#people were saying that it would be okay if Jonathan died because he’s boring

[morganbritton132]

It’s cool that Dustin is getting a book but why does Jonathan not have one? I know people talk about not knowing a lot about Steve but like, we also know almost nothing about Jonathan outside of Nancy and Will.

[iceeckos12]

time travel snippet

little time travel au oneshot. season 5 jon travels back in time to season 1. from the perspectives of tim, martin, and sasha. 3.5k.

i dont think i need to tag anything, but please let me know otherwise.

Tim wakes up that morning, and it’s just like any other day.

Well—no, okay, that’s a bit misleading. Today is his first day working as an archival assistant, so he’s one part nervous, one part that breathless, exhilarated feeling you only get when you’re about to do something unfamiliar that may or may not redefine your life for the foreseeable future. When he says “it’s just like any other day”, he means that he wakes up, and he’s a normal person doing normal people things like eating a healthy breakfast and going to work.

(So, no. In short, he doesn’t realize that today is the day when It happens, that big, life-changing event that you think will Never Happen To You.)

He gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom. Washes his face of whatever residue that’d built up during the night, tries to scrape away the evidence of his nightmares, smiles big and bright at the mirror to see how successful his efforts were. He’s betrayed by the traitorous bags beneath his eyes, but that’s okay. Sasha taught him how to wield concealer as a shield whenever his past wore down his armor.

He shoots twin finger guns into his reflection, making soft pew, pew! noises that are almost too-loud in the hush of the bathroom. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, sauntering and humming along with the chorus of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.

He gets to the Institute twenty minutes before he’s supposed to—not because he’s trying to impress his boss or whatever (he and Jon have known each other long enough that there’s no point). It’s just, Jon will probably want to make some sort of game-plan before the actual workday starts. 

The poor man had been relieved to an almost comical degree when Tim had said yes, I’ll come with you to the Archives. It’s painfully obvious how out-of-his-depth Jon is with the whole “Head Archivist” thing. Tim’s honestly baffled as to why Elias had singled him out for the position in the first place, considering his lack of qualifications.

But, whatever. It’s fine! Tim and Sasha will be there to help him—although the third assistant is a bit of a problem, considering that they know absolutely nothing about him. There’s no guarantee that this Martin Blackwood won’t report inadequacies or mistakes back to Elias. If that’s the case, Tim and Sasha will have to be Jon’s safety net, which is partially why Tim is hoping to talk to Jon before anyone else gets there.

He also wants to talk to Jon because he just knows the man is probably working himself up over all of this. Maybe reassurances won’t do away with the source of anxiety entirely, but at least it’ll remind Jon that he’s not alone, and that he can count on Tim and Sasha.

As expected, when Tim gets there he can see a sliver of light pouring out from the cracked door of the Head Archivist’s office. He selects a desk and sets his bag on top of it, noting a set of strange gouges in the fake wood with a raised eyebrow, and then an internal shrug. The Institute issued laptop is near the far edge of his desk, and his collection of pictures are strategically placed so that he can see them all clearly.

His eyes linger over the image of him, his mother, and his brother. Their smiles are almost perfect replicas of each other, like someone took a mold of one of their faces and recreated it twice over.

Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he shakes himself, releases a slow, steadying breath, and goes to check on Jon.

Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting to see when he goes into Jon’s office.

(That’s misleading too, though. He’s not sure if Jon will be visibly calm or upset, if he’ll be on his laptop, if he’ll be picking at the skin around his fingernails, as he so often does when he’s stressed. He is expecting Jon as he is and always has been—a twenty-some year old going on sixty, who wraps his gruff, grumpy demeanor about himself to protect the soft, vulnerable core he likes to pretend doesn’t exist.)

He comes up to the door, and the soft rectangle of light that emanates from beneath the door paints the tips of his shoes gold. “Jon?” he calls softly, rapping his knuckles against the frame. There’s a soft rustling noise—papers maybe? but no audible response, so he shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”

Tim steps inside, a quip instinctively readying itself on his tongue—but then his gaze lands on Jon, and he freezes dead in his tracks.

Even years later, he still vividly, viscerally remembers the moment he saw Danny standing on the stage underneath the Royal Opera House, the way he’d looked...not quite right. The wrongness had been subtle, so much so that it had been unnoticeable upon first glance, upon second glance. The longer Tim had looked though, the more obvious it had become, exposing all the little faults in that almost-perfect recreation of his brother.

Looking at Jon now, it’s the first and only thing he can think of. Because—yes, there’s the long, silver-streaked black hair, there’s the rich brown eyes, there’s the pair of spectacles that make him look far older than he actually is. But that’s where the similarities between the Jon he knows and this Jon end.

Jon’s always been a small man, but his feigned haughtiness makes him seem much bigger than he actually is. Except—except this Jon looks smaller somehow, his shoulders curved protectively inward, like he’s trying to present less of a target. And there’s something about his face, too—his expression is too sharp, too much—

But the worst of it is his eyes. There’s something very wrong with his eyes.

Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Jon? He doesn’t say it out loud though, just keeps staring at Jon, a heady mix of terror and horror making any sort of reaction impossible.

After a moment Jon’s lips thin, contorted by some distant cousin of displeasure, and he rises to his feet. Tim stumbles instinctively backward, his breath escaping him in a sharp gasp that’s immediately swallowed up by the apathetic stacks of books and papers surrounding them. He’s struck by the fact that if he dies here, it’s unlikely anyone will notice; he’ll become just another set of marks gouged into the desk, willed away with an uneasy shrug.

Jon freezes, lips parting subtly, as though he were about to speak. Tim feels his breath catch in his chest, unable to shake himself out of the clouded stupor his mind has fallen into.

In the end, Jon says nothing. Just releases a long, slow breath of air and sits back down, pushing his chair close to his desk. The motion looks heavy, tired, as though it takes far more energy than it should.

“You—you should go,” Jon rasps, and there’s something off about his voice too, though Tim can’t put his finger on why. He can’t cobble together enough of a train of thought to make sense of any of this, all he can think of is that clown ripping Danny apart—

He stumbles out of Jon’s office, sits down at his desk. Stares down at the cheap, fake wood, at the gouges that have marred the otherwise pristine surface. Puts his head in his hands, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

-0-

Martin’s heard things about Jonathan Sims.

He’s not usually the type to pay attention or encourage gossip, as the vivid memories of his classmates tittering cruelly whenever he walked by still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.The problem with the Institute is that the employees get bored pretty easily. Though most would consider academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal to be fairly interesting, it’s still academic research. And the subject content can get to be a bit...repetitive. There’s only so many gruesome statements you can read without thinking, oh great, more meat.

So the employees gossip a lot, and while Martin usually tries to keep his head down and avoid it, it’s difficult not to overhear some things. And from what little he’s heard, he’s...a bit concerned. Rude and unsociable has frequently been mentioned, as have arrogant and unnecessarily finicky, and worst of all, a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all.

Normally he tries not to put too much stock in office gossip—he’s well aware that the grapevine tends to exaggerate one’s most undesirable traits—but if any of it is true, then he might just be in trouble. It was hard enough being a library employee when his boss wasn’t even paying attention most of the time. If Jon is as exacting as they say, it might be enough to expose the fact that Martin has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. And if that happens, then he might get fired, and he can’t get fired, he needs this job, he can barely keep up with his mum’s medical bills as it is—

Calm down, Martin tells himself firmly, pressing his hand against his sternum, as though that will be enough to quell the rising panic. It’s only your first day. Maybe he’s nice, and we’ll actually be good friends.

(With his luck? Yeah, right.)

The Institute looms in the distance, growing closer with every terrified, grudging footstep. A shiver runs up his spine at the sight of its imposing presence, a dark, ugly blot of a building against the backdrop of the iron grey clouds.

If there’s one thing he’s good at though, it’s keeping his head down and muddling through until he’s able to figure out what is actually expected of him. He can twist and fold himself into whatever role they need him to fill, as he has done so many times in the past. Not easily perhaps, but he has always managed. The alternative is untenable, after all.

So he takes a deep breath, and shoves his panic down as deep as possible. Lifts his head and forces a smile onto his face, like a good attitude will be enough to protect him from his boss’s wrath.

He could really do with a cup of tea.

Martin trudges down the stairs, giving the blank walls, the old-fashioned carpet, a dubious look as he does. The Archives themselves are as he remembers it—he’s been down here a couple of times when Gertrude made a request for something specific, but—

He pauses when he notices a man sitting at one of the desks, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders aren’t shaking and his breathing is even, so Martin doesn’t think that he’s crying? He’s just….sitting there, his stillness so perfect it’s almost inhuman.

“Hello?” Martin calls softly, cautiously, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

The man looks up, revealing a very handsome face and brown eyes so dark they may as well be black. His cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright and a little wild, and his mouth is pressed into a small, tight line. He doesn’t speak, just keeps watching, blinking dazedly in Martin’s direction. Martin gets the feeling that this person isn’t entirely there at the moment, like a house in which every room is lit, but there are no people inside.

He swallows and shifts nervously back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to call for some backup. Eventually he sets his bag on the floor and shuffles a bit closer. “Um—are you—is everything okay?”

The man blinks rapidly, some semblance of awareness creeping back into his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, pushes his short, gelled hair back from his head. His hands are trembling. “I’m...yeah, I’m fine. It’s—everything’s, it’s…”

But then his gaze lands on something over Martin’s shoulder, and all the color drains out of his face, his mouth shutting with a painful sounding click. Martin quickly spins around, searching for whatever could’ve scared him so much—

There’s someone standing in the doorway of Gertrude’s office.

There are so many things that one normally takes in upon first meeting another person: their hair, their skin color, all the little wrinkles and marks that give you the briefest insight into their life. Martin looks at posture first, tends to check if a person is intentionally looming, or if they’re making themself smaller.

But all Martin can see are the eyes.

There’s—two of them he thinks, but two is such an arbitrary number when the thing you’re applying it to doesn’t ascribe to human values (he’s not sure how he knows that—how does he know that—?). That horrible, terrible gaze is an unerring arrow, all-encompassing, all-consuming, piercing the deepest corners of his mind. It hurts in some distant, nebulous way he’s not even sure he comprehends—

Then he blinks, and the sheer terror, that feeling of the horrible, violating exposure of everything that he is, abruptly snuffs out. What’s left is just a person, wispy and small, his slight frame fairly drowning in a chunky, cable-knit jumper. He’s leaning against his doorframe, his eyes—two big brown ones, rich and unfathomably sad and more than that, human—drinking Martin in, his lips parted in a soundless gasp.

