#like there's only seven kids in the class room at any given time and the protest at the end has like

[intothedysphoria]

Going from a social outcast to seemingly universally desired was a change that Billy found himself sorely lacking the capacity to deal with.

It felt like barely a year ago he was just the fat kid with the asshole dad. The kid who was more comfortable speaking Irish than English. The weird kid who couldn’t sit still in class and had “outbursts” that would leave a classroom completely overturned.

Now he’d lost weight (not by choice), had to speak English if he didn’t want to be uprooted for a third time and was supposedly taking his adderall post ADHD diagnosis. Neil was still an asshole but that would never change.

He was desirable now. A hot commodity. Had the approval of everyone apart from his own fucking dad.

In short, Billy was absolutely miserable.

He missed California a lot. He missed Belfast even more. He missed being fat. He missed his mam and grandad. He missed everything.

Showing any signs of weakness was how it started though. So Billy did what he always did. He adapted.

Harrington was weird. Taking the crown from him was almost too easy. For all the talk he’d been fed about King Steve, what Billy got was a teenager who couldn’t make eye contact, spent an hour reading two pages of a textbook and walked like a penguin when nobody was watching.

Good thing Billy didn’t mind weird.

The usual taunts didn’t really work. All it really achieved was getting Harrington flat on his back on the gym floor and that got Billy thinking about sex which wasn’t helpful.

Harrington just stared up at him with these big startled eyes. Like a damn deer. The pointed star he wore around his neck swayed as Billy let him up. Jewish maybe. Billy felt his hand unconsciously drift down towards his own pendant, the one his granny had given him.

The one that would help him find his way back home.

They fought within a week. Arsehole had Max holed up in a strangers house. It made Billy’s skin crawl just thinking about it. Especially after having to flirt with Karen Wheeler just to get any answers, All he could remember was that he was winning then the world started going black.

When he woke up there was a dead something in the fridge. He probably hadn’t woken up at all then. His body took that hint as a sign to collapse again.

He woke up again. A small woman with mousy brown hair and a nervous tic was cooking. Billy could hear The Clash drifting from another room. Christmas lights were scattered across the wall. It was the first place in Hawkins that had actually felt like home.

The woman’s name was Joyce. The house he’d found Harrington and Max and the nightmare in had been her house. She was dressed practically and smelled like paint and reminded him so much of his own mam that his heart hurt.

She was a good cook. The soup wasn’t like anything he’d ate before, probably Polish but it was fantastic. She asked if he wanted to stay the night. He said no.

Neil would be waiting. He always was.

Neil had burned the damn book. The one Billy had wrote when he was seven, colouring all the words in orange and white and green. It hurt more than any punch every could have.

He was under house arrest again. Only let out when Max needed a fucking taxi to a Christmas dance. Harrington was a couple of cars away, fussing over a boy of about thirteen who could have been his younger brother.

They weren’t biologically brothers. But Henderson was his cousin. So they were in spirit. Those were some of the things Billy learned from a few strained sentences of conversation.

He apologised in a way so Billy reluctantly returned one. Apparently he hadn’t realised how fucking dodgy he’d looked with Max.

Billy was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Neil kicked him out of the house on Christmas Day for hanging an Irish flag on his door. Billy went to the Byers. Joyce’s family didn’t exactly celebrate Christmas but she still gave him a present.

She gave him gorgeous Polish cakes which were fucking delicious and some of Jonathan’s old vinyls which he didn’t listen to anymore.

That day Billy discovered The Specials and tucked the vinyl under his weed stash in the Camaro boot. Somewhere Neil would never think to look.

Harrington was tolerable after Christmas break. Tolerable in an infuriating way because Billy still wanted to fuck him. The queerness wasn’t something he’d told anyone about though apart from Patrick McKinney so he kept those thoughts to himself.

He spent more time at the Byers, learned what Shabbat was, came out to Joyce in a flood of tears, kissed Harrington, wrote a letter back to Ireland for the first time in two years and made a plan to get the hell out of Hawkins Indiana.

Harrington managed to pass high school with a lot of bribery and tutoring and kissing at his place. Jesus but Harringtons house was a bloody mansion. Billy had spent his first eight years in a terraced shared accommodation where his entire extended family had lived. Harrington had five bathrooms and his own television. Not even in black and white.

Billy got his predicted mix of A’s and B’s so he was happy and spent most of the weekend post graduation floating on his back in the Harrington pool, beer in hand. He couldn’t afford to slack off completely though. So he got a summer job.

Working at the community pool was fine. As long as Billy didn’t think about the middle aged women staring at him like a piece of meat. Fucking perverts. Heather was fun though. Funny. The only lesbian he’d met in Hawkins apart from Buckley.

Neil had started acting even weirder than usual after a night Billy had slept over at his boyfriends. He’d taken to ice baths and Billy swore he’d seen the man drinking bleach. Ugh.

Max was pretty obviously freaked out though so Billy slowly phased her into spending most nights at the Byers or the Sinclairs or Steve’s. Susan wouldn’t budge. Something in Billy’s chest felt a bit sick about that.

The Fourth of July they were in the mall, the one Steve worked at. Something even more hellish than the thing in the fridge stood above them. And Neil just stood by with blank, hateful eyes and let it happen.

He died. Billy killed him. Stabbed him in the chest then the monster went away.

Steve was gripping his shoulders as he stood there, Neil’s blood on his jacket and he cried.

Susan left.

Social services took Max. Billy cried a lot that day. She was living with some family in Michigan. They promised to keep in touch.

Billy went to therapy twice a week. A guy from County Mayo who Billy trusted immediately.

There was no point really in Joyce adopting him as he was over eighteen. Besides she didn’t need to. Billy knew who his family were.

A letter came back from Belfast. Inviting both him and Steve back to his grandparents house. Steve had never left the US, had never really left the Midwest actually. Billy wanted to show him everything.

The years went by and Billy regained weight. He stopped speaking English as much and was determined to teach Steve Irish. He still sometimes forgot to take his adderall and had awful nightmares but Steve was there to make it better.

He was alive. And life was pretty ok.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

I like to think that Ponyboy thought Soda was closest to their Dom and Darry had their Dad; that sure his parents loved him but he wasn't their favorite but being dead ass wrong.

Got any headcannons about Mr. and Mrs. Curtis loving their littlest baby boy? :)

HECK YEAH I DO! Thanks anon, this ask is so cute.

Ponyboy and his Parents headcanons:

-Got to ride around on Mr. Curtis' shoulders a lot when he was little, and since he was the baby of the family and their last kiddo, also was allowed to way longer than Soda or darry did (this kid was nearly five when he was finally considered 'too big' for it anymore)

-Soda was definitely one of those kids who needed their parents to sit and supervise to make sure they actually did their homework, so when Soda and Darry were doing homework but Pony was too young to have any yet, Mrs. Curtis would sit at the table with him and they'd do colouring books together while Mr Curtis helped the others with schoolwork

-When Darry and Soda were out with friends but Pony was too young to go along, Mrs.Curtis would make a pillow fort in the living room and make them each an ice cream sundae, and then they'd sit together in the fort eating ice cream and reading together. It's part of why Pony's such a voracious reader now, because his mom made it so special for him when he was little

-When Mrs. Curtis was baking chocolate cakes she'd let Pony lick the spoon whenever he was alone with her in the kitchen- which was often, him and Soda were both total mama's boys. (She did it for all her kids of course, whenever they were the only ones around, and to this day they all still think they were the only ones who she let do it since she always told them it was their little secret.)

-Ponyboy has his father's height and also his build. Mr. Curtis was never a track star, but he won a few foot races at fairs and stuff when he was a kid, and that's where Pony gets his speed from

-Anytime young Pony wondered why his dad picked such a weird name- particularly if he was upset after getting teased about it- and demanded to know why they'd given it to him, Mr.Curtis would tell a different story and they got progressively more outlandish ever time he asked

-Mr. Curtis liked movies almost as much as Ponyboy does, except he was the type of person to talk through them, and it annoyed Ponyboy so much (now he'd do anything to watch a movie with his dad again)

-Mrs. Curtis gave all her kids tons of nicknames, but her favourite ones were a little ridiculous. She called Darry 'cheeks' because he had really rosy cheeks as a toddler, Soda was 'smudges' because as a baby he always had food on his face, and Ponyboy was 'bean' because he was a bouncy baby and was 'just like a little jumping bean, aren't you my little love?'

-Mr. Curtis loved plants but couldn't keep one alive no matter how hard he tried, and he mourned every single one he accidentally killed. Pony unfortunately inherited both the love of plants and the opposite of a green thumb. After the sixth plant funeral Pony forced him to attend, Curly got him a succulent thinking it would be impossible for Pony to kill a plant that hardly needs water. The very next day he found himself attending plant funeral number seven

-Mr. Curtis would help Ponyboy and Soda make signs and banners before every one of Darry's football games when Darry was having breakfast with his team. They always offered Mrs.Curtis to join them but she usually took the opportunity of all her boys being busy to take a few minutes to herself

-Soda was always moving as a child, so Mrs. Curtis took him to one of those 'mommy and me' dance classes- but like, the 60s equivalent so like, swing dance lessons they just happened to go to together- while Darry, Pony, and Mr. Curtis would all cook dinner. Because of this, the Curtis brothers all cook more like their dad than their mom, because Mr.Curtis had the patience to help teach them in the kitchen, whereas Mrs. Curtis hated anyone else in her space when cooking (girl me too)

-Mrs. Curtis was the chocaholic that all the Curtis bros inherited their sweet tooth from. She used to buy an extra bag of chocolate chips and keep in the drawer of her bedside table because no other place in the house was safe from Darry's careful investigations and Ponyboy's pleading green eyes. And don't even get her started on Soda's ability to sniff chocolate out like a bloodhound, and steal it quieter than a ghost. That kid was never quiet, not even in church, but hide a chocolate muffin in the back of the fridge and suddenly he was a monk until it was in his belly.

-Ponyboy thinks he doesn't share much/enough resemblance with his parents, but his ears go red like Mrs.Curtis' used to when she was embarrassed or mad, and the cut of his jawline is just the same as Mr.Curtis', and he tilts his head when he laughs just like his mom did. Sometimes Ponyboy will get confused and the scrunch between his brows is so similar to the way their mom used to look when she was trying to help him with math homework that it catches Darry off guard and for a second it's hard for him to breathe

-Mrs.Curtis might have got Pony into reading, but Mr.Curtis was the one who got him into liking poetry. He could recite lines and lines of poetry off by heart and Pony still remembers some of his dad's favourites

[absolutebl]

10 BLs where the Main Couple has NO Prior History

Or at least, very very little of it. The opposite of the very popular LTP (long term pining). 

This post in response to a question posed by the most excellent @luuhecia​ who asked: Soooo here's my plea: do you have any recommendations of shows where the people involved have no previous history?

In other words we get to watch them meet and fall in love with no prior history on either side. So I eliminated those were there was a made crush even if only recently (e.g. Light on Me, Takara & Amagi). 

1. Seven Days

They know of each other but just in a normal high school way. No pining. The story is basically about the 7 days it takes them to fall in love. 

2. Color Rush

They are destined for each other but they have never met before. 

3. Semantic Error 

In fact, part of the premise is a “hunt for the unknown boy who made him fail to graduate.” 

4. To My Star 

They have a couple of meet cutes, accidentally shack up together. 

There are actually a TON from Korea. 

5. Addicted 

The new kid in high school. They have a family connection (it turns out) but they didn’t know each other. 

6. Restart After Come Back Home

We see them meet for the first time and then go on from there.

7. HIStory 2: Crossing the Line 

They meet by crashing into each other because... Taiwan. 

8. My Tooth Your Love 

Just so cute. 

9. Eclipse

There are a lot of good ones from Thailand but I chose this because it’s part of the plot, how they know nothing about each other. 

10. Love by Chance 

Just the greatest meet cute ever. 

NEW ENTRY

11. The Eighth Sense

Actually uses the fact that the DO NOT have prior history with each other as a plot point and for character development. It’s addressed directly ind dialogue. Very nicely done! 

Others that didn’t make my top 10 but still have no prior pining

China 

Advance Bravely 

Capture Lover

My Esports Genius Brother - love at first sight 

Japan

Candy Color Paradox 

Given - love at first sight 

His the series  - love at first sight 

Senpai This Can’t Be Love (he has a crush on him but they haven’t actually met each other) 

Silhouette of Your Voice

Kieta Hatsukoi

My Beautiful Man 

Mr Unlucky - love at first sight 

Korea 

Kissable Lips - fated mates

Mr Heart

My Sweet Dear 

Love Class 

Behind Cut 

Shoulder to Cry On 

The Lover - cohabitation 

Unintentional Love Story 

Tasty Florida - love at first sight 

 Roommates of 304 

All the Liquors

Blueming

New Employee 

Nobleman Ryus Wedding 

Oh Boarding House 

Ocean Likes Me 

Tinted With You 

Wish You - love at first sight 

You Make Me Dance  

The Philippines 

Like in the Movies

My Day 

Rainbow Prince 

Taiwan 

Because of You 

Be Loved in House I Do

Craving You - love at first sight 

HIStory 2: Right or Wrong 

See You After Quarantine? 

