Windchill 10:30 pm *shrugs.* I enjoyed it, the awful bird and wife killing aside. Bevel 10:30 pm Something Impact can watch? Prowl 10:30 pm They needed something to one-up the twins living their entire lives sharing half a life. A hired actor isn't adequate for that task. Primus 10:30 pm *Has a suggestion since he hasn't been around. Probably not a too child-friendly one* Windchill 10:30 pm *Maybe he just has lower standards, but he doesn't care about that either.* Prowl 10:31 pm Obviously, she escaped before the box was even lifted. Windchill 10:31 pm *Points* Tiger. Prowl 10:31 pm Otherwise they would have closed the curtain in mid-air to make it more impressive. Tiger. Windchill 10:32 pm Like me, tigers are easily distracted by food it seems. Bevel 10:32 pm Pretty. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:32 pm //I gotta try this with Ravage.// *From behind the bar:* =Do and die.= Bevel 10:32 pm I do not think that would wor--yeah ItsyBitsySpyers 10:32 pm //ONYX IN THE PIT!// boomtank 10:32 pm ((girl has balls)) Prowl 10:32 pm Hm. If THAT'S how they do it, then why DON'T they close the curtain in midair? That would prove that she doesn't escape through a trap door. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:33 pm [[In case the tiger knocks the door down early, he supposes.]] [[One must account for accidents.]] Primus 10:34 pm They do practice this often, or why else would the tiger be so good about being trapped. boomtank 10:34 pm Food? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:34 pm [[He practiced his work often. Jazz still managed to interfere on occasion. Regrettably.]] Bevel 10:35 pm Ha ItsyBitsySpyers 10:36 pm //Yer kiddin'. It's that easy?// Prowl 10:36 pm Pff. Primus 10:36 pm When you've got only one view for the audience? Yes. Windchill 10:36 pm Seems like it would be a pretty boring job. Prowl 10:37 pm I was going to guess a trap door. I just thought it was on the bottom. Windchill 10:37 pm You spend a lot of time waiting and hiding. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:37 pm *Amused.* [[You like trap doors.]] Prowl 10:37 pm Magicians like trap doors. Both tricks have used them so far. The first one used TWO doors. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:38 pm [[Fair, fair.]] Windchill 10:39 pm Who knows how many weapons you could hide, in a dress like that. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:40 pm [[Hmph. Only for humans.]] Prowl 10:40 pm ... Is that what that's supposed to look like? Hypnosis? Primus 10:40 pm Only for this illusion. Prowl 10:40 pm It just looked to me like she was being cooperative. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:40 pm \\SUBSPACE'S BETTER'N HUMAN CLOTH.\\ Bevel 10:40 pm He did not move it all the way around her. :| ItsyBitsySpyers 10:40 pm [[It is an act, of course.]] Primus 10:40 pm Good note. Prowl 10:40 pm ... Forklift. Windchill 10:40 pm I have no idea what human hypnosis looks like. Prowl 10:41 pm Hah. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:41 pm [[The humans cannot hear the forklift?]] Primus 10:41 pm There is usually loud music playing Prowl 10:41 pm Loud music? Bevel 10:41 pm See! ItsyBitsySpyers 10:41 pm [[Ah. To cover the machine's noise.]] Primus 10:41 pm Music is a key trick. Windchill 10:42 pm *Snorts.* boomtank 10:42 pm -snickers- Windchill 10:43 pm That mask is hilarious. Prowl 10:43 pm *straightjacket. asylum.* Windchill 10:43 pm I'm not even sure that I can explain why. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:43 pm *Pit. He hopes Prowl won't have a panic.* Prowl 10:43 pm *freezes his avatar a second so he can shudder without it showing.* *there. nobody saw a thing.* Primus 10:44 pm *Small snort* Prowl 10:44 pm ... Did one duck behind the box for a moment? That would give them a chance to switch. Like the lantern. Primus 10:45 pm Observant as ever, Prowl. Bevel 10:45 pm That was a really good catch. boomtank 10:46 pm Cool Primus 10:47 pm *And it really is "straitjacket"* Windchill 10:48 pm Right in the groin. Prowl 10:48 pm .... Hm. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:48 pm //Minicons!// Prowl 10:48 pm Does she stand at the back of the box? Is it longer than it lo—? Bevel 10:48 pm Maybe she is really flexible? Primus 10:48 pm *Looks at Prowl and smiles. Waiting for him to see* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:48 pm \\YOU DUMB-AFT. HUMANS DON'T TRANSFORM INTO JUS' HANDS.\\ Prowl 10:49 pm ... Is she standing to the SIDE of it and leaning over? Hah. Primus 10:50 pm Good, Prowl. You're catching every trick so far. Aside from the tiger. Windchill 10:50 pm Then she just moves her arm? Bevel 10:50 pm That looks uncomfortable. Prowl 10:50 pm Not the— yes. The tiger. Windchill 10:51 pm They're kind of the same after a certain point, just dressed up differently. *He fakes a yawn, getting bored.* Prowl 10:51 pm *sits forward.* I actually have no idea how this one is done, unless it's just tiny gaps you can't see unless the rings shove through them. Bevel 10:52 pm Cool. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:53 pm //If that's a real crate, I'm Prime.