“Um—” Martin glances over his shoulder, and almost leaps out of his skin when a land falls heavily on his shoulder. The man who’d been sitting in the chair is standing just behind him, a strained but polite smile on his face.

“Hi Jon,” the man says, an undercurrent of a warning in his voice.

Martin glances between the two, his confusion growing with every passing moment. This is not what he was expecting when he first came into work today, and the uncertainty makes him feel strange and off-kilter.

The person in the door swallows once, twice, then straightens, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he speaks, his voice is soft, tentative, a little ragged around the edges. “Tim. It’s, um...it’s good to see you.”

“Martin Blackwood, was it?” Tim continues, injecting a bit of cheer into his voice. It takes Martin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, and he shoots Jon—this is Jonathan Sims?—an uncertain look before nodding slowly. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”

“O-Oh?” Martin squeaks, then grits his teeth and bodily forces his voice back into its normal range. “I’m—um, I’m happy to be here?”

“Good,” Tim says through a grin that looks more like a grimace, giving Martin’s shoulder a friendly pat. The look he shoots Jon is a dark, mistrustful thing. The look Jon gives him back is fragile, vulnerable, that winds the tension in Tim’s shoulders so tight it has to be painful.

Jon’s gaze flickers to Martin, just for a second—and then he disappears into his office, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Tim and Martin stand there for a second, staring at the door. Tim’s still tense as a bowstring, and his grip on Martin’s shoulder is almost uncomfortable. The air in the Archives feels stuffy and too warm, and there’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of Martin’s neck, like he’s being subjected to close scrutiny.

Then Tim sighs and lets go of Martin’s shoulder, a little of the tension bleeding out of him, and without it he looks small, deflated. He goes back to his desk and sits down, booting up his laptop without a word of explanation to Martin.

Martin stares at the back of Tim’s head for a moment, a number of questions clamoring around in his brain—what the fuck was that? What’s wrong with Jon? Why are you so obviously suspicious of him?—but the words won’t come. Breaking the silence feels...sacrilegious, somehow. Every breath of air sticks against the back of his throat.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything either, just sits at his desk and takes out his Institute-issued laptop. Stares blankly at the screen as the machine slowly, laboriously, comes to life.

-0-

Sasha’s not entirely sure how to interpret the tense atmosphere that has descended over the Archives.

The first day she’d arrived a couple of minutes before she was supposed to, prepared to follow Jon’s direction and help him adjust as best she could. (Her feelings about Jon’s promotion...didn’t matter. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his fault that Elias was an old-fashioned misogynist.)

But when she’d come down the stairs, Tim and the assistant she didn’t know, Martin, had been seated quietly at their desks. They’d both had the same distant, shell-shocked look on their faces, like they’d received some shattering, horrible news. Sasha had sent Tim a confused look, but he either hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t wanted to explain.

She hadn’t even seen Jon that first day, just received a polite email asking her to start organizing the statements according to the system which he’d devised.

It’s been almost three days, and nothing has changed. Oh sure, they’ve all started organizing the statements as directed. Tim cracks jokes, Martin tiptoes around them and makes copious amounts of tea. That strange tension that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, like the world is holding its breath in anticipation, hasn’t faded though. And while she doesn’t know Martin all that well, she knows that something’s still up with Tim. He seems more subdued than usual, keeps sending uncomfortable looks in the direction of Jon’s office—

—which hasn’t been open since that first day. She hasn’t seen Jon at all either, no matter how early she arrives or how late she stays. The only proof she has that he’s still alive is the polite email she periodically receives, detailing some specific task that he wants for them to do.

Even then, his emails are...odd. She’s not sure how she can tell, but they feel...awkward? Stilted? Like he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, or like he’s only asking them to do things because he feels like he should, not because he has any actual goal in mind.

Normally she’d be frustrated by this, would complain bitterly to Tim about Elias passing over her for someone who obviously doesn’t properly appreciate the position they’ve been given—except that she knows Jon. He’d made a point to explain the situation to her himself, an apologetic twist tucked into the corner of his mouth. More than that, he’d asked her to follow him to the archives, saying that he wanted the two people he trusted most, her and Tim, to come with him.

He respects her too much not to take this job seriously.

The strangeness of the archives is only emphasized by Jon’s complete and utter lack of presence within it, but she doesn’t—she doesn’t buy that. She doesn’t believe that he’d just suddenly decide not to do the job he’d been so anxious to excel at. 

More damning than anything is Tim’s complete, utter silence regarding Jon’s strange behavior, but whatever he knows about it, he isn’t saying anything. Martin is willing to talk, but he seems to be as lost as she is.

“I—that first day, Jon…” Martin shrugs, shooting a nervous glance toward the door leading to the archives. He’s been spending a lot of time hovering in the break room making tea, not that she can blame him. “He—I mean obviously I don’t know him very well, but he seemed...upset?”

“Upset,” Sasha repeats dubiously.

Martin lets out an exhausted sigh and turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “Look, I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. He just—okay, so, bear with me for a second, but he reminded me of this guy who used to live in my neighborhood.”

Sasha backs off, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. “Okay?”

“There was this little old couple that used to live in my neighborhood. They were—they were really sweet! The husband used to give candy to us younger kids. But um—sometimes you’d see him sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, and it was like...he wasn’t entirely there? Like, he’d just sit there for hours, rocking and staring at nothing. That’s—that’s what Jon’s expression reminded me of.”

Martin gets more animated the more he talks, Sasha notes; his hands move in broad, sweeping gestures, his expression twisting into an expression of extreme concentration. The moment he finishes he deflates again, tucking his hands into his armpits self-consciously, a hedgehog curling protectively in on itself.

“So, yeah,” he finishes eloquently.

“Huh,” Sasha says thoughtfully.

She gets back to her desk. Looks over at Tim, who’s studiously working through a box of statements, his mouth set in a neutral, concentrated frown. Takes a deep breath, letting the taste of dust and old papers sit heavy on her tongue.

Then she opens her laptop and starts looking through the catalog of cursed items that are currently being held in Artifact Storage.

(She doesn’t think that she’ll find anything, but—but just in case.)

-0-

They all get the call the next Monday morning: Elias Bouchard was found dead in his office.

[pop-pop-pop-popculture]

STRANGER THINGS Season 4 Vol. 2 Thoughts

Once again, as much as I like Jim Hopper (that weight loss tho!), Joyce, Enzo, and kind of Murray, I still think Jim should have been left dead. The entire Russian subplot personally bored me and didn’t help carry the main storyline for season four. It especially was a little bothersome when there was an intense moment in Hawkins or even at the lab with Eleven and then the next scene was Russia. Right as it was getting good and got you hooked...

I will say, though, that I loved Enzo’s one-on-one talk with Yuri. He basically reminded Yuri that he was--used to be a hero and, as cheesy as it sounds, asked him where that person is. It sure boosted his confidence, so way to go Enzo!

The actor who plays Enzo is kind of good-looking.

Will cried in Jonathan’s embrace because they were just having a sweet, brother-to-brother conversation. I honestly thought it was because someone died, but okay...

Will crying in the car after explaining to Mike that Eleven really does love and miss him [Will]. Will was absolutely, 100% telling Mike his feelings for him, but he managed to do it by replacing “I”, “me”, etc. with ‘Eleven’, ‘she’, etc.

Argyle. That’s it.

That dude at the pizza place was high as fuck. 😂

“My dude.”

Too many slow motion scenes, oh my Lord. Just get on with it! I understand it’s for drama and suspense, but not everything had to be in slow-mo.

Jonathan convincing the ‘dude’ to let them use the restaurant in exchange for a blunt. 😂

“How is he still high?!”

Mike/Eleven’s relationship dominated, like, 75% of the last two episodes. It took Mike telling her he loved her and professing his love for her to build up the strength and courage to attempt at killing Vecna and try to save Max. I know Vecna got tentacles choking the shit out of her and basically wrapped up to where she couldn’t escape, but still... . Meanwhile, Max was unconscious.

*Eleven was in tub with salt water at a restaurant so she could get inside Max’s mind when this happened, by the way.*

Eleven standing up for herself/to Dr. Brenner, who was manipulative and abusive (physically, mentally, and emotionally)! I’m so proud of her!

Dr. Owens was a great man.

Dr. Brenner was the other one who died. The writers gave all of us a scare by saying that many people in the main group were going to die, and that was not okay! But well played.

Eleven trying to convince Vecna/Henry/001 that he doesn’t have to be evil and can stop trying to take over the world and instead be good. Good talk. A shame, though, that he didn’t listen to her.

The flashback scenes to previous seasons depending on what was going on.

I personally wasn’t a fan of him nor obsessed with him like everyone else, but I still disagree with Eddie being killed. And the fact that only Dustin and Eddie’s family member were saddened by his death? OUCH. Not even Steve? Nobody from any of the groups acknowledged his absence.

I personally could not care less about this couple, but props to Mike for finally manning up and confessing his true feelings for Eleven. Of course, it happened, though, when she was on the verge of being killed. (Vecna had a tentacle choking her to the point of her not breathing and almost dying)

The reunions at the end of the episode nine back at Jim’s cabin.

I appreciate the flashback scenes explaining how Henry literally turned into Vecna and why he acts and thinks the way he does, because I would have been so confused without them. I’m a visual learner, people!

However... had the Russia subplot not been part of season four, then there definitely would have been potential to give us a little more insight on Henry/Vecna/001. Why did Henry resent the world? How did Dr. Brenner find him (or was that explained in volume 1)? There was quite a lot of potential to better Vecna, but the opportunity was not seized. Cool looking character, though!

The way Henry looked prior to getting blasted and basically exploding was terrifying. The scars, most of his hair missing... Wow! A big round of applause to the makeup department!!!!

Lucas and Jason fighting each other. I honestly really thought Jason was going to win, but thank God he didn’t!

When one of the jocks chased Erica and tackled her, I almost screamed. That was terrible to watch, but she beat his ass. 😌

Nancy, Robin, and Steve almost died. Those scenes had my heart racing!

I like the character, but given the shit Vecna put Max through, she should have died instead of get put in a coma.