Vietnam

Hay Rival I Love You 

My Lascivious Boss - one night stand

Nation’s Brother - one night stand

Want to See You 

You Are Ma Boy

Thailand

(not all are chronicled, there’s too many, main couples only) 

Ai Long Nhai - love at first sight 

Bite Me

Between Us - one night stand 

Coffee Melody

Love Mechanics - one night stand  

Ghost Host Ghost House

Gen Y - love at first sight 

KinnPorsche (family connection but they don’t know about it) 

La Cuisine 

Tale of 1000 Stars - Well there is the heart connection but it’s not quite the same thing

Love in the Air 

Love Area 

My Engineer 

Meow Ears Up 

Moonlight Chicken - one night stand 

My Ride - GREAT example of well developed meet cute and then romance 

Never Let Me Go

Not Me - erm, it’s complicated 

Oh My Sunshine Night 

Oxygen - love at first sight 

Paint with Love

Puppy Honey 

Siew Sum Noi

Something in My Room 

Top Secret Together 

TharnType 

Tuxedo 

Unforgotten Night - One Night Stand 

Vice Versa 

What Zabb Man 

YYY 

This post as of April 2023, not responsible of BLs that fit this criteria after that date. But feel free to leave a comment or repost with more additions. 

(source)

[meklarian]

Frogs

When I was 7 years old, I remember how one day I had some sort of breakthrough where I could suddenly see frogs.

The day before, a neighbor of mine of the same age who had a reputation for finding and catching frogs had told me: "The world is full of frogs!". He then proceeded to point out something like seven or eight frogs in our immediate vicinity around a drainage ditch that serviced our neighborhood. He didn't give any direction on how to spot them, and after brief conversation we went back to our respective houses.

The next morning I woke up, and like I had been blessed by some spell cast by my neighbor, I went into our backyard and promptly found four frogs in the nearby grass and bushes. This newfound gift did not impress my siblings, who demanded a more concrete demonstration. This led to me scouting a half dozen more for them around the drainage ditches further beyond our home. Soon enough, this mysterious ability spread to my siblings and all of the other kids in my neighborhood.

To the dismay of our grade-school teachers, all of us schoolkids in our neighborhood brought in dozens of frogs. To our unenlightened eyes they were all in need of food and homes, but a terrarium stocked with mealworms was really more like a prison, despite the illusive safety of their glass walls and steady supply of food.

I remember one day when our frog savant neighbor saw one of the toads we caught in the class terrarium, hiding in the bottom of the dirt yet visible through the glass. He announced to us all: "That toad is sad and needs to go home!". That afternoon, our teacher fished that toad out and set him free; and announced to the class that we would not be able to house any more frogs or toads as there was simply no more room to house them.

Some time before the school year was out, our frog savant disappeared for a few weeks, and word got around that he had gotten deathly ill from traipsing about the drainage ditches. We all understood that some of the drainage ditches may have had some sewage pollution or contamination; and our frog savant was really the only person who would regularly catch frogs out of those tainted waterways. There was some victim-blaming in his direction, but we were all aware that it could have been any one of us that could have taken ill; we all had contact with filthy water in the past.

After our frog savant returned to school and confirmed his bout of illness, our collective ability to see and capture frogs withered fast as we began to fear contact with their habitat. Even our frog hero kept his distance from bodies of water, and eventually became disinclined to seek out frogs. Before the next school year began, the frogs were suddenly gone to all of us. Of course, they were still around, but without our eyes and hands seeking them out, they may as well have dissolved beyond our boundaries in the natural elements around us.

Since then, and through present day, this frog-cecity continues on for me. I have had some limited success scouting for tree frogs, but as soon as the session is over and i have left their habitat, my ability to find them withers away, and on future visits i leave empty-handed without any sightings.

When I am outdoors and if i see any frogs, I feel like I am only seeing obvious ones- as though these are the frogs that accept being in proximity and in sight where people may see them. The world has largely been unkind to frogs in the decades elapsed since those childhood years; and the frogs have no voice to tell us that they are besieged by UV rays, by chemicals and pesticides, and by virtue of losing habitat they can only withdraw to places beyond our reach, out of sight.

One lesson given to us in school is that amphibians are our sign that the world just beyond us is healthy; that if we can still find frogs and salamanders and other denizens of marshes and swamp, there is still a natural world that somehow manages to persist. Maybe frog-perception is a gift we can still attain when we are immersed in nature. However, the frogs we can see within our reach are the few survivors who can occupy that dangerous niche of being in the shadow and reach of humankind. Whether we will continue to see frogs and their kin as time passes is in doubt, and whether we can continue notice them is dependent on perception even through their absence.

After all, the sound of missing frogs is unison with silence.

[lionydoorin]

Got any Tamber headcanons? :3

you know i do!

they met when tara was seven and amber was six, right before tara was held back a year again. they were waiting for their parents together on the sidewalk, sitting side by side, not really talking but fidgeting and smiling at each other from time to time. tara saw amber pull a psp out and start playing a game she was interested in, and amber, noticing it, asked if she wanted to play, as well. time didn't seem to pass after that; they waited for hours before sam finally got out of class and amber's parents finally remembered they had a daughter to pick up, and parted with waves and smiles, not even knowing each other's names.

they become best friends, though, after tara's parents divorce and she's held back another year. the kids bully her because tara's older but she's smaller and why is she studying with them? is she stupid? and amber beats the hell out of a kid that says that loud enough for tara to hear. after that, they're stuck to each other like glue.

tara dictated everything she did based on amber's wants and needs. not necessarily because amber required her to, no, but because she felt she needed to in order to keep her close. amber loved it, though.

their first sleepover is after sam doesn't come to pick tara up for the sixth consecutive time after class. amber always waited for sam to show up before she walked home, not wanting to leave her friend alone; after three hours watching the street, she stood up, stretching her hand out for tara to hold. come on, she said, you're sleeping at mine's today.

(it becomes a daily thing. they never ask their parents about it — no one cares, in reality. they're all too far gone into work and alcohol to care.)

amber was always kind of bossy, even before she lost her mind. she always took the lead in their friend group, and despised if anyone tried to prove her wrong. tara's admiration for her stemmed from that at first – that, and the fact amber protected her, amber stayed with her.

so, she didn't care if amber was a little aggressive sometimes. she didn't care if there were things her best friend wouldn't let her do. she thought that was what love was about.

when sam left? tara called her in tears, locked inside her room, scared out of her mind because her mother wouldn't stop yelling at her like it was her fault and she had broken the kitchen's glass table in rage. amber talks her through her panic attack on the phone, and promises her she'll let her stay for the rest of the week, if tara wants to.

(she was so glad sam left, so glad her biggest competition was gone. she could never tell tara, though.)

amber hates wes. we all know that. it all started when they were fourteen and wes called her out for not letting tara befriend a new kid from their class, simply because she was jealous. he said it didn't make sense and that tara wasn't her property. she all but needed to prove him wrong.

because tara was hers. only hers.

their first kiss happens when they're fifteen, sleeping over at amber's, a slasher playing on the background. i could elaborate but i'll leave that for a separate post, maybe :3

tara gave amber the necklace after said first kiss. she knew it was a gift her father apparently wanted to be given to her when she was fifteen, something he bought years before the divorce and told christina to wait for her sweet quinces. tara couldn't bear the idea of keeping it, instead wanting to give it a new meaning. something that could symbolize maybe, just maybe, amber was hers as much as she was (undoubtedly) amber's.

they never really dated. it was complicated. they were so much for each other but never verbalized nor made it official – for everyone, it was only "tara's amber" and "amber's tara", if that makes sense.

okay so. amber dies. it's complicated. we don't know how much she actually felt. this thought plagues tara forever.

when she goes to bed, she sees amber's eyes. hears her voice. feels her touch. it's all too much, it has always been too much, but now tara simply doesn't know how to handle it.

she doesn't sleep. she doesn't eat. she fears the possibility of seeing her in the shadows, and once she does see her, it's like a ghost keeping her soul trapped to amber's.

the voice talks to her. it tells her things she always wanted to hear, and things she never wanted to think about. how much she meant to amber. (you were supposed to be my perfect opening kill, baby.) how much amber wanted to be with her. (if only you had let me finish this. we could be together. forever.)

tara hates that she loves loved amber. hates the idea of ever having missed her. she misses her.

[zigmaldonado]

hey, isn’t that ZIGMUND ‘ZIG’ MALDONADO, who looks a little like TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ? i hear HE is a THIRTY ONE year old CIS MAN who works as a FIREFIGHTER & SECRET MALE STRIPPER who has been in town for 6 YEARS. they AREN’T a member of one of aspen creek’s founding families. you can usually find them at WILLOW STREET or SUNNYVALE BASKETBALL COURT. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of A SMILE THAT CAN LIGHT UP ANY ROOM, LEFTOVER GLITTER STUCK TO YOUR HAIR, THE SMELL OF SMOKE, A SHOT OF VODKA, A BRAVE FACADE. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through!

tw for illness, cancer, fire, death.

FULL NAME: zigmund mateo maldonado. NICKNAMES: zig. FAMILY: romina maldonado ( mother ). tba ( younger sister, wc ) PETS: n/a at the moment. AGE: thirty-one. DATE OF BIRTH: august 2nd. ZODIAC: leo. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: homosexual, homoromantic. OCCUPATION: firefighter & secret male stripper.

about zigmund.

Zig was born in Fort Worth, Texas as the oldest son of a single mother, with a sister only a few years younger than him. They were abandoned early on by a father who decided he didn’t want to raise his kids anymore and left their home city. Romina was left alone with them but always made sure that they were given everything a lower-class mother could provide them. The Maldonado kids were taken care by a grandmother for the first years of their lives, and Ana Lucia did the best that she could to help her daughter in her old age, just so that Romina could get back to work. Zigmund understood from a young age that life wasn’t easy and that he’d have to work much harder than his peers to get where he wanted to. 

When he was only ten, catastrophe hit and a neighbor’s house caught fire, taking half of their home down with it. Their family was left unharmed, quickly saved by the local firefighters, but what little they had was unfortunately burned away. They moved to a one-bedroom apartment after that and Romina started working two jobs so that they could start over. A sick elderly mother and two kids under her cares, Zig could see that his mother was constantly tired and unhappy. And he promised himself that he’d give her the life she so desperately needed once he was old enough to. In his young age, he started to help more around the house with chores — cleaning, cooking, doing the dishes and the laundry. He didn’t mind it, it gave him a sense of purpose and made him into the man he’s turned out to be now.

When his teenage years rolled in, Zig had started to study to become a firefighter. It hadn’t been his initial dream but it became that quickly after the fire that tore down their home. He studied at school, and then later at home after he was done with his chores. And by the time he graduated from high school, Zig was accepted at the Fire Academy, bringing so much pride to his mother’s eyes. He worked a few years as a probationary firefighter, acquiring the needed training and experience, and has now been acting as a firefighter for seven years. He’s working his way towards a lieutenant promotion now. 

When Zig had freshly became an official firefighter, his grandmother unfortunately passed away. And only months later, his mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. With Zig’s new salary and health insurance, he was able to run to his mother’s aid and get her the best treatment as possible. Within a year, Romina was thankfully stable but their life in Fort Worth just didn’t make any sense anymore. Romina was tired and needed a calmer place to rest and heal, which led to Zig asking for transfer to another post and being sent to North Carolina. Zigmund and his mother packed their bags without looking back, knowing that they were leaving a bad past behind and starting fresh somewhere else. His sister, however, didn’t bulge. She didn’t want to leave her life in Texas and after a couple of fights, Zig decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

They have been in Aspen Creek for six years now. And things were perfect for a while there, until his mother’s cancer returned about a year ago and Zig had to bend himself over to get her the treatment needed. He called his sister for help, but that was a waste of time as they only screamed at each other on the phone, and that’s what lead to his secret job of male stripper. He was desperate for the money, knowing that he couldn’t just leave his mother to wither away due to her illness, so he decided to dance in the undergrounds of The Cave under the alias of Valentino and the mask of whatever’s sexy during that month.

Romina’s treatment has been working and she’s slowly healing in her own time whilst her son works harder than everyone he knows in order to keep things that way. In order to give her the life she deserves. She has currently moved to live with him in Willow Street to give him peace of mind. 

Despite a hardworking and dedicated nature, Zig still finds time to be an absolute flirt whenever he wants to. He’s grown to like his secret life, sometimes taking advantage of this hidden persona to enjoy a night out at The Cave after he’s done with his shows. Don’t be fooled by those puppy eyes and sincere smile — you’ll be laughing and before you know it, you’ll be waking up in the morning on his bed. He’s a menace, but he has a good heart and is completely devoted to his family, which balances things out. 

[pare1dolia]

[Flesh and Blood TCG] An Analysis of Maxx "The Hype" Nitro

(aka Blorbo Bleebus from my Card Game) (we're in for a long one boys)

Note that this is, primarily, going to be a story analysis rather than a mechanical one. As much as I love Maxx's mechanics, they're pretty straightforward in terms of the Mechanologist hero class. One of these days I'm gonna build him, I swear.

Part 1: The Background of Maxx Nitro

To begin, the guy's an orphan. He's taken into Rosario Orphanage, of which there are many in the city of Metrix, at the very young age of six years old. However, even at this very young age, Maxx shows an aptitude toward destruction. However, it's not just destruction that he's got an aptitude for; he's also exceedingly good at chemistry.

"While the other six-year-olds were making mud pies in that open sewer they called a playground, I was making potions in the janitor’s cupboard. Yeah, too young to be messing with chemical compounds, but I was never one to be age appropriate. Chucklate Bistink was my most successful concoction, especially when heated in the canteen oven. Cleared the whole place for days. Orphanage management had to put us up in a hotel while they deodorized the place."

This quote from the story System Failure gives a really good bit of insight on this. At the age of six, the age of a first-grader in our world, Maxx was capable of taking chemicals from the janitor's closet and making very, very potent stink bombs at the very least. But, there's something else that is brought to light, and that's how Maxx seems to describe Rosario.

Given his disdain for "the system" to begin with, there's some obvious bias in the language he uses to describe the orphanage. However, it doesn't seem entirely uncalled for, either. As discussed later, Rosario seems to be a privately-owned business, and their true nature is exposed later as a hub for experimentation.