// Windchill 10:53 pm Her butt is so shiny. Prowl 10:53 pm Show us the bottom of the crate. Bevel 10:53 pm I want to see how they make elephants disappear. Windchill 10:53 pm Please don't be a Prime, I don't like them. Primus 10:53 pm That will probably be the final trick to keep us hooked. Prowl 10:55 pm Was the bottom of the bag open? Primus 10:55 pm *Looks at Prowl* Prowl 10:55 pm *nods* Primus 10:56 pm Getting better, Prowl. boomtank 10:56 pm ....so it was a real crate? Windchill 10:56 pm Well, it's a good thing I never planned on going to any human magic shows. Except for the extra hole for the rope, yes. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:57 pm //Don't you be callin' me no Prime. That was a trick crate.// Windchill 10:57 pm The hole counts as a modification. boomtank 10:57 pm -snorts- ItsyBitsySpyers 10:57 pm [[He said 'look' like she can't move.]] Primus 10:57 pm *Chuckles* You already had a Matrix anyway. It was turned into a cape and crown for Zoi. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:57 pm [[One side is loose.]] Prowl 10:58 pm The closed door gives her time to pull up her feet. Windchill 10:58 pm There's no blood, I'm not convinced. They could have at least faked that. Primus 10:58 pm They used to have feet sticking out of the other side for the illusion Bevel 10:58 pm Is this like the other box trick? Prowl 10:59 pm That's why both blades are there. So you can't see that the other box is empty. Primus 10:59 pm Mhm Thin assistants are always key ItsyBitsySpyers 10:59 pm //Heh. Guess if the DJin' thing ever dies you could do magic, Boss.// Prowl 10:59 pm ... If the feet on the other end are fake, how do they show her getting into place? Do they not show her being shackled in those cases? Does she just come already in the box? Primus 11:00 pm We don't see the inside of the box when it goes down Prowl 11:00 pm No, but it said that sometimes feet stick out. Fake feet. Primus 11:01 pm Shame we don't see that Bevel 11:01 pm Maybe she pushes them out when she gets in. Prowl 11:01 pm For fake feet to be sticking out the other end, they can't show her getting INTO her restraints, or else we'd see those fake feet at the same time. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:01 pm [[So show her sliding in through one end only.]] [[If they're remote control, they can be moved up and out.]] Bevel 11:01 pm Hidden pocket. Windchill 11:01 pm *Stretches.* That's enough for me. I usually refuel on Mondays and it's about time I did that. Prowl 11:01 pm Hmm. Something like that. In any case, they can't show the whole body as they do with this trick. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:02 pm [[Farewell, Windchill.]] Windchill 11:02 pm *Frowns a little. Cute bunny, he still doesn't approve of putting it in a hanging bag.* Prowl 11:03 pm ... *mumbles* I was going to guess a trap door. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:03 pm *Tiny huff.* Primus 11:03 pm Not everything is a trap door, Prowl. *Chuckles* Windchill 11:03 pm *Makes a shooing motion with his hand, unless Frenzy wants to come home with him he'll have to move.* Prowl 11:03 pm *tiny self-deprecating smirk* Bevel 11:03 pm More flexible assistants. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:03 pm \\I'M MOVIN', I'M MOVIN'!\\ *He's totally watching the screen as he tries to get down. BAM to the floor* Prowl 11:04 pm ... They're all at angles. She could be at the bottom. ... Except that one. Primus 11:04 pm Humans are very flexible, Prowl. Windchill 11:04 pm Shoo, shoo!...don't hurt yourself, jeeze. Prowl 11:04 pm She could be at the bottom AND forming a ring around that sword in the middle. boomtank 11:04 pm Flexible is an understatement Prowl 11:04 pm ... Orrrrr a trap door into the table. Windchill 11:04 pm Hollow bottom? Prowl 11:05 pm But I'm betting she sits in the bottom in a ring. Windchill 11:05 pm *Wait a second, he doesn't care, he's LEAVING.* Primus 11:05 pm *Snickers* Bevel 11:05 pm That is a really big basket. Prowl 11:05 pm He could still step into the basket, just in the middle of the ring. Primus 11:06 pm Mhm Windchill 11:06 pm *He actually gets off his butt, and shakes himself.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:06 pm [[He sees. The small entry hole helps them forget how wide the basket itself is.]] Windchill 11:06 pm Bye, suckeeeeers. Have fun with your not-magic show. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:07 pm \\SEEYA!\\ *From the floor wave* Prowl 11:07 pm I wonder how the assistants conceal defensive wounds. Windchill 11:07 pm *Sticks his tongue out towards the floor, and Frenzy.* Bevel 11:07 pm Big red handkerchief. Prowl 11:07 pm Pff. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:08 pm =Eat it.= Bevel 11:08 pm *yes excellent elephant* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:08 pm [[That is not a valid guess.]] Windchill 11:08 pm *POINTS.* Elephant. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:08 pm //They already got a tiger, don't they?// Prowl 11:08 pm Hold on, we haven't seen the trick yet. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:08 pm *Soundwave gently rubs his crest. Primus.* Prowl 11:08 pm There's still time to incorporate a fork. Bevel 11:08 pm Trapdoor. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:08 pm *Huffs despite himself* Primus 11:08 pm *Glances at Prowl* ? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:09 pm *At both of them* Windchill 11:09 pm *And now he leaves.* Bevel 11:09 pm Distraction! Prowl 11:09 pm So the magician could lose his job for helping reveal these tricks. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:09 pm [[Yes. That was what the host said at the start.]] Bevel 11:10 pm ... Prowl 11:10 pm What about all the assistants? Are their jobs endangered? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:10 pm [[And yet he did it three more times. He is interested in seeing the others.]] Prowl 11:10 pm Their faces aren't hidden. Bevel 11:10 pm Oh! Mirrors. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:10 pm [[Perhaps they no longer wished to work?]] Prowl 11:10 pm That many? Bevel 11:11 pm That is awesome. Prowl 11:11 pm And why not find a magician who no longer wished to work? Primus 11:11 pm It is more amusing outdoors This is all stage displays ItsyBitsySpyers 11:11 pm [[...Hm. Good point.]] Prowl 11:12 pm ... "Smoke and mirrors." Is this trick where the phrase is from? Primus 11:12 pm An old term for these sorts of tricks. Slight of hand and all distractions. Prowl 11:13 pm ......... Only one? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:13 pm [[...Only one what?]] Prowl 11:13 pm Episode? Bevel 11:13 pm Lots of distractions. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:13 pm [[No. There are three more.]] Pause. [[Would you like to see them next week?]] Prowl 11:13 pm I wouldn't be opposed. Bevel 11:13 pm I bet building stuff for magic tricks would be fun. Like a puzzle box but you put someone inside it. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:14 pm [[Good. He did enjoy hearing you - and Bevel - pull them apart.]] Primus 11:15 pm [fhslfJUMANJIno *Approves of spiders* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:15 pm *So does Prowl.* Prowl 11:16 pm *ONLY ONE* *... wonders if Tarantulas can jump like that* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:16 pm [[Please do not put mechs in puzzle boxes. Unless they want to be in one.]] Primus 11:16 pm *Likes wild spiders* Prowl 11:16 pm Assistants only. Primus 11:16 pm *Has he shown Soundwave the christmas spiders?* Bevel 11:16 pm *laughs* Prowl 11:16 pm Pff. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:16 pm *Prowl's sense of humor is really out tonight* Bevel 11:16 pm Can I borrow Rumble? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:17 pm //...Yeah, sure. Don't sword me tho.// Prowl 11:17 pm *it's been suppressed too long* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:17 pm [[...Oh. He's done this.]] [[...He didn't eat the mech, of course.]] Prowl 11:18 pm ... Feelers? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:18 pm *Nods.* Bevel 11:18 pm Aw, ok. No swords. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:18 pm [[If you wish a demonstration...?]] Prowl 11:19 pm ... If I say yes, are you going to randomly snatch me up from my worksite someday? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:19 pm [[...Would you like him to?]] Primus 11:19 pm [Snek, I did show you the christmas spiders somepoint, ye? Iremembernot ItsyBitsySpyers 11:19 pm ((i think you did! but someone in here is afraid of spiders so i must limit to one XD )) Primus 11:20 pm [Hokay. Lil precious babs [I htink there was a rattlesnake version boomtank 11:20 pm -oh, cool these things- Prowl 11:20 pm No, I have easier ways to take breaks. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:20 pm *Can't hold it in now. Actively trembling.* [[Then he will limit it to here.]] Prowl 11:21 pm *small smile. that's what he was hoping for.* ... I wouldn't mind seeing under more controlled circumstances. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:22 pm [[Something to discuss... later.]] *Look at these clever cephalopods. Ahh.* Primus 11:22 pm *chuckles* boomtank 11:23 pm That was cool Primus 11:24 pm Ah. The nautilus. boomtank 11:24 pm The what? Bevel 11:25 pm Oh it changed colors! ItsyBitsySpyers 11:25 pm [[Another cephalopod. A shelled one with many, many more limbs. It cannot see where it is going.]] [[Which is rather entertaining to watch.]] boomtank 11:25 pm Ooooh Primus 11:25 pm Go high and just roll ItsyBitsySpyers 11:27 pm *Soundwave folds his hands and waits.* Prowl 11:27 pm ... What makes it sarcastic? Primus 11:27 pm The names humans give the animals. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:27 pm *This is the OTHER ocean creature that entertains him.* Bevel 11:27 pm Mouth ItsyBitsySpyers 11:27 pm [[Perhaps it's going to give the octopus a telling off.]] Bevel 11:28 pm *kind of in love with the octopus changing colors* *laughs* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:29 pm *Rumble wheezes* Primus 11:29 pm *Snerk* boomtank 11:29 pm wow Prowl 11:29 pm *snk.* *they're just kites with mouths and tails* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:30 pm ((the temptation to play let's go fly a kite is strong)) boomtank 11:30 pm ((well...it fits? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:31 pm *Soundwave stretches his knees to the point of completely straightening them. One of them clicks. Ahhh. Much better.