Eleven apparently has the powers to bring dead people back to life (Is that a newly discovered power or has she always been able to??), so I hope we, uh, see Eddie and Chrissy in season five. But it’s very doubtful.

If I think of anymore moments worth noting, then I’ll reblog this post and add on, but for now, these are the main highlights for me. The cliffhanger was good, but it wasn’t episode seven level good. All in all, combined, I give the last two episodes a 6.5/10 and this season an 8/10.

▪️ July 1, 2022 ▪️

[mrvdocks]

Plus One

Steve Harrington has had an eventful life. He's slain monsters, saved the princess, and earned his dignity back. But that was in the past.

It's seven years later, 1994, and he's still finding himself. His friends have been up to other things though, getting married and inviting him to those weddings.

It's the last thing he wants to do, but his roommate decides to make him go through all four weddings in hopes of finding someone.

And so it begins.

(chapter one)

It’s been seven years since the gang has had any incident or warnings or dreams about monsters. Things have died down in Hawkins. So much so that it’s starting to feel normal again, or whatever normal is for everyone else. 

Steve feels like an outsider, though. Everyone he knows is getting married. Nancy and Jonathan, Robin and Kali, Hopper and Joyce, hell even Tommy and Carol tied the knot in Vegas. All of these, weddings he’s been invited to. Except for the latter, they sent him a postcard with a phallic drawing in the back. 

He was used to moping, even if Robin had threatened to make him listen to disco to cheer him up. You thought it was funny though, it showed he had some emotion after all. 

It’s not that he couldn’t continue his womanizing streak. It’s just that after feeling that connection with Nancy, he didn’t want to see different people in the morning. He wanted the one. 

It didn’t help that his parents would call all the time now. Asking him things like if he’d found a girlfriend yet, or a steady job, or be constantly reminded that the clock was ticking. He was painfully aware. 

He’d just come back from his stint as a bartender in some dingy club in lower Manhattan to the somewhat comfortable apartment he shared with you and Robin. Well, that is, until Robin decided to move in with Kali. Robin had taking a liking to you, you weren’t as girly and deluded as the other applicants they were going through and you certainly weren’t as bothersome.

Envelopes and bills spilled on the black mat you’d picked out, warding off visitors or unwanted guests with a foul word written on it. He gathered them, going through them as he opened the door. Nothing but bills and subscriptions.

What a joy to be an adult.

He let the things fall onto the taped up coffee table on its last legs and collapsed onto the faded green couch.

He heard the pitter-patter of your feet running into the living room. ���Oh honey, you’re home.”

He snorted. “Haha, funny.” 

“What? No ‘Hey how’s your day?’ or ‘Good Morning’?”

“Good Morning.” He mumbled face down.

You smirk, settling onto the arm of the couch. “How bad was it?”

“Oh god, so bad.” He lifts his head up, eyes rolling for dramatic effect. 

“I’ve never had to clean vomit before in my life and now I feel so bad for what you have to go through.”

“Ugh, ok there’s a difference between cleaning up after drunk assholes and poorly malnutrition-ed dogs.”

He groans, stuffing his face back down. “My back is killing me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry Grandpa, do you want me to rub your back or maybe your feet?”

His head lifts up again to narrow his eyes at you. “You’re only four years younger than me, this is your future! But also, yes please.”

You roll your eyes in amusement. “I’m never going to be like this at your age.”

He chortles. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. Unlike you, I have a life. I’m active!”

“I’m not sure sitting with a pack of popcorn and watching sci-fi tv counts as being active.” 

You gasp and rip the pillow from underneath him to hit him with it. “You’re the one who cried when Scully and Mulder -”

“Ahhhhh! No! Shut up!” He plugs his ears with his fingers. 

You erupt with laughter, falling off of the arm and onto the floor. 

You share a fun moment together before he groans again about his back. You think to resolve this with the expensive purchase you’ve been hiding. You rush into your room, if it could even be called that, grab the basin, fill it with water and back into the living room. 

“Here, kick off your shoes.” You kneel down, turning on the machine and placing his feet into the water. 

His tone changes the moment he feels the warmer kick in. He throws his head back in content and comfort. You take his shoes and place them near the doorway. 

“Did you see this?” You ask, the gold of a letter catching your eye. He hums in response.

You use the keys to rip it open, the hard cardstock nearly giving you a paper cut. You’re greeted with a beautiful invitation, all black with gold lettering and cursive writing. 

“You are cordially invited to share in a celebration of the union of Dustin Henderson and Suzie Smith.”

Steve’s eyes fly open as he turns his head to face you. “Let me see that.”

You pass it to him, getting comfortable in the little space and trying to remember where you’ve heard their names before.

Steve chuckles to himself, scanning the whole invite. “He did it. He really did it.”

“Dustin...is he the one you’re always talking about?”

“Yeah,” he smiles to himself, thinking of how much time has passed. “Kind of like the little brother I never had. Wow, I haven’t seen him since he was 15.”

You’ve never seen Steve so happy before. He doesn’t talk much about his life back in Hawkins and neither did Robin. You could only assume it was as boring like your own hometown and thus the reason for their leave. 

“Isn’t this the fourth wedding you’ve been invited to?” 

He sighs. “Yeah but, I don’t even know if I’m going to any of them.”

Your brows furrow. “Why not? You said it yourself this is like your brother.”

He lets the invitation fall onto his lap. “Because - I, I’m not as interesting as they probably think I am.”

“Pfft. So what? You want to entertain some people to spruce your ego or something?” 

“No,” he crosses his arms. “It’s just everyone’s getting married, my cousin just had like his third kid, oh and this guy at the bar was showing me his grandkid and crying like crazy.”

“So? Everyone’s different, things don’t always have to match up. You don’t have anything to prove.”

He squeezes his eyes closed and runs his hand through his hair.

“How about this? We go and we just try and set you up with someone. Doesn’t matter who. It’s four weddings, there’s bound to be some marriage material in there.”

He side smiles, contemplating. “Alright.”

“Good,” you clap. “You need this. Plus there’s something wrong with the plumbing and we have to leave while they fix it.”

He groans. 

January 13, 1994

Nancy & Jonathan’s Wedding

Portland, Maine

One Day Before

The airplane ride wasn’t too bad. Actually no, that was a lie. There was mostly turbulence and you spent most of the four hours freaking out and thinking that there was something going horribly wrong. Steve wouldn’t stop laughing at you though, faking that your seatbelt had come undone too many times. You shut him out by grabbing a blanket and trying to lull yourself to sleep without thinking about how you were suspended in mid-air on a death trap. 

It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped, being able to hear Steve’s poor flirting with the flight attendant. You rolled your eyes, but you had to give him some credit. He was starting early.

Steve shook you awake shortly after touchdown, poking at you. “Alright good, you’re in one piece. Can’t afford to claim you as extra baggage.” 

You faked a laugh and pinched him, earning a yelp from him and eyes from other passengers.

One confusing cab ride later, you both had arrived at a pleasant looking hotel. It looked over the ocean, which smelled and felt so incredible. It was cloudy now, the sun hiding away and making the hotel the sole focus of your attention. 

You struggled to get your suitcase up the stairs, eventually giving up and letting Steve carry it while you carried the other bags. 

“Geez, what’s in here, rocks?”

“Hey! I didn’t know what to bring exactly so I brought a little of everything.”

“You look like you packed for two weeks, we’re only going to be here for two days!”

“I work hard to look good, Steve. Which is less than I can say about this number.” You gestured to his wardrobe consisting of a worn henley, frayed at the end of the sleeves, a denim jacket and brown boots you stole from him from time to time. 

He looks up and down. “I think I look good.” 

You ignore him, continuing up the infernal stairs, mentally making a note to join Robin on her retreats. 

You two are trying to catch your breath at the desk when you meet the attendant. 

“Byers wedding.” You huff out. 

When you’re handed the keys, you steer Steve into an elevator, not even bothering to look at the massive set of stairs even if they were decorated beautifully.

“Hurry.” He whispers, dragging the suitcases. 

“I’m trying! You’re the one who packed all these jackets.” 

“It’s cold, do you want us to freeze?”

“No, but we could’ve done with two!”

You both finally arrive to your room confused. 

“Wait, why did she give you only one key?” Steve asks, hand on his hip like a mother.

“I don’t know, you’re the one that booked it.” You shrugged, sticking the keys in and opening the door.

“I clearly said two people in one roo - I see my mistake.” 

A single king bed stares back at you both, tidied up with a towel teddy bear in the middle of it. 

You glance at Steve, meeting his eyes before glancing back to the room. You both stay silent.

“I’ll take the floor.” You both say in unison.

“No, no, you can take the bed. Since you say you always need your beauty sleep.” He gestures to your face.

You snort. “Me? No, Grandpa, I think you need it more than I do. Wouldn’t want you breaking your back at the wedding and outshining the bride.”

He mimics you in a high pitched voice, prompting you to laugh. 

“Listen we can figure it all out once we get everything unpacked, okay?” You wave him off. 

He shrugs. “Fine by me.”

The tv plays in the background while you brush your teeth. Steve settles in the huge bed, patting down his pillow. 

Once you’re done, you wet your fingers and rush into the room and flick your hand at Steve. You get him right in the face.

“Hey! I’m trying to sleep here.”

“You’re no fun.” 

“Yeah well, we can have as much fun as we want tomor- what’re you doing?”

His train of thought is interrupted by you slipping into the bed. 

“What? You really thought I was going to sleep on the floor?” 

He chuckles nervously. “No.”

It amuses you. “Relax.” 

He slinks back into bed, one arm under his pillow and the other atop his forehead. You grab one of the extra pillows and wrap your arms around it, your right leg climbing on top of it. 

A few minutes pass and the pillow is too uncomfortable and sweaty so you discard it onto the floor somewhere. You huff. 

You glance at Steve who’s snoring lightly.

“Steve.” You whisper. 

Nothing.

“Steve!” You whisper a little louder.

He hums in response. 

“Are you asleep?”

“I was.” He whispers back.

“Can I..hug you?”

That gets his attention. His arm leaves his face, now looking at you through sleepy eyes. 

“What?” 

“Can I hug you? I can’t sleep without the pillow making me sweaty.” 

“Uhh, what about Danny?”

“We broke up. A while ago.”

His mouth drops into an O shape. 

You shake your head, dismissing the thought. “Nevermind.”