"Turns out the Rosario Hills Institute runs most of the city’s orphanages. Not out of the goodness of their hearts. The orphanages are gathering grounds for their “subjects”. Special kids like me. Kids with unusual talents. At first, I thought it was a bit of a lark. My own room, good food, a decent bed, and attention from some very interested whitecoats. Then the tests started, the prodding and poking, the scans and samples. I soon discovered that special isn’t all it’s cracked up to be."

Maxx discovers this through personal experience, somewhere between the ages of eight and ten. This was after he taught himself how to hack into computers very adeptly at the age of seven. At this point, it's very obvious that while he's almost always had a want for dismantling defunct systems, there's a definite reason for it: Rosario Hills Institute input not only a fear of, but an anger toward systems that are supposedly there to help.

That doesn't mean he's completely unsympathetic to people, though. As the story of System Failure progresses, in Maxx's breakout of the local prison, he shows more concern to "humaniforms" (read: non-robotic lifeforms) than he does to robots. This extends even further to calling emergency services for any humaniforms that were injured within the initial breakout.

This leads to our next part.

Part 2: The Philosophy and Paranoia of Maxx Nitro

Synthetic Futures takes place before the prison breakout of System Failure. In the opening scene, Dash and Maxx are having a discussion on how best to overhaul the systems that dictate life in Metrix. This is already a fascinating scene to me, because typically individuals like Maxx aren't given the time of day in fiction of this kind.

Dash asks if Maxx wants to overthrow the healthcare system, the public transit system, even the sewer system. Maxx responds with a no to all of these, and eventually follows it up with:

“The oppressive systems, Dash! You know, the ones that exploit us, grind us down. Like the enforcers.”

Which leads to this next part:

The mere mention of the e-word makes the anarchists twitchy. Particularly Maxx. He leans forwards, changes to a harsh whisper, like that’ll fool any half-decent surveillance device. “They’ve been tracking us all for weeks now.”

And this illustration of Maxx, which accompanies the passage:

Notice how bloodshot his organic eye is. The scraggly lines for stubble across his jawline, or even the way his hair isn't quite fauxhawk, but rather just a mess of uneven bits. While this could have just been a purposeful way to make him seem "crazy," given the background as discussed in Part 1, there are a few assumptions and headcanons that can be made here.

First off: Maxx's philosophy is to help humanity while breaking down the forces considered oppressive, such as the police unit known as enforcers. This also includes megacorporations such as Cogwerx and Teklovossen, and by extension, more than likely the Rosario Hills Institute. Privatized systems that say they want to help, but also cause intense problems for anyone involved.

Second off: He's intensely paranoid. It's likely he's been losing sleep over the possibility of surveillance, and he really has no way of knowing how to mitigate that. Again, given his background, it's almost to be expected; he's been poked and prodded enough. Never again.

Part 3: Conclusion

So what does all of this leave us with?

Maxx Nitro was a victim of a system that not only failed him, but also the people he grew attached to during very traumatic experiences. This led him to want to destroy these sorts of systems, which exploit vulnerable people to create something profitable. (Sounds familiar.)

This led him, in his adult life, to be intensely paranoid because of the desire to break these systems and start anew. That being said, he doesn't actually seem to want to hurt anyone. Nobody organic, at least.

Does that mean what he's doing wouldn't have consequences? Of course it would. He's kind of a morally grey character, but in my opinion, he's on the lighter side of grey than others in the Flesh and Blood roster.

I dunno. I just think he's neat.

[k-slla]

Pairing: Jensen x reader

A/N: just wrote it after terrible work day. Inspired by my own job (I'm a baker :)) And since Jensen and I have 20y age gap, reader's in story is similar. / FLUFF

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Enjoy! ♥️

"Hey, hun, I'm home!" I yelled tiredly when I entered our house. I took off my shoes and jacket and sat down in the hallway. I just want to sleep, I thought to myself. I took a deep breath. I love my job, I love my job, I love my job. Lately this has become my daily mantra. I heard Jensen coming out of the kitchen. "Hey, babe, I missed you!" He said as I reached out for him to help me up. I immediately went for a hug and Jensen happily complied. "You look gorgeous, dear." "Oh, stop, I look like shit!" I said as I laughed tiredly. I glanced at hallway mirror. Baggy sweatpants, oversized jumper, hair in a messy bun- totally just looked as I've given up about everything. "I'm pretty sure, I have some frosting somewhere in my hair. It was crazy today." Jensen kissed me softly and hugged."Want to hit the shower? I'd gladly join you." He whispered in my ear. "Shower sounds amazing." I sighed.

Jensen got the shower running and came to stand in front of me. "Want some help?" He asked as I removed my jumper. "You know, I am not that tired that I can't undress myself?" I smiled at him. " Besides, if you're planning to join, you better hurry up, you have way more layers right now than me." I added flirtily as I stood in front of him only in my underwear. " Yeah, I can see that." He smiled and quickly undressed himself.

Room was filled with hot relaxing steam already when we got into shower. I stretched my hands over my head and groaned. Jensen came behind me. "Are you tense?" His hands came up to my shoulders to massage. "Yeah, I am. God, I feel like I'm 75, not 25 years old." He laughed. "Just relax, I'll take care of you." His hand were like magic, kneading away all the tension from my neck and shoulders. "It feels so good." I moaned out. After some massaging, he turned me around to wet my hair. I reached for shampoo and he softly swatted my hand away. " No! I said I'll take care of you." He squeezed some shampoo on his hand and gently massaged it through my hair. I looked up at him and his gaze never left mine. I've never felt so loved and intimate before as I did in that moment. I finally rinsed my hair and pulled his shampoo from the shelf. "My turn! No buts!" I said warningly as he almost tried to protest. "Why are you still using this 3in1 shampoo-shaving cream-motor oil combo? " I asked sarcastically. " He slapped my butt lightly, making me squeal out of surprise. " Hey, I like the smell that particular shampoo." I rolled my eyes. "You're such a dude!"

After washing, he just held me in his arm and we stood under the hot stream of water. "Come on, let's get you some food and you can tell me about your day." He said after some time. I pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I love you. Thank you for this." I said quietly and looked him in the eyes. "I love you, too." He said and handed me a towel and my bathrobe.

"So, how was work today?" Jensen asked as we sat down at dinner table. " It was like a complete battle field out there. I had only six kids in today's baking class, but the mess was indescribable. Frosting and cake was everywhere. But, hey! Kids were having fun and that's why I do these classes. And then of course I had to clean it all up and prep for that huge wedding cake I told you about. " I talked between eating. "And I think I'm going to need your help moving it to venue. It's going to be a heavy one."

"Oh, sure thing." He said and smiled.

"Oh, I just remembered. My parents invited us to dinner tomorrow. They want to get to know you better. You don't have any plans after work, right?" I asked. We'd been together over a year but still he's seen my parents only twice in that time.

"Yeah, I'm free but might be little bit longer in office. What time were they planning?"

"Around seven I think. I'm thinking of baking a pie to take with us. Any preferences?" The way his face lit up just melted my heart. "Can you make Banana cream please?" Oh, those big, green puppy dog eyes. " How can I say no to you? You're too adorable."

"I'm not adorable! I am a manly man!" He said grumpily. His try to defend himself had totally opposite effect. "What you just said just makes you more adorable, so don't even try to deny that!" I answered and leaned over the table to quickly peck his lips. "I'm finished. Can you pick a movie to watch, while I'm dealing with dishes?" His brows furrowed. "Aren't you tired? You sure you want to do the clean up yourself?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, it's relaxing for me." He stood up and kissed my forehead. "If you say so, dear." He didn't sound very pleased but still left the kitchen.

I snuggled as close to him on the couch as I could. We were watching movie in silence. Well, mostly he was, while I nodded off every now and then.

"Y/N, you awake?" He asked quietly. "At the moment, yes."

"Can I ask you something?" "Of course, what's wrong?" I sat up next to him.

"Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" He looked at me and continued."Because when I think of my future, I can't imagine it without you. And I know we haven't really had the talks, you know, maybe we should?" Okay, now I was wide awake.

"I love you, Jensen. And I see myself right here, snuggling next to you. About kids and marriage? I would like to know first where you stand. I mean, you and Danneel were married for a long time, but you didn't have children. Was that mutual decision or..?" I asked slowly. He cut in.

"Yeah, that was mutual between us at that time. Both of us wanted to focus more on our career, you know? But now when I think of kids, especially with you? Honestly, I couldn't be happier about the thought. " He smiled softly.

There may be coming part 2, if the idea strikes:)

@cevansbaby-dove

[jcniper-backup]

light spider

jcniper

Summary:

“Let me get this straight, you were bit by a radioactive spider and now you're running away from an evil alien parasite that duplicates itself named David?” Joel looked like he was regretting quitting cigarettes.

“Yep. Well the alien infected a guy named David, and I think it's from a different universe.” Ellie started rambling.

“I’m too old for this shit,”

Notes:

Fun fact: Ellie’s powers are inspired by a variety of different jumping spiders that give off the appearance of glowing/bioluminescence.

PROLOGUE

Ellie’s social worker once told her that she had a knack for making things more difficult for herself. It was the only thing the two of them ever agreed on. It didn’t matter how hard Ellie tried not to cause any trouble, she always found her way into it in one way or another. That ‘knack for getting into trouble’ is what she blamed when she got kicked out of her newest place for allegedly stealing her foster brother’s things–she didn’t–and beating him up after he accused her–which she actually did. 

 

She had bounced states three different times, the result of enthusiastic foster parents that had promised here she was going to find a forever home before they realized that her ‘mental health’ and ‘behavioral issues’ were too much for her to handle and sent her back into the system. It happened again. Now she was in New York, and she was pretty sure Marlene had given up on her. 

 

Marlene had stuffed her into a girl’s home and drove away almost immediately. The only thing that was her saving grace was her grades, which shocked even Ellie. Four months into being there, she applied to a boarding school scholarship just to get an excuse to use the computer and ended up getting in. When Marlene came back to the house looking happy and asking for her, Ellie thought it was a joke. 

 

It wasn’t a joke. 

 

She got pancakes and a dorm room at a ‘higher learning’ high school out of it. 

 

“How am I gonna tell them that I actually hate school and didn’t think I was actually gonna get in?” She muttered under her breath. 

 

“You’re not going to do that,” Marlene rolled her eyes. 

 

“But–” 

 

“Do you want a dorm room you share with one other girl, or to go back to the girl’s home where you share it with five?” 

 

“Let’s get going.” 

 

“That’s what I thought.” Ellie didn’t argue anymore. Marlene must’ve grown tired of pretending to celebrate with Ellie and went silent. When Ellie moved in, she didn’t get to see who she would be rooming with because she was apparently allowed to move in a week before move-in week actually was. 

 

A week to herself. 

 

That was something she’d never had before. 

 

She tried not to wonder how it would go wrong. 

*

 

Ellie was really bad at making friends. 

 

It was one of the first facets of her personality she had discovered when she was a kid. A lot of people thought she was weird and too much, and she wished she knew what about her she had to change to make it so people actually cared about her. 

 

Ellie decided that this year she would do emotional damage control and not even try to make friends here. That wasn’t what she needed to do. She needed to make it work so she didn’t go back to a group home with an overbearing guardian breathing down her back twenty-four-seven.

 

She got into the swing of it pretty fast. A lot of her classes were more art and music focused, but she did have some core classes including a physics class that she really didn’t want to take. She had been hearing other kids gossiping about how the new teacher was a hardass. She couldn’t do that. Her and hardass teachers always ended up in verbal sparring matches. Ellie was always the one that ended up getting kicked out of class. The entire day, a pit was forming in her stomach. 

 

It only got worse when she got into class. The teacher was an older man with salt and pepper hair, tan skin and a face that said ‘I haven’t experienced joy in my one hundred years of life’. He didn’t look like he should be a teacher, though. The way he stood, the way he surveyed the entire room, and the way he dressed was just not what she expected from a teacher in New York. 

 

She read the board. 

 

‘ Mr. Miller.’ 

 

“Sit down, the bell’s about to ring.” 

 

She did, despite the irritation his tone caused her. Ellie did her best to remind herself that she wasn’t trying to start fights with anyone this year. Students kept filing in, chatter filling the room. A girl sat down right next to Ellie. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, swinging behind her head. It was shiny. She glanced over to Ellie and smiled and Ellie had to keep herself from panicking because she had freckles that reminded her of constellations and this wasn’t the way she pictured her school year starting. 

 

The bell rang, but Ellie didn’t notice. Neither did the other girl. “Hey,” The other girl said. 

 

“Hey,” Ellie nearly squeaked and immediately felt like she was going to die. “Um, hey. I’m Ellie.” 

 

“Dina. I’m right across the hall from you.” 

 

“Oh, really?” 

 

“Hey, you two in the back row. What’re your names?” Mr. Miller interjected. Ellie became acutely aware of all of the students that were staring at her and Dina. Dina shrunk a little in her seat, away from Ellie. 

 

That made it a little worse. 

 

“I��m talkin’ to you. What’re your names?” 

 

“Are you a cowboy?” Ellie blurted out. 

 

‘ Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ 

 

He paused, obviously thrown by the odd veer off course from the conversation. “Names.” 

 

“Dina,” Dina said. “Sorry for talking, sir.” 

 

Ellie sighed, “Ellie.” She didn’t say sorry. He glared at her for a second and then shrugged and turned back to the board. 