* [[He believes that will be all the videos for the evening.]] Prowl 11:31 pm *... watches* Primus 11:32 pm This was quite... entertaining. I'm glad I stopped in tonight. Bevel 11:32 pm I liked the octopus better than the mouth fish. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:33 pm [[As is he.] *Looks up* [[You are welcome whenever you wish, of course.]] [[And that is only natural. Octopuses are superior creatures.]] Primus 11:33 pm I'd... like to be "around" more, but things have been keeping me a little preoccupied as of late. [Like suddenly working 9 hours and standing for 8 of them. [WHICH. BLASTER, we need to sleep. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:34 pm [[Oh?]] Sits up. [[Not something too dangerous, he hopes.]] ((oh gosh, rest!)) Primus 11:34 pm Fortunately not. Just tiring. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:34 pm *Relaxes again. Good.* boomtank 11:34 pm ((WHOOPS Primus 11:34 pm [To be up and deal with repetitive questions. [sdfghjkl boomtank 11:35 pm ((I will sleep when I WANNA Primus 11:35 pm [Blaster I will throw a bottle at you. AND IT WILL NOT BE EMPTY boomtank 11:35 pm ((frick Well, it was nice to have you join tonight Prowl 11:36 pm *oh. he's been here all night and he hasn't taken time to greet the God Of Their World And Creator Of Their Species yet, has he* *... vague nod at primus. hi.* Primus 11:36 pm *Hi to you too Prowl* Primus 11:38 pm *Really does need to finish one of many conversations. For now, he must slide on out* Bevel 11:38 pm *sadly Bevel fails to realize the new bot is anyone she ought to know* Prowl 11:39 pm *it's okay bevel. it took prowl like three movie nights.* *he had to start an earthquake for prowl to get it.* Primus 11:39 pm [And for me to get buggered because "YESWEARECLOSING" "YESITSUCKS" and "SEPTEMBERISWHENWECLOSE" [fjksk and don't feel too bad bevel boomtank 11:39 pm -Blaster is going to wave, and follow Primus on out- ItsyBitsySpyers 11:39 pm *Soundwave lifts a feeler goodbye to both Blaster and Primus.* boomtank 11:39 pm ((because mun doesn't want to be pegged with a half full soda bottle Bevel 11:40 pm *bevel's inability to not recognize someone she called grandfather at one point is probably a little sad tho* [[night to both of you Primus 11:40 pm [night you guys, perhaps next monday I shall be back for another of this ItsyBitsySpyers 11:41 pm ((YAY)) Primus 11:41 pm [I really wanna see you guys react to a certain french animated mvoie [Blaster knows it boomtank 11:41 pm ((yup! And g'night! ((and I swear to god, if you suggest what I think you did Primus 11:41 pm [ :3 ItsyBitsySpyers 11:41 pm ((throw me it in an ask next chance)) boomtank 11:41 pm ((DEATH Primus 11:42 pm [IZZAGUD [it is a musical boomtank 11:42 pm ((I know where you SLEEP Prowl 11:42 pm ((is it the giant singing bug one)) ((that's the only french animated musical i know)) Primus 11:42 pm [I wanna see this, but, no [Different one [okay sleeps for us both before I get too buggered to work boomtank 11:43 pm ((away with you Primus 11:43 pm [ngiht, officially, guys <3 boomtank 11:44 pm ((g'night! ItsyBitsySpyers 11:46 pm @Bevel : [[He assumes you took his advice at some point tonight?]] Bevel 11:48 pm *jerks a little, was kind of hoping the whole topic would just... not get brought up again. avoidance thy name is Bevel* @Soundwave: Yeah. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:48 pm *Nods at her.* @Bevel : [[Good. Try to choose your company more wisely in the future. Ratchet has been stressed enough.]] Bevel 11:50 pm @Soundwave: Ratchet has more important stuff to do than stress about my company. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:51 pm *Nod.* Bevel 11:52 pm *not sure if Soundwave's assurance of that point made her feel better or worse but she'll nod back anyway* Bevel 11:53 pm *she'll also be leaving now* *bids the room goodnight because mun forgot which minis around still around and that might take a while* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:54 pm *Rumble and Frenzy wave. Ravage doesn't really move because he's lazy.* Prowl 11:55 pm *vague nod* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:55 pm *...Test. Stretches leg again.* Prowl 11:55 pm *... watches again.* *just. casually. side-eyeing.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:57 pm *Hmm. Stretches arms up?* Prowl 11:57 pm *it's not quite as intense a watch, but watches that too* Yesterday ItsyBitsySpyers 11:59 pm (txt): Leg interest, Prowl's: always suspected. Confirmation: amusing, noted. Prowl 12:00 am *huff* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:01 am *Tilts his helm to one side and then the other. Thinking. Probably planning something.* (txt): Question: Prowl staying, leaving? Prowl 12:01 am The construction is—different. It's... interesting to watch in motion. ... I don't know. ItsyBitsySpyers 12:02 am *Soundwave's right hand taps the other one two times. He then settles on his thought.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:04 am *The spines on his back retract, he turns, and swings his legs over Prowl's lap and that side of the seat, settling in for a rest.* (txt): Construction within easier view now. Side glances: unnecessary. Obvious personal suggestion: Prowl stays. Prowl 12:05 am *oh.