Steve hops onto his elbows, “No! No, it’s okay. Really.”

You turn back, trying to see if he’s serious. When that sorry look is apparent, you nod. 

“How do you - oh okay.”

You get close to his right side, swinging your leg over his waist and wrapping your right arm over his chest. He can smell your shampoo. 

“Cuddling doesn’t have to be sexual by the way.” You murmur into his chest.

He almost asks you to explain that but when he hears your soft snoring, he forgets. 

[chloelucia13]

Chapter 13: The Gate

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt:  You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: You were stuck on the bench, and after deciding to try and do something to help Will, you had secretly wished that you had stayed at home. But at least people say dumb things when they’re dying, and other people say even dumber things when the person they love is dying.

Warnings: ANGST TO THE MAX, maybe like a hint of fluff, language, some vivid descriptions of gore, violence, just get ready to sob

Word Count: 9323 (holy SHIT)

A/N: And season 2 has come to a close in the saddest fucking way possible (just read it and you’ll see). I highly advise grabbing some tissues for this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy! As always, the taglist is open!

Tags: @just-my-fandom​, @nightbu-g​

Mike immediately ran forward, taking Eleven into his arms and pulling her into a tight hug.

“I never gave up on you,” Mike told her, pulling away to look at her. “I called you every night. Every night, for-”

“353 days,” she completed his sentence. “I heard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were there? That you were okay?”

“Because I didn’t let her,” Hopper spoke up, stepping forward. Mike stepped away, and Hopper took Mike’s spot in front of El. “The hell is this? Where you been?”

“Where have you been?” Mike repeated as Hopper pulled El into a hug. “You’ve been hiding her.” He grew angry, shoving Hopper. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time!” he shouted.

“Hey!” Hopper shouted back. “Let’s talk. Alone.”

Hopper took Mike into Joyce’s room, leaving everyone in the living room to digest what just happened. 

You stepped forward, setting your machete on the floor before stepping over to El, who seemed to be distressed. You could hear Mike and Hopper shouting from the other room as you rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, okay?” you told her. “You haven’t really learned it yet, but men get angry really easily. Don’t worry about them.” She nodded slowly and you pulled her into a hug. “It’s good to see you, sweetie. I’m glad you’re okay. And I kinda dig the outfit.”

She smiled at you as you stepped away from her, allowing Dustin and Lucas to give her a hug. “We missed you,” Lucas spoke as the three of them hugged.

“I missed you, too,” she whispered.

“We talked about you pretty much every day,” Dustin told her as they pulled away from the hug.

She looked between the two boys before stopping at Dustin, reaching forward. “Teeth,” she stated, touching his mouth.

“What?”

“You have teeth.”

Dustin grinned at Lucas. “Oh. You like these pearls?” He chuckled before making a purring-type noise, making El look at him confusedly.

“Eleven?” Max spoke up, stepping forward between the two boys. “Hey. Um, I’m Max.” She held out her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Eleven stared at her for a few moments, blinking, before brushing past her and rushing over to Joyce, who immediately pulled her into a hug. They spoke for a few moments before Joyce led her into Will’s room.

“Don’t take it personally, Max,” you told her, stepping over to her. “Eleven doesn’t really know how to... socialize.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Eleven leading Joyce into the kitchen, stopping at the kitchen table.

“You opened this gate before, right?” Joyce asked Eleven, pointing to the scribbled letters on the back of the notepad.

“Yes,” El answered gravely.

The group began walking towards the kitchen, listening in on the conversation.

“Do you think if we got you back there, that you could close it?” Joyce voiced with urgency and a hint of hope.

El looked over at Joyce before staring off for a moment. “Yes.”

***

“It’s not like it was before,” Hopper explained with a sigh, trying to shut down the idea of having El close the gate. “It’s grown. A lot. I mean, that’s considering we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin corrected, turning to Hopper.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, uh, demo-dogs. Like demogorgon and dog. You put them together, it sounds pretty badass-”

“How is this important right now?”

“It’s not. I’m sorry.” Dustin closed his mouth and turned around as quick as he did before.

“I can do it,” Eleven broke in, looking over at Hopper.

“You’re not hearing me-” Hopper began.

“I am hearing you. I can do it.”

“Even if El can, there’s still another problem,” Mike argued. “If the brain dies, the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max said.

“It is, but if we’re really right about this... I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the Mind Flayer’s army.”

“Will’s a part of that army,” Lucas connected.

“Closing the gate will kill him,” Mike concluded.

Everyone was silent for a moment, letting Mike’s words sink in. 

“But those creatures,” you began, thinking through your words, “they’re individual parts of the Mind Flayer. Will is just a vessel for the Mind Flayer. His life isn’t dependent of the Mind Flayer. So, if we kill off the Mind Flayer, I don’t think it will kill Will. It’ll just kill off the part of the Mind Flayer that’s inside of him.”

“I mean, I guess,” Mike sighed. “But do you think it’s safe to risk it?”

Silently, you shook your head, slouching slightly. 

Joyce rose to her feet from her seat, walking from the kitchen and into Will’s room. Everyone followed behind her, like a silent parade of worry and fear.

You felt your stomach churn when you saw Will laying still in his bed, his skin damp with sweat despite the harsh chill of the room.

“He likes it cold,” Joyce spoke.

“What?” Hopper answered, looking at her confusedly.

“It’s what Will kept saying to me. He likes it cold.” She moved to the open window, yanking it closed. “We keep giving it what it wants.”

“If this is a virus, and Will’s the host, then...” Nancy said, looking down at Will.

“Then we need to make the host inhabitable,” Jonathan completed her thought.

“So if he likes it cold-”

“Then we need to burn it out of him,” Joyce concluded.

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know this time,” Mike informed, trying to avoid what happened the last time.

“Yeah, somewhere far away,” Dustin agreed.

Hopper stepped forward from his spot against the wall. “I know a place,” he claimed as he wrapped the comforter on the bed around Will’s body, scooping him up into his arms. “Come on.”

Joyce and Jonathan followed behind Hopper as he rattled off directions, carrying Will out to Joyce’s car.

“We’ll need to find heaters, radiators, anything that would heat up a room,” Nancy instructed.

“There’s probably something in that pile of stuff we pulled out of the shed,” you told her.

She nodded, and the two of you hurried out into the backyard, Steve following close behind. Steve shone his flashlight on the pile of trash, the three of you quickly starting to search through it. 

“You guys should go with him,” Steve spoke up, pulling a radiator out of the pile.

“What?” Nancy voiced, shining her flashlight on the pile as you rifled through it.

“With Jonathan.”

“No, I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

“Or Dustin,” you added. 

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve corrected. “I may be a shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m a pretty damn good babysitter.”

“No, you’re not taking my title of babysitter.” You stood up straight. “I’m staying here. Nancy, you should go with Jonathan.”

Nancy looked between you and Steve. “Are... Are you guys-”

“No!” You and Steve shouted simultaneously. 

She sighed, looking down. “But Y/N, you and Jonathan-”

“Trust me, Nancy. He likes you a lot more than he could ever like me. It’s okay.”

She turned to look at Steve. “Steve...”

“It’s okay, Nance. It’s okay.”

She stood there silently, tears welling in her eyes. “Go, Nance,” you told her, patting her shoulder. “He needs you. We’re gonna be with the kids.”

You gathered the few heating materials you could find and carried them over to Jonathan’s car, blinking away the tears in your eyes. You set them in the backseat of the car before closing the door and walking up on the porch. Nancy climbed into the passenger seat and you gave them both a small wave before they drove away.

***

You had been sitting on the couch since everyone but the party and Steve had left, staring off into space and letting yourself wallow in your own pity.

“Alright, I think it should fit now,” Dustin announced, his voice startling you back to the present. 

With a huff, you pushed yourself to your feet and walked over to the kitchen, letting out a sigh of frustration when you saw the mess on the floor Dustin had made. Behind him Steve stood with the demo-dog in his arms, which was wrapped in a blanket.

“Is this really necessary?” Steve grumbled.

“Yes, it is, okay? This is a ground-breaking scientific discovery. We can’t just bury it like some common mammal, okay? It’s not a dog.”

“No, it’s a creature from the upside down. And I don’t know if you remember this, but we could be killed if we even talk about this to anybody,” you reminded Dustin, pointing to the limp creature.

“They’ll never know. Everyone who works there is probably dead now anyway.”

“It’s the government, Dustin! It’s not like it’s a singular entity!”

“Alright, alright,” Steve spoke up. “We’ll just keep this in the fridge until we know what to do with it. Sound good?” 

You nodded silently. “Fine. But you’re buying the Byers’ a new fridge.” You turned to Dustin. “And you’re explaining this to Joyce.”

Steve stepped forward and began to try and shove the creature into the fridge, only to smack its head against the side of it. “Christ, help me out here!”

“What am I supposed to do!” Dustin argued.

“Get the door, man!”

Steve wedged the creature into the fridge, all while grumbling profanities, and Dustin closed the fridge door behind it.

From the other room, you could hear Lucas and Mike bickering, but you were too focused on the creature in the fridge to decipher exactly what it was about.

“Listen, dude, a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line, you execute it. Alright?” Steve broke in, stepping into the living room.

“Okay, first of all, this isn’t some stupid sports game,” Mike snapped. “And second, we’re not even in the game. We’re on the bench.”

Steve stammered for a response, feeling defeated by Mike’s argument. “So my point is...” He stopped, searching for the words to say. “Right, yeah, we’re on the bench. So, uh, there’s nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Dustin claimed. “I mean, these demo-dogs, they have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.”

“If we get their attention...” Lucas voiced.

“Maybe we can draw them away from the lab,” Max finished his thought.

“Clear a path to the gate,” Mike concluded.

“Yeah, and then we all die,” Steve countered, shutting the conversation down immediately.

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin hummed.

“No, that’s not a point of view man. That’s a fact.”

“I got it!” Mike exclaimed hurrying out of the room and into the kitchen, kneeling down in front of a certain point on the map of tunnels. “This is where the chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel. So...” He pushed himself to his feet, running over to another spot on the map. “Here. Right here. This is like a hub. So you got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire-”

“Oh yeah. That’s a no,” Steve attempted to shut down.

“The mind flayer would call away his army,” Dustin continued.

“They’d all come to stop us,” Lucas added.

“We circle back to the exit!” Mike joined in.