 

“Great. Neither of y’all are in trouble.” He was definitely from the South. Ellie found herself trying to guess his accent. Louisana? Florida? Wyoming? Was Wyoming even the south? That was when Ellie realized there was a difference between ‘rural’ and ‘the south’ and briefly had to reteach herself everything that she’d ever learned about geography.  She glanced around the room, looking for signs before her eyes found a cup that said ‘ Keep Austin Weird’ on it and got the answer to her question. 

 

He was from Texas.

 

That explained the trucker-cowboy-private-investigator vibes that she was getting from him. “I understand everyone wants to talk, so just do me a favor. Shut up during the lesson. I’ll teach, let you guys get to your assignments and as soon as you get to your assignments you can chat amongst yourselves. But if you cheat, I’ll know.” 

 

“How?” A boy asked. He was sitting on the other side of Dina. They both shared a look and she chuckled a little. Ellie rolled her eyes. 

 

“I just will.”

He was still looking at the board and writing things, “Like I can tell that you’re texting under your desk right now.” 

 

“Woah.” 

 

“How did he do that?” Someone hissed. 

 

Ellie was ready to get out of there. “Can you guys shut the fuck up?” She hissed. 

 

“You shut the fuck up.” 

 

“All of you shut up.” Mr. Miller said. 

 

It worked. 

 

She had never seen a teacher say shut up in a monotone voice in a room full of high school children and get them to do it the first time. It actually worked. Ellie gave him kudos for that. Kudos from her basically meant she wasn’t going to try to make this man’s life harder in one way or another.

 She was ready to zone out and zone out hard. 

 

That didn’t happen. 

 

He was actually good at teaching. 

 

All of the concepts were basics. Things that even Ellie, (she had walked in convinced that she was going to fail this class), could get. He drew things out, “My drawing ability should probably put me in jail.” Joel said. “So, forgive me. Here are the concepts you need to know.” He drew everything out. 

 

Momentum, conservation of energy, Newton’s laws of motion, motion, position, gravity, and so on in so forth. For momentum, Joel drew a stick figure swinging from construction crane to construction crane. All of them were different types of action scenes of varying levels of amusement. 

 

“It’s the first day, we’re going to do something fun for the first assignment. Pick one basic concept of physics and create an illustrative diagram that shows an example of the concept in real life. You have until the end of the next class to do it. Make it entertaining, I don’t want to be bored when I’m grading your things.” 

 

The class stared at him blankly. “Go, get started.” 

 

“So…we’re just…drawing…?” Someone asked. 

 

Ellie stared. She didn’t want to stare a gift horse in the mouth. “I’m not expecting you to understand concepts enough to write an essay on the first day of freshman year.” 

 

That sentence alone made Mr. Miller her favorite teacher. The class devolved into different discussions, but they kept it low and respectful and Joel ignored them until the bell ring. Everyone packed up.

 

Ellie turned, wanting to talk to Dina more and realized she was gone. Everyone filed out of the class so fast that she stood there for a second. Mr. Miller was still at his computer, disinterested in everything else going on around him. Ellie walked up to his desk, standing there and waiting for him to turn. When he didn’t, she cleared her throat. He glanced up at her. “What?” 

 

“Sorry about talking earlier, and uh–asking that dumb question? It was dumb.” 

 

“What’s your name again?” 

 

“Ellie.” 

 

“Ellie,” He paused. Something in his face looked off, like he was in pain. The air around him seemed to warble and glitch like static. It happened so fast she was sure he hallucinated it. The coffee mug he had been holding shattered on the floor. 

 

“Damn it,” He muttered under his breath. 

 

“Let me help.” She didn’t know what to do, but she wanted to help somehow. Ellie started grabbing tissue after tissue, ready to help clean it up when Joel shook his head. 

 

“You’re gonna be late for class.” 

 

“I am?” She glanced up at the clock. “I am! Oh, shit.” She started running out the door, cringing when she realized she had said that curse word aloud. “Sorry.” 

 

“I don’t care if you cuss.” He called after her and she careened down the hallway, going as fast as she could. 

[raptorific]

Okay so I really need to correct a misapprehension I see a lot of you operating under, and I'm gonna give you two very personal facts about me, to help you understand where I'm coming from and exactly how much I'm not just talking out my ass on this one, I actually know what I'm talking about:

The first is that I was, for the first seven semesters of college (helpful hint: college usually lasts eight semesters, mine lasted nine because of the rest of this fact) I was a double-major in History and Secondary Education, studying to be a high school teacher. In my studies, which included both research and field experience, I became increasingly disillusioned with the world of education and it became clear to me I was not cut out for the profession, nor was I capable of being happy attempting to be a teacher, and I changed majors. When I changed majors, the school administrators were surprised, because I got excellent grades in the classes for the major I was dropping. Nonetheless, pretty much every part of a teaching degree that you can complete that does not involve spending a semester in a classroom, I completed. On a professional level, I do, in fact, know how the sausage is made.

The other important fact to know about me is that when I was a student in my primary education, I had two IEPs— one "gifted" IEP, and one "learning support" IEP for severe ADHD and other, more troubling, undiagnosed-at-the-time psychological issues. The gifted IEP meant that I would be removed from the mainstream classroom one afternoon per week with all the other kids identified as "gifted" and be transplanted into a wonderful room with a kind, supportive teacher who was able to pay attention to each of our individual educational needs and provide resources to allow us to pursue our passions in the classroom. The learning support IEP meant that I spent several periods per cycle trapped in a classroom with all the other kids who were identified as "stupid" or "troublemakers" to be berated for any homework we hadn't finished yet, and believe me, those teachers addressed us that way to our faces. I had both of these active simultaneously. My parents had to fight to get them to even CONSIDER me for "gifted" evaluation. The Gifted IEP was one of the only educational experiences from my primary education I remember fondly. The learning support IEP, given the choice between that classroom for a day and an eternity in hell, I'm taking the eternity in hell.

So I hope you understand that I'm not just blowing smoke when I say this:

Most "gifted" kids, as in the overwhelming majority, as in "the number of kids this doesn't apply to is statistically insignificant," are no smarter than any other random kid. Some of them are less intelligent than average. The number of kids who are, on a sheer Processing Power Of The Brain level, meaningfully smarter than average is practically nil. At their core, every kid is a Gifted Kid, and would benefit educationally from the resource of a "gifted" classroom, which is to say, a smaller class size, a better-equipped instructor with an actual budget, increased individualized attention to each student, these are proven to be beneficial to all students, including and especially those who need remedial instruction. However, these resources are frequently gatekept behind the doors of a Gifted Program. Only those "identified" as gifted even get to take the test to determine if they belong in that class!

If you were identified as Gifted in some way, as a child, then you were likely told you were identified for being smarter than your peers. You weren't, and you aren't. I don't mean this to be mean, but it's simply a factual statement: you are not smarter than almost any of the people you went to school with, and you never have been. Here is the harsh truth that many of you are not going to enjoy hearing:

The process of "gifted" identification is, first and foremost, a test of whiteness, gender, and socioeconomic status.

Geniuses of color are branded problem children with behavioral problems while white idiots are "identified" gifted by teachers and administrations working on pure unconscious bias. Generally speaking, students perform to the expectations the school and administration has for them. The kids who are "identified" as gifted tend to then perform better because the school, and their teachers, view them as having the potential to make the most of the gifted program resources. The kids who are branded as delinquents and troublemakers and stupid and lazy, they tend to perform worse because it's made very clear to them that that's what the school thinks of them.

The reason white students are vastly overrepresented in these programs is no accident, same as the fact that a white student is more likely to have their learning disabilities identified and accommodated.

If we provided these resources to all students— which would require a lot of tax money to be allocated to a complete overhaul of our educational system— graduation rates and student satisfaction would skyrocket overnight. But that won't happen anytime soon.

So yes, back to my original point, I'm sorry, but there is no such thing as a "gifted kid." Intelligence and literacy are not innate qualities, they are skills that are honed with practice and with explicit intent towards their betterment. Barring some extreme outliers, the overwhelming majority of people have the basic hardware to be a genius or a dumbass. Some people alternate between the two with alarming frequency!

I knew a guy who thought fire was a living organism who also knows how to build and disassemble a car. I don't know shit about cars. He's a genius at something I'm an idiot at! Dr. Ben Carson is a genius neurosurgeon, but he's also a Republican, which makes him an idiot about everything that isn't neurosurgery.

If you put every student in a "gifted" classroom: which means attentive and qualified teachers, managing fully equipped classrooms with a small number of students per teacher, and set them to the task of education vased on proficiency and mastery rather than keeping pace on their same-age peers, every student is going to eventually find the thing they're a genius at, and they'll pursue it.

I was trying to be nice when I said only the people mentioned in the post were identified Gifted in error. Most people who ended up in a gifted program were identified Gifted in error and are, on a fundamental level, not more deserving of entrance into that program than any given student who was selected by random lottery. If you burnt out on reading, that's not because of the pressures of being Gifted. You weren't gifted. Nobody was. You developed unhealthy reading habits and burnt yourself out.

What I can't wrap my head around is how so many people who claim to be former Gifted Kids are so eager to admit that their honest and genuine literary assessment is that Percy Jackson & The Olympians is the best book they've ever read. Like, no disrespect to Mssrs. Riordan and Jackson but. Either you guys haven't read very many books or your school was flat-out wrong to identify you as gifted

[helenaheissner]

Trade Paperback Romance: Chapter 2

MONTH 1 (July)

Elijah

A month into post-graduate life, and I still had no job. It was getting ridiculous -- I spent all day applying, just for something I could do during the days while I took my trade school classes at night. I even got a few interviews. 

And nothing ever went further than that. 

I laid under my starchy black bed sheets and sighed as I did the same thing I inevitably did every morning -- pull out my phone and check my emails in the vain hope that I’d gotten an interview for even a freaking cashier job at a fast food place. 

Nothing. 

So, I did what I always did next: scroll social media so I could see how my classmates from high school were all prepping to go away to college in a few months, or how they were so busy with work they didn’t have time to think about how homesick they’d be in a few months, or how they were all having their last flings with their high school partners. 

It was hard not to get jealous looking at that last one especially.

I went back and forth on the veracity of that statement with considerable regularity. 

I looked around my room. Everything was neat and organized: the comics on my shelves were grouped by publisher and then alphabetized within their subcategories; my clothes were all clean and pressed and folded inside the blue dresser I’d had since I was a kid, or hanging in my closet; I’d vacuumed the floor just yesterday, so the green carpeting was completely clean. I’d even washed the sheets the other day, something I did pretty regularly. On the surface, everything looked fine. But it was hollow. And it wasn’t going to change any time soon, by the look of it.

Mom and Dad were both already at work, and they’d left me a handy little sheet of chores I could occupy myself with throughout the day. I cooked myself a simple breakfast of cheesy scrambled eggs and black coffee and scanned the list, concluding it would take me about four hours to get everything done. It was just like them -- Mom was a nurse and Dad was an electrician, and they both loved their jobs. They both LIVED for their jobs -- when I was seven, I’d asked Mom why I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and she’d replied without hesitation that one kid was already keeping her busy enough when she should have been working. I think part of the reason they were so convinced I needed to spend every second of my day working on something was their assumption that I was the same way.

They weren’t entirely off-base, but still… 

No, don’t complain, I thought. Already feel worthless enough without turning into a whiny bitch. 

The chores, as expected, took me until noon, after which point I went into our attic and pumped iron at the barbell for thirty minutes, then hosed myself off in the shower. Then came job applications and follow up emails, and when that was done… 

It was barely past 1 PM. 

“Goddammit,” I muttered to nobody at all as I sat on my living room couch with nothing to do. 

Normally, I’d read something, but I was out of new comics. Well, I guess that only meant one thing, and it HAD been a month since my last trip to Kendrick’s. So, without any further ado, I called myself an Uber and trekked to my favorite place in Culver City. 

I didn’t expect it to be crowded -- it was early afternoon on a weekday -- but still, it was summer, and given the target demographic of comics generally skewed towards under twenty-one, I expected someone to be in the shop. 

Expectations were not met, however. 

I did notice two things as I approached the shop in the hot, hot midday sun: a flag on the outside wall, pink and blue and white, all pastels. Didn’t know what it meant -- was that for a country? 

The other thing I noticed was a girl inside the shop, standing behind the counter. She was curvy (or thicc, if you preferred the common parlance) with wide shoulders and hips; she had midnight black hair chopped into a bob with bangs, and she wore a dark black v-neck top and a long black skirt over her milk-pale skin. A silver choker encircled her neck. And those hazel eyes, they were big and beautiful, and… familiar. 

I opened the shop, and she smiled at me. 

I looked at her for a moment, tilting my head to the side, wracking my brain for the source of the sense of recognition. Loading, loading, loading --

Oh. OH. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. 

“Sam?” I said, standing in the open doorway. 

He… she… nodded, and threw in a gentle smile. She wasn’t wearing makeup -- or if she was, I couldn’t tell -- but the new hairstyle and thinner eyebrows made her face look a lot different. She looked… cute. 

A reflexive part of me wanted to shove that thought away violently once again, but… Did I need to? I didn’t have anything against gay people, I just wasn’t one myself. But if Sam was a girl… Wait, was Sam a girl? 

“You, uh, gonna say something?” Sam said, eyes darting back and forth nervously. 

“You look really cute,” I said, blinking with shock as I heard my own words. Guess I really meant it, with it slipping out like that. 

Sam smiled again, flashing her pearly-whites this time and showing off her dimples. It was… She was… Well, you get the idea. 

“Thank you,” she said, twirling her hair in her fingers. 

“A-ar-are you a girl now?” I said, tilting my head to the side and folding my arms behind my back. 

“Uh… Well, yeah,” Sam said. “I mean… I’ve kinda always been one, but now I’m… Now I’m living as one. I’m trans.”