* *there are legs in his lap.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:06 am *It would seem so.* Prowl 12:07 am *kind of, sits up and holds his hands up. not sure where he should set them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:10 am (txt): Prowl's hands not bitten. *Will reach out and gently nudge one down to about that knee/lower thigh spot with a skinny finger, if allowed.* (txt): This, not hold-up. Raised arms: unnecessary. Soundwave: comfortable. Find own. Prowl 12:11 am *ah. yes. good. that's where he wanted to put it.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:13 am *Good, good. ... Wonders if Prowl will let him nudge the other hand as well.* Prowl 12:13 am *no need. lowers his other hand to a shin, then slides it up until Prowl's hands meet in the middle, to explore Soundwave's unusual joints.* Prowl 12:14 am *laying his hands there limply is one thing; is exploration okay? he moves his hands hesitantly, his touches featherlight.* *too light for himself to actually feel anything beyond the fact that resistance is stopping his fingers from moving further; he's using them more as a guide for his eyes.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:17 am *Well, he was gonna move it over to the top of Prowl's head to see what happened, but that's fine too. A small wiggle and both joint guards sort of - flip forward a little to make more room for poking fingers. Yes, he'd say it's okay.* Prowl 12:20 am *then he'll continue his explorations, his touches a little more solid, bending lower to study Soundwave more closely.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:25 am *They're not unlike the ones in his elbows, to be honest. Round and thin, though perhaps not quite as much, with the same circular light on the sides and a small stripe on both front and back. Unusual isn't the half of it. They allow for more movement up and down than Soundwave usually relies on, and if Prowl looks on the inside of the knee guards, there's lights there too.* Prowl 12:27 am *he's definitely poking under the knee guards. he'll happily explore those lights, as well as any other joints, hinges, struts, and other parts, mobile or immobile, he may come across.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:30 am (txt): This, always partially possessed. Written through a low rumble. As long as he doesn't poke the gap between the disks in the back, he should be fine. Soundwave will fluff the armor out on the closer leg to give him more to see between seams. (txt): Efficient top heavy weight redistribution. Necessity increased after arms lengthened. Prowl 12:35 am You haven't always had this design? *tries to remember from when he saw Soundwave's other form. Only remembers the tires.* *with more access to more seams, Prowl eagerly slides his fingers in, exploring all the gaps he can find from every angle he can find. Including in the back.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:41 am WELL. He wasn't expecting hands instead of optics, but you know, he's not really going to complain. Those lights are gonna brighten up real nicely though. (txt): Negative. Prowl recalls glowing wheels? Original form, ve And that's as far as he gets before he bucks hard enough someone would've been flipped off the couch had they been perched on him, emitting a single startled beep. The one leg wriggles and jerks in an effort to get away from the tickle in the back of his knee. (txt): Desist, desist-- Prowl 12:45 am Wh—! *immediately jerks back, sitting up straight, hands raised up next to his head as though this IS a hold up.* Sorry, sorry! What did I—? *did he hurt something? did he pull on a cable?* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:50 am Oh thank Primus. Soundwave takes a moment to vent and settle his leg back where it was. Maaaaybe lay them both flatter so Prowl can't do that again. Just in case. (txt): ...Disliked sensitive location. Gonna. Wriggle himself back to a comfortable position, having wedged himself up oddly on accident. (txt): Prowl: fine. Resume if wished. ... Avoid spot contact. Prowl 12:55 am *Sensitive, Soundwave said. Painful? Ticklish? In any case, a weak spot of some sort.* Right. Okay. *Places his hands tentatively on Soundwave again, being sure to keep them along the sides of his knees but no lower.* Let me know if I get too near anything else. Prowl 1:01 am *... And it occurred to Prowl, as two fingertips traced the circumference of one of Soundwave's biolights, just how much—how much... control he was being offered. How much trust. Prowl was an Autobot officer—for much of the war, one of the seconds-in-command. And he was one of the SCARY officers, known not as one that can kill you in battle but one that can find you even outside of battle, if he wanted to. And Soundwave was comparable—even moreso in his own universe than his alternate in Prowl's.* *And yet Prowl had Soundwave's legs in his hands, with tiny pieces and tiny cables under his fingers. And Prowl could just—just pull something apart. And Soundwave trusted him not to.* *And more than that—Soundwave's trust wasn't misplaced. Prowl knew it wasn't, because Prowl knew he wasn't going to do anything.