“Guys-” Steve warned.

“By the time they realize we’re gone,” Mike ignored Steve.

“El would be at the gate!” Max finished.

“Hey, hey hey!” Steve shouted, clapping his hands. “This is not happening.”

“But-” Mike whined.

“No, no, no, no, no. No but’s. I promised I’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what I plan on. We’re staying here. On the bench. And we’re waiting on the starting team to do their job. Y/N, help me out here.” He turned to look at you.

You shrugged, pursing your lips. “I mean...” you sighed. “Maybe it would work?”

Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t a sports game, Steve. This is someone’s life, someone who I care a lot about. I don’t think I can just sit on the sidelines and wait.”

Just as Steve was about to argue, the sound of a loud engine revving echoed from the silent night outside. Max got up and ran over to the windows to investigate, everyone else following behind her.

“It’s my brother,” she announced. “He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

You wrung your hands together nervously. “Okay, you guys get out of sight. Steve and I will try and talk to him,” you instructed before you and Steve hurried onto the front porch, closing the door behind you.

The car lurched to a stop and Billy got out of the car, a cigarette between his lips. “Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” he shouted from his car, smoke falling from his mouth like a dragon.

“Yeah, it’s me don’t cream your pants,” Steve huffed, his hands on his hips.

“And who’s that little lady who’s with you? That your new girlfriend, buddy?”

“No!” you and Steve shouted simultaneously.

“Why does everyone think that?” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve just shook his head, walking over to Billy as Billy shucked his jacket off. “What are you doing here, amigo?” Billy questioned.

“I could ask you the same question. Amigo,” Steve scoffed.

“Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here.”

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know her.”

“Small. Redhead. A bit of a bitch.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, buddy.”

Billy pulled the cigarette out from between his lips. “You know, I don’t know, this... This whole situation, Harrington. I don’t know. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Oh yeah. Why’s that?”

“My 13-year-old sister goes missing all day. And then I find her with you in a stranger’s house. And you lie to me about it.”

Steve chuckled. “Man, we’re you dropped too much on your head as a child, or what? I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said. She’s not here.”

“Then who is that?” Billy pointed to the window, and you all turned to see all of the kids’ heads peeking through the window.

“Oh shit,” Steve sighed. “Listen-”

Billy grabbed the Steve’s jacket before shoving him to the ground. “I told you to plant your feet.”

Steve groaned out in pain, and Billy kicked him in the stomach before stomping past him and up the porch.

“I’d advise you to back up, and go the fuck home,” you hissed, squaring your shoulders as he stepped up onto the porch.

“Aw, that’s cute. Now if you wouldn’t mind scooching over, that’d be real great,” Billy hummed, his eyes dead as he bent down to your level.

“Go fuck yourself.” You picked up your foot and kicked him in the knee, making him stagger for a moment.

“You’re a feisty bitch, aren’t ya?” He stood up straight and grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it tightly before shoving you to the side, pushing you away from the door. You fell onto your hip, letting out a hiss of pain as he stomped through the front door. It slammed shut a moment later, and you scrambled to your feet.

You pushed the door back open, seeing that Billy had already backed all the kids into a corner. “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max,” Billy hissed.

“Billy, go away,” Max begged.

“You disobeyed me. And you know what happens when you disobey me.”

“Billy-”

“I break things.” Billy turned to Lucas and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, backing him up into the kitchen and shoving him up against a cabinet as everyone shouted at him to stop.

Billy got in Lucas’ face, hissing something you couldn’t quite make out, and a moment later, Lucas shoved his knee into Billy’s groin, making Billy stumble back in pain.

“So dead Sinclair! You’re dead,” Billy growled.

Steve popped up behind him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around. “No, you are,” Steve huffed before swinging his fist, having it connect with Billy’s nose.

“So you’re abusive and racist, huh, Billy?” you hissed, stepping forward so you were next to Steve.

Billy stood up straight, laughing maniacally. “Oh sweetheart, I already knew you had some fire in you. But it looks like Steve actually has some fire in him after all! I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve that everyone’s been telling me so much about.”

“I mean, we could, but I think all that hair muffles your hearing a little bit, bud,” you growled.

Steve held his hand out, signaling you to stop, before he gently shoved Billy back. “Get out,” Steve stated simply.

Billy stared at him for a moment before swinging a punch, which you and Steve effectively dodged. Steve swung and landed another one on the left side of Billy’s face. You stepped forward and elbowed him right in the ribs, making him hunch forward. Steve landed a few more punches as you stayed back and guarded the kids. 

Billy was backed up against the sink, and he grabbed a plate and broke it over Steve’s head, making Steve stagger. You immediately hurried forward to try and block Steve, only for BIlly to shove you to the side and land a punch to Steve’s face. 

Billy stomped forward and held Steve up by his jacket. “No one tells me what to do!” Billy shouted in Steve’s face before colliding his forehead with Steve’s, sending him flying. 

You ran up and hopped onto Billy’s back, wrapping your arm around his neck in a chokehold as you tried to yank him back. With your other hand, you pulled at his hair with all your might. Billy surged forward, flinging you off his back and sending you tumbling to the ground.

You laid there limply and watched as Billy knelt over Steve’s body and mercilessly landed punch after punch to Steve’s face. From your peripheral, you watched Max approach him, a syringe in her hand. She stabbed the needle into Billy’s neck and injected him with the tranquilizer that was in it.

Billy froze, the syringe sticking out of his neck as he registered what had happened. He stumbled to his feet and turned to face Max, a look of shock on his face. He yanked the syringe from his neck, looking between it and Max. “The hell is this?” he slurred. “You little shit, what did you do?” He swayed for a few moments before falling back onto the floor.

Max grabbed Steve’s bat from the floor and held it over her head. “From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?” she growled.

“Screw you,” he mumbled.

Max swung the bat down, landing it in a space on the floor just between his legs. She ripped it from the floor and held it above her head once more. “Say you understand! Say it! Say it!”

“I understand.”

“What?”

“I understand.” He finally succumbed to the drug, and Max stepped forward to grab the keys from Billy’s pocket.

Dustin immediately rushed over to you, helping you to your feet. “Do you think you can drive?” he asked.

You scoffed. “I can barely drive normally. There’s no way. I can barely see anything. I think I have a concussion.”

“I can drive,” Max announced.

“Alright,” you mumbled, too tired and out of it to argue. You followed her into the car, sitting down in the back as all the boys attempted to carry Steve’s limp body.

*** You were all nearly to the hole when you heard Dustin talking beside you. “Is he awake?” you grumbled, lifting your head from the car window. 

“What’s going on?” Steve grumbled. “Oh my god!”

“Just relax, she’s driven before,” Dustin reassured Steve, trying to keep him calm.

“Yeah, in a parking lot,” Mike argued.

“That counts!” Lucas defended.

“They were gonna leave you behind,” Dustin continued.

“Oh my god!” Steve shouted again.

“I promised that you’d be cool, okay?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” Steve cried out as Max picked up speed. “oh my god. No! Whoa! Stop the car! Slow down!”

“I told you he’d freak out!” Mike shouted.

“Stop the car!”

“Everybody shut up! I’m trying to focus!” Max chided.

“Shhh! My head hurts and you’re all being too loud!” you whined, clutching your head.

“Oh wait, that’s Mount Sinai! Make a left!” Lucas instructed.

“What?” Max voiced, beginning to panic.

“Make a left!”

Max immediately jerked the wheel, taking out a mailbox as she swerved slightly before turning sharply into a field. She sped quickly through the field before screeching to a hard stop right in front of the hole. “I told you, zoomer,” Max hummed before parking the car and hopping out.

You all filed out of the car and headed to the trunk, pulling out the supplies the boys had packed away before you left the house. You all quickly slipped on your goggles and bandanas before grabbing your gear. 

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Steve voiced, trying to find his footing as Mike rushed past him. “What, are you deaf? Hello?” Steve looked around at everyone else who was already suited up. “We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear.” Steve turned to you. “Hey, there’s no chance we are going to that hole, alright? This ends right now!” Steve grabbed Dustin’s bag from his hands and threw it to the ground.

“Steve, you’re upset, I get it,” Dustin soothed. “But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance. Now, I know that you promised Nance that you would keep us safe, so keep us safe.” Dustin grabbed Steve’s backpack from the trunk and handed it to him.

You grabbed your machete and patted Steve shoulder. “So suit up, loverboy,” you hummed, brushing past him.

He sighed before reluctantly taking the backpack and putting on the mask and goggles Dustin had brought for him.

Once he was ready, he stepped in front of the group and stared down the hole, letting out another sigh before helping everyone down into the hole. He hopped down afterwards, pausing for a moment to take in the new atmosphere.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out after a moment.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s this way,” Mike instructed, referring to the quick makeshift map he had copied from Will’s drawings.

“You’re pretty sure, or you’re certain?” Dustin urged, looking in the same direction Mike was facing.

“I’m 100% sure. Just follow me and you’ll know.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. I don’t think so,” Steve argued, stopping Mike in his tracks.

“What?” Mike huffed.

“Any of you little shits die down here, I’m getting the blame. Got it, dipshit?”

“Steve,” you scolded, arching a brow at him.

“Sorry.” He let out a breath. “From now on, I’m leading the way. Come on, let’s go.” He began marching forward, trying to get this done as quick as possible. 

It had only been about 20 minutes or so when the strange ashy substance in the air grew thicker, acting as a fog of sorts..

“God,” Lucas stated incredulously.

“What is this place?” Max pondered, slowing her pace to look around.

“Guys, come on. Keep moving,” Steve commanded.

Everyone continued trudging forward, but froze in fear when they heard a shriek coming from a few feet behind them. “Shit!”

You all hurried back, seeing Dustin stumbling around blindly and screaming for help. 

“What happened?” You urged, falling to your knees in front of him.

“It’s in my mouth! Some got in my mouth! Shit!” he screeched, pulling his bandana down from around his face and spitting on the ground. A few moments later, after effectively expelling all the spit in his mouth, he took a deep breath and looked up at everyone. “I’m okay.”

“Jesus Christ,” You grumbled, pushing him by his forehead before you got to your feet.

After Dustin got to his feet, Steve continued marching forward. “Y/N, you’re manning the rear from now on!” he shouted from his position at the front.

“Yes sir,” you grumbled with an eye roll before stepping to the back of the line.

