#fic: long way home

[sparklingchim]

excuse me, ms. Darly but could we get a short lwh!fam like this https://www.instagram.com/reel/C5a8Ngzt3Xg/?igsh=MTYydm1xamt0eXo2Mg==

pairing: dilf!jungkook x reader

summary: jungkook has a habit of snoring, and nabi had enough of it.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Nabi is a very clingy baby.

Very cuddly, too.

So most nights, she somehow finds her way into your and Jungkook’s bedroom.

It's almost like she has a sixth sense for when you're about to settle into bed, starting to cry and whine to get your attention.

And almost always, Jungkook comes back with Nabi cradled in his arms, her fake tears still glistening in her eyes as he carries her into bed.

You remind him that it's not good to let her get used to this habit, and he always defends it by saying he can't resist letting her sleep with you both. "Her big tired eyes melt me into letting her sleep with us."

Jungkook finally gets to experience firsthand what it means to turn putty at the sight of round, sparkly doe eyes.

And just as Nabi has a habit of wanting to sleep between her parents, Jungkook has a habit of snoring. Every night. Though he claims he doesn't snore as loudly when you complain and you always give him an incredulous look, snarling back, "how would you know?"

All three of you are cuddled up in bed, Jungkook’s snores richocheting off the walls as you're deep in sleep—except for Nabi.

She's squirming in bed, the covers getting pulled and tugged with the movements of her little body, which causes you wake up. Your eyes flutter open.

You just catch the moment when Nabi raises her tiny hand and smacks it against Jungkook’s cheek just enough to create a soft echo of the slap.

Jungkook's snoring comes to an abrupt halt.

He grumbles, shifting to adjust his position and escape whatever just hurt him, all while keeping his eyes closed.

You stifle a giggle as you watch him groggily scratch his cheek. Nabi's big, curious eyes drift to your smiling face, and she wriggles her way back to you.

"Good job, Nabi," you whisper, pulling her close. She snuggles into your side, her little fingers curling around your chest as she nestles in.

"Did she just hit me?" Jungkook mumbles, still half-asleep, his voice thick with confusion.

You laugh softly, brushing a hand through Nabi's silky hair.

"Your snores annoyed her," you say, giggling. "See, you are very loud."

"Nabi's ruthless," he huffs.

Jungkook cracks one eye open, glancing at the two of you cuddled up together.

"Traitor," he mumbles, pouting in mock betrayal. But he quickly switches back, leaning in to drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Sorry, baby. Dad didn't mean to be so loud. I'll let you sleep now, yeah?"

Nabi lets out a little yawn, her tiny mouth stretching wide as she snuggles deeper into your side. The sight of her small, sleepy face and the way her eyelashes flutter as she fights to keep her eyes open melts both you and Jungkook.

Jungkook shifts to make more room, his arms wrapping around you and Nabi in a protective, cosy embrace.

You rest your head against Jungkook’s shoulder, the three of you nestled together in a perfect cuddle pile. As Jungkook’s breathing gradually synchronizes with Nabi’s, he kisses your forehead, his touch tender and loving.

"Love you, and I'm sorry."

"Love you, and it's okay," you whisper back.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

fic wherein some of the TOS crew is being questioned by an entity who seems to think that the best way to take (and keep) control of the enterprise is to ensure Kirk's cooperation by figuring out which girl he's in love with and using her as collateral. The entity has got a truth compulsion thing on Kirk and keeps asking him things, forcing Kirk to answer, but... well.

ENTITY: You're in love with a woman. Who is she?

KIRK: I'm not.

ENTITY: Sure you are. You're James T. Kirk. You're always in love with a woman. Fine, if you won't answer that, then who's the most beautiful woman on the Enterprise?

KIRK: There are many beautiful women in my crew. I don't know if I could pick a most beautiful, though. I don't think about that when we're working. I'm their captain; it would be inappropriate.

ENTITY: Give me a real answer! It's a simple question! Who's the most beautiful person on-

KIRK, INTERRUPTING: Spock.

ENTITY: ... what?

KIRK, BLUSHING: Uhm. isaidspock.

[analogwriting]

The Other Side of Paradise

Chapter One: Poplar St

Killer x gn!reader word count: 1.6k first|next a/n: i know this is shorter pls bear w me as i get back into the swing of things trustttt the rest will be longer kinda laying the land a bit

As you pulled up to your house, loud music was playing from the closed garage; as it always did. You climbed out of your car, stretching a bit before heading inside. Once inside, you headed down the hallway to the door leading into the garage. You couldn’t open the large door as things were hanging on it and it wasn’t like there was any room to park in there anyway. It was more of a large hangout space than a place to park your vehicle. Besides, you had plenty of driveway to park in.

As you opened the door, the music grew tenfold. You didn’t mind, however. It was something you were used to at this point. Kid had done exactly what he had set his heart on all those years ago. He formed his band with your friends once everyone reached their teens. He was the vocalist, sometimes playing the guitar. Heat was the lead guitarist and backup vocals. Wire was the bassist, sometimes playing the keyboard. Killer played the drums, also helping write a lot of the lyrics and composing the music.

They also were pretty good. They traveled to nearby cities and towns, playing in all kinds of places. Maybe you were biased, but you just knew they were going to be signed any day now.

The moment the door opened, Killer looked back at you, a large smile forming on his face as he kept playing. The others hadn’t noticed you as they were facing away and too lost in playing to really notice, but Killer always could tell when you walked in. It was the deep connection the two of you shared. At least that’s what you told yourself. He was your boyfriend after all, even after all these years.

You walked over to him with a large smile, leaning down and kissing him softly. He didn’t miss a beat, still playing his drums as he kissed you. The two of you knew better than to interrupt practice, Kid had yelled at you plenty of times for it. So, Killer became very skilled at multitasking. Well, at least in the form of kissing you while he played.

You pulled away, smiling at him for a moment, him returning the smile. You kissed him one more time before letting him be. You had homework and he needed to focus. When you turned, you noticed Hop sitting on the couch, reading with a sleeping Dive slung across her lap. You snorted at the sight, settling in on the other side of the couch.

Hop looked at you, waving. You returned the wave before diving into your homework, wanting to finish it before practice ended. You couldn’t exactly talk when the music was as loud as it was. 

During the duration of their practice, people came and went. Gig and Pomp stopped by, dropping off some snacks before heading off to their afternoon classes. Hip and Bubblegum popped by, sitting and chilling for a while before heading back out as well. 

That’s the way your house worked nowadays. Your mother passed a couple years ago, leaving you the house and a good enough inheritance to keep you comfortable. Kid had always lived with you and your mother, so of course he was always at the house. Killer had stayed with you most of the time after your mother passed, knowing how close the two of you were. It had been rough of you. He had also been close with her, of course. He eventually just…never left. He had a spare key since your teens, so he was already a part of the household basically.

Your friend group had grown so much and with everyone having crazy schedules, it wasn’t like you could just…hang out in a big group like you used to. Sure, sometimes the stars aligned and you were able to have some kind of get together with everyone, but this more casual way was easier for everyone. People came and went, hanging out for as long as they liked or as little as they liked. The fridge and cabinets were always full of snacks and food that people brought. There were different game consoles, tv screens, the likes spread throughout all the rooms. It was just one giant hangout spot and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You left the backdoor unlocked at all times. You had a fenced in backyard, but there was always someone you trusted at the house at all times so you didn’t have to worry otherwise. Besides, you’d been in this neighborhood for so long, you knew everyone.

You suddenly felt strong arms wrap around you and lift you up. You slowly woke up, not even realizing you had fallen asleep. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Killer’s voice was low as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You yawned, shaking your head. “It’s alright. I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. How long was I out?” You snorted, looking up at him and kissing him.

“Not too long. We just finished up.”

“How was practice?” You looked over, seeing that Hop and Dive had left. It was just you and the four who were just playing.

“It went good as usual, but there’s something missing,” Kid said, drawing your attention. You immediately rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Tungsten, I’ve already told you. I’m not joining.”

Kid groaned loudly. “But why not! Your soft vocals would provide the coolest dynamic!” He flopped into the recliner across from you, slightly pouting.

“You know why.” You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. “Singing and all that in front of you guys and our friends is one thing, but it’s completely different going on stage in front of tons and tons of strangers.” You shook your head. “The pressure is too much.”

“Laaaaaame.” He huffed, cracking open a beer and drinking it.

“You guys are doing just fine without me.” You shook your head.

“We’d do better with you,” Kid was definitely pouting at this point. It was like he was still a child sometimes. Always pouting when he didn’t get his way. He decided to switch topics, talking to Wire about something or another, you stopped paying attention as you rested against your boyfriend.

“I love it when the light sits on you just right,” Killer randomly mused. You looked at him, confused by his words. He always said the most random things, but they always ended up being really sweet.

“What are you saying right now?” 

He handed you his phone and you slowly took it, still unsure what he was getting at. The lockscreen woke up as you held it and it was a picture of you. He had clearly just taken in as you were wearing exactly what you did in the picture. You were also asleep. He was right - the light that came through the highset windows in the garage hit you just right, illuminating you in a way that made you look like a sleeping angel.

You immediately felt your face heat up and he spoke again, “Good picture, isn’t it?” He was right. It was a good picture. It was almost unbelievable that it was you. A lazy smile stretched across his face. “Still doesn’t compare to the real thing, though.”

“That’s it! I’m not watching this!” Kid stood up, flinging his hands in the air and heading inside. “I’m seeing if anyone happened to make some cabbage rolls.”

“I was gonna make some tonight!” you called as he left. You weren’t even sure if he heard you. You snorted, shaking your head.

“Oh, by the way. Be ready on Friday.” You looked to Killer with a confused expression once more. He was really pulling things out of thin air today. He was just hitting you left and right today. “What’s Friday?”

“We’re gonna have a date night. It’s been a couple weeks and I can’t remember the last time we went out - just us.” 

He was right. Usually when you went out, someone was always tagging along. You were typically always accompanied by one or more of your friends.  You didn’t hate it, but sometimes you just wanted it to be just the two of you. “I have some news to share, too.”

You immediately perked up. “What news?” You searched his face as if it were written on him somewhere.

“I’ll tell you Friday.” He shrugged, a smirk on his face and you groaned. “Killi, that’s not fair. That’s three days away! You’re killing me!” You flopped against him, folding your arms and pouting.

You might not have been much better than Kid sometimes. It seemed some things ran in the family.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I figured we could go to a movie then go to that new smoothie place you’ve been wanting to try.” 

Your face brightened as you sat up, turning to face him. “Really?” A new smoothie place had opened up downtown and you’d been dying to try it. You wanted to try it with Killer because you always tried new places together, but Kid had been hounding on practice even more as of late, so you didn’t get to see Killer as much.

Killer chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, really. We can go to the movies right after you get out of class. Or we can go to the smoothie place first then go to the movies.”

“I like that plan better. A smoothie after a long week of school work sounds like a good treat.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and relaxing against him.

He grinned right back. “It’s a date then.” Then he kissed you, leaving you all sorts of excited for Friday.

first|next

[theangrypomeranian]

Chapter 17: Home

Summary:

“That bathroom,” he whispered. Tina nodded again, her eyes staying on his. “Yes. One second I was in our bathroom and the next–” “You were there.” His head was reeling and holy crap that hadn’t just been in his head, it was real, she’d been there and he had almost touched her. For a few moments they just sat there, staring at each other. Her hands were tight on his wrists and his thumbs brushed gently over her cheeks. “You were there,” he murmured in awe. “The whole time…whenever I needed you…” “And you were there,” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes as her mouth turned up in a smile so bright he thought he might go blind. God, what an amazing last sight he’d have. “How is this even possible?” Now it was his turn to smile, his hands going to her cup her elbows and pull her closer. “Don’tchu see, baby? What we have,” his arms went around her to press her against his chest, “this shit is cosmic. We were always meant to be. The universe knew that and it made damn sure that we did, too.”

Read the rest of chapter 17 here.

[telesodalite]

Been thinking about idw1's outliers lately, and how sort of wild the whole concept is from a worldbuilding standpoint, and it struck me that most confirmed outlier abilities tend to be really useful, or flashy, or powerfully dangerous, and few to none tend to be like, really boring, or totally impractical, or even entirely useless? Which, doesn't really make sense when considering the fact that outlier abilities are seemingly random.

Surely not everyone who's born an outlier gets something useful?

And I don't mean like, "good" useful, but any sort of useful, even if that means you can kill people with your voice, or give a power boost by exploding yourself, those are still "useful".

But surely there had to be some with abilities that were totally impractical, or nonbeneficial, or at the very least just insignificant or purely aesthetic and pointless?

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 19: Nightmares

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 18

tw: minor descriptions of physical assault, PTSD panic attack, car crashes, and emetophobia (very minor description)

Present Day, June 1986

It’s been three weeks since the court ruled in Steve’s favor, and he still doesn’t quite believe it. Doesn’t believe it when his lawyer calls to tell him that the payment will be coming to him soon. Doesn’t believe it when that money gets transferred to him. When he pays his lawyer and it’s all over.

Steve doesn’t have to fight with them anymore. Have to think about them anymore. They have absolutely no power over him whatsoever.

He doesn’t know what to do with that really.

All his life, he’s been playing the part designed for him. Done what other people wanted, doing things for himself later. In secret. Now that most of it was out, the pressure gone, he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Steve gets up to go to a job that he didn’t want in the first place. Really only got because his dad wanted him to get a part time job as punishment for not getting into college. Following Robin after the mall blew up. It was all just stops on a train that he was given the ticket to.

Now he switched trains on his own accord. Went in a different direction. One that he chose because he wanted it. Sounded like a life he wanted to live. Sounded like there were other passengers on the train that might get off at the same destination. Want to spend time with him as they traveled. Get to know him. Maybe even love him.

And that’s what happened. He still doesn’t know how, or why. What to do with it. But he’s learning to.

If anyone were to ask him what he was going to do with this life he has now, with the winnings, he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants to do tomorrow let alone in the next five years. The picture he has in his head looks the same as it is now. Happy with everyone he loves around him, looking exactly the same.

But that’s not what’s going to happen.

The kids are going to grow up, change, go off to school. Julie will too, leaving his house empty again. Robin will eventually go to a school that can give her more than a community college can. People in the town will continue to outgrow it.

While Steve continues to stay in the same spot forever. Rooted in the same place that hurt him so much. The same place that helped him grow into someone he’s actually proud of. Showed him the life he could have if he was just brave enough to go and catch it.

Now that he has it, it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s not ready to let it go quite yet.

“Do you think you could teach me how to drive?” Julie asks Steve over dinner.

Steve freezes in shock, head shooting up to look at her. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

He’s known her less than a year but the question still makes him feel so old. Feeling like he watched her grow up as she went through so many changes. So many emotions. Slowly formed into the person she is now right in front of him.

“Cool.” Julie says, going back to her dinner.

Steve wonders how long she’s been wanting to learn how to drive. She’s been able to for over a year now, just never got around to it. With the nature of her mother’s accident, he wasn’t sure when she would want to ever learn. If she would want to.

“Is there a reason you wanted to learn?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Julie shrugs. “Just haven’t yet. And I’ve been thinking about maybe getting a part time job, saving to try and get a car of my own before I go to college. I know it’s still a year away, but cars are expensive and minimum wage is shit.”

College. Something he knew was coming but was hoping it could be a little farther away. He wonders if this is how every parent feels. Wishing their kid would just stay in one place for a little while longer and stop growing. Stop changing. So they don’t have to change with them.

He’s not a parent. Not yet, and not for a long while. But he can’t help but feel some sort of protective instinct over these kids that changed his life. Want to look out for them in every situation, make sure that nothing ever hurts them. He knows that’s not how life is supposed to go. Kids are supposed to make mistakes and learn from them. That’s the way it went for him, so it’s the way it will go for them.

He just didn’t want it to.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this,” Robin comments while unboxing the newest releases. “We all knew this day would come someday.”

Steve sighs, leaning on the door of the stock room. “I just wanted that someday to take longer to actually get here. It’s like the last few years went by so fast and got so muddled in my mind that I forgot time kept moving.”

“I get that. But,” she places the last tape on the cart and turns to him, “just because the kids are getting older, doesn’t mean that they’re leaving.”

They are in a way, though. Even though he knows that won’t be permanent. That they won’t forget about him the way other people have, it still makes the anxiety trapped in his chest start to rise. The instinct to hold on tight and never let go so much stronger.

“This town is too small for them. We both know that. They are going to go do amazing things, while I’m still here doing the same mediocre things I always do.” He holds the door open for her as she rolls the cart through.

“Have you ever thought about doing other things?”

Steve pauses in front of the cart, making Robin run into him. “What?”

“You’re acting like you can’t do other things. If you hate what you’re doing right now, try something different. No one’s forcing you to do the same thing you were doing yesterday.”

She pivots the cart to move around him, leaving him with thoughts he’s honestly been scared to think about.

Steve’s made a routine for himself. Go to work, pick up the kids, drive them around, go home. Live a life that he enjoys and work a job that he kind of hates. Follow his best friend wherever she goes because he’ll love whatever it is.

Was it what he thought he’d be doing with his life, no. Is it something he wanted to do the rest of his life? He doesn’t want to answer that question. The rest of his life was uncertain for the longest time. Each year testing the strength of his body and his mind. Making it feel like tomorrow was some bright future he may never get to see.

It was easy to get so stuck in the present when the future seemed like it would never come. Now that it is, Steve is scared to figure out what it is. What it means for him.  

“Look,” Robin continues, knowing exactly how he’s feeling. “I’m not saying you have to pick what you want to do right now. Or tomorrow, or the day after that. I’m just saying that if you really hate doing this,” she waves towards the shelves, “then you can start thinking about what you would want to do instead. There is still so much time for you to figure it all out.”