* Prowl 1:02 am *... And if he'd somehow become capable of that, of holding a former Decepticon officer's legs in his lap and knowing that he wasn't going to hurt them... then maybe there was some glimmer of hope for him yet.* ItsyBitsySpyers 1:13 am (txt): Acknowledged. He'd retracted his spines so they wouldn't scrape all over the couch - a good thing, seeing as he'd just writhed around like he had scraplets in his internals - and Prowl would have trouble fitting his blocky hand and forearm back behind Soundwave's head to reach the base of the back of his neck and tickle him there. All was well, as far as he could tell. Maybe not Prowl. Soundwave didn't think a few magic tricks would solve an existential crisis. But this was the best mood he'd seen his ally experiencing in a long time, and - well, he'd kind of missed this. All of it. Not feeling like there was a poisoned river running between them, physical contact, respect, actual communication. Everything. So it didn't take long for him to fall back into a state of deep contentment, enjoying what was there while he could, avatar or not. If that happened to include sending a few pings of affection - one because of the present moment, one in general, and one because he'd-- ItsyBitsySpyers 1:15 am started to think he might never have reason to do it again - so be it. He could stretch himself that far past his fears, and Prowl could just deal with the tiny 'emotional outburst'. Prowl 1:18 am *He matched back each ping—and then, to cap them off, leaned forward to leave a light kiss on one of Soundwave's knee guards. So how's that for an emotional outburst?* ItsyBitsySpyers 1:20 am *You tell me. What's pulling his leg up (see, he -can- do the sawed in half trick) to catch Prowl on one set of ankle hooks and topple him toward Soundwave look like as far as reactions go?* Prowl 1:27 am *It looks like an attack. Prowl likes this attack. He has to scrabble a bit for balance, but settles himself with one hand on the seat next to Soundwave's waist, and a forearm against the armrest.* *And the smile he graces Soundwave with is—still a little cautious, still a little self-conscious, something about it just a little bit restrained—but probably the brightest Soundwave has ever seen from Prowl.* Hi. ItsyBitsySpyers 1:45 am It takes absolutely everything Soundwave has not to do something incredibly weak and soft-sparked, like take his visor off and nip one of those smiling lips, or forget that it's only an avatar and wrap his arms around Prowl to pull him down, or - and this is a big one - coil him up like he's building a Prowl shaped electromagnet, as appropriate as that would be. Which is probably why he's all out of it by the time his mind reaches the next to last thing on its list - something he's wanted to do for so long now. Something he's missed doing ever since he got comfortable with it again, but had come to associate with more unpleasant situations in the recent past. Blame the damn smile. He's going to, when he realizes what he's done. "Greetings." Prowl 1:51 am *It takes a beat for Prowl to register that that's not a recording he's hearing. And then, for a split second, just a flicker, Prowl's smile stretches even wider, optics widening and brightening in surprise and delight. For a moment he actually manages to completely forget how to speak, before he manages to get out,* Greetings! ItsyBitsySpyers 2:00 am Soundwave snaps a shot as quick as that flicker and saves it, but not with the others. This one is worth a place in the collection of things that inspire a little bit more persistence whenever he sees his ruined planet and teeters on the brink of despair, and there it will hopefully stay. He huffs quietly at Prowl's speechlessness and awkward response, and at that, gives in to the urge to tug. Stay. Prowl 2:08 am *Yes.* *He leans forward, the intensity of his smile softening as he bumps his crest against Soundwave's, and swings his legs up to slide them onto the edge of the couch next to Soundwave's.* *It took him a while, longer than it should have—but now he gets why Soundwave showed him the image of them sleeping together.* ItsyBitsySpyers 2:18 am Better late than never. And this time, there's no "doesn't matter". It does matter, and Prowl's chosen to join him, and-- And Soundwave will waste no time returning that bump and adjusting himself for a little extra comfort, because it is, after all, only a couch. Not quite as roomy as his berth. He does burn a little of it marking the moment in his memory with a small, satisfied hum, but that's all right. It's all right. He's out before Prowl can say "top secret meeting". Prowl 2:33 am *Before he can say "top secret meeting," but not before he can leave a light, staticky kiss on Soundwave's visor, directly above his mouth.* *Nor before he can murmur, almost too softly to hear,* Thank you. *And then he turned to lie on his side with Soundwave, helm settled on his shoulder, optics dimmed. Not asleep—not wholly, not with his avatar on—but dozing. Close enough to sleep that he could narrow his world to the feeling and sounds of Soundwave next to him.* *He'll stay there until he has to leave for work; and even then, he'll leave his avatar in idle until Soundwave wakes up. He doesn't want to lose a second of this.*