“What’s that?” I said. 

“...What?” she said. 

“I just haven’t really ever been clear on what that means,” I said, feeling strangely like I’d wandered into an abandoned Soviet minefield. “Like, I’ve heard the term before, but only really in passing from friends who would…”

“Who would what?”

A score of memories of friends who’d already long since left me behind in favor of the next stages in their respective lives sounded inside my mind, and the thought occurred that a lot of what they’d said was… “Not worth repeating,” I settled on.

She folded her arms together across her chest. “I see. And how do YOU feel about people like me?”

“...I have no idea,” I admitted. “Um… So is that what it is? You change gender?”

“That is a very simplified version,” Sam said, looking down. “You really just never heard anything else? Not even like, on the news or anything?”

“My parents don’t really watch the news,” I said. “They always said why bother concerning yourself with stuff you can’t control when you could be focusing on what you can control instead.”

“...Probably good advice honestly,” she said. “Uh… Look, do you believe in souls?”

“I guess,” I shrugged. My parents had never really been the church-going type. The extended family- both sides of it- lorded over them that they’ve never bothered to get me Confirmed. Honestly, it was probably only due to peer pressure that they bothered to get me Baptized.

“I have a girl’s soul. But it got put in a boy’s body,” Sam said. “I don’t know why it happened that way, but it happened, and the only way for me to be happy is to make my body match my soul.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s really hardcore.”

She chuckled. “Not the word I’d have used, but thanks.”

“No, seriously -- that’s really cool.”

She smiled again -- still cute. So, if she was a girl, then I could think she was cute all I wanted. Sure, she had a boyfriend, but so long as I kept it to myself and didn’t do anything creepy, there was no harm. “I’m, uh, going by Samantha now. But you can still call me Sam if you want -- I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” I nodded. Okay, Eli, you’re in uncharted waters here. One of those things you don’t know anything about. Which is a lot of things. Just be nice, take what she tells you at face-value, and don’t make too big a deal out of it. “Samantha. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” she said again. “And, hey, it’s all thanks to you. That advice you gave me, about being honest about what I wanted? Guess you could say I took it to heart.”

Huh. I’d actually helped someone. First time for everything. 

“So enough about me and my life, what brings you here today?” Samantha asked. “You looking for something specific?”

“Second volume of that book you gave me,” I said immediately. “And, uh, anything else you wanna recommend. You’ve got pretty good taste.”

Her lips formed an ‘O’ and she gestured to herself in a playful manner. “You flatter me, kind sir. I shall try to endeavor to live up to your lofty expectations of my taste.”

“And I, fair maiden, shall endeavor to patronize your fine establishment to the best of my financial abilities,” I said, putting my palms together and bowing. 

We both stared at each other a moment before cracking up and bursting out laughing, probably because of the realization of what utter fucking dorks we both were. 

She stepped out from behind the counter and led the way over to the indie shelves. 

“So, business picking up for the summer?” I asked. 

I couldn’t see her face, but I could see her flinch. “Uh… Not so much.”

“What?” I said, running over and facing her. “Why not?”

“Well…”

“Well what? I know the industry doesn’t make a ton of money --”

“It’s like, actively hemorrhaging money, dude,” she said. “More and more each year.”

“-- But you guys are in a good location and it’s convention season and school is out!” I said, my bafflement dripping off of each syllable. 

She stopped in front of a shelf and leaned down, parsing through books to avoid making eye contact. “It’s uh, well, it’s probably my fault?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean I’m… Well, I’m like… me.”

“So?”

“Do you… Do you really just not keep up with current events at all?” Samantha said. 

“Again, not really. Should I?”

“But you have noticed that people aren’t always super nice to people like me, right?” 

“I…Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“So, when they come in now, and they see me, and they recognize what I am… Well, they tend to walk away,” she said. 

I leaned back against the wall and shook my head. “But why should that matter?”

“Dunno, but to some people it does.”

“God, people are stupid,” I said, still shaking my head with disgust.

“You’re damn right they are,” Paul said as he walked in from the stockroom in the back. 

“Hey there,” I said with a warm smile. 

“How you doing, kiddo?” 

“Oh, about the same as last month,” I chuckled nervously. “I just… I really can’t believe that this place isn’t doing better. This is the best comic shop in the city, ya know?”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Paul said. “But places like ours… We’re a dying breed. Probably the only reason we’re still in business is that we live in a huge city, but that just means we have more competition.” 

“Just wish there was more I could do,” I said, shuffling my feet. 

“You can start by purchasing these,” Samantha said as she handed me three trade paperbacks. “And maybe some other stuff too.”

“I dunno about that -- I kinda need to start saving up for a car,” I admitted. 

“Fair enough.”

“But I will definitely take these,” I said, flipping through the volumes. 

She rang me up, and I swiped my card and then shoved a five dollar bill into the tip jar. “Thanks,” she said. And there was that smile again -- oh wow, she had some pearly whites. And her whole face was… just lit up. It was like I’d never seen someone so happy. And I couldn’t help but wonder… How could anyone have a problem with people like this? Like her? She looked so damn happy it was infectious. 

It made me wish I could see it more.

“Hey, uh, wanna hang out tonight?” I asked Samantha. 

She gulped, a hint of red creeping onto her pallid cheeks. 

“Not a date,” I clarified, holding up a hand. “I know you have a boyfriend --”

“Sure!” she said, smiling ever-wider. “I get off at 8 PM. Maybe I can come pick you up and we can grab dinner or something?”

“Awesome,” I said. 

“Here,” she said, handing me her phone. “Put your number in and then I’ll text you mine.”

I input my number, and was greeted a second later by a smiling skull emoji and a heart in my incoming messages. 

“That would be me,” she said. 

“I figured,” I said. “Lemme text you my address, and uh, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Awesome,” she said, echoing my exact tone. 

After that, I left the shop, comics in one hand, phone in the other as I buzzed with excitement over tonight. 

It’s not a date, she has a boyfriend. It’s not a date, she has a boyfriend, I drummed inside my head. 

Samantha

I rested my chin on my hand and watched Eli drive away in an uber. I breathed out through my nose, then jerked my head to the side as I noticed Uncle Paul snapping his fingers at me. “What?” I asked, still leaning forward.

“Young lady, while I may not be the biggest fan of Wes --”

“Oh my God, it is so not like that!” I said instantly. 

“Are you sure?”

“I just wanna be friends with him,” I said. “I don’t really have a ton of those, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I have noticed. And I agree about the more friends thing. But remember --”

“Nothing is going to happen. I’m still with Wes,” I said. 

“Uh-huh.”

I stood up straight and planted my hands on my hips. “Uncle Paul.”

“Yes, yes, just be careful.”

“Why? Are you afraid Eli is gonna try something?”

“No, I don’t,” Uncle Paul said. “But I do always worry about hearts getting broken. You’re still so young, and a lot of things are happening to you for the very first time.”

I smiled gently. “I know.”

“You’ll be careful.”

“I promise I will be careful,” I said, hugging my uncle across the glass countertop. “Hey, um, do you mind if I head home a little early tonight? Maybe around seven? I wanna take a shower before I get dinner with Eli, shave my legs and all that good stuff.”

He looked around at the empty shop. “I don’t think that’ll be too much of an issue, kiddo.”

I heaved a heavy, bitter sigh. “Yeah. And hey, if I’m not here, business might actually pick up!”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted a brow. 

“Sorry,” I said, looking at the ground.

“Apologize to yourself, not me,” he said. 

I sighed again. “I’m sorry, me.”

“Better,” he said, clapping my shoulder. 

He turned around and began taking inventory, and I tried to ignore his wheezing as he walked. His eating habits hadn’t gotten any better in the past month, even while mine had gotten better. I’d already managed to drop five pounds, and he… 

I was worried about him. Always wheezing and coughing, complaining about his back and his joints. He was barely into his fifties, but he had the health of a septuagenarian. 

He’d never been married, never had an exceptionally close relationship with any of his family. There was just… me. Starting when I was nine and every day since then, I was all he had, and for the most part, he was all I had. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked. 

“I’m all good, don’t you worry,” he said. 

I really wish that were an option, I thought. 

The remainder of my shift crawled by. We got a whopping ten customers, and I’d managed to close exactly five sales. This was bad -- we weren’t in the red zone yet, but if we didn’t start turning a profit soon, we’d be in deep. 

Regardless, at seven I clocked out and headed for the car, Uncle Paul promising he’d be fine taking the bus home tonight. I showered and I shaved and I put on a fresh layer of makeup and deodorant, tweezed my eyebrows and brushed out my hair. Needed to go to an actual salon soon, get this wild raven mane shaped a bit. I labored over what to wear for a while, each outfit I tried on conjuring a worry in me that it might send the wrong message, that it might lead to uncomfortable allegations of leading him on. Didn’t wanna do that. This was just two new friends getting to know each other better over a bite to eat. 

Eventually, I settled on a long black sleeveless sundress and a pair of black hiking boots.  A single heart-pendant necklace went around my throat alongside my choker, and I spat out my spearmint gum into the trash before I stepped outside. 

Where my boyfriend was waiting for me. 

Wes was… Well, he was very, very handsome, which he definitely knew. He had a perfectly symmetrical face and clear skin and short, neatly-parted blond hair. He was tall and buff and wore a leather jacket and blue jeans and a black t-shirt and expensive leather boots, and he carried himself with the confidence of a man bound for a successful career in law or politics (in his words, he was still trying to choose between the two). 

“Uh… Hey, there,” I said. 

“Hi,” Wes replied. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s the occasion? You don’t usually look this good.”

His words were a blunt blow to my ample belly. “Um…”

“Seriously, where you going?”

“Meeting up with a friend.”

“Since when do you have those?” he scoffed. 

I winced. “I made one recently.”

“What’s her name?”

“Uh… His name is Elijah, actually.”

“So you’re having dinner with a guy?” Wes said. “One who isn’t me?”

“...Am I not allowed to do that?”

“I mean, I would hope you would tell your boyfriend about something like that before you do it,” he said, taking a step forward.

I backed up and pressed against the door to my uncle’s bungalow. “You, uh, didn’t mind if I did something like that before.”

“It was different before,” Wes said, scowling. “This guy, Elijah… Is he straight?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Genuinely, it hasn’t come up. Mostly we just talk about comics.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure you do.”

“It’s the truth. And he’s just a friend.”

“A friend who you did your makeup for,” Wes said. He sniffed the air around me. “And… Is that perfume?”

“Deodorant. It’s just deodorant.”

“Smells awfully nice.”

“I’m trying a new scent,” I said, breaking off eye contact, my hands trembling in time with my swollen heartbeat. “It’s… prettier. I like it. It’s not for him, it’s for me.”

“And what about what I want?” Wes said, slamming his palm into the door. “Would you ever do something like that for me?”

“Of course I would,” I said. 

“Dunno if that’s true, you’ve done lots of things I’m not crazy about. I mean… All this,” he said, gesturing to my everything, “wasn’t for me. Definitely wasn’t what I wanted when I started dating you.”

I gulped. I clenched my jaw. I planted my feet. And I thought about Eli, and what he would say about all this. And I decided to be honest. “Maybe not, but it’s what you got. It’s who I am. And if you’ve got a problem with it, then I can’t help you. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

He gave a lopsided grin and squinted. “What are you talking about? You pretend to be something you’re not every damn day at this point.”

My eyes shot wide as the bitter taste of dysphoria and shame filled my mouth. He was… I was… He couldn’t possibly mean --

Why should that make a difference? Eli’s words echoed in my mind once again. I breathed out through my nose, and I navigated a path under his massive bicep. 

“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Wes said. 

“To get dinner with my friend,” I said, not looking back at him as I walked towards my car. 

“I’m not done talking to you!”

“Well, I’m done listening,” I said, opening the car door. 

Wes grabbed my arm, squeezed so hard it hurt. “You know, you’ve really changed since you started all this. I liked you better the way you were before. You weren’t nearly as much of a bitch.”

“Let go of me,” I said. 

“Not until you call off this little date of yours --”

“It’s not a date!”

“Bullshit, it’s not!”

“LET GO OF ME!” I screamed. 

He looked ready to throw a punch. But I didn’t back down. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. 

He let go. 

“Stay away from me,” I said as I climbed into the car. 

“Sam --”

“We’re done,” I snapped. “Stay. Away. From. Me.”

I slammed the door shut and drove away, hoping I could contain my tears long enough to avoid ruining the makeup I’d worked so hard on. 

I drove to the address I’d been given by Eli, and was grateful to find him waiting outside for me. I more or less trusted Eli after today, but given how little he seemed to know about people like me, I didn’t want to roll the dice with his parents. It wasn’t like I was passing yet -- I had to be careful. Selective. 

Especially when my judgment was apparently only recently unclouded. 

Eli climbed into the car. He’d put on a red flannel button down and a fresh pair of blue jeans, and I could smell a fresh, musky deodorant on him. He smelled… Well, he smelled really good. He looked really good. He’d shaved, and his skin had gotten clearer compared to where it was a month erstwhile. “Hey,” he said, smiling at me with a big, dorky smile. 

I didn’t notice myself batting my eyelashes and enjoying the view until I’d already been doing it for a few seconds. I chastised myself internally and then said, “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Oh, about the same as when we last left off,” he said. “You?”

I shifted the car into drive and pulled us onto the road. “Oh, been better.”

“Oh?”

“I think I just broke up with my boyfriend,” I said, the full extent of my ‘conversation’ with Wes finally sinking in. 

“Oh!” Eli said. “That’s… uh… Is that good or bad?”

“Probably for the best,” I laughed bitterly. “He was… He was scaring me. A lot.”

“Definitely for the best then,” Eli said as we pulled onto Centinela. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. Seriously. This was… It was a long time coming,” I said. 