Time is something Steve’s learning how to deal with. But Robin’s right. Maybe it’s finally the right moment to think about what he can do with it.

. . .

“That is so exciting,” El exclaims when Julie tells her that Steve is going to teach her how to drive. “You will be the first one of us to learn how to drive.”

“Well, that’s actually Max,” Lucas corrects. “She learned how to drive a while ago.”

“Yeah poorly,” Mike adds. “And only in a parking lot.”

Max rolls her eyes. “I drove in the street that one time.”

“And almost got us killed.”

“Scared Steve shitless.” Dustin laughs.

“Scared all of us shitless.”

“Not me,” Lucas defends. I wasn’t scared.”

Dustin snorts. “So that wasn’t your high-pitched scream then?”

Lucas kicks him under the table.

El turns to Max. “When did you drive?”

Max motions for El to get closer and whispers it into her ear. Just another reminder that Julie has no idea what they are talking about. Another inside joke that she’ll never understand. El takes a second to be shocked before bursting out into giggles.

When the bell rings, Max stops Julie before she can walk away. “Hey, could you help me bring my stuff to my next class. El has a test today so she can’t do it.”

Julie shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

She picks up Max’s backpack and carries it in front of her. Following after Max as she yells at the groups of seniors who like to stand in the hallway and block everyone’s path.

“So, you and El have gotten pretty close, yeah?” Max asks way too casually than she should for such a loaded question. And in the middle of the hallway.

“I mean we’re friends, right,” Julie tries to play it cool. Especially since to El, this is all they are.

Max stops, turning her chair to Julie and giving her a look that tell her to cut the shit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this here.”

She barely wants to talk about it at all. The hatred for herself slowly turning into guilt that churns her stomach each time she looks at El. Knowing that she’s feeling something that she shouldn’t. Almost asking El for something that she can’t give. Wishing that this feeling could go away and they could just go back to being normal friends. Without all this complicated shit.

“That’s fair.” Max resumes rolling down the hallway, stopping in front of her classroom and reaching out to take the bag from Julie. “Your house after school then?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Julie wishes she would.

“El’s my best friend. Of course I’m not.”

The school day ends, and they go over to her house. She sits next to Max in her room like it’s some interrogation. Waiting for her to be the first to speak. Not wanting to share too much too fast.

“You know, El’s probably going to be pissed when she figures out that we hung out without her,” Max finally breaks the silence.

Julie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The thing about actually having a crush, Julie realizes, is that it’s so special to have one. Like a little secret that she and only a few other people know. This special little feeling that, at the end of the day, brings her so much joy to have. Even though it’s terrifying. It’s a good terrifying.

“I was really happy when El became friends with you so fast,” Max continues. “I love the guys, but she needed someone else who knew how to take it down a notch. Someone calmer. Someone like you.”

Her lips can’t help but turn into a soft smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Max nods. “I think we all needed that too. Life has been crazy the last few years and it’s been nice to have someone to remind us that life doesn’t always have to be tied to that. Especially for El.”

“What do you mean?”

Max takes a deep breath, shifting the pillow behind her. “There’s a lot that I can’t tell you, and there’s stuff that I don’t even really know. None of us do. She wouldn’t tell us all of it. But you know how El is adopted right?”

Julie nods.

“I, uh, don’t know how much of this she wanted me to tell you. Just that she didn’t want to do it herself so bear with me here. Before she was adopted, El was in a really bad home. If that’s what you could even call it. And a lot of really terrible things happened there that none of us like to talk about. She escaped from there one night and eventually got adopted by Hopper.”

Julie remembers that night she stayed at the Byers after they got kicked out of the house. How she told El about the fourth of July when the mall burnt down, and she saw all those people walking to their death. The face El made after she said it. Looking determined as all hell and older than she needed to be. Like a switch in her mind flipped and she was a totally different person than Julie knew her to be.

How horrible her life must have been to take the joy out of her face so fast. To turn defense mode on in a way that made her look like a soldier.

“That’s terrible,” are the only words Julie can think to say.

Max nods, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, it is. This is the same place, same people, that are responsible for a lot of the bad things that happened in this town. They worked at the Hawkins lab.”

“Shit,” Julie sighs, leaning back against her wall.

“Yeah, shit.”

The room fills with silence.

“Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because I’ve never seen El open up to a person as fast as she has with you. It took a long time for her to open up to me, and sure there were other things in the way that stopped that, but I’m talking right as we became friends. We were close, but not you guys close.”

Julie can’t imagine Max and El being different from the way they are now. The soft interactions full of a trust that looked so natural. Like they had been friends for a lifetime, fully comfortable around one another.

“And I’m starting to notice, and please tell me if this is out of line, that you might be thinking about El differently than I think about El.”

Julie wonders if this is the time where it isn’t taken well. That someone tells her that this is the worst thing that she could do. Having a crush on a friend could break relationships. She didn’t want to break this one.

“I do,” she finally says to Max. Ready for the berating to start.

Instead, Max nods with resignation. “I think El does too.”

The room starts to buzz as Julie’s heart starts to pick up. “What?”

“She hasn’t, like, told me anything. And she’s probably going to hate me for telling you this at all. But I want to protect her and protect you too and this weird waiting period is really awkward for me, and I’d rather just get to the point where I’m third wheeling.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie interrupts her, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that there’s a possibility that El might like her back. “You think El likes me?”

Max raises her eyebrow. “Have you seen the way she’s been acting around you? Complimenting you every day, clipping your hair back, giggling at literally every joke you say. No offense but that’s a little excessive, your jokes aren’t always that funny.”

Moments start to replay in Julie’s mind. Having been so focused on the way she’s been acting, that she didn’t even notice the way El’s behavior around her changed. How she interacted with Julie just different enough from the rest of the group for it to be significant. For it to be special.

She remembers shrinking in on herself when she knew El was looking at her for longer than she should. Thinking that it was because Julie was making her feel uncomfortable. Never because she could have been doing the same thing Julie has been doing this whole time. Admiring in secret.

“I didn’t notice.”

Max groans. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of you did. It’s like Will and Mike not realizing that they’re into each other. Do you know how frustrating it is to know that your friends like each other but they’re too stupid to do anything about it.”

“Oh my god, you noticed the Will and Mike thing too, I thought that was just me.”

“Don’t try and change the subject. You like El, and I think El likes you. What are you going to do about it?”

Julie winces. “Is nothing an option?”

Max grabs Julie’s arm. “You are driving me crazy. Ask her out or some shit.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Julie says, full of fear. “What if I mess up and then I lose all of you guys. I already feel like an outsider sometimes when you guys start talking about the things I don’t know about. I’m the friend that everyone would be ok to lose if this doesn’t work out.”

A few beats pass before Max starts to speak. “Ok, one, you are not the friend that everyone would be ok to lose. You have integrated yourself into the group more than you think you have. Second, you are so focused on a relationship that you haven’t even started yet. Life’s too short to have regret for the steps you didn’t take. Believe me, I know.”

Max wraps her arms around her leg, shifting it to a better position. Inadvertently reminding Julie of the things that have happened the past few years. The events she was just a bystander to, never fully experiencing what happened. When they did, somehow. She still wished she kind of knew.

But maybe Max was right. Maybe Julie could take the risk. Ask El on a date. Hope that it would work out, and that she wouldn’t regret it later. What would she regret more? Asking, or forever wondering how it would have turned out had she not.

. . .

July 1987

The room is blurry as Steve comes into consciousness. The bright lights giving him a headache, and the taste of copper resting on is tongue. His one eye can’t open that well, almost swollen shut. His wrists burn against rope as he twists them. Trying to get them apart.

His good eye blinks, focusing on a pair of black boots in front of him. Raising his head, he meets the scowling face of the Russian officer. Hearing words spoken in a language he doesn’t understand to the other man in the room.

“Ah, he’s awake,” The Russian slurs in English. Stepping forward and looking down at Steve. Menacing.

“Let me go,” Steve begs. “I don’t know anything.”

The officer grabs his hair, pulling his head back to look at him. Steve’s tempted to spit in his face.

“I am only going to ask you this again. Who do you work for?”

Steve can’t help but let out a sad laugh. Knowing he won’t be awake for much longer. “I already told you. I work at Scoops.”

The ringing in his ears starts when his cheek burns. Vision blurring again. He straightens his head, panting to try and get the air back into his lungs. Only for it to leave as the officer hits him again. Always the right side of his head. It hurts so much it’s almost numb.

“No, no, no,” Steve pleads as the officer winds up again. Blood pooling in his mouth with the next collision. He spits on the group. “I work at Scoops,” he screams with as much breath he can muster.

The world goes dark again.

Steve wakes with a scream. The surroundings not matching that of his cell. A weight around his torso preventing him from getting up. He rips the blankets off of him, pulling the weight off and throwing it away. Cursing as his feet can’t kick off the sheets. Can’t get free.

Tears are streaming down his face as he struggles. His hands free. The rope burn stinging his skin. His torso itches like crazy. Like small little bites stabbing into his skin. He needs to find Robin. Needs to see if she’s ok.

“Steve,” a voice says to him. How do they know his same? Did he tell it to them? What are they going to do to him now.

He still struggles with the blanket, finally pulling his feet free. Attempting to get off the bed and search for anything as a weapon. This place isn’t the cell he was in before. They must have moved him when he was knocked out.

“Steve,” the voice says again. Sitting up on the bed and starting to move towards him.

Steve flinches from the touch, raising his fists. Ready to strike them first this time. His heart is beating in his ears, the constant ringing in his right only amplified. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He needs to get out of here.

A light clicks on. Illuminating the room he’s in. It doesn’t look like a cell. It looks like a bedroom. Have they constructed this just to give him a false sense of security?”

“It was just a dream, Steve.” The man gets out of the bed, taking a cautious step towards Steve. Hands outstretched to block any punches Steve might throw.

Steve wasn’t the threat here. He was just trying to protect himself.

“Can you tell me three things you notice about this room?” The man cautiously spins them around, clicking on another lamp in the room.

The bare walls reflect the light, the soft yellow so different from the blaring white. The walls a tan instead of white or grey. It looks so familiar, but Steve’s mind is so confused. The tears continue to stream down his face as he tries to figure out where he is.

“I work at Scoops,” Steve stutters.

“I know you do.” The man replies quickly. “I believe you.”

More tears. Steve’s hands lower. They know now. Does that mean he’s free to go?

“Tell me three things you see,” he repeats. So soft it makes Steve want to crumble.

“A bed,” he whispers. “A nightstand. A lamp.”

The man takes another step forward. Coming into more clarity. Brown curls fall onto his shoulders. He looks nothing like the Russians.

“Good. Anything else?”

“There’s a picture on the nightstand. The bed has blue sheets. There’s a poster on the wall.”

Eddie places a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder, he flinches before leaning into it. Closing his eyes and trying to focus on the touch. Letting it ground him.

There’s a knock on the door. Steve’s eyes fly open again as he whips his head to look. Heartbeat increasing again.

“Take a seat, sweetheart, I’ll get it.”

Steve freezes, unable to move. He’s directed toward the bed, somehow, he sits down. Knuckles clenched into white.

“Are you guys ok,” he hears a soft voice say. “I heard screaming.”

Eddie doesn’t open the door more than a small crack. “Yeah, we’re fine. I got this, you can go back to bed.”

The door shuts with a small click. Eddie returning to Steve. Sits next to him as the adrenaline fades. Leaving his body exhausted and his mind still searching for explanations.

“Can you tell me what year it is, Steve?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s July second, 1987. You survived them, Steve. Everyone did.”

A sob escapes his throat. His body collapsing into himself. Curling up as the energy releases. He’s wrapped into a hug and pulled further into the bed. Being protected while he falls apart.

Steve wakes up again a few hours later. Gets out of bed and into a routine. Takes a shower, gets dressed, makes himself breakfast. Goes through the motions of a normal morning.

The front door closes quietly. Eddie and Robin coming into the house. Sitting with Steve at the table.

“I took Julie to school, that’s why I wasn’t here,” Eddie explains. “I told Robin what happened.”

Robin looks down at the table, biting at her lip. “Tomorrow marks two year since-.”

Steve looks at his coffee. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels so close yet a lifetime away.”

“It was like I was back there. Even when I woke up.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I thought it was going to be better this year.”

Robin’s hand finds his, her fingers shaking. “Me too.”

They find themselves curled up on the couch for the rest of the day. Eddie there just to make sure they’re both ok. The house quiet except for the low volume on the tv. Lights off so they don’t flicker. Robin’s fingers pressed into Steve’s wrist to feel his pulse. His arm holding her close, proving that she’s there.

They made it out of there. They’re both alive. He wishes that their minds would stop trying to tell them otherwise.

. . .

Julie walks into a dark house. Steve and Robin asleep on the couch with Eddie awkwardly sitting next to them. Looking out of place. She wants to ask about what she heard last night. How she heard the screams from across the hall.

Eddie gets up when he notices her. Motions for her to meet him in Steve’s bedroom. Shuts the door gently behind them before turning on the light.

“You probably have a few questions about last night.”

Julie nods. “Is he ok?”

Eddie runs a hand down his face. “Physically, yeah, he’s fine. But other than that, he will be. This week is an anniversary of something for him. He was reminded of that last night.”

“The mall fire,” Julie fills in. “I know that they were there that night.”

“Do you know why?”

Julie shakes her head. No one would tell her more when she asked.

Eddie nods, crossing his arms and swaying on the balls of his feet. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you what happened. I don’t even know the full of it.”

She thought Steve told him everything. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s the reason Steve can’t hear well in his right ear anymore. And the reason he gets really bad PTSD attacks. Like the one he had last night.”

“And that’s why,” she tilts her head to the door. Knowing that Steve and Robin tangled together in the living room.

“She was there too.” Eddie looks at the door. Pain painting his face. “A part of me wishes I knew what really happened to them so I could help. But they already relive this pain more than they should, they don’t need to do it again just to fill me in.”

Julie pauses before asking the question that’s been on her mind since the first time she heard screams through the walls. Wonders if there’s a part of her that really wants to know. Or if this is just morbid curiosity. But there were memories of her own that haunt her. Placing her back into moments of her life with things left unexplained.

She cares about these people. It hurts to know that they are in pain. And if she could help, know how to help them through the panic or PTSD attacks, she thinks it’s important enough to know.

“Do you think you could tell me what you know,” she asks softly. “Or at least what you do to help calm him down. I think it would be good for me to be prepared in case it happens and you or Robin aren’t here.”

Eddie presses his lips together. “I’ll do the second one, not the first. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s not my story to tell.”

“That’s fair.”

Eddie tells her what he does to calm Steve down when it gets really bad. How with the panic attacks, it’s good to count with him while he breaths. And if he’s willing, grab his hands to help ground him. Tell him about what’s in the room. How it’s different than the pictures in his mind. More things kind of all based on that.

Julie takes it all in, making a mental list in her mind, hoping she doesn’t forget it. Hoping that if it ever happens, she won’t mess it up. Saddened by the fact that this is Steve’s reality.

. . .

A few days pass since Steve’s reality morphed with his nightmares. The date crossed out on his calendar far enough away that it’s finally starting to sink in. Steve made it out of there two years ago. Yet it still affects him like it was yesterday.

Just like back then, life moves on. He goes to work and comes home. Gets weird thinking of the future, and what that means for him. How each milestone will pass, the anniversary of dates coming and going. Affecting him in more ways than he realizes. Until he’s waking in a cold sweat and his body is transported back into his past selves. Some fucked up time travel.

His mind stays fixated on that night. How long it took for his brain to recognize Eddie’s face. To differentiate the safety of his home with the danger of his interrogation cell. How dangerous it could have been.

Eddie told him that Julie has asked about it. How he didn’t say anything, but did tell her ways to help him through an attack. It’s something he never thought of before. Out of all the possibilities that run through his mind, the thought of her being present for one of the attacks never crossed. He never thought she would be there for one of them.

But she almost was. If Eddie hadn’t been there, it would have been Steve opening the door. He didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want the monsters in his head to meld her into something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t a part of this life, he wanted to keep it that way. But Steve has never really gotten what he wished for. It was time to tell her the parts he could.

No one wants to hear about the truth. They don’t want to know the dangers that rest beneath their feet. Blissfully ignorant and wanting to stay that way. Ignorance, however, can hurt sometimes. He didn’t want it to hurt her.

When Julie gets home from school, Steve asks her to sit in the kitchen. Takes the seat across from her and starts to lay out everything. How this conversation can’t leave the room, and she’s never to let anyone know that he told her this.

“This is about Starcourt, isn’t it?” She asks somewhere in the middle of his warnings. “Why all those people walked straight to their death.”

“How did you know about that?” Steve knew that people must have seen it, but it was kept out of the news.

Julie tells him about the night she went looking for her mom. How she got caught in the crowd of people walking toward the mall. Saw the names of people she knew flicker on the tv screen the next morning.

Steve tells her more than he should. About how Will going missing five years ago was a catalyst to so much more. How he got roped into everything. Skipping the bit in the middle for the most part, focusing on how Max came into it all. Then gets to the Russians.

Tells her the story of an innocent mystery turned terrifying nightmare. The interrogation that thankfully didn’t end in his death. Fireworks that crashed into the monster the size of a building and crashing a car into a possessed maniac. All of it ending in burning red, leaving the survivors to cope with their loss.

She’s taking it better than he thought she would. And he hasn’t even said everything yet. Just barely gets to spring break before Julie is pulling him into a hug. Until he realizes the wetness of his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes. “I am so sorry you had to live through that.”

He doesn’t finish telling her everything. It’s probably a good thing. The NDA’s aren’t as loose as the ones from a few years ago. And it’s better for her to process this and maybe learn the rest later. If she wants to. If he wants to explain it all again.

. . .

“Alright, now turn on the blinker and slowly hit the gas again,” Steve instructs as Julie sits at a stop sign. No one else around.