***

“Alright, Wheeler,” Steve announced after another few minutes of walking. “I think we found your hub.

You all stepped closer, closing the line up into a small cluster so you could all observe the large clearing Steve was referring to.

“Drench it,” Mike instructed, and everyone immediately got to work spraying weed killer, kerosene, gasoline, and any other flammable substance on the large clearing filled with strange-looking vines.

You all had made quick work of covering the surface area of the clearing, making the entire area reek of chemicals. 

The six of you were backed a few feet into the tunnel you came from, with Steve sitting in the front, his lighter in his hand. “I am in such deep shit,” he sighed before flicking the lighter on and tossing in into the pit, watching as it instantaneously burst into flames. 

“Okay we gotta go before the demo-dogs get here,” you instructed, pushing yourself to your feet and quickly ushering everyone past you before taking your spot at the end of the line. Everyone’s pace quickened into a run as you tried to get out of the tunnels as fast as possible.

You had only made it a few hundred yards into the tunnels, however, when Mike stumbled and fell to the ground. You reached your hand down to help him up, only to see the vines quickly moving and snaking around his ankles. “Shit, shit,” you whispered, moving to try and pry them off him. “Guys! Guys, get back here!”

Everyone came running back, quickly working to help Mike get out. Steve raised his bat above his head and swung down in an attempt to crush the vines that held Mike captive, only for them to flinch and continue.

You shooed Steve out of the way and swung your machete down, severing the vines and watching them fall limply off Mike’s ankles. Dustin and Lucas quickly pulled him up and you all turned to hurry off.

You let out a sigh of relief and moved to follow behind them, only to feel a tight grip on your ankles. Panic rose in your throat as you felt them tug, yanking you to the ground. You fell hard on your back, all the air leaving your lungs as your body thumped silently to the ground. Through blurred vision, you watched the group walk forward, not realizing that anything was wrong. Your eyes flickered down to your ankles, now trapped in two snaking vines that began slithering up your body. 

Bile rose in your throat and you kicked with all your might, only to have one vine snake around your waist and arms, holding you down. Another vine wormed around your throat and contracted, cutting off your air supply. Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to breathe, to move, to speak. You watched as one last vine slipped under your goggles and handkerchief, exposing you to the toxic environment. Your vision slowly began to fade, all of your senses quickly diminishing as you felt your body slip away from consciousness.

Then you heard the stampede.

Demo-dogs trampled over your near-lifeless body, clawing at your clothes and skin as they went. Blood began to well from the cuts, letting out a silent scream when one clawed straight down from your forehead to your cheek and sliced your eye.

Blood flooded into your eyes and your nose and your mouth as everything slowly fell dark and silent.

***

Steve hoisted the last boy up before he tugged himself out of the hole, letting out a tired huff as he landed on the soft earth. His eyes searched around the group, doing a mental count.

And then another one.

“Guys?” he voiced, body filling with worry. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s right-” Dustin began, turning around only to see that you weren’t standing behind him. “Shit.”

Everyone’s eyes grew wide and Steve immediately sat up, adrenaline already coursing through his veins. “Okay, when was the last time we saw her?”

“At those vines,” Mike said, his voice wavering with fear. “Oh my god.” 

Steve looked down into the hole before looking back at the group. “You guys stay here. I’m gonna go find her.”

He tugged the handkerchief over his mouth before diving back into the hole and sprinting down the tunnel.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?!” His heart was pounding in his chest as his mind raced with all the possible scenarios that could’ve happened, all of the things that could’ve happened to you. 

Then he heard the soft whimpers.

He froze for a moment, listening. Then he ran faster than he ever had before, faster than when he was being chased by the demogorgon, faster than he thought possible.

“S-Steve,” you choked out, voice strained and shaky. You had only woken up moments before, the grip on your neck now gone.

“Oh my god.” His stomach twisted at the sight of you when your body came into view.

Every inch of your body was covered in cuts, blood, bruises, and vines. Your hair was matted and coated in a thick layer of dirt and gore, your eyes drooping so low he couldn’t tell if they were open or not.

He knelt down beside you and grabbed your machete that was lying just out of your reach, immediately slicing through the vines that kept you pinned to the ground. The moment you were free of your restraints, he scooped you up into his arms with the gentle touch that he would use to hold a baby, minding your wounds. “You’re okay, Y/N. It’s okay.”

“Hurts,” you cried. “I can’t see.”

“I know. We’re gonna get you to a hospital. You’ll be okay.”

“D… Don’t let Dustin s-see me. Please.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

After a minute, which felt like hours to you, you arrived at the opening. “Dustin…”

“I know.” He looked up, seeing the clear starry sky. “Hey Dustin, I need you to close your eyes, bud.”

“Wait, why? Is Y/N okay?” Dustin shouted back leaning over to peek into the hole.

Steve immediately stepped back, hiding your body from view. “Please, dude. Just for now.”

Dustin, noting Steve’s panicked tone, nodded and stepped back, covering his eyes with his hands. “Okay, they’re closed.”

“Okay, guys, I need you to help me get Y/N up and out.”

The two boys and Max peeked their heads in, their stomachs lurching at the sight of you. “Holy shit,” Lucas whispered. Immediately, they all reached down and pulled you up as Steve lifted you. They dragged you away from the hole and fell back, panic in their eyes. “What do we do?”

“We get her to a hospital.” Once Steve got his footing, he scooped you back up and carried you out of the pit. “Can someone radio Jonathan and Nancy and Joyce?”

“It’s in the car,” Max admitted, voice shaking with fear. “Okay, we need to go. Try to get ahold of them.”

As the group stepped towards the car, the headlights began to shine brightly, blinding them for a few moments from the sheer power of it. “Eleven,” Mike whispered. “She did it.”

Once the lights faded, Max hurried to the car and hopped in the driver’s seat, starting the car and speeding off once everyone was inside and you were safely situated.

Mike grabbed the radio from off the seat and began to search for Hopper’s radio at once, trying to recall the channel Hopper had told Jonathan earlier. Once the radio stopped buzzing with static and was now filled with silence, he pressed the button and began to shout for Jonathan. “Jonathan, this is Mike, do you copy?” 

“Mike?” Jonathan’s voice came through the machine after a few moments of silence, his voice crackly and tinny. 

“There’s an emergency. Y/N, she…” Mike cleared his throat, images of your torn up body flashing through his mind. “She’s not doing good. We’re on our way to the hospital right now.”

“W-What happened? What do you mean she’s not doing good?”

“She got hurt. Really bad. Just… Just come to the hospital as soon as you can.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

***

As soon as Max pulled up to the hospital, the flash of Jonathan’s headlights shone into the car. He sprinted out of the car before it was even parked correctly, leaving the keys in the ignition. 

He could get a new car. Buy a new battery. He couldn’t get you back if he lost you.

“Jonathan,” Steve said, noting his presence with a breath of relief. “I’m gonna get the kids inside. Can you get Y/N?”

Jonathan nodded, feeling as if his mind and heart were detached from his body, running further and further apart with each moment.

Once he made sure the kids were inside, he yanked the front passenger seat down to get to you.

At that moment, his body, heart, and mind collided, bringing him to the shocking present. The feeling could be compared to being dunked in ice water, every part of your body and soul being forced into fight-or-flight mode while you still hadn’t comprehended what was happening.

“J…” you muttered, eyes fluttering open to search for him.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. You’re okay,” he whispered, gently scooping you up and getting you out of the car.

“H-hurts.”

“I know. Don’t speak, it’ll make you weaker.” 

The moment your body was fully exposed to the cruel and unforgiving fluorescent lights of the hospital, he felt as if he was going to faint. 

Your blood had already began to congeal, caking onto your skin and making your clothes cling to your body. Your right eye had a large gash through it, your eyeball scratched and possibly split. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he choked out, walking through the doors of the hospital. He knew he should’ve been looking ahead, searching for a nurse or doctor to help you, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of yours. “I’m sorry.”

With every last bit of energy that you had left in you, you reached up and cupped his cheek, cracking a small smile. “It’ll be okay, Johnny Boy.” A harsh cough ripped through your body, making blood trickle down your lips. “I...I love you.”

With that, you were taken from his arms and placed on a gurney, whisked away from him, leaving him to drown in his own thoughts.

***

“She’s awake,” the doctor announced the moment she stepped into the waiting room, effectively drawing everyone’s attention.

“Can we see her?” Mike asked, eyes pleading.

“Only one at a time, but yes.”

Everyone looked to Dustin. “She’s your sister, you should probably see her first,” Max explained, nudging his shoulder.

Dustin nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath before following the doctor into your room. “Be fairly quiet, she may have a slight migraine from the blood loss.” With that, the doctor left the room.

“Hey Dusty,” you choked out, voice hoarse and crackly. 

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he spoke, a scared smile on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmm, high right now. Probably feel like shit later. They gave me a ton of painkillers.” You tried to flash him a small smile, but winced from the pain that shot through your face when you did so. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I-I’m okay now. I was kinda scared.”

“I’m sorry. I-I should’ve called for help before it got too bad. I just… Thought I could handle it.”

“It’s not your fault.”You nodded. “How are we gonna explain this to mom?” you joked after a moment of silence.

“We’ll say you got taken and they had some dogs attack you.”

“How long have you been thinking that through?”

“Ever since we got here.”

You let out a chuckle, shifting slightly with a small wince. “So, have they told you guys what all is wrong with me, or are they just waiting for me to find out myself?”

“Well, they said that you have a bruised windpipe, a few broken ribs, a concussion, your eye got cut, and there were a lot of cuts on your body.”

“God, they really did a number on me, huh?”

He nodded, letting out a small chuckle. You couldn’t tell if it was real or if it was just to comfort you, but it calmed you down nonetheless. “The doctors said that you get to come home once you’re stable. They said in about 2 days, if everything goes okay.”

“I’m excited to be home. Gonna eat all the rest of your Halloween candy.” A cough rattled your body, causing you to shiver for a moment afterwards from the feeling of your organs seizing up. A small dribble of blood dripped down your lips, but you quickly wiped it away before he could see.

“Everyone’s excited for you to be home. They’re all outside waiting for you.”

“Really? Why aren’t they in here?”

“The doctor said only one person could come in at a time.”

“Fuck what the doctors say. Tell them to come in here. I wanna see them.”