[childrenofhypnos]

Chapter 7: Investigations

It took six hours for the students of Fenhallow to discover the source of the screaming that night, and after that, the screams came again at least once a day with students venturing into woods beyond the sports fields to see the Fox.

Emery no longer jumped when she heard it. The next Wednesday, Joel, sitting opposite her in the window seat of the student council room, startled so badly he almost fell through the window. Lewis actually did fall out of his chair. Kris squeaked. Jacqueline slammed a hand down on the polished surface of the table, rattling her neat array of color-coded pens.

“Hypnos’s sweet left buttcheek, Emery, did you have to bring that thing back here?”

“It was a present for you, Jackie.”

In honesty, it was a pain in Emery’s ass. Half the students thought the Fox was the new best thing on campus, and gave Emery a big smile and thumbs up whenever they saw her. The other half—like Jacqueline—thought it was a destruction of campus atmosphere and a distraction from their studies, and got royally pissed off whenever the happy half of the student body praised her for it.

As far as she could tell, Wes only got the same treatment when he stood near her; when they were together seemed to be the only time anyone remembered that they were partners, and that Emery was no longer going out on missions alone. (“Once!” she snapped. “I went out alone once!”)

The worst part about the Fox, really, was having to remember how badly she’d failed every time she heard it scream.

Since then, their nightly missions had toned down a notch or six. Wes had a bullet list of locations around the Sleeping City exhibiting irregular Dream activity. It had been longer than Emery had feared. Painstakingly, they went through each location, speaking to anyone living nearby who would talk to them. Emery had known it would be a disaster before they began. Most people didn’t know anything. Some pretended they did. Others hurried Emery and Wes away, afraid what the neighbors would think of dreamhunters on the front step. Some didn’t know anything, but held them up with questions like, “I have this dream about my teeth falling out every night—does that mean a pair of dentures is going to manifest and come after me?” to which Emery replied, “No, it means you should see a shrink.”

She didn’t hate talking to people. She just hated talking to people who didn’t know anything.

Wes, on the other hand, had the patience of a saint. He continued talking long after useful information ceased, listened to stories that had nothing to do with nightmares, even helped one woman with a walker bring in her groceries. After a week of watching him, Emery could pinpoint the exact spot in each conversation where she would begin ripping her hair out.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she said after one foray into the suburbs on the west side of the city. “We have a mission. Shouldn’t we be trying to keep on track instead of rescuing kittens from trees?”

“Most of them don’t know what information they’re supposed to give us. I thought maybe, if they’re just telling us stories about their day-to-day life, they might reveal something we can use.”

“And that could take the next thirty years.”

“I never said it was going to be fast.”

School during the day was a reprieve from the new mundanity of the mission, and the hours between classes were a reprieve from the new insufferability of Emery’s classmates. She ate meals with Edgar and sometimes Joel, when their schedules matched up. Joel was always welcome because he didn't talk about class or student council or anything dreamhunter-related; he was perfectly okay listening to Edgar ramble about Westerns and late-night television, and when Edgar had to leave for class, Joel walked across campus with Emery. Sometimes to her next class or back to Kirkland. Sometimes in circles around the grounds until they found a good spot to make out.

She spent her free time in her dorm, in the student council room, or in one of the private study rooms in the library, looking for records of Sandman-related missions of the full-time dreamhunters. She hadn't yet been able to find anything in the records system, though she knew they were there. They'd probably been restricted to the highest access only, and Grandpa Al had finally changed his system password, so she couldn't sneak in under his account anymore. She hadn't even been able to figure out the names of the dreamhunters assigned to the Sandman mission. They would have leads. Anything they already knew would cut this remedial mission in half.

Without anything else to go on, she banked on Wes's idea of the Sandman using sleeping sand. When dreamhunters received nicknames, they weren't usually the most inventive--Marcia was known among the faculty and staff just as “the Amazon”—so it wasn't much of a stretch. Because of the ban on learning about sleeping sand, the library was devoid of information on it, so instead Emery prowled around the campus sleep research center, where they made the sleeping sand used by the clinic.

Lana Lupova, the head of the research center, was the one who found Emery skulking in an empty lab on the third floor, hunting for research notes in the computers there.

"Ah, Miss Ashworth. Can I help you with something?" Lana roved between the lab tables, her ring of keys jangling softly on the right arm of her motorized chair. Emery froze with her fingers over the keyboard, having just input yet another wrong password. Apparently, the research center had changed theirs, as well. Emery turned, lifting herself to sit on the table beside the computer in what she hoped looked like a nonchalant motion.

"Dr. Lupova, just who I was looking for!"

Lana made a noise of faint surprise, smiling, resting her chin on her fist. Emery cleared her throat. Facing off against people like Wes and Marcia, who got flustered or angry at the drop of a hat, was simple. They were always the first to make mistakes. But the few times Emery had ever tried to get information out of Lana, she'd received that cool stare and easy smile, and she'd felt so horrendously stupid and outclassed she'd left without a fight. Lana didn't have to speak; her expression said I am smarter than you, and I know it.

No backing down this time, though. "I've been really curious lately," Emery said, swinging her feet. "What can you tell me about sleeping sand?"

"Now Emery, you know I'm not allowed to do that." Lana came around the side of the desk. The labs were always kept a little cold, and today Lana's heavy shawl was an offensive shade of orange. "Although now you've got me curious about why you're curious. What's this for? An essay? Recreational drug use? Or maybe this remedial mission you've been sent on?"

“Remedial is a bit strong a word--"

"They won't teach it, so you're not writing an essay. And if you're getting into recreational drug use, Emery Ashworth, I'm going to have to have a word with your grandfather, and I don't think you want that. So, then, you're here because of the Sandman."

Emery paused, trying to find any hidden traps. "Yes. I--we--have a theory that he's called the Sandman because he uses sleeping sand."