It’s been a few weeks since she’s started learning how to drive. Slowly easing into it in random parking lots while no one is there. Learning where all the signals were, and basic traffic laws. Most of it was review, but she didn’t mind the practice.

She pushes on the gas, jerking the car into motion. Pulling away from the parking lot and onto the street. For the first time. Julie is driving on the road.

“Ok, good. Just try not to hit the gas so hard next time.”

Steve’s been an ok teacher. Patient for the most part but gets frustrated when he can’t explain something properly. But he hasn’t gotten angry at her yet. Carefully corrects her but makes sure she knows that she’s doing ok. That she’s starting to get this right.

Julie pulses the gas. Learning how to keep the speed of the road. Overcorrecting when she gets too close to the yellow lines. The overcorrecting again when she gets close to tree line.

It’s scary driving something so large. So powerful. Hearing how the engine revs each time she pushes her foot down too hard. Feeling the pull of the seatbelt against her chest as she hits the breaks too fast.

But she’s getting it. Adjusting herself as she gets used to the feel of the petals beneath her feet. Loosens her body as she gets more comfortable gripping the steering wheel. As she gets used to the size of the car and the way it moves.

“Great. You’re doing really great, Julie. How about we turn here and-.”

A deer jumps in front of the car.

Julie slams on the breaks as she swerves close to the trees. The car coming mere inches from the trunk. Her arms shaking as they grip the wheel.

It all can happen so fast.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt, turning towards her. “Julie, take a breath ok.”

One wrong move and the hood of the car would be curved around the tree. The airbag would be in her face.

“Just take a breath, we’re ok.”

What if her foot had slipped as she pushed down on the breaks? What if her hands fumbled the turn? Would the deer have contacted the car? Would she have killed it?

“You followed your instincts. We’re ok. That’s all that matters. We’re ok.”

Was this what it was like right before her mom’s crash? Did a deer just jump in front of the car? Her foot missing the break as she slammed into a tree. As it crashes just right to take her life. Was this mistake so easy to make that Julie almost made it too?

“Julie,” Steve touches her shoulder, comforting her. “It’s ok. Take all the time you need.”

Julie unbuckles her seatbelt and bolts out of the car. Runs to the wood as bile stings her tongue. Let’s the adrenaline out onto the dirt as she crashes. As the air escapes from her lungs.

Steve’s beside her rubbing her back. Saying something but it doesn’t register. Too stuck in her head to think of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” slips out of her mouth. Not sure of what else to say.

“Don’t be. It was just an accident, it happens all the time.”

Tears start to make their way out of her eyes. “But I didn’t see it. I could’ve. I could’ve crashed the car. Or worse and.” Sharp, shaky breaths interrupt her sentences.

Steve turns her to look at him. “Julie, hey. Look at me.” She does. “Take a deep breath, ok.”

He counts as she forces herself to breath in. She holds it, feeling the beat of her heart in her lungs. Releases it. Does it again.

“I didn’t see the deer either,” Steve admits once she calms down a little. “Something must have scared it, and it ran into the road. And you did a good job avoiding it.”

She doesn’t feel like it was a good job. “It all happened so fast.”

The tears continue to stream down her face. The feeling of the break pressed into the bottom of her foot. Throbbing. Her shoulder stinging from the pull of the seatbelt. The feeling of it all finally registering.

Her forehead hurts. Something is dripping down in between her eyes. She reaches up and swipes away blood. The buzz coming back to her veins.

“Fuck,” she mutters, eyes glued to her hand.

Steve gets up and comes back with a small first aid kit. Wiping away the blood with some napkins and pressing them against her forehead. Waiting for the bleeding to stop.

She doesn’t even remember her head hitting the steering wheel.

They sit in silence while Steve cleans the cut. Julie wincing when the alcohol wipe hits her broken skin. Steve finds a small piece of gauze and tapes it to her forehead. Packing up the first aid kit and returning to just sitting next to her.

“We’ll sit here as long as you want to, then I’ll drive us home,” he says.

Drive. Julie doesn’t know how she can sit in the car again. Knowing how easy it is for it all to fail.

“It all happened so fast,” she says again. Fixated on it.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Steve’s trying to stay strong but she can see the shock in his actions too.

“Was it that fast when,” a lump forms in her throat. “When she? When my mom?”

Steve realizes what she’s talking about, starting to open and close his mouth. Trying to find something to say.

“I,” he starts. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all I could think about.” She looks at him. “All I can think about is how I could almost have died just like her. One wrong move and I-. And we-.”

Steve grabs her arms, looking her dead in the eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s ok. Whatever could have happened, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re here, and we’re safe. You got shocked and followed your instincts. And because of that, we’re both ok.”

Ok normally doesn’t feel like this. But she tries, really tries to listen to his words.

“I know none of this is going to stop the what ifs in your mind. Believe me, I know. But those what ifs are not going to change what happened. It’s important to remember that.”

She knows he’s right. But it’s so hard to keep her mind on track. Letting it off rail to the ends of possibilities. Wondering if there was ever one where there was never an almost crash to begin with.

“Let’s go home. Get an icepack on that head and make sure it’s ok before you go to sleep. Ok?”

Slowly, Julie nods. “Ok.”

She gets in the car. Buckling the seat belt and tugging it to make sure it locked. Steve gets in the driver’s seat and readjusts it and the mirrors before slowly pulling away. The almost accident fading as she stares in the sideview mirror.

It was just an accident. It can happen to anyone. It just had to happen to her.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis,

@ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi,

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet,

@steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy,

@connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso,

@crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @melonmochi

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[sparklingchim]

lwh oc distracting jungkook while he’s working out or boxing 😋😗😉

word count: 1.1k

warnings: jelly n possessive koo 😋, spit !!, blowjob, titty fuck, dirty talk, boob-obsessed jk obv, cum play, cum eating, the initial necklace makes a comback !

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"20 minutes ago, you said you'd be done in five minutes."

Your huffed complaint barely reaches Jungkook's ears as he continues to throw punches at the heavy bag in front of him.

You're sitting cross-legged next to him, pulling at his shorts to pull his attention towards you.

"Just five more minutes, baby." He casts a quick glance at you before focusing on his training again.

"I'm boored."

Your fingers trail to his drawstrings. You pull at them without Jungkook noticing. His black Calvin's peek out and your inital idea to just annoy him morphs into something more impish.

Your fingertips slowly brush over the front of his joggers.

Jungkook’s little grunts from above come to a halt when he peers down at you, brows pulled together in confusion. He tilts his head to the side when you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile.

“Baby.” Jungkook’s chest rises with every heavy breath, his skin shimmering with sweat. “What are you doing?”

“Relax for a bit, Koo,” you say softly. Hand cupping him through the fabric. “This is only making you angrier.” Batting your eyelashes you ask, “What’s got you so mad, hm?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, eyes closed as you squeeze him.

You can’t shake the feeling that Jungkook is still holding onto some tension from last night’s Christmas gathering. While having dinner with friends and hitting up a bar, you couldn’t ignore Jungkook’s upset pout on his face, the lingering glances with his doe eyes and his subtly possessive hands always reaching for you.

And all that just because he was jealous of Taehyung. It’s been ages since you last saw Taehyung, your former high school boyfriend, and there was a lot to catch up on. Jungkook pretended it didn’t bother him, but his façade crumbled easily – just like now, with his tense jaw and clenched hands in white wraps, still staunchly denying any reason for his anger.

“I’m a much better distraction than punching a stupid bag, don’t you think?” You pull his joggers and briefs down in one motion and crawl on your knees in front of him. Your mouth closes around his tip and Jungkook shudders.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You sure no one will come here?” you ask, stroking his cock with your hand.

“It’s been closed for hours.” Jungkook gathers your hair in his fist. “I wouldn’t let anyone see you like this. But we can go to the office if you don’t feel comfortable here.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter around his cock. You take him deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his hard dick. Your eyes sting with tears when his tip reaches the back of your throat. Jungkook curses, holding your head in that position.

“So cute,” he mutters. His thumb brushes over the little tear in the corner of your eye. He moves his hips back a little before he pushes his cock further down your throat again. “Damn, baby. Taking my cock so well.”

You heave for air once he’s all the way out, hands unconsciously squeezing his muscular thighs. Jungkook strokes his cock in leisurely movements. You dip your head and gently suck on his balls. His head falls back, plush mouth parted to utter soft moans.

You feel Jungkook tugging on your pullover. “Lemme see your tits,” he urges.

Your tongue sweeps from his balls across his cock till you give him a little kiss on the tip. A lovestruck smile settles on his face, growing even bigger when he sees your naked tits.

He bends forward to squeeze the supple flesh in his hands, rolling them around in his palms. His tongue pokes his cheek, a hungry look creeping into his eyes.

“Wanna fuck them,” he says.

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, raising a little on your knees.

Jungkook spits down on his cock, rubbing it all over himself. He teases your puckered nipples with his tip, pulling a couple whines from you. You let a droplet of spit trail down on the valley between your tits and he catches it with his cock, rubbing spreading the bit of lubrication on your skin.

You press your boobs against his cock. A shaky breath slips Jungkook’s mouth and moves his hips in needy motions.

“Fuck, I love fucking your tits,” he rasps. His eyes travel over the dainty necklace around your throat, a sparkly J moving along his thrusts. “All mine.” He cups your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“You always want me, right? Always gonna be mine.”

“Uh-huh. Always.”

“Good girl.”

Your tummy tingles and you smile up at him.

Jungkook lubricates his cock with more saliva “Tits are so soft,” he whispers. “Gonna cum all over them.” His grunts turn louder as he gets closer to cumming.

He looks so pretty above you with his chiselled chest glistening, cheeks tinted in a rosy colour and his doe eyes looking down at you with lust and adoration.

“’m so close.” His hips stagger and you feel his cum shooting over your chest. Jungkook slows down, watching his cum paint over your boobs with drowsy eyes. “Fuck,” he moans, palming his cock and squeezing out the last bits.

“Feeling better now?” you ask, blinking up at him.

“So much better.” He runs the tip of his cock over his cum, smearing it across your tits. Gathering a bit of cum on his cock, he holds it in front of your mouth. You lick the cum off his tip and swallow it.

“Next time when we’re hanging out with Taehyung you don’t have to get jealous,” you tell Jungkook as you stand up.

His gaze is fixed on your cum-covered boobs before he casts his eyes up, an offended frown contorting his face.

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“No?” You raise your brows. “Your hands just naturally were all over me when I talked to Tae?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

You giggle. “Stop being silly.” You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tip toes. “You’re the only one I want,” you whisper and give him a soft kiss.

“I know.” Jungkook’s fingers skim over your back. “Just need to hear it more often.” He plants another sweet kiss on your lips.

Jungkook’s phone starts ringing.

“Time to pick up Nabi!” you exclaim, eyes sparkling.

Jungkook grins, pulling up his sweatpants and briefs.

“Lemme get some tissues for you first.”

“You think Nabi was a bit mean to Namjoon again?” you ask.

“Oh, she loves annoying him.”

[waterfallofspace]

All That Remains

So! I wrote a 'snzfic' that is like... 80-90% angst and whump. Though, there is snz in here, but uh... yeah I won't lie and sell this as a 'snzfic', think of it much more as an angst/whump fic that has snz featured too~

basically i had too many feelings about t/im s/toker and this is what happened

[CW: Swearing, Spoilers for M/agnus A/rchives, talk of heavy fevers and bad coughs, and a lot of emotional angst/anger]

Word Count: 7.3k Characters: Tim, Jon, Martin, mentions of others ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Go home, Tim.” 

Tim merely rolls his eyes, giving a pointed look to Martin over Jon’s shoulder. He does not meet Jon’s eye. Martin, for his part, looks petrified. Tim’s half convinced if it was up to him, they’d all be sitting around drinking tea. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. 

“I’m not asking anymore,” Jon continues, voice firm in a way that sets Tim’s teeth on edge. “You’re quite clearly not well.” 

“None of us are ‘quite well’ lately, now are we,” Tim snaps back, a chill settling in his tone. “No ‘well’ person would be here. In this place.” 

Jon pauses, face tightening. It’s not what he meant and they both know it. They both also know that Tim’s not wrong. It’s a stalemate, one that’s been going on for the full three days Tim had been coming to work with this bloody cold that’s begun to nestle in his chest. No doubt one Jon passed on to him, lord knows that man comes into work sick more times than healthy. 

Fine, that might be a tad of exaggeration, but not all that much. Any time a cold, flu, hell- any time anything at all is going around the office? Jon will catch it. If something’s going around outside the office, Jon will catch that too, and bring it into the office. There was a time Elias himself had to step in and ban Jon from the office because he kept catching the same cold he’d just gotten over. Is that even possible? Who knows. In this line of work, ‘possible’ becomes a term applied loosely. 

“Tim?” 

The voice snaps him from his thoughts, Tim silently cursing the fever beginning to settle in his bones. Alright, maybe this is more than just a cold. Still, he’s not going- wait. Out loud. 

“I’m not going home,” Tim manages, this time avoiding Martin’s dripping with concern gaze. Those puppydog eyes lost their charm as the world began to turn on its head. For what it’s worth, before all this, he would’ve been living for the attention. But now? Just the thought of it makes him sick to his stomach, every nerve in his body on edge. 

“I told you,” Jon continues, mouth still pulled tight. “I’m not asking anymore.”

“Oh, so what, you’re ordering me?” Tim retorts, rising to his full height. He doesn’t miss the slight step backwards Jon takes, and fights the urge to feel pleasure at eliciting that response. 

Jon stammers a little before speaking, but clears his throat roughly and calms his tone, “If that’s what you’d like to call it, then yes.” 

“And what would you call it then? Pity? Care? Where was this… this care when I lost Sasha? Where was this pity when I was almost eaten by fucking worms for you?! I don’t need it now, and I won’t have it. Fuck your pity, and especially fuck your version of ‘care’.”

There’s a pause, and Tim could almost swear he sees… sadness in Jon’s eyes. It brings a new bout of rage rushing through his veins, blood beginning to boil. 

It’s Martin that speaks first, barely audible above the pounding in Tim’s chest.

“When we lost Sasha.” 

Tim sincerely considers telling him to fuck off. Maybe even throwing a chair at him.

We. When we lost her. Martin barely knew her, and Jon… No. No ‘they’ didn’t lose Sasha, he did. He lost her, it was him that knew her the best, it was him that talked to her every day, it was him that truly saw her, and it was him that should have seen that- 

But did he? Did he even truly see her? Can he say that he did? All of his memories, they aren’t of Sasha, they’re of… 

“Did any of us truly lose her?” 

It’s barely a whisper, and Tim jolts a little as he realizes the sound came from him. Jon doesn’t seem to have noticed, and if it wasn’t for everything that’s gone to hell, Tim might thank some form of god for that. Martin wears an expression that says he did, but his lips tighten. He won’t answer it. Even if he wanted to, what could he say? That… thing, it took everything they had of her. None of them can recall, none of them can remember her, can mourn her, can miss her. Can miss her. The real her. Whoever that may have been. 

This round of thoughts is interrupted by a deep cough, one Tim aims into his sweater. He pulls away as much as he can from the group, tucking into himself as he leans against the wall for support. 

Martin makes a move to step forward, but pauses as Tim casts him a dark glance. A very firm, and almost cruel, message to back off. The coughing finally subsides enough for Tim to get a real breath in, and he takes a moment to steady himself before maneuvering himself back to his chair. 

“You need to go home, Tim.” 

Tim casts Jon the same dark look, clearing his throat before attempting to retort. The clearing turns into another, and then a third, and then devolves into another round of throat scraping coughs. Tim braces himself with an arm over his chest, wincing as the coughing leaves his lungs and ribs aching. Each new breath leaves them screaming in harmony, and if it wasn’t for the fact that dying right here and now would prove Jon right, Tim might damn well consider stopping. 

“J-Jon’s right, Tim,” Martin stutters, pulling himself to his feet and beginning to busy himself with the kettle as he keeps talking. He’s muttering something or other about sickness, and wearing yourself to the bone. He’s gotten better about the rambling since… but it’s still Martin. Tim isn’t quite sure if he finds that comforting, or infuriating. 

It��s not until he feels the warmth of a mug set next to him that Tim realizes he’s practically laying on his desk. His arms are curled beneath him, supporting his head, and… for the life of him he cannot remember moving. He looks up, and notices Jon’s left the room. So it’s been more than just the few seconds it’s felt like. Delightful. 

A hand presses to his forehead, and Tim has to bite his own cheek to keep from crying out. He practically leaps backwards, or, as close as he can get with his body in such a state of exhaustion. All he really succeeds at doing is falling backwards out of his chair, eyes wide with panic. 

Martin stares at him, hand still outstretched, looking deeply apologetic. 

“Don’t do that again,” Tim snaps, quick to respond before Martin can get a word out. Masking his terror with anger, something he’s found comes pretty naturally to him these days. “I don’t need your fucking pity, or your fucking help.” 

He hopes Martin doesn’t notice the way his hands are trembling. Or that despite how harsh the words were, his voice cracked through them, dangerously close to tears.  

Every scar on his body throbs, and Tim can’t tell if it’s from the fever or the panic. Suddenly he feels the urge to scratch. To claw and tear and rip each one open, make sure there’s nothing crawling around inside him. He can still feel them, each wound… where they dug in… how they felt, crawling in and out of his aching flesh–  

And just as quickly as it began, it passes. He’d blame it on the fever, but this has been happening since the attack. In the beginning it was constant, and he found it hard to focus on anything but the scars. Over time it had faded, slowly but surely, until it was hardly noticeable. Then… Sasha. And it was back all over again. 

“Tim?” 

The voice is soft. Timid. Martin. 

Tim manages to open his eyes, though they feel heavier than they should. He tries to take stock of his surroundings, but the room begins to spin. 