Dustin flashed a genuine smile this time, running out of the room to grab everybody.

***

Jonathan thought that the most heartbreaking thing he would experience was him losing his little brother, knowing there was virtually nothing he could do to help him.

But when he saw you laying in that hospital bed, half of your body covered in bandages with wires sticking out of your body, he knew that that sight was an extremely close second.

A wide smile spread over your face when you saw everyone flood into the room. “Hi guys,” you rasped.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” Nancy whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

You shook your head slightly. “I’m okay. I-It doesn’t matter.” You searched around the room. “Where’s Will? Is he okay?”

"He’s resting at home,” Mike explained. “He’s okay.”

Questions and concerns were voiced by every person, all eyes on you as you consoled them and reassured them that you were fine. The doctor came in about 15 minutes later, instructing that everyone leave so you could get some rest. Everyone did as they were told, stepping out of the room to give you space.

Well, almost everyone.

Jonathan stood in the corner of the room and waited until the room was cleared out to sit down in the hard plastic seat next to your bed, remorseful eyes trained on your face.

“So, are you an exception to the doctor’s orders, now?” you teased, reaching out and giving his shoulder a weak squeeze. 

“I-I’ll leave if you want,” he said, sitting up slightly, ready to leave at any moment.

You shook your head. “No, stay. I missed you.”

He let a small smile crack on his face, his hand slipping into yours with a cautious touch. “I missed you too.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

“Jonathan, like I told everyone else, I’m fine. It doesn’t matter.” You squeezed his hand, wincing slightly at the tug on your broken skin when you did so. “You basically witnessed your brother get exorcised. I… I wouldn’t be okay if I saw that.”

He let out a sigh. “I’m not okay, but I will be. He’s okay now, that’s all that matters.” He squeezed your hand in return, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. “Besides, that’s not really what’s on my mind.”

You tilted your head, confusion furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose slightly. “What’s on your mind, Johnny Boy?”

Another sigh, followed by him shifting in his chair. “Do you remember anything when you got to the hospital?”

You shook your head. “No. I-It’s all kinda fuzzy. I guess blood loss and oxygen deprivation does that to you.” You let out a small chuckle, silencing when you noticed the distressed look on his face. “Why?”

“Steve…” He bit down on his lip, thinking of what to say. “Steve told me to bring you in while he took care of the kids.” You stayed silent, allowing him to continue. “When I carried you in, you…” He brushed a hand through his hair. “You told me you loved me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes growing wide for a split second. “Well, I do love you, Jonathan. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. Even after this week.”

“And I’m really sorry about that. Truly. I… Doing that to you is one of my biggest regrets.” He let out a sigh, eyes darting back and forth as if he was reading from an imaginary script. “But you... You said it like-” A frustrated huff. “Like you loved me, romantically.”

Your lips pursed, silent as you searched for a response. “Like I said, I was on the brink of death.” A shrug. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. You’re with Nancy.”

“But it does matter!”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t, Jonathan. You’ll learn this eventually, but what I feel doesn’t matter on the grand scale of things.”

“It does to me.”

“Why are you so hung up on this? I was almost dead! Forgive me if I say some stupid shit!”

“Because I love you too!”

You closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths before letting out a small chuckle. “Jonathan, th-this isn’t funny.”

“You’re right. It’s not funny. I love you, and I’m serious.”

“If you do love me, like you say you do, then you wouldn’t have pined after Nancy so much. Maybe you do love me, but definitely not as much as you love Nancy-”

“Y/N-”

“It’s okay, Jonathan. Like I said, what I feel doesn’t matter.” You squeezed his hand once more, feeling tears spring to your eyes. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“But I’m not happy if you’re not happy.”

“But I just said that I’m happy if you’re happy.”

“Well, I’m not fucking happy-”

“But you are, Jonathan. You seek out happiness, and you found it with Nancy.”

“But I found it with you too.”

“But who did you choose in the end?”

Silence.

“Exactly.”

He shook his head, letting out a scoff. “Don’t just ‘exactly’ me.”

“What do you want me to say? That you should break up with Nancy and be with me?”

“Yes!”

“Then you really don’t know me at all, do you?”

He clenched his jaw, fingers of his free hand curled into a fist. With a puff of air through his nose, he pushed himself onto his feet and leaned over you, pressing a gentle but firm kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened in shock, but you couldn’t force yourself to pull away.

He broke the kiss a moment later, squeezing his eyes shut and letting go of your hand. “Just give me some time, please?” he whispered, taking a few steps towards the door.

“Don’t I always, Byers?” you choked out, feeling a tear slip down your cheek.

***

Dustin had stepped through the doors with a big smile on his face and even bigger hair. You leaned over and waved at Steve in his car before stepping over to your brother, pulling him into a side hug and hovering your hand over his head. “Hey, don’t mess up the hair! It took me like 30 minutes!” he squealed, prompting a laugh from you.

“God, you’re getting more and more like Steve every day,” you teased, giving his shoulder a squeeze before letting him go and going back over to Nancy behind the punch bowl.

With a sigh, you leaned down and rested your elbows against the table, keeping your face cast downwards to avoid scaring the kids too much.

No matter how many times you had begged your Principal, the PTA manager, even the teachers setting up the dance to dismiss you from your chaperone responsibilities due to your injuries, they denied because “it was your choice to volunteer in the first place” and “maybe you can scare the kids straight.” Yeah, just wonderful.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Nancy told you once again, nudging your shoulder before pouring a glass of punch for a kid.

“Yeah, this gigantic gash on my face sure does go well with my hair and makeup,” you huffed snarkily, waiting until the kid had walked away to sit up straight and turn to face her. “Besides, you don’t have to reassure me all the time. I know I look scary. It’s fine. I’m accepting it.”

She let out a sigh and shook her head. “You’re so stubborn, you know that? Can’t you just accept a compliment?”

“I don’t accept things that aren’t true.”

“Hmm?” She voiced, turning to you. Of course she wasn’t listening to you. Why would she when she had someone else she could pay attention to.

You shook your head, pursing your lips as you stared into the punch bowl. “You know you don’t have to hang out with me the whole time.”

“Y/N-”

“Go. Hang out with Jonathan. I really don’t care. Besides, I don’t think serving punch requires two people, anyways.”

She was silent for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Positive, Nance. Go have fun. One of us needs to have some.”

She left your side the second the last word left your mouth, immediately hurrying over to hang out with Jonathan. You blew out a long breath through your slightly open lips, eyes glancing over the crowd of middle schoolers before returning to the punch bowl, staring at it as if it held all the secrets you needed.

The song changed and you listened to the shuffling of feet along the gym floor as everyone searched for someone to dance for, or they were retreating into a corner to avoid confrontation at all costs. You drummed your fingers along the table and chewed on your lower lip, finally sitting up straight and staring into the crowd directly. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips when you saw that Will and Lucas were already swept off into the crowd. You knew Mike was waiting for El, so you didn’t worry about him. Dustin, however, was a different story.

You watched as he stepped into a crowd of girls, only for them to ignore him, and then laugh at his attempt to woo them. A small pit of dread settled in the pit of your stomach, but you watched as he pushed on. Only to be rejected again. He then retreated over to the bleachers, his gaze focused on the ground.

You searched the crowd and, after deciding that no one would come over to the punch table for a while, headed over to Dustin. “I guess this isn’t either of our nights, huh?” you voiced, plopping down next to him. With a sigh, you reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing slightly. “Don’t take it personally, Dusty. Middle school girls are assholes.”

“You weren’t,” he huffed, still staring at the floor. “And El and Max aren’t.”

“Popular middle school girls are assholes.” you nudged his shoulder. “You’ll find someone, I know you will. You just have to give it some time. You’re gonna be like the new Steve when you get to high school. You’re gonna get all the girls.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” You two sat in silence for a moment before he spoke.

“Why aren’t you talking to Jonathan?”

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head slightly. “What do you mean? We-we always talk.”

“Will said you’ve been avoiding Jonathan. Besides, it’s pretty obvious, Y/N.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Manning the punch bowl while Nancy talks to him?”

“They’re dating now. It’s fine.”

“Well you don’t look like you’re fine with it.”

“Do you have to be right all the time?”

“It’s a curse.”

You let out a chuckle before sighing, eyes glancing up at the couple for a moment before going to the floor. “There’s just not a point in trying anymore. They’re happy. I can’t compete with Nancy. It’s better to just… Let it go.”

Another pause. “Jonathan really likes you, you know.”

You shook your head. “He may have used to. Any feelings he has for me are strictly platoni-”

“Everyone saw him kiss you at the hospital.”

His words made you choke on your spit, your heart nearly stopping right there. “... Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Well not everyone. But the party saw it. And mom. And Joyce. And Hopper. And Steve.”

“Oh my god.” You buried your face in your hands. “You couldn’t have told me then? Or at least at a time other than now?” Your toe nervously tapped against the wooden floor. Then, in a small voice, you asked, “... Did Nancy see?”

“Not that I know of. I think she was getting snacks at the vending machine.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Then another silence.

You didn’t even notice the sound of approaching footsteps as you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts, your heart nearly stopping once more when you saw Nancy’s shoes come into view. “Hey Dustin,” her voice rang clearly.

Dustin looked up, offering her a shy smile. “Hey.”

“Wanna dance?”

“What?”

Nancy reached her hand out. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Dustin took her hand with hesitance, glancing over at you. You gave him a nod and a big smile, letting go of his other hand to let him go with her. “Like I said, Dustin. Ladies man,” you teased.

He gave you a big smile in return and rose to his feet, letting Nancy lead him to the dance floor. Nancy turned to glance back at you, and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her. She nodded and flashed you a smile of her own before disappearing into the crowd of people.

As soon as the two of them were out of eyesight, you slouched back down in your seat, smoothing your hands over the tulle of your dress. You let your eyes flutter closed as you listened to the music, trying to keep yourself in the present to avoid your emotions from going haywire. That was a bad idea, however, as the moment you closed your eyes, you saw flashes of that horrid night in the tunnels. Your eyes snapped back open a moment later, and a heavy sigh fell from your lips.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Jonathan standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and a sheepish look on his face.

“Hey,” you hummed, mirroring his sheepish look. He sat down next to you, his arms unfolding so he could clasp his hands together and rest them in his lap. “You look nice. You should wear suits more.”

He scoffed, playfully nudging his shoulder with yours.