“But… You’re crying.”

“No I’m not,” I said, trying to laugh it off. Then I put a hand to my under-eye and noticed a wetness, as well as a bit of cakey black mascara residue. “Huh. Why so I am.”

“Samantha…”

“So is sushi good? Do you like sushi?”

“I do,” he said evenly. “But if you’re not feeling up to it tonight --”

“No, trust me, I need this. He might still be waiting for me outside my house.”

“He what?!”

“Oh yeah, he just kinda showed up uninvited and started hounding me about where I was going. Got really mad when I told him I was getting dinner with a guy friend --”

“Oh, Christ! I am so sorry I --”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” I said, sharper than I’d intended. “It really isn’t about you, okay? Wes… He’s always been weird and controlling and… I didn’t totally see it before because I barely saw myself. And now I do see myself, so I saw him a lot more clearly. He… didn’t really take it super well when I came out. He… He’s not crazy about women, honestly.”

“...What a prick.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

“Hey, uh, I know you suggested sushi, but I think maybe you could use something else right now,” Eli said. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“One of my Tios would float me a handle of whiskey if I told him a friend of mine is going through a breakup.”

“That… sounds amazing, I’ll be real.”

“Only problem is I don’t know where we would drink it,” Eli said, scratching at the razor-burn on his chin. “My folks are pretty strict about not wanting me drinking till I’m twenty-one. Like that freaking stops anyone, you know?”

An idea came to me, a proverbial lightbulb igniting above my head. “I have an idea.”

Once the whiskey was secured, I rerouted us back to the shop and parked in the back. 

“Are you sure your uncle wants booze on the premises?” Eli asked, hands in his pockets. 

I had the whiskey sequestered safely inside my purse, and I stuck my keys into the back entrance of the shop. “Oh, we won’t be in the shop. Haven’t you ever noticed how this place has two floors?”

I opened the door and gestured up a flight of stairs, then led Eli to the second floor. 

It was a dusty affair, wooden floors and walls, undecorated, unfurnished, with sheets covering the windows. A fridge and a stove and a microwave and even a dishwasher were shoved into the far end, while the empty living room tapered off into a hallway on the left that led to two bedrooms and a bathroom. 

“There’s an apartment up here?” Eli balked. 

“Yup.”

“And you and Paul don’t just live here?”

“It would cost too much,” I shrugged. “Nothing here works, and our lease with the building’s owner doesn’t cover the repairs. We would have to re-negotiate the whole thing, and Uncle Paul just doesn’t have the time or patience for that. Besides, his house is mostly paid for already.”

“Fair enough.”

I pulled the whiskey handle out of my bag. “So. Shall we?”

“Ladies first,” he smiled. And that in no way, shape, or form sent a little flutter of euphoria through me, no, definitely not. 

I unscrewed the bottle and downed a swig, coughing as the sweet-burning whiskey went through me. The beginnings of a buzz hit me like a tidal wave as Eli took the bottle from my hands and replicated my actions. 

“Man, breakups suck,” I said as I sat on the dusty floor criss-cross style. 

He stopped coughing long enough to say, “I’ll take your word on it.”

I took another swig, smaller this time, but the delicious burn hit me nonetheless. “How do you mean?”

He took the bottle back and swished the liquid around inside its container. “Never been through one. On account of having never been in a relationship.”

“Never ever?”

“Never ever ever,” he said, sitting down across from me. He took another swig. “Shouldn’t be surprising. I don’t have a ton to offer.”

 “Oh come on, you’re great.”

“You don’t know me that well.”

“I know that you’re a good person,” I said. “I know you’re open-minded and spontaneous and that you have a big heart. And I know you’re a huge freaking nerd, which, to some girls, is a selling point.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

I took the bottle from him. “Seriously, never?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Not for lack of trying. Just every girl I ever asked out shot me down with varying degrees of gentleness.”

“Unbelievable,” I said. 

“Heh. And yet.”

“What kinda girls do you like?”

“Honestly? I’m not super picky.”

“So you just don’t have a type?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Eli said. “I guess I’ll say that I really like nerdy, awkward girls.”

I blushed. Get your head on straight, he doesn’t mean you. You’re reeling because you just got out of a relationship, so stop projecting. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking the bottle of whiskey in hand and swishing the liquid contents around. “I just… It’s really cool when someone is passionate about something. Especially if it’s the same stuff, or similar to the stuff that I’m passionate about. And yeah, the awkwardness factor makes them extra cute.”

“Nice,” I said. This guy was certainly earnest. After everything with Wes… It was refreshing. “What about you? What kinda guys are you into?”

“Besides Wes?”

“I mean, what kinda guy is Wes? Besides a douchebag, I mean --”

“Hey --”

He side-eyed me, eyebrow raised. “All I know about the guy is that he spent the majority of your relationship negging you.”

“... That… is… basically accurate, yeah,” I said, flicking a dust-bunny off the hem of my dress. “He… I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now.”

“No, I want to, I… I think I need to. Do you mind?” I asked. 

He handed me the bottle. “Go right ahead.”

I took another swig, letting the liquid courage cloud my cowardly mind. “I met him senior year of high school. I’d seen him around school before, always having guys hanging off of him, and we wound up in art class together. He was… Well, he was terrible, honestly, so I tried to help him with his sketches. He didn’t improve much, but he did start flirting with me a lot. One thing led to another… But it also led to him showing his teeth. I think he… He saw me as an ego booster. Someone to keep around, control, be able to say whatever the hell he wanted to without consequences. He was my first boyfriend. So far he’s been my only one. And it… God, I just feel so stupid, having fallen for his act in the first place.”

“How did he take it when you came out?”

“Not great. He’s bisexual, so I thought it would be fine, but… He has all these weird hangups about women. Something to do with his mom being a huge bitch, I think? He prefers men, and my not being one kinda messed with his sense of self.” 

I paused as a memory collided with me: ‘Are you freaking kidding me? I have to deal with this now? You’re already lucky to have me and now you’re even luckier! And you’re already not exactly a looker, don’t you understand that you’ll be even uglier as a woman?’

Wes’ words were like stabs to the chest at the time, and they still were even with the distance of a solid month and a fresh breakup. 

“Here,” Eli said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bag of tissues. 

“I’m not… not crying again, am I?” I asked, my voice dropping low and my consciousness miles away. 

He nodded gently, and then dabbed under my eyes with the tissue. 

“Thanks,” I said, sure I was flushing red from the physical contact. “You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it before,” he shrugged. 

“My makeup must be running.”

He said nothing, his face utterly blank. 

“That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say --”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, relax. I’ll be fine.” I held up the bottle and said, “To new beginnings. New friendships.”

I downed one more swing, and then Eli took the bottle from me and raised it high himself. “Cheers.” He downed one more swig, then his eyes went wide. “Holy fuck, we’ve already gone through half of this bottle.”

“Oh, shit,” I said. 

“We should probably get something to eat, try to stave off the alcohol poisoning.”

“I think there’s a sushi place a block from here,” I said, attempting to stand up. The room instantly spun, and I fell forward. 

But Eli jumped up to catch me once again. 

“My hero,” I murmured. 

“What’s that?”

“Nothing!” I squeaked. Why did I say that why did I say that why did I say that?! “Let’s go eat some fish!”

“Cool,” Eli said. “C’mon, lean on me.”

“W-what?!”

“For the stairs. We’re both pretty drunk, but there’s strength in numbers.”

“R-right,” I said. Stop projecting stop projecting stop projecting. 

With great care and considerable effort, the two of us drunkenly traversed the path down the stairs and up the street to the sushi place, wherein we enjoyed a hearty meal and meaty conversation. Eli was such a good guy, and the more I talked to him, the less I was thinking about Wes. For a few hours there, with him at my side, everything felt… good. 

I felt good. 

***

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[fazbear-security]

Soul Shift - Ch. 4

Ao3

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly, given the rampant excitement running around the table about the promised park trip the next day.

By popular demand, they had gone with spaghetti and meatballs. Sasha had volunteered to help finish the laundry for him (and procrastinate her own homework just a little) while Mike cooked, and Jodie had taken Reeses out for a walk before the kids could get him too riled up before dinnertime. Despite the timer slowly counting down until the pasta was ready, Mike leaned against the counter by the oven, guarding it from curious little hands with his presence as he helped talk through homework problems from across the room.

“....so, if you don’t want to count how many times six can fit into seventy-eight, what do you do?” Mike spared a quick glance at the timer to keep an eye on it as Bugs wrinkled his nose in thought.

“Um….you….try to fit six into seven…?” His brother said hesitantly. Mike grinned.

“Exactly! And how many times can you fit six into seven?” He prompted. His brother’s face brightened in realization.

“Only once! So I put a one on top, over the seven!” He scribbled frantically on his worksheet. Lynn cast her older brother a withering look from her side of the table.

“You don’t have any helpful advice like that for dissecting To Kill a Mockingbird, do you?” She asked, knowing, by her tone, that he did not. Mike shook his head with a small smile.

“I struggled in my Lit. classes just as much as you do.” He admitted. Thank goodness for his own older siblings, or he’d never have passed. “Maybe we can give Franco a call in the morning, before school, and get his advice?“ With a three hour time difference between Oregon and New York, their brother was probably getting ready for bed about now, but his day would already be in full swing by the time the school bus came by.

“By the way, Mikey,” Sasha walked into the kitchen dusting off her hands, and ruffled Lynn’s hair briefly as she passed. “Mr. Berra wanted me to tell you that they need you to come in earlier tonight. Like, 11:45-ish?” She mistook her brother’s look of unease for the regular retail variety, and shrugged. “Sorry, he didn’t say why, but you’ll be getting paid that extra time, right?”

“...right.” Mike forced himself to smile before the cold butterflies in his stomach could ruin the mood of dinner. “Woo, money.” His sister grinned at the joke she so often made, herself, and Mike was mercifully spared any more talk of work by their mother returning with the dog. Homework was quickly shoved into backpacks in favor of pasta, and Mike tried to focus on the happier moment of a family dinner.

When dinner was over, Mike volunteered to do the dishes as the kids scattered, and took his time scrubbing marinara stains while trying not to look at the kitchen clock. He only had an hour and a half before he needed to get ready and leave. He tried to tell himself that it would be fine - the animatronics never moved before midnight, so he’d just have more time to get settled in the office, right? Mike stared down into the soapy water as he wiped off a dried piece of spaghetti. More like more time to let his anxieties get the better of him…

And a distraction like that could - no, would - cost him dearly.

Eventually, he ran out of dishes to scrub, and grudgingly moved on to drying them, and putting everything back where it belonged in the cabinets. His siblings came down one by one to say goodnight before retreating into their rooms, and he retreated to his own, for a little while. There was a project sitting half-finished on his desk, but Mike ignored it in favor of just sitting on his bed. It was getting harder and harder not to look at the clock, and watch time slowly crawl minute by minute. Coffee came up beside the bed and stood up on her short little legs to paw at his sweatpants, and Mike bent over to pick her up.

“Hey, ragdolly…” He settled the cat on his lap, and she promptly burrowed her head into his stomach with a purr. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to play much today.” He sighed. “Too many chores to do. Coffee folded her paws beneath her as she settled down and closed her eyes. “Aw, come on. You know I’ve got to leave soon.” Mike lifted the loafing cat - despite her meows of protest - up to his face and kissed her fluffy little head before putting her down on the blankets and standing up.

It was 10:55pm, and he had to get ready for work.

The walk from his mother’s house to the Eastside strip mall where Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was only took Mike twenty minutes, on a good night.

There were a few busy streets and an unlit overpass to cross, but this close to midnight, there were hardly any drivers out on the road to watch out for, anyway. Mike spared a quick glance back in the direction of traffic as he turned off the sidewalk and jogged across the asphalt toward the parking lot of the mall. It stood empty, as usual; dark storefronts plastered with ‘for rent’ signs or plywood boards surrounded the pale glow of the surviving pizzeria’s emergency lighting. Its colorful sign shone against the dark night sky like a beacon - though to Mike, it felt more like an omen…

A single car sat in the parking lot in front of the pizzeria, right beneath the one street light that didn’t flicker in an odd pattern as its light bulbs slowly died. The owner was standing in front of the pizzeria’s glass doors, as if waiting, and Mike shook his head as he approached. The figure was tall, broad-shouldered, and ominously shadowed by the building’s overhang, but he felt no fear.

“Anders,” Mike reached out a hand as he approached the sidewalk, and the figure reached out in kind to clasp his hand, and pull the smaller man into a familiar half-hug. “I keep telling you that you don’t have to wait for me.” He pulled back with a grin. “And Mr. Kline will never pay you the overtime, you know.”

“I know he won’t (the stingy bastard),” Anders - the dayshift security guard, and one of the few coworkers who gave Mike anything but the cold shoulder, these days - grinned back. “But I like making sure you get here alright. What if something happened to you on the walk over? If I wasn’t here waiting, nobody would notice you were gone until, like, 7am when you didn’t show up back at home.” A small part of Mike cringed at the thought, however joking, but he smiled on the outside.

Anders had no idea how true his words were, and he’d keep it that way, if he could.

“It’s been a year and nothing has.” He shot back instead as he dug his keys out of his pocket, and started flipping through them to find the right one. “You’re gonna regret missing these precious hours of sleep, one day, I’m telling you.”

“And you would know from experience, wouldn’t you, Mr. Death Wish?” Anders snatched Mike’s uniform cap off his head, ruffled his short hair, and dropped the cap back while his coworker's hands were busy unlocking the front door. “I take it from your non-zombified state, your mom didn’t try to push decaf on you again?”