“Yeah?” Is all he can manage, before his eyes crash shut again. He doesn’t remember closing them in the first place. 

“You need help walking, you can’t do it on your own, but I don’t uh… I d-don’t wanna…” it stammers a bit more, before Tim hears a deep breath, and the voice starts again. “You need help, I’m just gonna touch your arm, okay? And you grab onto me if you can, I’ll support your weight, you just lean on me.” 

Sure enough he feels a grip on his arm, but true to his word, Martin doesn’t do anything further. Tim can’t bring himself to feel anything. Surely he should be grateful that Martin’s being so considerate. Or maybe angry that he’s being treated like he’s fragile. 

Instead, he just stands. It’s slow, unsteady, and despite himself he leans into Martin’s grasp. Martin for his part is saying something, his voice low and steady. It’s probably meant to be comforting, but Tim just tunes it out.

“Storage room,” He mutters, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes.

“N-no, we need to get you home, you’re in no state-” Martin begins, but Tim cuts him off, pulling away with a move that almost sends him to the floor again. 

He manages to find his balance, glaring up at Martin with what even he knows is misplaced anger. “No. I am not going home. I am going to lay down on the couch in the storage room until this…” 

Martin doesn’t speak, clearly waiting for the end of the sentence. Tim wants to say… something. Anything. But he can’t seem to find words that fit. Till this sickness passes? Till this feeling goes away? Till he can stand to look at this office and not feel all the grief and anger and misery that this place seems to leak from every wall? 

“I’m just gonna go lay down,” Tim finally finishes. An unsatisfying end. Par for the course around here. 

There’s no argument, and despite Martin offering his arm again, Tim pushes past him and stumbles his way into the room alone. Collapsing onto the couch, he pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders. There’s some form of blanket around here somewhere, but he’s too warm anyway. Despite the fact he can’t stop shivering. Fucking fever. 

~~~~~

Even before Tim opens his eyes he can feel the heaviness spread over him. It’s gotta be more than just his coat and… for a minute he considers ripping the blankets off. He didn’t ask for their pity, he didn’t ask for their help, but… 

His eyes only open for a second before fluttering shut again. It’s more comfortable than he’d like to admit, and he soon finds himself drifting back off into another fitful sleep. This time instead of the things crawling in and out of him, his unconscious is greeted by eyes. Too many eyes. His body lays still, but his mind races. They all watch him. He can’t find it in himself to do anything but let them. 

~~~~~

This time Tim manages to keep his eyes open long enough to take stock of his surroundings. There’s a couple more blankets folded neatly on the end of the couch, and- yeah. He was right, someone had draped a few extra over him as he’d slept. There was also a pile of… what’s gotta be a scraped together ‘cold and flu kit’. A couple tissue boxes, a handful of pill packages, some- chapstick? Tim does find himself damn near chuckling at that one. No sound comes out, but it’s still the closest thing to real laughter he’s had in awhile. 

It’s sweet. The pile, the offerings, it’s kind of them, but Tim feels that pit in his stomach begin to deepen. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix anything. And he didn’t ask for their help. Their pity. He’s not some… some broken thing for them to take apart and put back together. 

But he knows that’s not the real reason. That lump in his aching throat reminds him every time he swallows. Almost as if he can hear it in each heartbeat. It should be Sasha. It should be Sasha. It should be Sasha. 

Still, despite it all, Tim can’t deny he needs some of the shit they’ve left him. This is made clear as the itch he’d been fighting for days rears its head, sending chills down his spine. He barely manages to grab a handful of tissues before the first sneeze breaks through, stifled painfully into near silence, followed by another double he manages to stifle silently too. 

Another thing he learned from her. Unless he didn’t. Who fucking knows anymore. 

Tim doesn’t have long to linger on the thoughts before the next sneeze breaks through his control, roughly stifled again. It leaves his ears ringing, his sinuses throbbing, and his head pounding, but… it’s better than being heard. And you know what? Maybe he wants to have a little control over a situation that’s almost entirely out of his control. Sue him. 

“huh’kNXgt– dNGT’iuh-! Fuck.” 

He takes the pause to blow his nose, wincing as it does almost nothing but leave him even more congested. Even just the effort of that seems to sap all the energy he has. It takes all he has to toss the tissues in the general vicinity of the trash, grabbing a new handful. Knowing his nose, he’s not done. 

“knNCh-uh-! eh’KNXgt-! ah’RZSHHH–oo!” 

The last breaks through his control, scraping against his throat. Well isn’t that just the whole point. No control, no matter how hard he tries. He curses under his breath, spending the last of his handful of tissues to blow his nose a few more times. Thankfully that seemed to satisfy the itch enough for now. It retreats back into a softer, yet still deeply irritating, buzzing. 

Tim finds his eyes closing before he can really stop them. His body collapses against the back of the couch, and his breath begins to even out into congested snores. In his last seconds of consciousness, Tim almost has the presence of mind to pull the blankets back over himself. Instead he settles for some half-assed wiggle into a more comfortable position, hands tucked beneath his chin as he falls back into the void of sleep. 

The people that he doesn’t know at all begin to surround him, each of them wearing a face that he can’t help but recognize. This time he cries out. No one comes. 

~~~~~

“Hey, hey, easy, don’t move too fast,” The voice says, Tim slowly peeling his eyes open. The world is blurry, the light making all the lines in the room start to swirl together. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, coughing roughly into a curled fist as the change in pressure just from sitting up leaves him breathless. 

“Wow you really don’t follow instructions, do you?” The voice is playful, teasing, but softens as his spasms continue. “Easy does it, you’ve been out for awhile, I was starting to get a bit worried you’d never wake up again.” 

Tim still can’t make out the figure, tears collecting in his lashes as the coughing spills out from his lungs. His whole body feels heavy, and he searches in vain for something to lean against. 

The voice speaks again, soft and caring. “Just lean back, the couch is behind you, it’ll catch- yeah, there you go. Just breathe, alright? It’ll be over soon. There’s a water bottle to your left, yeah right there, drink some of that, would ya? Easy though, don’t choke on it.” 

He does as he’s told, taking slow sips until the spasms ease enough for him to draw a full breath without coughing. There’s a light wheeze to his inhales, but as he continues his slow but steady breaths, it fades back into the mild congestion settling in his lungs. 

“Tha-ks,” Tim says, his voice coming out crackly and congested. He considers clearing his throat, but the itch in the back of his lungs warns him against it. Guess he’ll have to settle for sounding a bit like death until his chest calms itself. 

“You sound awful. What have I told you about coming into work sick?” The voice is calm, there’s no anger in it. It just sounds… playful. And… familiar in that way where Tim can’t place it. He can’t say he’s ever heard it before. But he instinctively leans into it, keeps his eyes shut as he waits for– something. He’s waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. 

A cool touch breaks him from the trance, and he lets out a near moan at the sensation. “Tim… you’re burning up.” It’s not the same voice. This one is still soft, and caring, but it doesn’t feel as– it’s just not right. He can place it though, and he opens his eyes to find Martin’s general shape kneeling in front of him. As Tim’s eyes begin to focus a bit more through the haze, he can identify the knitted brows and tight mouth; concern written clearly across Martin’s face. 

He wants to tell Martin to leave him alone. He wants to ask where the other voice went. To ask who they were. To tell them to come back. He does none of this however, that damned itch deciding it’s been dormant for long enough. 

Tim barely has time to pull away from Martin, raising the collar of his sweater to cover his nose and mouth as the hitching begins. He sits there for a moment, frantic “hh– hUhh–!” coming out in fragments as his whole body begins to buzz. Finally it builds to a breathy, “hh’yshhiew! h’ZShhh–uh! tzsHhh-! ah’tSHH–iew!” 

They’re lighter than the others, his more natural airy sneeze, not the heady, throat scraping mess that comes after one too many stifles. Unfortunately they do still shift the congestion in his head, and he finds himself awkwardly reaching for the tissues, one hand pressed up under his nose. 

Thankfully Martin takes pity on him, and pushes the box within his reach. Tim grabs a handful and blows, then again, and then a third and final time. Martin, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about the whole spectacle. He settles instead for casting Tim that same worried glance, with a hint of a sympathetic smile. 

“So-rry,” Tim manages to croak out, coughing a little as the words pass through his throat. He takes a moment to drink some more of the water, relieved when it helps the next words come out audible, albeit quite congested. “That tends to happen when I wake up.” 

“It’s alright,” Martin replies instantly, rising from the floor to seat himself on the couch, a respectable distance away from Tim. “You have nothing to apologize for, you’re sick, you’re allowed to have symptoms. It kinda comes with the territory!” 

Martin chuckles a bit after that last part, clearly trying to lighten the mood a bit. Tim manages to give a weary smile. After all, it’s not Martin’s fault he feels like shit. And despite the anger he was aiming at him earlier… Martin’s just trying to help. He knows that. But more than that… this isn’t Martin’s fault. None of this. He’s just as caught up as Tim. Without Jon here, it’s easier to remember that. 

But still… Tim has to bite down the rising anger at the memories of what Martin had said. Jon’s going through it. Jon’s taking it hard. Jon needs their support. All the comments race around his head, spinning at dizzying rates until Tim feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, you’ve gone really pale, do you need… c-can I do anything? Do you need anything?” 

Tim shrugs the hand off, pulling himself as upright as he can manage with the world shifting perspective each time he blinks. “No, I’m… I’m okay.” 

“Well we both know that isn’t true.” 

The comment seems to catch them both equally off guard, Martin’s eyes going wide as his mouth falls slack. “I- I don’t know why I said… I’m- I’m sorry, it just kinda-” 

“Hey,” Tim interrupts, putting on his best shit-eating grin. It’s halfhearted at best, but trying times and all that. “You were actually a bit of an ass for once, don’t ruin the moment with the whole apology thing.” 

“R-ruin the moment of me being an ass…?” 

That gets what would almost be called a genuine smile from Tim. “I prefer it to the crippling optimism and ‘let’s all be friends’ attitude.” 

There’s a pause as Martin seems to take this in, considering it with an unreadable expression. Tim continues, though whether it’s for his benefit or Martins, he isn’t sure. Blame it on the fever. “I mean, it’s never gonna be the same again, is it. Not that it was all that great to begin with, but… better to be a realistic ass, then pretend it could be that way again. Making fun of Jon with Sash, talking about how it should’ve been her, joking about taking him out so she could take over… and yet still helping him out, and laughing with him on the rare moments you catch him outside of his ‘I’m The Serious Bossman Now’ attitude-”

Martin laughs a bit at this, and even through the fevered haze, Tim can see the memories flashing behind Martin’s eyes too. Though for Martin, those memories might not be quite as treasured as they are for Tim. Jon was definitely more of an ass to Martin than he truly deserved back then. Not that he’s overflowing with nice now, but… he does seem to go easier on him. 

“Then again,” Tim finds himself saying, “can’t really be sure that was really her anyways, now can I. I mean, I have all these memories, these things we did, the fun we had, how she was… but all of it’s corrupted. Useless. None of it’s real, I don’t… I don’t even remember what she looked like. Or what her voice sounded like… I mean it’s so clear in my head, when I think of Sasha I remember her voice and her glasses and how she wore them kinda lopsided but- none of that was really her, was it?” 

There’s no response to this, not that he was expecting one. Honestly, Tim didn’t even mean to say that much. He looks up, noticing the same tears in Martin’s eyes that he can feel starting to well up in his own. Fuck all of this, honestly. Fuck Martin crying, as if he has any right to. As if Tim himself has any right to cry for… whoever it was that he might have known. He can’t even be sure they were close, but… the hole that he can’t quite place inside himself says there’s something he’s missing that he used to have. 

“Fever talking,” Tim finally utters, after a few minutes of unbearable emotionally-charged silence. “Don’t even really know what I’m saying. I’m gonna lay down again.” 

Martin stands, quickly maneuvering himself out of the way so Tim can stretch out. Not that he does. In fact Tim does quite the opposite, curling himself up into as small of a position as he can get. 

“You could stay, you know,” he finds himself whispering, the words coming out strangled and soft. There’s a moment of stillness as Martin pauses, one hand still on the door handle. He heard. They both know he heard. Now he has to decide if he’s gonna acknowledge that, or pretend he didn’t. 

“You know,” Martin finally speaks, Tim startling a little as his eyes snap back open from where they’d almost sunk shut. “Jon’s on a bit of a tangent about doors and spiders and whatnot at the moment. I could use a little peace and quiet.” 

“Well,” Tim says, the words rippling through his throat and leaving him struggling not to cough again. “Can’t really promise the quiet part.” He barely makes it to the end of the sentence before the cough breaks loose, a deep and rattling noise that leaves Martin wincing. 

Tim manages to grab the water bottle from where it had sunk between the couch cushions, and takes a few sips. After a couple more minutes of this back and forth, the coughing finally subsides, leaving him fully winded. 

“Case in point,” he manages to stammer out, swallowing with a grimace as the words burn against his aching throat. 

Martin says nothing at first, still standing awkwardly somewhere between the hall and the room. Finally, without a word, he closes the door behind him and walks over to the couch. There’s a brief pause, and Martin looks over to Tim. As if waiting for confirmation that this is really okay. Tim gives a small nod, curling back into himself, and Martin takes his seat on the edge of the couch. 

“That’s alright then,” Martin finally says, Tim not even bothering to open his eyes at the sound. “I never was a fan of quiet.” 

Sleep overtakes Tim as quick as before, that darkness enveloping him as fast as turning out the lights. The fog begins to roll over him, waves crashing against his feet, ready to consume him whole and drag him to the depths of nowhere. But it doesn’t. Instead, Tim looks up and sees- no one. There’s no one there, there never was, there never will be. 

Still… he can’t shake the comforting feeling that he’s not alone here. Not this time. A voice begins to hum to him. A voice he cannot possibly remember. A song he cannot possibly hear. But all the same, it soothes him into a deep and peaceful rest. 

~~~~~

This time Tim awakens to the sound of shushing, and hushed tones saying words just past his reach of consciousness. As the world begins to come into focus, he notes Martin standing at the door, speaking in hurried but quiet tones to an agitated looking Jon. 

Martin keeps casting glances back at Tim, and on what must be the fifth one, their eyes meet. Immediately Martin turns back to Jon, saying a few more words but this time in a much firmer tone than Tim’s used to hearing from him. Jon seems surprised as well, as he stops talking until Tim hears a faint murmur of… an apology? Followed by footsteps retreating down the hall away from the door. 

Turning around, Martin closes it behind him, giving Tim a soft smile. “Morning, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You di-dn’t,” Tim lies, leaning into his shoulder to cough a bit until the rough nature of his throat dwindles enough to sound legible. “I woke up on my own.” 

“That’s good then,” Martin replies, giving a soft smile.

“How long was I out?” Tim asks, swallowing roughly and beginning to search for the water. 

“Most of the day, it’s about mid-afternoon right now”, Martin says, turning towards a shelf, grabbing a cup and gesturing it towards Tim. “I made tea not too long ago, you want some?” 

Tim gives a nod, accepting the cup Martin passes him and letting the warm liquid soothe his throat. The taste is familiar, and he gives Martin a look. “Is this honey and lemon?” 

Martin blushes a little, hands fidgeting with his own mug. “W-well yeah, I figured if you did wake up th- that it might help,” he then pauses, giving Tim a once over. “How are you feeling?” 

“Right as rain,” comes the immediate response, Tim flashing Martin a forced grin. “Never felt better. Locked into a contract at the job from hell, where everyone either dies, goes mental, or gets eaten by worms! What could possibly be wrong, working at a place like the Magnus Institute!” 

It’s dripping with sarcasm, and that all consuming anger that Tim just can’t seem to be rid of. Not that he’s tried. Anger keeps him going. Anger gives him purpose. If it wasn’t for the anger… the depression would take over again. And he’s had damn well enough of that. 

Martin doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing really to say. They both know what he meant, and they both know pressing Tim for an actual answer won’t do anything but lead to a confrontation. Tim’s sure Martin’s well sick of those by now. Seems to be the only language Jon and him still have in common, and Martin never seemed one to take part. 

“hH’TSShh–iew!” The first sneeze catches him by surprise, but Tim has enough presence of mind to set down his cup and bring up his shirt to catch the next- “hihh– tsshhh-! tzSSHhhiew-! teh’ZShh’ew-! ah’tshh-! aH’TSHh–uh!” that follow. 

“Bless you,” Martin offers, setting down his tea and offering the tissue box instead. Tim accepts, taking a handful and pressing them to his nose, wincing as the light touch leaves his breath catching. 

“hh– hiEH!-hhh… hhhH!– hiEH’TSChhew-! aHTCHhh–oo! ah’tSChhho-! at’cHhoo-! nghh…” Tim can’t help the heady sigh that escaped at the end of that fit, the tissues all but useless now. Without a word, Martin offers the box again. Tim merely groans, taking another handful and blowing his nose a few times, until he can breathe again. 

“Bless you again,” Martin says, concern evident in his tone. 

“Thagks,” Comes Tim’s reply, dripping with congestion and sarcasm. 

“You sound awful,” Martin says, seemingly letting it slip before really considering the wording. He starts gearing up to an apology, but Tim holds up a hand, waving it off. 

“I dnow I do. Dod’t apologize, we both kdow it’s true.” With that said, Tim grabs another handful of tissues and attempts again to clear his sinuses. At least enough to make his words understandable. It seems to work, though it takes several blows to get there. “You really gotta work on that apologizing.” 

Martin stammers his way through something like seven near apologies before finally settling on, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Tim just nods in reply, eyes beginning to flutter shut as he raises another wad of tissues to his nose. He can feel it twitching, nostrils flaring with each rise and fall of the tickle spreading deeper and deeper. 

There’s a beat of silence, Tim hitching mercilessly into the tissues as they both wait in anticipation for anything to happen. 