"They didn't tell you much about him, did they?"

"No."

Lana sighed and adjusted the chopsticks in her neat blond bun. "I tell you this because I want you to be safe. Yes, he is most likely using sleeping sand to do...whatever it is he's doing." Her eyes flicked to the ceiling and back, as if the Sandman was an annoying student rather than a dangerous rogue dreamhunter that had several other dreamhunter teams out searching the city every night. "I'm sure your grandfather already told you this, but if you find him, you do not go near him, you understand? Sleeping sand, even in its smallest doses, is a dangerous substance. He knows how to use it, but there's no telling what type he'll be using, or how he'll react when another dreamhunter shows up to capture him."

"There are different types?"

"Emery."

"Got it, don't go near him."

"I don't like how you just said that."

"You're not that old--did you know him?"

"I know a lot of people," Lana said. "Now get out of here before I tell the dean you're sneaking around my labs. Otherwise I'll get you in here once a week for sleep studies."

"You wouldn't."

Lana smiled, showing her teeth. "Wouldn't what? Screw up your sleep cycle? Keep snooping around in here and find out."

Emery did not find out. She escaped the research center and headed for the Crossing, going over what she’d found. No hard records, but she did know now that there were different types of sleeping sand, and that even Lana was handing out warnings about the Sandman.

Lana had a reputation as the scariest person on campus. Marcia was intense, but there were rumors that Lana had found a way to capture and torture dreams in the labs. If she was warning Emery and Wes, then even she was worried about the Sandman. It wasn’t just Grandpa Al’s overprotectiveness, or Marcia trying to frighten them.

The sooner they found the Sandman, the sooner they could figure out who he was.

~

Only out of an extreme sense of guilt did she tell Wes what she'd found. It wasn't much, anyway, and it wasn't as if they were racing to solve the mystery of the Sandman's location. She knew if she didn't tell him, he'd find out from someone else that she'd been snooping around campus during the day, and then he'd just have that to use against her, too. If Grandpa Al knew, he'd deny her request for a new partner six ways from Sunday.

Wes didn't seem surprised to hear about it. She found him sitting on the edge of the soccer field before dinner, sweaty, waiting for a turn to get back into the game. The Wilmark Fox screamed in the woods beyond the field right before a group of students burst from the trees full-sprint, howling with laughter.

"We should try the north side," Emery said, after the screaming had stopped. "Up around the warehouses. If he needs a workshop to hide in, those would work the best. I know it's cliched and whatever, but it's probably cliched for a reason. He's not going to hide out in the suburbs."

"Okay." Wes turned back to the game.

"Okay?" She threw up her hands. "How about: 'Thanks, Emery, you didn't have to tell me anything, but I'm glad you did'? Or 'I'm super happy I have you on my side, you have all the good ideas'?"

Wes rolled his shoulder beneath his hand and glanced up at her. "Go away. Please."

The dismissal stung. She hadn’t thought it would, and that made it sting more.

“Whatever. I have homework to do.”

Emery turned to go, and found Ridley Jager stalking toward her from the softball field. Wes’s sister had his same coloring, the same wavy hair, but her eyes were light brown, not black. She was a year younger than them and about as big around as Emery’s pinkie finger; if not for that, seeing her move forward with so much furious intent on her face might have been terrifying.

Ridley stopped two feet away, face red, puffed up and ready to release some sort of reprimand. Emery cocked an eyebrow. She wondered if there was some block in Ridley’s sparkly fairytale nice girl brain that kept harsh words from coming out her mouth.

“What?”

Ridley pressed her lips together.

“Did you have anything to say, or were you just going to glare at me?”

Ridley’s nostrils flared. Her weapons, two identical, wicked hammers that reminded Emery of ice picks, swung as earrings from her ears.

Wes clambered to his feet behind Emery. “Rid, it’s fine, we were talking about the mission. Go back to your game.”

Ridley looked at him, then back at Emery. Finally, she said, “You’re a—a mean person.”

Now both of Emery’s eyebrows rose. “Mean? Well how dare I be—”

“You’re a mean person,” Ridley repeated, gaining confidence, “and you don’t deserve my brother as a partner. He’s so much better than you’ll ever be, and he doesn’t have to walk all over the people beneath him to make himself look good. Maybe he doesn’t have your grades, or parents who beat their Insanity Prime—”

“Ridley.” Wes grabbed her arm. Some of the other students posted on the sidelines of the soccer field were watching them now. “That’s enough. Come on.”

“But she’s…”

“No.”

Ridley relented, and Wes dragged her back to the main campus. Emery, aware of all the eyes on her, refused to also be moved away from the field, and planted herself in the bleachers, pretending to check her phone. When she was sure Wes and Ridley were gone and no one was looking at her anymore, she slid from her seat and fiddled with her Peacemakers on their charm bracelet around her wrist. She had planned to head back to Kirkland, but screaming had started in the woods again, and suddenly hunting a fox sounded like much more fun than dreamforming homework.

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> What Has Two Thumbs And A Whole Lot Of Sleeping Sand?)