“She didn’t say anything today, no, but she did try to hide my coffee grounds.” Mike half-opened the door and looked up at his taller friend with a flat stare. “She put them on the top shelf and I had to climb on the counter to get them down.”

“That’s just what you get for being 5’5”.” The 6’4” man laughed out loud as Mike closed the door, locked it between them, and flipped him off through the glass. He waved at his coworker as he stepped off the sidewalk and started to walk back to his car. “Have a nice night, Mike.”

“You, too, Anders.” Mike waved back, even though he knew his voice wouldn’t carry far enough through the glass, and let his smile drop as the car began to pull away. He turned around and moved through the entryway, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, and paused briefly to look up at the stage. The curtains were drawn, as they always were after the last show of the day, but through a gap in the fabric, Mike could just see the glimmer of light shining off of Freddy’s microphone, and Bonnie’s guitar. He shivered, and hurried on to the break room to clock in.

It was only 11:46pm, but the sooner he could get into his office, the better.

He had only just placed his bag down in the chair, however, when the lights abruptly cut, and the hum of the building’s power died. Mike’s heart leapt into his throat, and he threw himself at the desk, yanking open a drawer and fumbling around in it until his hand found the bulky flashlight rolling around near the back. He turned it on and immediately swung the light around the room, but he was alone; no animatronics were looming in the windows, and no shadowy hallucinations were blocking the doors. Mike looked at his watch, but the glowing red numbers only read 11:48pm. Why had the power gone out so early?!

He took a deep breath, and then another when the first one sounded too panicky for him to work with. Okay, okay, it was fine. He still had twelve minutes until the animatronics woke up. Maybe one of the fuses in the basement had blown? It wouldn’t be the first time (though it had always happened during the day, before), and Jeremy from the kitchen had told him where the spare fuses were, in case this ever happened at night.

He could just run down to the basement, replace the fuse, and run back to the office before midnight - easy-peasy.

Slowly, Mike leaned his head out of the east door, and shone his flashlight down the hallway. All he saw were dust motes in the air, and the shimmers of light off the strings of paper stars and thumbtacks in the walls. Holding the flashlight with both hands to keep it from shaking, he stepped out of the office and hurried down the hall, only slowing when he reached the party hall.

He crept between the tables and chairs, set for the next day’s scheduled parties, and kept his flashlight low. Every little sound he heard caused him to jump, but the curtains never rustled, and none of the animatronics seemed to move. The guard managed to reach the backstage hall without incident, and turned around to watch the party hall as he backed around the corner. In doing so, he missed the large, dark figure that sat slumped in front of the basement door. It’s white eyes bored into the back of his head, but when Mike turned around, the hallway was empty…

And the basement door was already slightly ajar.

[boba-tea-addict-1004]

Noctambulant (a bakudeku fanfic) Chapter Seven: Clock

*Doodle = Google

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

there was a pause for a moment, but all it did was increase Midoriya's concern. "kachan, please tell me.. what's going on" izuku spoke in a concerned tone. Bakugou took a breath thinking to himself 'just say it. why is this so fucking hard.'

"Kachan-"

"Their gunna pulling your plug, damn it!"

it was quiet again. the ticking of a clock and the water dripping from the sink being the only sound in that house. Bakugou took another breathe. as he looked at midoriya he noticed he kept fading in and out "we need to get you back in your body, before then." midoriya looked down at his hands and thought to himself 'half dead. if i'm half dead right now.. then if they do that i'll-' now looking up again "we need to hurry."

Bakugou began to look through the book, seeing if there was an answer or something they missed meanwhile izuku was using bakugou's phone seeing if there was any answers to explain his faded state or a least an idea of what to do to get him back to normal. about a few hours had past and during that time izuku went into the kitchen to get Bakugou the diner he left on the counter. a few more hours past as the both of them continued to look. then all of a sudden izuku came across something.

_______________________________

📱-*Doodle: Noctambulant spirits and how to get rid of them

Noctambulant spirits aren't fully dead, therefore they are half alive. meaning they some thing like memories and fragments of memories that still connect them to life.

____________________________________________

izuku thought for a moment and then it hit him. "Kachan i think i have know what we have to do!" quickly looking over and stopping when he saw the other asleep on a page. looking around the room grabbing a blanket  for the other and wrapping it around him. as he placed it on him he noticed on his desk was the all might figure he gave him from when they were kids.. 'he kept it?..' as he lifted up his head to remove the book that memory hit him like lightning, as if he was there again. the music, their classmate and his smile. that was one thing he remembered from when gave him that gift. the smile.. 'haven't seen you make that expression for a while' he thought. when start of middle school came izuku was walking past Bakugou's house and saw some of the stuff he'd given him in the trash.. though there were other people from their class there. 'did he go back for it?' he thought for a moment and the more he thought the more he remembered. he sighed slightly putting his hand over his chest with a slight smile. he then walked over to the couched and fell asleep there. and it was in that moment.. both were blissfully oblivious

[moonybadger]

Welp Wendell & Wild is officially my favorite Henry Selick movie. Easily the best characters and story from any of his films, which is always what I felt were his weakest elements with his previous films. Also (no spoilers) the bit at the end with Kat and what happens with Rust Bank in the future made me tear up quite a bit, so it really automatically gets bumped up to number one because of that.

I do have a few tiny criticisms, nothing major; the pacing felt a little slow and floaty, some plot elements that were well set up didn’t always have QUITE the impact that I know it should have had (Raul’s art project is a good example, I feel like the presentation of it should have been a bit grander and been given a little more time to breath). I do feel like that just happens sometimes with these lavishly animated stop motion films, sometimes things feel a little TOO floaty. Both the animation AND the story beats. Honestly even some of the voice acting was a little day dreamy sounding, especially Kat’s parents. The story here also shares a similar plot beat to Paranorman, but ends up not being quite as strong as Paranorman (I know it’s not fair to compare, but it IS pretty similar)

While I don’t think it’s quite as visually astonishing as Coraline, the character design is AMAZING. I love how strong the shape language is on everyone, especially on Wendell and Wild. They were all just so likeable and charming.

[of-foolish-and-wise]

a uni survival guide: tips from a phd

if there's one thing i know about, it's college. i've done it, i've taught it, i've lived and breathed it. these tips are for first years in particular, but honestly for everybody. i think it's so important for people to have balanced lives in these years -- academics are not everything. you know what didn't help me in the real world when i was afraid i wouldn't live through it? my fancy college note-taking format. you know what did help me? the friends i made there who i knew would get on a plane and fly across the country in a matter of hours if i told them i needed them.

academic

- figure out where class is held ahead of time: don't be that kid who's late on day one, i beg of you

- use the writing center: especially for basic grammatical editing, which a lot of professors don't have time to mark on papers

- speak up in class: talking through ideas helps you work through them, and asking questions about something you don't understand can open up great lines of conversation

- find a regular schedule that works for you and stick to it: my college schedule was morning free time, class, lunch, class, practice, homework. that consistency was a life-saver

- keep a planner: it's so important to have a central place to track deadlines, assignments, and engagements

- annotate your reading: when you're stressing about a paper topic, being able to go back to what you've highlighted and written in the margins is a life-saver

- color-code your coursework: i use the same color highlighter, pen, and notebook for any given class. it's super helpful

- if you can't focus while studying with friends, don't: i reserved group studying for days when i didn't have important work because i can't be in a room with other people without talking to them. if your school has one, the quiet floor of the library is your best friend

- treat yourself to a "fun" class: art was always my place to just sit back and chill, a way to end the night all zen in the darkroom instead of conjugating russian verbs in a fluorescent-lit cinderblock prison. for you, it could be gym, it could be pottery, it could be some random course about, like, the history of cooking or something -- explore!

- profs are people too: don't be too nervous around them. also, know that if you're struggling -- even b/c of something in your personal life -- you can admit it, and they'll almost always understand why you missed a deadline or bombed a test

- go to office hours: it's the only way to get to know professors in big courses, and it's so helpful for both your grades and learning how to navigate relationships with authority figures

social

- don't let academia keep you from your friends: it's a case-by-case basis, but sometimes it's okay to let the reading slide and spend time with friends. i graduated seven years ago and my college group text still talks every day. that's so much more important to me than the fact that i never finished brideshead revisited

- joining a club is one of the best ways to make friends: i played ultimate frisbee through college and it was the source of so many lasting relationships, as well as the way i met all my local friends when i was abroad

- say yes to things you don't know if you'll like: you'll surprise yourself. me? turns out i love drinking games. and theme parties. and skinny dipping. and rock climbing

- don't be that person who looks down on their peers for partying: honestly? that person kind of sucks. you don't have to party if you don't want to, but actually, a lot of those people are super nice and also good at school -- don't just write them off!

- show up for your friends: go to their games, their concerts, their art shows, their standup nights. show them that what matters to them matters to you, too

- set aside a night to do a group activity with others: whether your vibe is wednesday night trivia, a weekly "terrible movie" showing, or a get-high-and-watch-nature-documentaries-type thing, these are great ways to liven up the week and de-stress

- this is a great time to figure out who from high school really matters to you: you don't have to force relationships that were built mostly on convenience if there are friends at uni with whom you click more. people you became friends with purely based on the coincidence of where your parents lived do not have to be your forever friends. they can be! but they don't have to be

personal

- don't expect too much of yourself: a 4.0 is not the end-all, be-all. if your family or somebody tells you it is, tell them to call me, and i will personally talk some sense into them

- take advantage of university support services: mental health counseling, free yoga classes, multi-cultural societies, etc

- drink water: please, please don't get kidney stones in the middle of the semester, says the girl who got kidney stones in the middle of the semester

- let yourself take breaks: if you need to lie to a professor and say you're sick when really you're just feeling down and you need to sit in bed and watch a movie, that's totally valid

- don't freak about individual assignments: my students come to me freaking over a B+ and i tell them, honey, no job interviewer is ever going to ask you about your second paper from communications 101. i wish i'd known that

- go see speakers if there's someone interesting coming to campus: these talks are always cooler than you expect. i'll never get over the fact that i didn't go see anita hill when she came to my undergrad

- do your laundry on the same night every week: i can't explain why this is so helpful but it really is

- keep up on the news and the memes: read the school paper, the school blog, the memes page -- college politics and inside jokes are fun and convoluted and fascinating

- set the groundwork for long-term self-care: all of the above is really just to say -- university isn't just for learning about the french revolution, it's also about learning how to balance, how to handle failure, how to ask for help, how to make a salad that doesn't totally suck, etc

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Crossover Danuary Week Day 3 & 4

Day 3 & 4: Sound/Free Day (DP x Batman xover)

(I'm counting this for both days since it technically fits both prompts and I wrote the majority of this between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. _(:з)∠)_

Read the AO3 version here! (It has endnotes )

Summary: Danny was fourteen and Damian was now seven. And every day he wondered how his little brother went from a cute, giggling baby to a brat out of hell.

or: 5 Times Damian Refuses to Call Danny by his Name and 1 Time He Does.

or: We're bringing back the classing fanfic trope! Danny dies and gets reincarnated as Damian Wayne's older brother.

Contrary to popular expectations, when Danny Fenton finally (fully) died, he did not wake up in the Ghost Zone.

Instead, he woke up a newborn infant, swaddled in the arms of a woman who looked nothing like his mother but called him son with such affection and wonder that it warmed his little heart. He snuggled closer to his new mother, content to sleep the days away.

Later on, when he grew out of the cloudiness of his infant mind and learned of exactly what kind of world he was reborn into, he might regret being so idle. But for now, Danny would rest. The mantle of hero was a heavy thing, and he could use a long, long break from it.

I. What’s in a name

When he was born into this strange new world, his grandfather bestowed upon him the name Ibn al’ Xuffasch. A moniker given in honor of his mysterious father. A shadow, a presence, a looming expectation placed upon him.

His mother—not mom, for that’s a title reserved for someone else—gave him a much better name.

Danyal al Ghul.

He still preferred going by Danny, even if no one at the League of Assassins ever called him that.

Well…not yet at least.

He pressed a hand against the walls of the artificial gestational tube, nose squished against the glass as Danny watched his new little brother float in the murky green waters. Mother said his brother’s name was Damian.

Damian was conceived five months ago, though looking at him now, you wouldn’t think that. He looked around eight to nine months, his growth and development artificially sped up with the use of highly unethical science. Danny should protest, and he probably would have in his previous life, but goddammit he was lonely, ok? Being the only kid in the League was awful. Almost as awful as the constant hero worship he had to endure after the disasteroid incident.

Besides, it isn’t as if this is the weirdest shit he’d seen.

“Danny,” he whispered to his brother. “My name is Danny. Remember that, ok squirt?”

Little Damian gave a little kick.

Danny will take that as a yes.

II. First Words

According to the League physician, Damian was progressing along normally. His accelerated gestational period didn’t seem to have any negative side effects that they knew of, and overall he was a very healthy, happy baby.

Danny was absolutely enamored with baby Damian, even at the ripe old age of seven (give or take a few centuries). He was just so small. Tiny. Fragile. An innocent little thing, his brother was. Not fit for life in the League.

If he could, he would take Damian away from the confines of Nanda Parbat and the two of them would strike out on their own. Or maybe they would find this father of theirs and shack up with him. It was too bad his powers were locked away somewhere. He could still access them on some level, but they were muted; a weak replacement compared to what Danny could do in his heyday.

Oh, well. Maybe it was for the best. A seven-year-old and a baby running halfway around the world to find their dad? It was a stupid plan now, really.

Damian giggled as Danny handed him a mini ice-figurine of Cujo. He clasped it with his pudgy hands, waving it around with his tiny little arms.

Danny almost let out an aww.