Finally after almost a full minute of the torture, Tim lets out an itchy moan. 

“Are you-” Martin starts, jumping a little when Tim whips to the side and lets out a desperately itchy sneeze. 

“hH’ATSChhiew-!” 

“Oh- bless you, I guess that was-” “aH’TSChhoo-! ah’TShh–oo! ATSCHh-shhoo!” 

Tim catches Martin wincing out of the corner of his eye as he comes up for air, before ducking back into his pile with “hH’tIEww-!” a few more “ahh!- hng… oh, hhhh– hH’TSChh–iew!” breathy and high pitched “hh’TZSHhiew-!” sneezes. 

Usually Tim would be feeling one of two things. One, enjoyment of the attention he’d get from such a desperate fit. Or two, mortified that people heard that version of his sneezing, how high pitched and dramatic it gets when his nose is really irritated. Admittedly it’s usually the first option, but amidst certain company it can be more humiliating than enjoyable to be reduced to such a display. 

Today, however, he feels neither. Instead he just feels drained. Completely and utterly drained. He uses his last bits of energy to blow his nose, barely able to produce enough willpower to get anything out, and then falls back against the couch. Martin looks on in concern, reaching down to the tray of supplies Tim had– frankly forgotten was there. 

“Look, I know you don’t want our… well I know you don’t want– um, I know-” Martin stammers, rustling through a few packages of pills and grabbing a few things Tim doesn’t even bother to attempt to read. 

“Just spit it out, Martin,” Tim snaps. The weariness in his voice softens the sting of his tone a little, but he doesn’t miss Martin flinch. He’d feel bad, if this was any other situation. He’d feel good if it was Jon. Instead he just ends up where he’s found himself more often than not lately. He doesn’t feel anything. 

“Sorry, uh… w-well,” Martin continues, and to the guy’s credit, he keeps his voice even and his tone soft. Despite the fact Tim knows he doesn’t deserve either. “I know you don’t want our help, or- or my help I suppose, as I’m the only one here right now, but uh– I really think you should take some of these meds. You just– you don’t sound well, and they could help, especially if you’re not gonna take Jon’s advice and…”

Tim feels his blood start to simmer again, despite how exhausted his whole body feels. No pick-me-up quite as good as a bit of rage to get you through the day. Martin knows he messed up. Tim can see it plain as day on his face, Martin’s words grinding to a halt and his eyes beginning to flicker back between the pills and Tim. 

He wants to feel bad for the man, truly he does, and he knows all this rage isn’t fair. All Martin did was state a fact. But… Jon’s advice. Jon’s advice. If he’s not gonna listen to their ‘boss’ who’s been too busy with his mental breakdown to give a fuck about how his employees– how his friends have been doing. If he’s not gonna follow the advice of the man who didn’t check up on him once after he got eaten by fucking worms. The man who stalked him, sat outside his house, took photos of where he went and what he did, but didn’t bother to ask if he was okay. 

“No, Martin,” Tim says, ice and sarcasm soaking through his words. “I am not going to follow Jon’s advice. And your contributions to the ‘Tim Can’t Take Care Of Himself’ club have been deeply appreciated, but now I think you should leave.” 

“Tim, I didn’t mean-”

Tim casts Martin a dark glare, pulling himself to his feet with considerable effort. “Get out.” 

Martin does as he’s told, rising to his feet and hurrying out of the room, though he does pause at the door and give Tim one last look. It’s clear what he’s saying, you aren’t alone. I can help you if you let me. 

It’s a look he remembers from Sasha. She used to say all the time, “I can’t help you unless you let me, and Timothy Stoker you are stubborn as anything, but god help me I will make you let me.” 

But even that is tainted. He wants to believe she really said that, he wants to believe they really had those moments, those looks, that bond, but… even if they did, the face he remembers, the look he remembers, it’s not her. It will never be her. She’s dead and he can’t even do her the small favour of remembering what she was like. 

A few tears begin to run down Tim’s face, and the feeling surprises him enough to snap him out of the anger. And as the anger fades, so does the strength he’d found from it, his legs giving out beneath him. Tim hits the floor hard, feeling his knees grind against the carpet as he sinks to the ground. 

Martin reacts quickly, jumping to action to help break Tim’s fall, strong arms, stronger than he’d expect from the man, gripping his shoulders and helping lean him against the wall. Martin’s speaking too, saying something Tim… just can’t make out above the crying. Why is– why is Martin crying? 

It takes him longer than he’d admit to realize the crying is coming from him. Once he catches on, so do his lungs, and it’s mere seconds before the heaving sobs turn into rattling coughs. Tim gasps for air, hands white-knuckled as he grips Martin’s arm. Martin’s still talking, and through the coughs he manages to understand “sit forward” and “deep breaths”. 

He does as he’s told, desperate to cling onto consciousness as everything begins fading into white. The world begins to spin, flashes of darkness and light taking turns blocking his vision. The worms are back, crawling in and out of his body, leaving his entire skin itching and burning. 

Amidst the chaos, he feels a hand on his back, and a bottle being pressed into his hand. A firm voice calls out to him above all the noise, “Drink this, Tim.” 

Tim manages to do so, identifying the liquid as water as he chokes it down. It’s cold too, the ice cubes giving him something to focus on besides the feeling of crawling and pain in each scar. He takes the time to chew each ice cube that makes it through the bottle, his lungs beginning to calm as his throat soothes at the cool touch. 

“There you go, just like that, now take these and blow,” The voice demands, and Tim feels tissues being pressed into his free hand. The hand on his back is rubbing slow circles, and too out of it to feel any embarrassment, Tim leans forward and blows his nose into the tissues. He blows again, and again, until he can feel some of the pressure in his head start to clear, and his breathing gets a touch less laboured. 

When his vision is cleared enough to look around, Tim glances up and sees Martin sitting beside him, rubbing soft circles on his back. He notes that he’s leaning against Martin’s chest, and makes the conscious choice not to move just yet. Tim then draws his eyes up further to the right to see Jon kneeling in front of him, still holding a handful of tissues. 

“You brought the ice water?” Tim asks, voice coming out surprisingly clear, though quite hoarse. Jon simply nods, suddenly very busy studying the floor beneath them. 

“I,” Jon starts, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing, “I thought you might need it. I could hear you from my office, you didn’t– you didn’t sound well.” 

“And you just happened to have ice water and tissues sitting around casually on your desk,” Tim asks, doing his best in his foggy state to raise an eyebrow. 

Jon blushes a touch at this, casting an anxious glance over to Martin, before returning his gaze to the floor and answering noticeably quieter, “I may keep a certain set of… supplies in my office, as I’m not exactly unfamiliar with– this sort of condition.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’re sick more times than healthy?” Tim quips back, not unaware of the irony of their current situation. 

Jon doesn’t seem unaware of it either, and for the first time in… in a long time, Tim sees a smile creep over his face. A genuine one, not that professional civility bullshit he’d been putting up as a front lately. 

Jon clears his throat a little before speaking, casting Martin another embarrassed glance. “That statement is definitely not accurate, but… I do suppose you could say I’m–  more susceptible than most.” 

“Well it’s not like I’m immune,” Tim starts, pausing to duck into his shoulder with a rough, “ah’TZShh–oo!” 

“Bless,” Jon says, Martin echoing with a blessing of his own, never pausing his slow circles on Tim’s back. 

“Case in point,” Tim says, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans to the side, suddenly feeling the full weight of his fever begin to pull him back towards unconsciousness. 

He’s snapped out of it by something cold and wet being pressed to his face, managing to pry his eyes open to be met with the sight of Jon holding a washcloth soaked in icewater to his forehead. Despite everything, this sudden touch doesn’t leave him with the same crawling sensation most do. Maybe due to the fact he’s still half leaning against Martin, or maybe because… it’s Jon. And despite everything, he’s the one person that understands… 

“You really should go home, Tim,” Jon says, interrupting Tim’s thoughts as he sets down the washcloth. “I can feel the heat radiating off you from here, and while I don’t have a thermometer to check, I’m willing to bet you’re well past an acceptable fever to be working through.” 

Martin chimes in with his agreement. Tim takes note of the fact he’s stopped rubbing, and instead has one hand behind Tim’s head to keep him from hitting the wall, the other against the ground to keep his balance. 

“Weren’t you the one who came to work with a fever of 41° and fainted at your desk? I seem to remember Elias threatening to call an ambulance,” Tim retorts, tongue sharp as ever, even while fully leaning against Martin to keep himself upright. 

“Are you saying you need me to threaten to call an ambulance to get you to go home?” Jon responds, not without wit of his own. Tim gives him a look, weighing his intentions. He knows Jon won’t get Elias. After everything… he just wouldn’t. But an ambulance..? It’s not outside the realm of possibility he calls one. 

Tim mutters his response, barely audible over the sound of his own wheezing breath. 

“What was that?” Martin asks gently, using his free hand to brush back a bit of Tim’s hair from where it was clinging to his sweat-soaked forehead. Tim nearly melts at the touch, another thing he’s blaming on the fever. 

“I said I don’t think I can make it home like this.” 

Jon pauses, taking a step back and clearly evaluating Tim’s condition. Tim gives a winning smile, one laced to its core with sarcasm. Even in this state, he’s not forgotten what Jon did. How Jon acted. He can put on the concern all he wants, hell he can actually feel it, but it’s too late. He doesn’t need it now, not… not like he needed it then. 

“Fine,” Jon says, Tim nearly jumping at the sudden noise. Martin flinches too, and Tim could swear he sees a flash of guilt across Jon’s features. Still, Jon continues, voice even as ever. “You can stay here and sleep off the fever, it’s not like we’re using this room much anyways. Me and Martin will handle your caseload, between us, and with Melanie’s help, I’m sure we can work something out.” 

“Sounds like a plan boss, now maybe you can leave me to die in peace?” Tim quips in response, wincing a little as the room lurches violently when he rises to his feet. Martin’s still perched at the ready, clearly thinking Tim’s going to fall over again. To his credit, an entirely possible outcome. 

There’s a look in Jon’s eyes that Tim pretends he didn’t see. He knows what it means, after all, Jon used to be his friend. He knows the sadness all too well, he’s felt similar kinds of it himself while Jon was losing his mind right in front of their eyes. Or when Sasha… but no. Knowing the feeling doesn’t mean he has to empathize with Jon. 

Jon, for his part, just nods, gesturing for Martin to follow him as he leaves the room. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud. Tim winces as the sound echoes through his brain, pounding in time with his heartbeat. After they’ve both left, he stumbles over and turns the light off, before collapsing back onto the couch. 

He’ll sleep off the fever, then go home when he can travel on his own. And fuck, maybe he’ll just never come back. Maybe he’ll go on vacation, go somewhere far away, visit Rome, or Peru, or maybe Malaysia. 

Sure, maybe it was nice to have Martin stay with him but... it changes nothing. None of this changes anything. Sasha's still dead, Jon still left them all on their own, and Martin... he's still fighting for a future that's long dead. One that died with Sasha, even before any of them knew it. All that remains now is anger, lies, and whatever the fuck the Magnus Institute has in store for them.

So for now, all he can do is sleep until this fever goes away. Tim's eyes drift shut, and he falls back into the uneven sleep he’s grown so accustomed to. This time he’s back in those never-ending halls, turning corners that cannot possibly be there, walking past hundreds of lamps, paintings, photographs, and mirrors. This time, like many before, he does not scream. 

He’s far too aware, there’s no one to hear him.

[tetzoro]

also good morning friendz and happy tuesday !! it’s soooo cold out today so if you need me i will be tucked away in zoro’s arms ❤︎ please remember to unclench your jaws + relax your shoulders hehe me and your blorbos are rooting for you to have a wonderful day !! :3

[theangrypomeranian]

Chapter 18: Restoration

Summary:

“Do you want to know something?” she asked back, turning in his arms to look up at him. His brow arched but he nodded. “‘Course.” “While you were missing, I had this bone deep chill that never went away,” she revealed, resting her hands on his chest. “No matter what I did, I couldn’t get warm. Even standing by a fire or under hot water couldn’t get rid of it. But after the mirror house,” her mouth turned up, “it went away. At the time I thought it was because I’d finally accepted that you were gone, but now I think it’s because you were warm again. You were found and safe, and I think the part of me that stayed with you here must have known that.” Her words made a huge grin split his mouth. “I toldju, baby. What we have is fuckin’ cosmic.” One arm wrapped around her waist as his other hand went up to cup her cheek. “It was keepin’ us together even while we were apart.”

Read the FINAL CHAPTER of LWH here.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Prompt 10 with either Fives or a clone of your choice from @the-bad-batch-baroness list of prompts? 👉👈

The Long Way Home [Fives x Reader]

Prompt ten: "Did you feel that?" "Feel what?" "It's starting to rain."

List of all prompts found here [X]. Prompt will be highlighted in blue.

Warnings and Information: Wanting a taste of domesticity the moment he gets shore leave, Fives wants to spend the day with you doing general couple-ly things. A little shopping at the early winter markets of Coruscant, and utilizing every excuse to shower you in all the compliments he can to make up for lost time. When the weather has other ideas regarding your shared plans for the day, Fives is determined to make the best of a less than ideal situation. 

This is a general fluff + relationship fic at its core; friendly for all ages this go-round. Reader written with fem!reader in mind, not described save for minor notes about clothing and briefly implied (but not specified) height difference. Fives being a sweetheart. Sprinkling of Mando’a as a treat. As an additional treat, Order 66? Don't know her; Palpatine died and the Republic won the war. 🩷 2nd person POV. 

Word-count: 5,912

There's a knock at the front door of your residence, one you've been eagerly expecting most of the morning. You're quick to reach the door, keying him in so he can step inside where it's warm. He's late; which he had warned you about well in advance. And the first thing he offers before his usual hellos is an apology. 

A well-practiced one at that, from the warm cadence of his voice, brimming with just the right amount of shame.

“I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, mesh'la, I-”

You tug him close with the collar of his civilian wear (a thick, handmade sweater given to him by Hardcase who had recently taken up knitting since breaking one of his legs - so you're certain to handle it delicately) in a very practiced motion. As expected, it shuts him up just long enough to get a word in while he puts himself nose to nose with you. Practically close enough to taste the words on the others’ lips. “Hey. It's okay Fives. I understand the captain probably needed your help with something, or, you volunteered yourself to help. Again.” Your partner with his well-groomed goatee has a penchant for stepping up and lending a hand to a brother in need, brave and dependable to the end. 

Full lips dart apart, the tender flesh brushing over your own lips being this close is nigh impossible to avoid. “Are you teasing or expecting an answer?” Fives asks, hinting to his building confusion below a toothy grin. “Makin’ it hard to tell what you want when I can’t see all of your pretty face.”

That's fair of him to say, you should suppose. “Mostly teasing,” you promise him, at last permitting yourselves to kiss one another as part of the process - brief, chaste, sweet. “You know I wouldn't press you for details if it was classified ARC business.” You never have. Never will until you know the mission has been completed at least; because while you often burn with questions (as is only natural and expected in what was once a friendship, now a partnership) pertaining to his duties and practiced protocols within the GAR, you take the mantra “loose lips sink starships” very close to heart. 

Should you ever say something that could jeopardize the safety of the one you love, you’d never forgive yourself.

“No, not ARC business,” Fives offers at last, “I, uh… I told you I was gonna be running late because some of my brothers asked for my help with something kinda last minute.” The palm of his left hand strokes the back of his neck in a self-soothing fashion, a tell of either embarrassment or shame. “I couldn’t bring myself to say no…” 

“Young brothers?”

Fives only answers with a nod and an appeasing smile, knowing where this is going. 

“Star-struck little brothers wanting to ask what’s it like being an ARC trooper, and how they can train to be just like you?” you muse, exaggerating your train of thought with a couple of taps against your chin with the finger of your non-dominant hand, the other arm wrapped across your body.

It does not slip your notice how his tanned face begins to look a little flushed when you playfully bat your eyes at him for good measure, knowing what that kind of praise does to him combined with the light teasing. 

“More or less…” 

You giggle, not at him or at his expense, but more the mental image than anything. You can picture Fives, being as eager as he was to come see you now that he had shore leave, getting roped into regaling doe-eyed Clones with lengthy recountings of his service since becoming an ARC. All he wanted to do was peruse the early winter markets with you, the entire idea his from the start; and there he was, at least an hour of his precious free time used up already. All because he was too much of a selfless and wholeheartedly good person for his own good, on occasion. 

“I’m sure they appreciated you and Echo doing that.” Fives doesn’t have to mention his surviving squadmate, Echo, to know that the other half of the nicknamed Domino Twins had sacrificed his own time to answer a few (or a hundred, more rather) burning questions. “I’m sure the captain did, too.”

The humble grin is confirmation enough for you. You can continue to tease him later, however - you’re both wasting daylight the longer the two of you choose to linger in your comfortable Coruscanti apartment rather than getting the rest of your things ready. Light coats or other appropriate outerwear still needs to be gathered, the credits you’ve been setting aside for this occasion needs to come out of hiding, and he still needs to collect the rest of his civilian-wear he planned on wearing. There’s only so much space within trooper accommodations for everything he’s accumulated since the start of your relationship. Thick-knit hats, fleece-lined gloves, a scarf in 501st blue, things of that nature. 

And boots. It’d probably be wise to grab a pair of all-weather boots rather than tromp the markets in your slipper-socks, no matter how tempting the smooth streets would prove. 

Fives is ready far sooner than you, owing to how little he needed to add or change into to be more weather-ready, but he waits patiently. No teasing remarks for how long it takes you to disentangle a simple scarf from all the others, or the childlike nature of repeating the phrase that helped you remember how to tie your shoes even to this day, or any of the other silly little habits you comfortably show in front of him. There’s only a warm, endeared smile to be seen. He’s just happy to be here, to be in your presence after so long, and see all these little puzzle pieces into why he loves you as though for the first time, every time. 

“What are you staring at?” you ask with a bemused laugh bubbling up from your throat. Time to time, you struggle to figure your partner out, wondering what can be chalked up to his training and what can be passed off as quirks unique to him. You’ve gotten better with time and practice, being able to discern these instances. “What’s on that beautiful mind of yours, Fives?”

“Nothing more than perhaps the most beautiful person in all the galaxy, cyare.” Fives replies in earnest, dazzling you with one of those smiles that had charmed you since the very beginning. “And how I get to spend most of my first day of shore leave with that person, all to myself.”

Torn between scoffing and brushing him off with oh surely you can’t mean the most beautiful person thing and trying to shield your flushing face from view, so certain your cheeks must be scarlet red with all the flattery, you busy yourself with ensuring your door is locked and secure against unwelcome visitors. There’s been a minor rash of break-ins lately, and you know that a simple door lock won’t do anything to deter the truly determined - only the honest - it always seems to get a bit worse just before large deployments get shore leave… funny how that goes. 

At least you get a little help when it can be spared by those serving with the Corrie Guard, given your proximity to the senate buildings here. There was no small amount of surprise the day Commander Fox himself turned up at your doorstep to follow-up with a reported break-in for the unit above your own. He could claim he was there just to ask if you happened to notice anything, and nothing more than that, but you knew better. Working in loose relation to the complex goings-on with the Galactic Senate and the red-clad commander turning up only two hours after mentioning the incident to Fives was too big a coincidence to ignore. (You can only wonder what strings in the line of communication your smarty-pants of a boyfriend had to pull in order to get in touch with Commander Fox, directly.)

A smarty-pants that you had all kinds of preconceived plans to spend the rest of the day with, all to yourself. 

The ambling walk to the marketplace offers the pair of you plenty of time to catch up since you last spoke on the comms just over two weeks ago; it was a Zhellday if you're not mistaken. 

You don't really bring up your work if you can help it; the problems seem so trivial when you compare them to the frustrations of stamping out those stubborn pockets of Separatist resistance Fives and all his brothers have been dealing with since winning the war just a year ago. A malfunctioning caf-machine spraying your last clean work uniform seems like nothing compared to a desperate firefight against the horrifying, mechanical amalgamations the standard CIS battle droids have become as less and less functional droids become available. 

You have to ask Fives to be sure you heard him right after he says it. “Hold on: it had eight arms?” 

“Some Separatist-sympathizer - one who's, admittedly, crafty but incredibly elusive - has been a real pain in our shebs for a while now. ‘Case was so badly spooked by the crazy-looking clanker that he fell over backwards on a crate full of smuggled produce.” Fives explains, struggling not to laugh when explaining of all possible ways Hardcase recently broke his leg, it was falling over backwards on a box of illegal fruit and veg. 

“He’s okay, right?” you prod, “What'd Kix have to say about the break?” 

It's touching to Fives when you show your concern for his brothers, knowing you have genuine interest in their well-being. You always have. When you heard that the production of the cloning facilities were coming to an end on Kamino thanks to Chancellor Organa’s new bill, your immediate thought had been for the young cadets who had not yet finished training. 

What's going to happen to those little brothers, Fives? All the Clones still developing in the tubes and the nurseries and-

Mesh'la, with any luck, they'll become the envy of the entire GAR. They'll never have to taste war like we have if we squash out the remaining Separatists sooner than later. 

Fives gives the cuff to one of the sweater sleeves an experimental tug with a beaming smile. “Kix said the worst of it will be the bed rest for Hardcase. At least he's found a way to keep his hands busy between the physical therapy he has to do, thanks to Dogma.”

“Aww. That was kind of him.” you croon. He mirrors the relieved smile, sharing in your relief that his brother's injury was not as bad as you feared. He begins fishing through one of his pockets for something, saying he has a picture to show you. 

“Hardcase made Dogma the ugliest possible blanket using yarn we had scrounged up for him as a way of saying thanks. Thing's got all sorts of colors from baby pink, to brick red, even a smidge of neon yellow somewhere in there.” 

Without question, the immaculate bunk within the frame can be none other than Dogma's. Laid out in a uniform manner is a tidily-knit but disorganized rainbow of yarn in every shade of blue and a handful of other colors. (Sure enough, you can pick out the baby pink, the brick red, and the neon yellow Fives previously mentioned.) Honestly, you think it looks ugly only because there's no reason or order to any of the colors. A crisp, sky blue next to the imagined dryness of such a dusty shade of red is a bit jarring, visually. 

‘Case was likely working with the colors of yarn as he received them, if his brothers were coming up with loose odds and ends as Fives claims they did. 

You voice the question that crosses your mind the more you look at the image in your boyfriend's hand, “Does Dogma actually use the blanket, or is it just for show until it's time to sleep?” 

“Wondered that myself.” Fives admits to you with a cheeky wink between thumbing over to the next picture, a still of Dogma tucked under both the GAR-issued blanket and Hardcase’s, “It was so worth pretending to be asleep for forty-five minutes just to get Dogma to go to bed.” Dogma's always been the last to fall asleep within shared accommodations, so for the ARC trooper you're arm-in-arm with to have pulled the oldest trick in the book in order to get to the bottom of a low-stakes mystery, you can only imagine how disciplined you'd have to be to lay so still and silent for that long. 

“Why not just ask him in the morning?” you laugh, realizing how simple it would be to do just that rather than go through such efforts to trick someone into going to bed. Fives shrugs noncommittally in response before tucking his personal device away again, now that you're both within earshot of the outdoor winter market. 

It's bustling with activity, even for Coruscant. The pressing crowds and all-encompassing noise will make it difficult to carry on catching up in a meaningful manner for much longer. 

“Dogma's not much of a talker in the mornings, sweetheart.” Fives says with a chuckle. “Though to be fair, not a lot of us are either.” 

Strange… they've always seemed so… talkative and alert whenever you've had early morning communications with Fives. Those bleary-eyed video calls spent simply staring at the other, not too sure what to talk about in particular. The stolen minutes between breakfast in the mess hall and the barracks. (The lunch breaks where you've snuck off somewhere secret and pretended you're sharing the same ration, they've been talkative for certain!) Have you just done a poor job of noticing until now? Or are they better at masking how awake they truly are than you expect? But okay, fair enough. 

Now that you were here at the market, you’d be more than a little preoccupied to be thinking about it much longer, with Fives tucking his fingers between yours to prevent both of you from getting separated from the other. It’s rather busy; it must be the morning rush before everyone has to reluctantly shuffle off to work. And you should probably expect to have more than a few elbows - or entirely unaware people - knock into you and Fives while you’re here. 

What catches Fives’ eye first is a female Besalisk vendor with armfuls of rain repellers for sale (one for five credits, or two for ten) with a business partner checking news sources for reports on the weather nearby.

“Ah… knew there was something I forgot to check before getting to your apartment.” He says, quickly casting his eyes skyward. Certainly enough, there are rain clouds gradually building overhead. Strange. While it is technically early winter, this time of year typically has a weird, transitional period regarding the weather. Not quite past the sometimes cold and drizzly days of autumn, but still too early to dust off your proper snow coats from where they've been hiding in the back of your closet. 

“Let’s get one to be safe.” you suggest with a reassuring squeeze of your hand in his. If you buy one of the repellers and end up never using the thing, then you were over-prepared with little consequence. Having one more thing to carry wouldn’t be that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, surely. “Hi,” you address the vendor cheerfully, “a repeller for five credits, right?”

“That’s right! Pick whichever one you’d like, dears.” she tells you with a kind wink, thrusting the set of arms bearing all of the rain repellers a little further for your inspection. 

Fives wastes little time in selecting a repeller with a sleek and subtle design, something he thinks you’d like, perhaps. He’s incredibly thoughtful in that and many other ways. It’s one of the many parts of him that you ache for in his absence, the fondness for his charisma and slight cheek only deepening when he’s away, aiding in the peacekeeping efforts now that the galaxy is largely free of the Separatists. (How strange that things fell apart so suddenly for them, following shortly after the rather untimely and unexplained death of Sheev Palpatine (that, surely, can’t be related, right?) just last year.) You know he’s not giving up the fight just because they say the Seppies have surrendered, not when there’s still work to be done to make the galaxy safer for everyone. 

Fives isn’t still fighting the good fight just for his brothers, but for you too. Every last far-flung outpost they capture, each bubble of resistance they burst, it’s always the same message that finds its way to you, no matter the time and no matter the distance. 

For the Republic. For my brothers. For my Kar’ta. Talk to you soon, sweet. 

Both of you thank the vendor, and set off on your way, imagining what curiosities and delights could be found by the two of you together on this cold Coruscanti morning here in the intergalactic market. With a cultural hotbed like this - a diverse focal point in the heart of the galaxy with a population of roughly two trillion that is Coruscant - there’s no telling what you and Fives will see, from the familiar to the fascinating. 

In a dramatic, sweeping gesture Fives invites you to lead the way into the heart of the market with a dizzying grin, promising to follow wherever you roam.

“After you, angel.” 

You’ll only be there for an hour before the increasingly-inclement weather decides to become a little more concerning. Those cotton-soft clouds, planted in the lofty airspace high over even the tallest sentient lifeforms’ head(s), are beginning to appear denser and darker than they were when you set off this morning. Weather reports you peek at while Fives discusses something with a Tatoonine-born vendor suggests you might have another hour before proper rainfall.

“You say the yarn’s a bantha-blend, right?” Fives clarifies, gingerly juggling a few twisted hanks of it in his hands to get a feel for the softness. “Would it work for projects meant for… say, kids?” The vendor’s eyes flick to you, just for a second, and you can imagine what she’s thinking. Your partner catches that too, so Fives clarifies further. “Someone I know had twins last year. Tryin’ to, uh, contribute to a special present for the little ones. Brother of mine got some good yarn from Naboo to represent the mother. I was asked to find something to represent their father while I was here, if I could.” 

As could be expected, the yarn-seller is now tittering excitedly about how sweet it is that he and this unspecified brother (who’s definitely either Jesse or Kix) are looking to put together something for this ‘someone they know’ who had twins. Sweet little twins who you’ve happened to see crawling around the floors of the senate building out of the corner of your eye, as a matter of fact. But you’ve been aware of the “open secret” nature of the Skywalker-Amidala twins for some time now, and know you’re supposed to treat it like it’s more of a classified matter than it is in reality. 

Yeah, how strange that Senator Amidala and General Skywalker spend a lot of time together. Or that little Luke and Leia show up in the Jedi Temple on occasion, just as a last minute “favor” to the Senator - of course! 

“Yes, the yarn should be appropriate for the little ones!” the vendor promises, exchanging the appropriate credits as change from what Fives hands her as payment before gingerly bagging the hanks of bantha-yarn for him. “You’ll find a card with the best care instructions with your purchase inside the bag. Thank you for your business, folks.” 

When you've stepped beyond the earshot of the yarn-seller, now again arm-in-arm with Fives as you meander the little sector that seems to be dedicated to all things Tatooine, you feel it's safe to tease. 

“You're getting better at lying, Fives.” 

“Mesh'la-” Fives warns you.

“Okay, okay… Stretching the truth, if that's what you insist on calling it, mister ARC trooper.” you add. 

Fives doubles down on the insistent, close to disapproving tone. “Mesh'la… I've told you several times now, you know why we treat it like a secret.” 

“I know, Fives, I was only teasing.” you promise, offering an apologetic expression. 

You understand the faux secrecy is largely in relation to the response of some members of the Jedi Council when the inevitable truth about Senator Amidala and not just one child, but two, came to light. There's been a great deal of speculation from the 501st Legion of Anakin Skywalker’s expulsion from the Order; speculation that has them worried. Selfless to the end, the Clones are just as concerned for the fate of their General as they are about their own.

You change the subject as you pass a stall brimming with food-based goods from the Outer Rim planet, a warm, spicy odor cutting through the ambient smell of chilled steel and duracrete surfaces. Looks to be samples of an alteration to bantha steak soup. Something being offered to the market-goers to warm them up as the temperatures fall day by day, or hour by hour.

“Remind me: ever tried any food from Tatooine?” 

“Some of it's decent.” Fives admits with a chuckle. “Or, it will at least beat having rations for every meal. But nothing beats your cooking, cyare.” 

Your cooking, among many things, is what Fives has been looking forward to most about today, about shore leave. A chance to come home, a chance to catch one another up on the things they’ve missed (things too important or lengthy to say over comms), and a chance for splitting a hearty meal practically invented for sharing with the ones who mean the most to us. Same thing with coming to the market. Fives didn’t want to do a little shopping just to see what was new on Coruscant; he wanted to spend a little time with you away from home first, maybe find something special to buy to mark the occasion.

To be home after so long is a very special thing indeed.

“Hope you’re in the mood for soup tonight.” It’s a little simple, you tell him, but no less comforting or flavorful. “Didn’t know how tired you’d be, when you came home this time.”

“You spoil me.” Fives murmurs lovingly, craning his neck for the moment to plant a sweet, gentle kiss in the crown of your hair and against your temple. His full lips are warm, and where you’ve been kissed seems to glow with that warmth compared to the surrounding chill. “What’d I do to deserve you, kar’ta?”

There’s that word again. Pronounced KARH-ta, as he’s taught you.

It's Mando’a, meaning heart.

“Well, you kept the galaxy safe,” you answer with a sweet smile, “I think that’s a pretty deserving reason, don’t you?”

The warm, heartened smile is all you have to see to know he feels the same way. He helped keep the galaxy safe, yes; of course he should deserve to live a good life with everything said and done. With every bill and law passed towards the betterment of life for Clones after the war, it tastes like the sweetest victory, over and over again. If there was anyone more deserving of thanks, it was the mighty multitude of men who came from Kamino. 

As you’re turning the corner of a larger booth within the sprawling outdoor market, Fives mentions that somewhere down the lane he can hear a live performer playing covers of popular songs on what must be a hallikset. 

“Must be another one of your little soldier tricks,” you tell him with an impressed shake of your head, “I can’t hear any of that. What’s a hell- hall-? Wait, what did you call it?” How did he pronounce that so easily? 

You’re not surprised with many a Clones’ proclivity to be little cultural sponges that Fives seems to have the answer ready for you before you can pull something out of your pocket to search up the instrument he mentioned for yourself. “Halliksets are seven-stringed instruments popular on Naboo. Here, let’s get a little closer.” Fives offers, leading the way ahead to where he hears the music coming from. He wants you to be able to hear it better, to experience it for yourself. Appreciate it fully.

You momentarily pity the player’s poor fingers once you get closer, noting how red with cold they are. Like you, the hallikset’s owner is wrapped in layers between a thick jacket, a gray hood and a long scarf wrapped around their neck. But with the beautiful way they play, plucking and strumming each perfectly tuned string, you wonder if they don't notice, or care. Perhaps the lack of gloves to keep their hands safely warded against the cold is worth it to them for the amount of credits they're pulling in. There's several fistfuls at least, all piled up in the open instrument case. 

“Wow… I don't think I've ever seen one before, but it's beautiful; it's a beautiful instrument.” you offer your observation to Fives after spending a few minutes to simply stand and listen to the performer. Buskers, you believe they're called, playing for voluntary donations in public settings. 

The busker offers an appreciative grin, playing on smoothly without pausing the performance for even a moment as they bob their head in thanks for your compliment. 

“Certainly is, mesh'la.” Fives agrees. He dips a hand into one of his pockets, and adds a couple of credits to the pile in the instrument case. As a way of thanks, the song that was currently being played is masterfully morphed into one of the more familiar military anthems of the Republic, just for a moment. 

The performer, a young-looking Twi'lek, has of course recognized that Fives is a Clone, and is hoping to acknowledge what the Republic has done for Ryloth in some small way by playing something a soldier would recognize. Fives is equal parts flattered and amused, even if he himself may never have gone to Ryloth, that he's being thanked and acknowledged like this. 

“Heh. You're welcome, kid.” 

Putting his free arm around you as you decide to listen to the hallikset a little longer, you and Fives listen to the best recognized music forms of Ryloth start up from the instrument as further homage. You lay your head on your boyfriend's shoulder, leaning into his side a little deeper with a placid smile, drinking in this moment. 

Close to an hour later, when more yarn for Hardcase, a few decorative knick knacks for your apartment, and some novelty sweets have ended up among your purchases, someone’s stomach rumbles in complaint shortly before the time you would typically consider having lunch. Luckily Echo has offered to help you locate something by sending you a file to a map of the market with all consumables stalls highlighted and labeled after checking in on how things are going for you and Fives. 

While Fives quickly speaks with his brother and squadmate, you check the weather. Steadily, it’s only gotten colder, and in efforts to keep you warmer, Fives has sweetly given up his thick-knit hat for the time being until you come across another stall that offers cold-weather wear. There, he’ll find another hat for himself, suggesting you keep his. The fluffy curls of his clone-standard crew cut have been flattened a bit by the hat, amusingly. As a sweet gesture, you try to fix up his hair for him while listening to what Echo has to say.

 Force willing, as it’s only becoming more and more likely that it'll rain, that will be after you grab a quick bite to eat. 

(Pantoran food sounds good right about now.)

“Me? Oh, all was quiet on the homefront - busy playing a strategy game against Rex. Until we got ambushed by a couple of giggling womp rats.”

Fives grins like a nexu. “Brothers’ kids or the General’s?”

“Tup’s little boys,” Echo answers jovially between peals of bubbling laughter in the background, “things are getting a bit rowdy here, so you two better go. Enjoy your lunch and the rest of the market; I’ll tell everyone you both said hi.” 

“Thanks Echo.”