Nope. Screw that. He was aww-ing

It was just the two of them in Damian’s nursery, sat on a soft play mat in the middle of the room. Usually, Danny would still be doing his lessons around this time. Katas and strengthening exercises, botany, languages, advanced math, and sciences— the works. The benefit of reincarnating into a world similar enough to his Earth is that you usually know all of this shit already. Sure, having to relearn his center of gravity with every new growth spurt was annoying, but having access to some of his enhanced speed, strength, and centuries of combat experience helped him get over that hurdle. He could wipe the floor with some of these fuckers.

Ra’s al Ghul could cluck his tongue at Danny’s “lack of ambition” all he liked, but even he couldn’t deny that Danny was competent. It’s why Danny could get away with cutting his lessons early. That and Talia’s occasional indulgence, of course.

Damian babbled as he played. Danny made him some more ice figurines; play was an important part of children's development, and Danny needed an excuse to keep his memory fresh. He made a cow first, just because. Next, he made Princess Dora’s dragon form. Then Fright Knight’s Horse. Then he made Lilith, a black cat he and Tucker gave Sam for her forty-fifth birthday. And just for shits and giggles, he made this one weird creature he saw in the ghost zone that had one too many legs and looked like a five-year-old’s drawing of a horse…if said five year old never saw a horse.

Damian shrieked with glee, grabbings as much of the figurines as his hands would allow.

Danny didn’t really know if the flailing his brother did actually had a purpose to it or if Damian just really liked smacking Cujo and the weird horse ghost together. He was content, for the most part, to watch. He laid on his side, head propped up by one arm, his free hand grabbing a figurine and engaging Damian in whatever storyline he conjured up.

Lilith the cat charged against the horse-ghost with a roar. Damian laughed, sacrificing the horse-ghost to his cruel fate and summoning Dora to fight at Cujo’s side.

They played and laughed and giggled. Lilith the cat fought bravely but was felled by the mighty cow. He blew raspberries into Damian’s mouth as revenge, much to his brother’s annoyance. Sullen little Damian hit him on the head, and Danny acted out his tragic death with such drama that would make Mr. Lancer proud.

He was too good, apparently. His fake death fooled Damian so well that he started blubbering.

“Dah— Dah!”

Holy shit was he trying to say his first words?

Danny bolted up. “Come on, Dami, you can do it! Say ‘Danny.’ Dan-ee.”

Damian floundered over the sounds, testing the shapes. “Dah— Daaah—”

“Yes. Yes?”

“Daya!”

Damian’s face shone with pride. Danny didn’t have the heart to correct him.

He admitted defeat with a sigh. “Yeah. That’s right, bud. Daya.”

One day. One day he’ll get someone to say his name right.

III. Rivalry

Danny was fourteen and Damian was now seven. And every day he wondered how his little brother went from a cute, giggling baby to a brat out of hell. He was snooty and arrogant. The second Damian beat someone in a spar they were no longer ‘worthy’ of his consideration. Skills were flaunted with no thought of humility. Servants treated as just another part of the background.

And most of all he was so god damn stubborn.

Danny stopped running and turned around, hands on his hips. “Damian stop running and take a break.”

Damian stumbled to a halt, panting viciously. He wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “No, I—hah!—can still keep going.” Though his green eyes burned with resolve, Danny could see the way Damian’s knees shook and how he kept inching towards the cluster of trees to their right.

Danny, seeing as how mother put him in charge of Damian’s physical fitness for the day, decided to be the responsible adult. “No. You can’t. Now sit your but down in the shade before I make you.”

“You don’t have to tell me what to do, Danyal. I can take care of myself.”

Danny sighed. There was a time, once, that Damian would gleefully call him ‘Danny.’ But one day it just— stopped. Ever since then, it was ‘brother’ or ‘Danyal’; the names said with aloof politeness or hissed behind a snarl. Damian’s stubbornness streak manifested around this time too. As well as his tendency to push himself too hard in his training.

Danny blamed Ra’s. Bastard.

He threw his water at Damian who caught it with one hand. “I don’t have to do anything, but since one of us here is clearly begging to pass out from heat exhaustion—”

“I’m fine!”

“You are not.”

Danny stared down at Damian.

Damian glowered at Danny.

The silence of the jungle stretched between them.

Damian looked away first. He uncapped the water bottle and guzzled half of it down. Damian leaned back against the trunk of the nearest tree and slid down to a crouch, water bottle dangling between his fingers.

Danny carded a hand through his hair, fingers resting at the back of his neck. He sighed. A flock of birds flew overhead.

“Grandfather said that you could run the circuit of Infinity Island three times without breaking a sweat.”

God damn it Ra’s.

Danny scratched his cheek. “I mean, I took my time with it, so of course I wouldn’t sweat too much.”

Damian glared at him. “He said you could do it in an hour and a half.”

An hour and ten minutes to be exact. But Danny wasn’t going to say that.

He plopped himself right next to Damian, stretching his legs. “You don’t have to do things the way I did them, you know that?”

“‘Tt.’ Easy for you to say.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You don’t see it.” Damian thumped the water bottle onto the dirt. “Of course you don’t. Why would you? It’s probably beneath your notice.”

“Damian.” Danny placed a hand on his shoulder but Damian tore himself away, dragging himself to his feet.

“You don’t see it. Have you heard what they call you? A genius. A prodigy. They look at you and see the heir of the Demon’s Head. The pride of the al Ghul bloodline.” His jaw clenched, hand reaching up to fist his shirt. “They look at you and see someone worthy. Then they look at me and wonder why I'm so lacking.”

There are many upsides to being reincarnated with your memories and skills intact, even more so when you’ve lived for hundreds of years.

Here’s the downside to all that: you start forgetting. Once, before he was permanently known as Phantom, and before the reality of his longevity kicked in, Danny Fenton was a younger sibling. And while the youngest child usually got the reputation of being able to get away with anything, it wasn’t exactly true for young children born into the family of the exceptional. His old parents were certified geniuses, pioneers of the scientific world. They tore a hole into a parallel dimension for god sake. Jazz, though not as interested in engineering, was in the same caliber. She got the highest score on the C.A.T test, was already being scouted by Ivy Leagues when she was a sophomore in high school, and eventually made a name for herself in the psychiatric community as one of its leading researchers.

Sure, Danny moonlighted as a hero. Sure, after the disasteroid there was a statue of him in every capital in the world. But before all that happened, there was a time when Danny was desperate to catch up to the high bar his sister set. And there were many more times when he failed to measure up.

Danny didn’t realize that he was putting Damian through the exact same thing.

“Damian…” He needed to say something. Anything. “Is that why you won’t call me ‘Danny’ anymore?”

Not that.

Damian clenched his fist, turning away from him. “I don’t need your pity, Danyal. I’m going on ahead.”

His little brother ran further into the dense jungle.

Danny watched him go.

IV. Separation

Damian was ten and he was seventeen when Nanda Parbat came under attack. An attempted coup by their grandfather’s old pupil Slade Wilson.

Their casualties were many, amongst them being Ra’s al Ghul himself, dying but a few feet away from the Lazarus Pit and body too damaged for it to be of use. Damian cried over their grandfather’s body. Danny pulled him close, burying his silent tears in Damian’s hair. He had no love for Ra’s, but the man was his grandfather, his family, and Danny will mourn him all the same.

Their mother pulled them both in for a hug and held them tight.

There was no time to mourn.

Plans are made, arrangements are settled, Damian was not happy with any of this.

“I want to come with you.”

Mother answered with a curt “no.”

Damian bristled, hands curling into fists. “But Danyal gets to go! Why do I have to stay in Gotham?”

“Your brother is older,” their mother said, voice spilling honey, saccharine and sweet. “And you are still young. You will be under your father’s protection in Gotham, and he will ensure your safety.”

Her words left no room for further questions.

Damian, still unsatisfied, sulked. He tucked his knees beneath his chin and curled atop one of the many couches bolted to the floor of their ship. “It’s not fair,” he said.

Danny sat down beside him. “Life’s not fair.”

“I’m his grandson, too. I should be given the chance to avenge him as well!”

“Danny poked Damian’s forehead. Damian scrunched his nose in annoyance. “I think it’s because you’re his grandson that mother felt the need to bench you.”

“What?”

“Well…think of it this way: If something goes wrong and mother and I don’t come back from this—” They both simultaneously knocked on the wooden frame of the couch. “—then the League of Assassin falls to you. Someone needs to carry on the legacy.”

“But why leave only me? Why not leave the both of us to ensure both heirs are safe?”

Danny strong-armed him closer, mussing his hair despite Damian’s shouts of protest. “Aww, are you worried about me?”

Damian tried to shove him off. “As if. Now let go of me!”

“Only if you call me Danny.”

“Never!”

Danny laughed. “Come on, just this once? Might as well hear it before I die.”

He felt his brother stiffen beside him. “You won’t die.”

Grinning, Danny said, “of course I won’t.”

Damian held his gaze, green eyes intent and bored into his own. “You won’t die.” He spoke the words like a conviction, a reassurance.

A reassurance for who? Danny couldn’t say.

He shifted his hold into a proper hug. “I’ll come back, Damian. I promise I will.”

V. Sacrifice

Damian pointed his gun at Deathstroke.

Deathstroke held a gun to their mother’s head.

Danny stood behind a nearby pillar, watching.

All his powers were useless when he truly needed them, either too weak in their manifestation or locked away who knows where. All he could do was stand in the shadows and wait for an opportunity to strike.

Damian lowered his gun.

Deathstroke shifted his aim to the space between Damian’s eyes.

Danny could see his mother tense. He dashed forward with inhuman speed

No.

He would not let this happen.

Everything moved at once.

Deathstroke fired the bullet. His mother escaped her captor’s grip and threw herself in the bullet’s path. Danny pushed his mother away, taking her place, and catching the bullet in his chest.

“No!”

The wind was knocked out of Danny’s lungs. Punctured. Probably. Fuck. He collapsed, head slamming against the rocky floor.

He wheezed, groaning as Damian ran to his side and cradled his head. “You idiot!” Damian cried. “Why did you do that? Why?”

Danny coughed. Could feel the blood gathering in his lungs, choking him. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? “You’re my brother.”

His tongue tasted like blood. He was dying. Danny was honest to god dying again.

That pain was somehow more bearable compared to hearing Damian’s choked sob.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better brother.

His strength failed him, in the end.

Danny closed his eyes.

(Damian goes off to defeat Deathstroke but does not kill him. Talia took the broken corpse of her son and placed it in the Lazarus pit.)

(The body sank into the murky green waters.) (It does not rise again.)

+1. Brother

Damian does not like Dick Grayson.

Though as Damian understood it, it was very difficult to dislike Grayson— at least for long. His dislike for the man wasn’t for any particular reason, really. Incessant and exuberant displays of affection aside, Grayson was very easy to be around. He was accepting, he was kind, he was funny. Accepting his attempts at friendship would also be a great strategy to better integrate himself into the Wayne family.

Damian slapped away Grayson’s attempt to ruffle his hair.

Grayson backed off, arms held up non-threateningly. “Chill, Dami. Stop being so antagonistic all of the time, we’re brothers for goodness sake.”

Damian snapped his teeth, features twisted into a scowl. “We’re not brothers.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure we are. Got the paperwork and everything.”

“We are not brothers!” Damian snapped up, surprised at his sudden shout. He dug crescent-shaped indents into the soft flesh of his palm. “Just— leave me alone, Grayson. I already had a brother. I don’t need another one.”

Damian stalked off, shutting himself in his room.

“You should be nicer to them, you know,” His brother’s specter said. He stood in front of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the room, sunlight filtered across his hair, tiny dust motes floating.

I know.

This ghost— This strange inversion of his brother’s image had been haunting Damian for the past few months. At first, it appeared as a shade. A shadow that lingered at the corner of Damian’s eyes but disappeared as soon as he turned to it. Grief, Damian figured it was. A manifestation of his own guilt. He ignored the phantasm of his brother most of the time, and most of the time his brother would simply leave on his own.

One day his brother’s ghost vanished. Damian had breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his hallucinations stopped. Then, three weeks later, it came back. Stronger. Bolder. It moved around the room like a curious wraith, green eyes watching. He would smile, would laugh, and he would talk.

Damian could almost pretend that his brother was alive.

Almost.

Willing away this phantom had no effect, so Damian settled to just glaring at him. “Go away.”

“After I came all this way to see you?” His brother clenched his chest in mock-hurt.

Damian palmed the batarang he kept hidden in his sleeve, the cold, sharp metal grounding him. He was tired of this. So, so tired. “You’re not even real.” He threw the batarang at the ghost, expecting it to phase right through and embed itself in the wall.

The ghost caught it.

Astonished, Damian could do nothing but stare at his brother. His brother.

“Danny?” His throat tightened. His eyes had begun to mist over but he blinked the tears away as quickly as they came, afraid that if he tore his gaze away now, the illusion would break. “Is that you? Is that really you?”

Danny stepped forward. The floorboards beneath him creaked.

Damian barreled across the room and enveloped his brother in a hum, nearly toppling the both of them over. “Danny.” He buried his head in his brother’s midsection. Solid. Corporeal. Real. “You’re back. You’re back!”

He saw a flash of light behind his eyelids. Felt warm arms wrap around him. Damian looked up to see Danny— his Danny. Not the strange inversion. Not the ghostly incarnation. Him. His brother. His family. Real. Here. Alive.

“I promised I’d come back, didn’t I?”

“What took you so long?” His voice was muffled against his shirt.

“Coming back from the dead isn’t exactly easy, squirt. It took a long time. I had to call in a lot of favors, kick a bunch of people’s asses, you know the drill.”

“You did all that because of a promise?”

“Of course.” Danny smiled, pulling him closer. “You’re my brother.”