“We’ll talk later, Echo.” you promise. “Also, I’m keeping your brother all to myself tonight.” Echo’s laugh promises that’s fine by him. He trusts you’ll take good care of Fives, like he takes good care of you in turn. He’ll pass along the information that everyone will see Fives again the following morning. The Clone with the Aurebesh ‘5’ permanently inked on his right temple can only offer an eager smile. 

A homemade meal and the promise of staying the night when it wasn’t previously discussed? What better way to end a day than that? Fives walks with a spirited spring in his step, just short of tugging you along after him at first before you match his pace and revel in that excitement together. 

Excitement that quickly turns to surprise with the first of the rain starting to fall over the market. There’s a particularly heavy raindrop that lands with an audible spatter on Fives’ left shoulder. He chuckles, the sound somewhere between an amused ‘of course…’ and a nervous ‘uh-oh’. He’s patting down his deep pockets for wherever he’s stashed the rain repeller purchased earlier, since it could very well start raining steadily by the time you reach one of the food stalls that peddles any Pantoran cuisine.

“Did you feel that?” he asks, eyes flicking skyward between some of the many imposing, glinting skyscrapers that make up the surface of the ecumenopolis. It’s a small relief that you’re not quite out in the open, like you would be if the market had taken place in a location like Monument Plaza, at the least. If the rain got intense, fast, Fives could easily squeeze the pair of you into a dry alcove somewhere in the absence of the repeller now in his hands.

“Hm? Feel what?” you wonder just before you feel another droplet glance off your own coat. “Oh.” 

So much for getting lunch…

“It’s starting to rain.” the two of you say at once. And while it’s not quite sleet, it certainly feels close to it every time the stray droplet finds a patch of exposed skin. The idle prattle of buyers and sellers shifts in tone; a few surprised shouts here and there while vendors urgently cover their wares, and a few shoppers brushing past panickedly exclaim that they’re faced with taking the long way home because of street-closures tied to the event-space.

Thankfully that won’t be the case for you and Fives with the direction you came from your apartment, so long as the dispersing crowds allow. 

Opening the repeller, Fivers now pulls you closer, trying to fit it over both of you best he can. “Here, mesh’la. Wouldn’t want you to get cold and wet… That wouldn’t be a very pleasant combination, now would it?”

“No,” you agree with a little wag of your head, “buuuut, heading back to my apartment and calling in an order for delivery sure does.”

Fives brings up an excellent suggestion while you busy yourself with making sure all your purchases are safely in your arms before the pair of you about-face and make for home. “With a movie to watch, too, right?” Oh Maker, there are so many films you could choose from to watch; there’s always something new that you learn your beloved hasn’t seen, being so wrapped up in the pan-galactic war and its aftermath. Even films you don’t particularly care for become tolerable when you’re snuggled on some comfortable two-seater together, your head planted against his chest as he runs his hands through your hair in idle fashion.

You’re wholeheartedly in support, already impatient to burrow into that large, fluffy blanket with him.

Cupping his face in one hand, you kiss his cheek best you can as you walk, copying his deliberate stride. “That sounds like a great idea, Fives.” It’s kind of a shame that the weather put a bit of a damper on how long you had in mind about spending at the market, you add with a soft sigh.

He smiles, encouraging you not to let it get you down. “Not gonna let a little rain ruin my first day of shore leave, so long as I get to spend it with you, ner kar’ta.” Fives promises, being his sweet, joking self by downplaying the amount of rain. It’s gotten past ‘just a little rain’ at this point in time, with puddles forming atop the duracrete surfaces, some with multi-color veneers to them where the oils previously soaked into the street float to the top. 

As the freezing rain builds in strength, it patters and trickles off the rain repeller in thick rivulets while Fives holds it over each of your heads - it’s kind of a tight fit underneath, but neither mind. Making sure both of you and your purchases remain relatively dry means it’s a slow, steady march back home. It’s probably taking you twice as long to get back home than it was to get there. You could be taking some long, convoluted path, and you wouldn’t mind a bit with the way Fives has one of his arms so lovingly, kindly wrapped around the small of your back, both to hold you close, and to make sure you hear him when he talks.

“I’ve got a few stories to tell from this last deployment, besides ‘Case breaking his leg.” he starts, a note of mirth in his tone. “But there was one thing I kept thinking about, more than anything.” Fives adds, the slow cadence suggesting this is important.

Before you permit your mind to race with the possibilities, the many guesses you have, you bob your head, encouraging him to go on. 

“I’m listening.”

He wastes no time, sure of his words, but maybe not how to say them. “I wanted to ask if maybe now’s a good time to… Y’know. We might start thinking about a couple of things, now that the war’s over, and things are getting safer…?” You could practically swoon, knowing what he’s trying to tell you. What he’s thought about while he’s been deployed with those who’ve chosen to remain in service to the GAR for just a little longer, aiming to finish the job they’d been made for. 

For the Republic. For his brothers.

For you, his heart.

How would you feel about spending the rest of our lives together, cyare?

“Sounds like a good conversation to have over dinner.” is all you’ll suggest for the time being, bringing his face close once more for another caste kiss with the door of your apartment in sight. 

If you’d known he’d had this on his mind just a little sooner, or there was no premature rainfall to dampen your plans, maybe you would have suggested taking the long way home after all, just for the fun of it.

Taglist: @msmeredithrose Taglist form can be found here if you would like to make sure you don't miss a fic in the future. Thank you for your patience, and thanks for reading and requesting. 🩷

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Requests: CLOSED]

[mossterunderthebed]

[woodsborostabathon]

have been fighting for my life trying to find this one richie/ethan x reader fic (it was like. an ethan fic but there was a pretty significant sort of kind of fake dating richie subplot) on here that i rbed onto a sideblog on my old acc and saved NOWHERE ELSE apparently bc it was so good but im getting NOTHING 😭

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 20: Finale

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 19

January 28, 1970

The muscles of Rebecca’s abdomen constrict. Pushing against her organs and the air out of her lungs. Pulling her into a crunch as he knuckles cling white to the sides of the hospital bed. While the doctor waits between her legs. Encouraging her to keep going.

It doesn’t escape her that there is no one directly at her bedside. No hand to grasp as the next contraction steals away her time to breath. No partner to rub her back to ease the pain.

Rebecca Lawson is doing this entirely alone. As she has for the past nine months, and will continue to do in the next eighteen years. But as her vision burns blinding white, and the pain finally subsides, she hears a sound that pulls the strength deep in her heart.

The screams or her baby girl.

She falls back on the hospital pillows, panting the air back into her lungs. Wiping the sweat off her brow. Feeling the tired seep into her veins. The slow fade back into peace. Except for baby girl.

Baby girl just won’t quit. Screaming her way through getting washed off and measured. Little arms reaching into the air. Squirming her way into being. Eyes glued shut while her mouth stays agape with cries.

A nurse comes over and helps Rebecca loosen the fabric around her chest. While she outstretches her arms and brings baby girl close to her heart. A mix of emotions building behind her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. She’s finally here.

“Hey, baby,” Rebecca whispers. “You don’t have to cry, I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

Her hand cradles the back of baby’s head. Caressing it gently with small, circular strokes. Calming her down from the initial cries. Watching as she stretches her hands in front of her face, eyes blinking their way open.

For the first time, Rebecca looks into her daughter’s eyes. Sees the curious brown stare back at her. Already knowing the fundamental truth of Rebecca’s whole being.

Motherhood came to her at a time she would not have initially chosen. Life throwing this wrench in the way of her future plans. Reminding her of its unpredictable nature. There were mistakes, and there were successes. And then there was this. Something that most view as a gift but can be so challenging to accept.

But Rebecca was never one to be held down by life’s challenges. So she took the wrench and ran with it. Used it to build something she always wanted. It wasn’t perfect, and neither is she.

Looking here at her little girl, she knows that only one thing matters. To love this girl for all that she is, no matter what. To be the best mother she can be and try to do what’s right. Acknowledge the mistakes that will be made and learn from them. Create a space of safety, joy, and love, wherever that may be. Try to be worthy of every moment that this little girl will give her.

Because from now on, it’s just her and her little girl. Rebecca and Julie Lawson, against the world.

. . .

Present Day, July 1987

Julie lays in her bed, having not much else she can do after being diagnosed with a minor concussion. The impact of the steering wheel just enough to injure her for a week or so. Until the headache stops and she’s able to go back to life.

Alone in her dark bedroom, the only light is the sun that finds its way around her curtain. Lighting the room just enough where she can see but it doesn’t add to her headache.

All there is for her to do is think. About everything and nothing at all. Replaying the songs she knows by heart in her mind. Thinking about her story that reaches a hurdle she just can’t jump over. Wondering if it’s time to start a new one.

Writing was Julie’s escape. A way for her to leave her current plane of existence and create a new one. Stay there for a while where the issues were controlled by her mind, and her mind alone. Where everything turned out the way she wanted it to.

She hasn’t been able to write since moving into the new house. The last entry in her journal being the one she read to her mom on Christmas. Every idea in her mind fading as soon as the pen hit paper. Seeming stupid once she tried to form it into words.

In the whole of everything, life hasn’t been that terrible. The school year is over, so she doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. Her friends seem to have this rotation of who’s house they hang out at, and when. Her house slowly being added to the rotation.

Steve won his case. Their custody court date is slowly incoming, and there’s no doubt in her mind that it will go well. She doesn’t hate herself for liking girls anymore. Her grief, while still prevalent, is slowly starting to fade into a distant memory.

Julie thought that if the pain of losing her mom stopped, so would the memories. The times eventful enough to imprint themselves in her mind fading with the grief. That wasn’t the case, for the most part. Those memories were still just that, memories. Coming and fading as every other one does. Bringing little sparks of joy with them. Joined by tug of pain.

There are still going to be times when Julie’s grief comes back and overwhelms her. Certain milestones where she looks out for her mom and realizes she isn’t there. Feels the crushing weight of loss and knowing that their time together had an early ending.

But. If Julie thinks hard enough, she can still feel her mom around her. Can still smell the scent of her cheap perfume in the jacket she wore every day. And not just because Julie had found the same bottle in the convenience store and brough it home. Sprays a bit every time she wants to remember.

She’d do it now if the smell wouldn’t add to her headache. Instead, she just turns her head to look at her desk. Sees the picture of her and her mom staring back at her. Smiles that familiar smile that’s formed every time she visits a memory. The one filled with happiness, tinged with sad at the corners.

Her life isn’t perfect by a long shot. It was never going to be. Perfection wasn’t something Julie or Rebecca ever strived for. Perfection in the way the rest of the world viewed it at least. Often unattainable.

Their perfect was a life worth living. Surrounded by people they loved. Julie and Rebecca against the world.

Even though it was only Julie who was taking the steps forward now. Only her to traverse this path once walked hand in hand. She isn’t alone. Her mom is still there, in the path beneath her feet. In the trees as they wave in the breeze. And the sun as it blinds her eyes.

Love never leaves. Not when it was meant to stay. When it was true, and beautiful. Rebecca loved Julie. In every way a daughter wishes her mother would. While life could put the blinders on and dampen that feeling. Deep down, Julie always knew it was fact. Knows that it’s fact, even now.

There’s a knock at her door. Each rapt echoing inside her ears. Making her wince. Steve opens it, holding the phone against his chest.

“It’s El, she was wondering if you wanted anyone to keep you company.”

Julie props herself up on some pillows. Gaging the severity of her headache. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Cool, I’ll let her know.”

A little while later, El gently knocks on Julie’s door before entering. Smiles as she sits at the foot of her bed. Resting her bag on the floor.

“How are you feeling?”

Julie shrugs. “My head hurts like a bitch and I’m bored out of my mind. But better.”

El smiles. The small braids of her hair dusting her shoulder as she moves her head. “That is good.”

“Yeah.” Julie can’t seem to break the gaze of El’s eyes. “I like your hair. Did Max do them?”

El nods, a hand coming up to play with the end of one of her braids. The faintest pink blush forming across her cheeks. Now that it’s been pointed out, Julie’s not sure how she didn’t notice it before.

“My hair is finally long enough to do things with again. I like it this way.”

Julie shifts over in her bed, making enough room for El to sit beside her. She pats the space next to her and waits for El to move. Heart speeding up as they press together. As El relaxes against her side.

“The group is talking about going to the movies this weekend,” El says. “You can come if you are feeling better.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be up to it. The doctor said I should stay away from watching tv or movies for another week.”

El fidgets with her fingers. “That is ok. Maybe another time.”

Anticipation builds in Julie’s chest. A question forming itself on her tongue. Begging to be asked. The moment where she can see if things between them could change. Or if she’s about to break everything apart.

“We could see one, after I’m better, I mean.” She tries to say it normal, but the weight behind the question persists.

El looks at her confused. “I am sure we can. Just prepare yourself for a lot of fighting over which one to watch. They cannot decide on anything.”

Julie lets out a small laugh. “No. I mean, yeah, I’ll always go to a movie with you guys. But I meant we see a movie.” She motions between the two of them. “Just the two of us.”

The blush returns to El’s cheeks. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Julie dismisses. Feeling self-conscious. Turning away from El and picking at her thumbs. “If you wanted to, that’s all. We don’t have to. We can just sit through the very long argument over what movie and go with the rest of them. It doesn’t have to be,” Julie stutters to a stop when El reaches out at takes her hand.

“Just the two of us,” she finishes. Taking a chance and looking back at El.

There is this softness in El’s eyes that Julie’s never seen before. Something that makes Julie melt. Want to stay trapped in this gaze forever.

“I would like that,” El finally says. Mouth forming a small smile. “Going to a movie. Just the two of us.”

Julie’s smile matches El’s. “Ok. Good. Great. Um. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

. . .

“How’s Julie doing,” Robin asks when she clocks into her shift.

“Bored out of her mind because she can’t do anything. But feeling better about everything.”

Robin nods, hopping up onto the counter. “That’s good.”

She moves on to talking about other things. Picking classes for her next semester at community college. Starting to look at schools that can take her beyond that. Finally narrowing down what she wants to do with her life. Pick a major that she’s not only good at, but also really enjoys.

Steve’s half listening. Stuck on the idea that she could actually be leaving town. That this time next year, he’ll be helping her pick out stuff for her dorm room. Start packing up her life into boxes and bringing them to a new place. Where she won’t be ten minutes across town anymore. But an hour, maybe a day.

There’s more to this than just wanting her to stay her forever. What happens when he gets a nightmare and needs to call her to make sure she’s alive. What happens when a call isn’t enough, and he needs to feel her presence. Just to get back to sleep again. For his mind to return to normal.

A year from now, things could be different. They could be better. But he doesn’t know that. And doesn’t think it will be. Two weeks ago, he couldn’t even distinguish between his boyfriend and a Russian soldier. What’s that say about his progress?

But instead of spiraling like before, knowing that he was stuck in the same place while everyone moved on, he was trying to live in the moment more. Trying to feel better about staying in one place for a while. To find rigidity in the town that seemed to constantly change. Watch it build back into the place it used to be.

“That community college you go to,” Steve interrupts Robin. “They offer classes for everything?”

Robin shrugs. “Yeah, pretty much. Not like everything everything, but most beginner level classes and gen eds and shit. Why?”

Steve’s been thinking about what to do with the money he won. If it would be better to pay off some of his loan, or put it towards something useful. He wasn’t quitting this job anytime soon. If he did, it would be to go work somewhere else. And now, he isn’t planning on moving for a few years.

What if he used it for himself. Actually did something for him first, before anyone else. Used it to find out what he was meant to do. What his real passion was.

“I was thinking of taking some classes in the fall,” he says like it doesn’t matter. “Put the feelers out, figure out what I’m good at.”

Robin freezes. “Are you serious?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah.”

She hops down from the counter and pulls him into a hug. “Holy shit, we could be classmates again. But, like, actually like each other this time. I’m coming over and we’re looking through my course catalogue. This is going to be so great.”

The smile he makes it full of hope. “Yeah. So great.”

. . .

August 1987

“How old are you, Mr. Harrington?” the judge asks from where he is residing behind the stand.

“Twenty-one, your honor,” Steve responds.

The judge marks something on his note pad. “And you have a full-time job, a home under your own name?”

“That is correct. I am the manager at Family Video and recently bought a house.”

He knows that it’s the judge’s job to ask these questions. To prove that he’s fit to look after Julie. But each time the judge takes a second to look at him too long, or write something on his notepad, Steve gets a chill down his spine. Knowing that something could stop this from happening. Cause Julie to have to find somewhere else to live.

Steve didn’t want that. Julie didn’t want that. He can almost hear her picking at the skin around her thumbs behind him. Pulling at them until they start to bleed.

“And that is the same address you have listed here?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

There are more questions about him. How the finances have been and his home life. Wondering if he’s going to be bringing people in and out of the house. Implying that Steve has some kind of a night life that he does not. He defends himself, lying that he’s taking a break from dating. That he would never bring anyone into the home that he doesn’t trust.

“As you know, Julie is a bright young girl. College bound. You will have the option to provide that for her, Mr. Harrington. There is not much time for you to do that.”

Steve can’t avoid the sting every time the judge calls him Mr. Harrington. It sounds so much like his father that it makes him sick. But he is still tied to that name, so it will follow him. He can’t focus on how that makes him feel right now.

“I am aware of that,” Steve starts. “I recently was just granted a sum of money, some of which I am going to use to further my own education, but the rest will be going into savings. Which I will start to grow in the case that Julie needs my help when she goes to college.”

“In the case of,” the Judge presses. “While not a requirement, it would be expected of you to help her pay for schooling.”

Steve glances to Sarah behind him. Silently asking her if it’s ok to disclose the information kept in Rebecca’s will. The trust made in Julie’s name, that she doesn’t know about. No one other than Sarah knows.

She nods, giving him permission.

He clears his throat. “That has, actually, already been taking care of by her mother. The savings that she made before her death have been transferred to a trust that Julie will have access to once she turns eighteen.”

“What,” Julie says behind him. Steve turns to see her shocked expression. “I didn’t know that.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Sarah cuts in. “It was supposed to be kept a secret until you turned eighteen.”

The judge hits his gavel. “I understand the questions that arise with this information, but could we please get back to the matter at hand. Thank you.”

The courtroom goes quite once more.

“Miss Lawson, could you please come sit next to your brother.”

The door squeaks as it opens and swings back shut. The chair dragging along the floor as Julie takes the seat next to him.

“You are turning eighteen in about half a year, Miss Lawson. Why go through this process so close to when you become a legal adult.”

Julie clears her throat, looking down at her hands. “When my mom died, I thought my world had ended. It was always just me and her. I didn’t know who was going to look after me anymore. I didn’t know what family I had left. But then I met Steve.”

She looks up, giving Steve a small smile. “I didn’t know I had a brother until shortly before my mom died, and when I learned about it, I wanted nothing to do with my father’s family. Then life happened and I decided that Steve deserved to know. And it gave me a chance to have a family again. That’s why I wanted to do this.”

“What about you, Mr. Harrington?” The judge turns to Steve, a knowing look in his eye. Steve can tell that the decision has already been made. “Why are you here before me today?”

“The same reason,” he says simply. “My whole life I wanted a sibling, someone to share the empty house I was left in all the time. Julie gave me a chance to have that. She became part of the family I always wanted, and I am so thankful for that.”

The judge nods, asking them both to stand.

“I have reviewed the information given to me and have decided. There is no outstanding reason as to why I should object to this. Mr. Harrington has already proved that he is able to provide for Miss Lawson until she reaches eighteen. With the money that Miss Lawson’s mother left for her after her passing will help with expenses after that. I hereby grant Steve Harrington with permanent guardianship of Julie Lawson.”

The courtroom starts to dissipate after the judge’s ruling. Steve turning to Julie with a feeling of disbelief. He can’t believe that it was just that easy. There was this feeling in his gut that was telling him that something would go wrong. That he’s been winning too much lately. Something was about to come crashing down.

But instead, Julie smiles back. Pure joy filling her face as she starts to laugh. They did it.

. . .

Julie chucks her soda into the trash can as her and El leave the movie theater. The two talking and laughing as they walk back to the parking lot. Hands brushing as they walk, tempting Julie to reach out and take it. Wondering how big the risk really is.

The thing about dark theaters is that no one cares what’s going on when the lights go out. All that matters is eyes glued to the screen, not if two girls are holding hands. Even if Julie locked her fingers with El’s out in the open, it could just be seen as two friends walking down the street. As long as they kept it friendly. Any other affection and they could run the risk of being found out.

She’s still getting used to this whole idea. That one wrong move and people would figure out this intense secret of hers. Treat it like it’s the worst thing in the world, even though it’s definitely not. It felt that way at first, but it’s not.

Now, the intense rush of emotions makes Julie’s heart stutter as El’s nose scrunches just slightly as she laughs. As El grabs Julie’s hand and swings their arms as they walk to her dad’s car. It makes her question how anyone could think this feeling was wrong. Or that this relationship is any less than one between straight people.

If this is even a relationship.

Since a few weeks ago when Julie first asked El on a date, things have been different. Seats scooched slightly closer to one another, hands finding each other under blankets during movie nights. Private jokes whispered into each other’s ears and sharing secret smiles. The air between them shifted to something beyond friends. But it was still somewhat the same.

Julie wonders where this is going to go. If the night will end with her and El deciding that this was a terrible idea. Going back to being just friends and nothing more. Or if this shift in energy will only bloom into something more. Something so much deeper than Julie’s ever experienced.

“How was the movie,” El’s dad asks as he drives them back to her house. Breaking the almost awkward silence between the front and back seats.

“It was good,” El smiles. “Very funny.”

She looks at Julie, making a motion to imitate one of the parts of the film. Connecting it to one of her jokes back in the theater. Sending Julie into laughter.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Very funny.”

Hopper whispers something under his breath. But there’s a small smile hiding itself on his face. Julie doesn’t know how much he knows. Something just tells her that he approves of this on some plane. Whether as friends or something more.

Julie says hello to Mrs. Byers on the way in, following El to her room. They sit on El’s bed, falling into conversation. Julie constantly overthinking the mood of the room. Overthinking every touch, every moment, every word. Wondering if this is the time to do something more. Or to pull away. Stopping this before it all crashes and burns. Preventing herself from taking this risk.

“As soon as it comes out on VHS, we have to show it to the rest of the group,” El comments. “They would find it so funny.”

Julie shrugs, “I guess so.”

“It is kind of like our group. Kids and their babysitter going on a big adventure. Getting into trouble. That is basically our life.”

The irony of picking this movie makes Julie laugh. Finally knowing some context of how they all met before Julie came into the mix.

“You know, Steve told me of some that happened,” Julie says before thinking. Stupidly slipping the moment into a much darker topic. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

El’s demeanor changes. She curls into herself. Playing with the hem of her shorts. “Did Max tell you what I asked her to? About my life before my dad adopted me.”

Julie nods. “Yeah.”

“How much of it?”

“Just that you were in a really bad place before and had to escape. That it was the same lab that caused all of those other people to die in ’83 and ’84.”

El nods. So sad that it makes Julie want to wrap her in a hug and never let her go. Protect her from anything that makes her look like this. She slowly removes the bracelet from around her wrist, revealing a small tattoo. The number eleven.

“This is the real reason I am called El. I was number Eleven, it was my name when I escaped.”

Julie carefully reaches out and holds El’s wrist. Taking a closer look at the tattoo. Feeling the weight of knowing this in her hands.

“There were other children there too. We were all numbers. Until I was the only one left.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Julie assures when she sees a tear trail down El’s cheek. Fighting the urge to wipe it away. “I’m sorry I brought this up in the first place. I wanted tonight to be a good night.”

El’s smile returns to her face. Still painted with a tired sorrow. But the joy sparks at its edges. “It is ok. I wanted you to know. I feel safe when I’m with you. And tonight,” she looks down at her wrist, Julie’s hand still holding it gently. “It was a good night. A very good night.”

The slight blush returns to her cheeks. Almost embarrassed. A piece of her hair falling in front of her eyes. Julie wanting to reach out and tuck it away.

“Good,” Julie says awkwardly. “It was a good night for me too.”

“I have never been on a date with a girl before. Only with Mike and I was not allowed to go on any dates like the one we had today. It was nice, very nice.” El tucks the strand of hair behind her ear.

A date. Julie can’t help the flush that rises to her cheeks. She knew what this was, but still. Hearing El be the one to say it solidified what it was. Reassure that this wasn’t all one sided.

She huffs a laugh, trying to sound normal. “Well, that’s good.”

It sounds so repetitive when she says it. Like no other words can form in her mouth. Stuck on a loop. But El moves closer and all her brain can tell her is good. Good as the nerves make their way to her fingers, shaking as they lock with El’s. Good as the mood shifts away from the sad and into anticipation. Like something is going to happen but Julie can’t tell what it is.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” El springs up from the bed. Breaking the tension. She walks over to the dresser and rummages through the small basket sitting on top of it. Returning with something closed in her fist. “I want you to close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Julie does so, tentatively. “Ok.”

She feels El slide something onto her wrist. Feather light touches as she positions it and pulls it taught. The touch leaves and the bed dips beside her again.

“Ok, you can open your eyes now.”

Julie looks to her wrist, seeing a braided bracelet tied around it. “It’s pretty, thank you.”

“You are welcome. I have been meaning to make you one for a while now because everyone else has one. It was meant to be a friendship bracelet, and it still can be. But we are not exactly just friends anymore.”

“Not if you don’t want us to be.” Julie turns to look at El, their faces closer than she was expecting them to be.

That tension picks up again. Along with the nervousness melded with excitement in her chest.

“I want us to,” El rushes out. “If you want us to.”

“Can I kiss you?” Julie whispers. The question already answered in her mind weeks ago, but never said allowed. Sometimes actions were better than words.

El nods. Leaning forward as Julie’s lips press into hers.

. . .

Steve sits on his couch watching the kids bicker over what movie to watch. Eddie pressed between him and the edge of the couch. The two already preparing to have to make space for some of the kids when they finally figure out a movie. Robin and Nancy doing the same, crammed together into one armchair.

It still surprises him how they all continue to cram into his house. Almost refusing to use any other space that might be more accommodating. Where they might actually have a seat that’s not some old pillows on the floor. Where, even then, they won’t have to sit closer than they want to in order to fit.

But time and time again, they continue to come over to Steve’s. Eat his food and use his tv. Bother him in ways that don’t really bother him, but they’ll never know that. Continue to show him that it was never the things that he owned that made his home special. It was him.

Time, after time, after time, they continue to flock to his house because he was the one who made it. It was him that made sure they were all fed and taken care of. Him that helped them through troubles and picked them up from school. Him who made sure that no matter what, this was a space free of judgement that they could just be themselves.

It’s shown with the way that Eddie’s able to sink into the arm Steve has thrown across the back of the couch. Seen in the way that Robin and Nancy whisper to each other while playing with each other’s fingers. Seen in the way that El holds Julie’s arm, pressing her cheek into her shoulder. Seen in the way that Mike continues to stare at Will and starts to inch closer, actually trying to do something about it all.

“Move in with me,” Steve whispers to Eddie sometime during the movie. Having wanted to ask that question for months now.

Eddie turns to look at him, confusion and shock mixing his emotions. “Yeah?”

Steve nods, smiling a stupid smile he doesn’t care about hiding anymore. “Court cases are done, school’s starting up again. It’s the perfect time. If you wanted to.”

“Of course I want to,” Eddie says with all the whispered dramatics in the world. The love he has in eyes ever present.

Taking a quick glance to make sure no one is looking, Steve closes the gap between them for what was supposed to be a quick kiss. That is until the kids starting gagging and booing. Making them prolong it to further their discomfort.

“You ask him?” Julie asks while helping him pick up discarded paper plates and cups. A knowing smile already on her face.

“Yeah, I asked him.”

“Took you long enough.” She punches him gently in the arm before heading off to bed.

What started as a stranger on his doorstep adding more uncertainty to his life, turned out to be the best thing that’s happened to him in a while. A sister, family, coming into his life and showing him that he had a chance to take it for himself. Change the way he was living to finally be happy with it. Completely and utterly happy with it.

This house was never meant to be Steve’s endgame. This town was never meant to be it either. But these people, this family, this home, he will travel with it until the ends of the Earth. Until the ground splits in two again and swallows them all whole. Until shit hits the fan and he has to pull his old nail bat out of retirement.

Steve doesn’t know what his future holds. What career he’s going to find himself in a year, in five. Where life will carry him after Hawkins. But if he’s sure of one thing and one thing only, he’s sure to never, ever let it go.

. . .

January 28, 1988

Julie heads into the house after school, ready to get changed out of her work clothes before heading out again. The group meeting at the local diner to celebrate her birthday. She slings her apron into the hamper when she notices something on her desk.

Sorry I couldn’t be here for your birthday, we’ll do something tomorrow. This came for you in the mail. Call me if you need anything. Have fun!

Steve

She rips off the post it and tosses it in the trash, looking at the envelope. She tears it open taking out the papers inside. On top is a letter from Sarah, the words causing her to sit down as she frantically reads the words.

It’s all the paperwork that she’ll need to fill out to transfer the money from her trust to her. All of the savings her mom set up for her for college. So she can finally make a decision about the growing stack of acceptance letters on her desk.

Looking at this amount, that decision won’t be hard. She can pretty much go to any of the schools she applied to with this money.

All this money, every payment, almost every cent must have gone into this account. This is money that could have changed their lives. Could have gotten them out of the trailer and into a house. Maybe stopped her mom from having to work two jobs just to keep afloat.

There was almost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in this account. Doing the math, around seven hundred and fifty dollars a month for the seventeen years her mom was paid. All of it saved for her future.

Underneath all the papers that she can’t even think about looking through right now, there’s one that doesn’t look like the rest. One that’s on lined sheets of paper ripped out of a notebook. Recognition hitting Julie almost instantly.

It’s a letter from her mom.

She slams the letter onto the desk, hiding it among the rest of the papers. Unsure if she wants to read it now. Knowing that she has to leave soon to get to dinner. Not knowing how it’s going to affect her.

Deciding to save it for after dinner, Julie forces herself out of the chair and heads to her closet. Pulls out some clothes and gets changed, grabbing her keys on her way out the door. Trying to push the letter to the back of her mind. It works for a while, but every time the conversation stutters, her thoughts are drawn back to the paper hiding on her desk.

She really wants to know what it says.

El grabs Julie’s hand under the table. Giving it a gentle squeeze to silently ask if she’s ok. Julie nods, promising to tell her about it later.

The dinner ends and Julie drives El back to the house. Grabs her hand and leads her to the bedroom. Pulls the letter from underneath the stack and sits with it on her bed. Staring at the first line, unable to read more.

“It’s a letter from my mom,” Julie finally says.

El wraps an arm around Julie’s. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t read it yet.”

“Do you want to?” El presses her cheek into Julie’s shoulder, grounding her.

Julie bites at her lip. “I do. I think a part of me is scared too though.”

“I’m here for you. Whenever you are ready.”

Julie takes a deep breath. Holding the letter closer, finally reading what her mom has to say. “Here goes nothing.”

My dear Julie,

I know what you’re probably thinking. I’m insane for putting all of this money away for you, not using even a little bit of it for myself. Or for you now. And I did every now and then. You kept growing so fast and I couldn’t keep up. Sometimes I needed to use a little just to make sure you had clothes that fit. Or for holidays.

But the point of it all was that this money was for you. I didn’t need anyone else to help raising you. I didn’t want to take the money in the first place. Until I realized that this money could help you get the life you always dreamed of. That I always dreamed for you.

You are so smart, Jules. And so creative. I loved every story you ever wrote to me. Cherished each one. Not just because I’m your mom, but also because they were just that good. You have a gift to write like that. Never lose it.

After today, this money is yours. You can do whatever you want with it. Go to school, travel the world, move out of this town, I don’t care. Just make sure to come visit me every so often. There will always be a place for you in my heart and my home.

Whatever you do, just promise me that you’ll enjoy it. Promise me that you’ll never lose that spark in your eyes that you get when a new idea comes in your head. Promise me that you never lose your laughter, or your sense of humor. Promise me that you’ll take life by the reigns and lead it straight into your sunset.

Your future is bright, Julie. Let this be my greatest gift to you, the first steppingstone in your independent life.

You’re going to do great things one day. I know because you are already doing them now.

I love you to the ends of the Earth. To the moon and all the stars. It was an honor to see you grow into the woman you are today.

Love,

Mom

P.S. I hope my tears didn’t stain this paper too much. You know me, forever a sap.

A wet laugh escapes Julie’s mouth. Tears adding to the small rings at the bottom of the page. Fingers grazing over the last line. Over and over. She eventually sets the paper down next to her. Careful not to crumble it as she collapses into El. As the sob she’s been holding in all day breaks free.

The next morning, Julie wakes up with her arms still tight around El. With the tear stains still imprinted onto her cheek. Mouth dry from all the crying.

She sits up, finds the letter placed gently on the nightstand. Clicks on her small lamp and rereads it. Over and over again.

These are the last words Julie will ever hear, or read, from her mom. Written however long ago, Julie doesn’t even know. But it was without the knowledge of what would come. How their ending would be.

Sometimes endings aren’t as conclusive as once thought to be. Sometimes, an epilogue is added that is heart wrenching and makes the reader question when the end really is. Pulls the heart string one last time as the book finally comes to a close.

Then, endings form new beginnings. Each chapter ends and starts another. New conflicts arise and fall into resolution. The plot keeps moving as the pages turn. As time moves on.

As far as final chapters go, Julie thinks this is a nice one. Filled with just enough loose ends to keep the reader interested in a sequel, but tying up the ones that really matter. A sense of closure forming in her chest. A readiness to step right into this new chapter. The letter fitting as perfect set up.

El stirs, scrunching her eyes closed with the light. Julie laughs a little, reaching across to turn the light off.

“Sorry.”

“It is fine,” she blinks. Pulling herself to sit next to Julie. “Reading it again?”

Julie nods. “It was a lot at first, but it’s really comforting to have this. To know that she loved me enough to plan this all out for me.”

“She loved you so much, I believe that.”

“I think she would have liked you,” Julie smiles. “I think she would have liked us.”

El smiles back, the sleep still pulling at the muscles in her face. “I wish I could meet her.”

Julie presses their heads together. “Yeah, I do too.”

A fist slams against the door. Startling them apart. “Breakfast is ready,” Eddie yells through the door.

Julie rolls her eyes. Him having done this every single time El has stayed over. “You can ease the wakeup call, you know. It’s getting old.”

“No, I think I’m going to keep doing this until you both graduate college.”

The both of them roll their eyes as they make their way out to the kitchen. Steve and Eddie bickering not so quietly while plating the eggs. Shutting up just for a second when they enter the room. Until it picks up again while they eat.

Julie can’t help but laugh, sharing small glances with El across the table. There’s this warmth in this house that she thought she’d never feel again. A space that is her own. A home to come back to. Where love radiates through the walls.

While the circumstances were those that she would not have picked willingly, this was still something she didn’t want to lose. This family she’s apart of, this life she has, it’s more than she could have asked for after the accident. It’s more than she ever expected to happen after tragedy.

But it did. And this life that she’s got left, this family, this home, she’s doesn’t want it to change. She doesn’t want it to leave. Hoping that it follows her to the ends of the Earth. Love her to the moon and all the stars. Because she knows that wherever her mom is looking down at her, it’s what she would want too.

Deep in her heart, she knows.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis,

@ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi,

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet,

@steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy,

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@crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @melonmochi

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.