“What, I’m serious! You look nice!” You turned to face him, letting a smile grow on your lips.

“You look nice, too. Seriously.”

You let out a sigh. “You don’t have to say that, you know.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“But I’m not lying.”

You chewed on your lower lip, your smile almost completely faded away. “Did Nancy send you over here?”

“Why would you think she did that?”

You shrugged. “Pity? That’s one of her strong suits.”

“What if I told you that I came over here because I wanted to? Because I missed you and I wanted to see you?”

“Then I’d say that you’re lying.” You held back another sigh, staring him straight in the eye. “Jonathan, you really don’t need to baby me or pity me. I already get enough of that from everyone else.”

“I’m treating you like a normal human being, not pitying you-”

“But I’m not a normal fucking human! Look at me! I look like a fucking monster!”

He let out a huff and unfurled one of your hands that was tightly gripping the fabric of your dress. He rose to his feet and grabbed your now-unfurled hand, pulling you to your feet as well. “Come on.”

“Jonathan-”

“No, no whining. Come on.” He led you past the crowd and past the bleachers, over to the exit. He pushed past the doors and walked down the hallway, stopping in front of the stairs.

“What are we doing? We can’t leave the gym-”

“Y/N, just be quiet for once. Okay?”

You nodded, watching him as he pulled a tape from out of his pocket. He let go of your hand and stepped behind you, placing the tape into the tape deck of the stereo you had failed to notice. There was a small gap of static as the tape wound before the familiar notes of “Melt with You” by Modern English began to play.

A smile graced your lips once again, eyes twinkling with joy and appreciation. He stepped back over to you, taking both of your hands into his. “Is… Is this okay?”

You let out a chuckle, nodding immediately. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” You slowly slipped your hands away from his so you could snake your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. His hands wound around your waist a moment later, his head resting against your shoulder.

“Anything for you.”

You sniffled slightly, leaning your head against his chest as you two slowly began to sway along to the music.

The song stood out to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. “I didn’t know you could stomach putting this song on a mixtape,” you teased.

Then it hit you.

“Isn’t this song also on your mixtape for Nancy? That ‘For Her’ mixtape?” You pulled your head away from his chest to look up at him.

He sighed. “Y/N, that mixtape wasn’t for her. It never was. I… Hold on.” He stepped away from you and crouched down by the stereo , grabbing the plastic casette case. He traced his fingers over the words on the index card that was taped to the inside for a moment before getting back up and handing it to you. “Read the songs.”

“I-I don’t know how this proves-”

“Just read them. Please.”

You sighed, but obliged. “One, ‘Melt With You’ by Modern English-”

“The song you’d play in my car on a loop when it first came out.”

You pursed your lips slightly before continuing. “Two, ‘Love Will Tear us Apart’ by Joy Division.”

“Your favorite song off of their album.”

“Three, ‘This Must be the Place’ by Talking Heads.”

“The song you said reminded you of us. That as long as we’re together, everything is okay.”

You skimmed over the rest of the song list. “So all these songs make you think of me?”

He chuckled. “Well, everything makes me think of you. But these songs are yours. It’s your playlist.” He stepped forward, taking your hand in his. “Everything I do is for you. I guess it just took me a while to realize it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked down at the ground to avoid his gaze. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just... I wanted you to know.”

You nodded slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his. A small smile rested on your face and you squeezed his hand before wrapping your free arm around him. “I do really love you. And I know that it’s too late, but I just don’t think I can keep it in anymore.”

He nodded, slowly beginning to sway to the music once again. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 11

Chapters: 11/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Jon has a terrible, sinking feeling about what he considers their new Mary Keay problem.

He knows Gerry feels more confident that he can deal with her now, as an adult with his own resources and a solid foundation, but Jon doesn't want her ever walking into their lives again.

He feels the threat of her existence hanging over their hard-won peace like an anvil on a lace string.

"I think we should try to find her," Jon tells Martin one evening when they’re alone in bed. Gerry is downstairs painting, and even though he almost certainly can't hear them, Jon whispers it like a dirty secret.

"You think-" Martin looks up from his book with an almost comically incredulous look on his face. "You think we should look for a murder who threatened your life?"

Utterly uninterested in secrets between the three of them, Martin does not attempt to speak quietly.

"Well, when you put it like that," Jon grumbles, returning his attention to his book and pretending to drop it.

The next day at work, he puts his researching skills to the test. It doesn't even take very long, and in less than an hour, he has an address in Morden, where she apparently owns a bookstore of all things.

The information available is fairly spartan, updated more than a year ago, but Jon can see enough. He can see that she lives less than an hour from Gerry, and it itches at him.

He knows he shouldn't go. Knows that Martin and Gerry will be furious if they ever find out that he snooped, nevermind if he goes there and unsettles old ghosts..

But still, he takes a half-day off from work and gets on a bus to Morden.

*

When Jon arrives and finds the storefront boarded up, he is half reassured, half perturbed. He had felt almost relieved when he had a concrete lead to follow, but now all he has is more questions.

"She's dead."

Jon startles at being unexpectedly spoken to and turns towards a teen girl sitting in the storefront doorway next door.

"She died, like a while ago? Apparently she lost her shit and cut herself up with a piece of glass. Bleed to death on the floor." She inclines her head towards the dilapidated bookstore. She seems quite taken with the gossip, as if it's the most interesting thing to ever intercept with her boring life. It probably is, Jon thinks, uncharitably.

"When did it happen?" He prods, hoping for as many details as possible.

"Oh, like two years ago?" She nods at herself in confirmation. "You can go in if you want. It's haunted. People are always going in to see if they can find Mary's ghost."

Jon shudders, feeling that Mary's ghost is already plenty present enough in his life. He asks how to get in anyway.

Jon doesn't find any obvious ghosts inside, only a lot of dust, a few vandalised books, and a trashed building.

There's a staircase leading upwards and he stares up at the upper landing for a moment, weighing his options. Might as well , he thinks, and proceeds up it carefully.

There's literally nothing but more dust, and Jon descends into a sneezing fit just as he is deciding to cut his losses, feeling slightly dizzy.

The sneezing turns into coughing, and Jon takes a step back to lean against a wall.

But the wall isn't there, and he falls.

And falls.

And falls.

*

Jon calls Martin from the hospital. He’s down in Brighton, meeting with a business supplier, and Jon assumes this makes it a safe bet he'll arrive without Gerry. He assumes wrong.

Gerry arrives, alone, in half the time it would take Martin to make the trip, looking flustered and scared.

"How did you get here so fast?" Jon demands incredulously, made short by his shame and physical discomfort.

"How did I-" Gerry pauses and takes a deep breath, but his next words are still slightly shrill. "I took a fucking Uber, Jonathan. How did you get here?"

Jon opens his mouth, but Gerry cuts him off as he goes on.

"You went looking for Mary, didn't you?" Jon's guilty face must tip him off, because he simply goes on, pacing angrily. "Christ, Jon! What the hell were you expecting to find? And you know what, Martin didn't even sound surprised when he called me to tell me you were here. You know, I can understand this uncommunicative bullshit from you, but not Martin."

"That's not very nice," Jon grouses.

"And do you think it was nice for me to hear from Martin that you were hurt? I'm glad to know he was your one and only phone call from an ambulance."

"Gerry-"

"Don't fucking Gerry me."

"I'm sorry," Jon says, looking down at his hands.

"Are you, Jon? Because you don't even know the worst part yet. If you had asked me, I could have told you Mary was dead, and then we wouldn't be in this mess at all."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew! I was her next of kin!"

Gerry stops, pressing his fingers into his eyes and blowing a hard breath out. He takes several more breaths, heart-pounding, anxiety through the roof.

"Jon, how hurt are you?" Gerry asks quietly, coming closer to gently take a hand.

"Just a few bruises." Gerry raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "A mild concussion." And the other. "Maybe a few broken ribs."

"Oh, my sweet, sweet idiot. How loving you makes me want to climb the walls sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Jon fills his voice with false levity, although it comes out rather shaky.

Gerry grunts, but leans down to kiss his forehead very gently. It's a minuscule point of contact, but Jon knows Gerry and can feel the tremble of fear (fear for him, who would have thought), and the tension of his frustration.

"I'm going to go talk to the doctor, okay? Just- just take it easy. Everything will be fine, love."

Jon doesn't believe him, not really, but he lets Gerry go. There's a lot of noise and movement after that, and Jon's head spins through most of it. Gerry is there, talking to doctors, querying the tests they want to run, and just generally making his opinion in regards to his partner's care very clear.

*

Martin knows it's bad when he arrives at the hospital and finds Gerry chain-smoking in the parking lot. His expression mostly just looks exhausted, but in his favorite black trench coat, and most intimidating combat boots, he looks ready to burn something down.

"That bad, huh?" Martin tries, but Gerry simply waves him towards the entrance, not making eye contact.

Martin almost cuts his losses, wanting to deal with one idiot at a time, but doesn't want to leave Gerry to sulk.

"How is he?" Martin asks.

"He's in one piece. They asked me to leave so they could do the x-rays. Apparently, he fell over a banister."

"A banister? How?"

"Your guess is as good as mine until we can interrogate him." Gerry takes a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "But apparently it's not all that bad and as long as the x-rays look clear, we can take him home in a couple of hours."

"He couldn't have chosen a worse time."

Gerry grunts in agreement. "He's going to tell us he wants to go back to his own flat, but that's only because he thinks I'm angry at him."

"And why would he think that?" Martin questions.

Gerry takes another long drag of his cigarette as if testing Martin's attention span, or patience, or both. Martin just waits, still and easy.

Gerry explains what he knows, his earlier outburst, Jon's guilty, stupid face.

When the cigarette is smoked and put out, Martin finally approaches Gerry all the way, and Gerry sinks into his arms gratefully.

"Everything will be fine."

"Hardly. This is my fault to begin with, and I yelled at him. In a hospital bed!"

"It's as good a place as any other, love. Come on, let's go get him so we can take him home."

Martin kisses him gently, before taking his hand and dragging him off to find Jon.

*

"Your partner is very loud." The blonde nurse with the buzzcut tells Jon as she wheels him to imaging.

"In his defense, I'm an idiot." He sighs, causing his battered ribs to ache.

She laughs heartily, wheeling him into an elevator. "Almost everyone I meet as an A&E nurse is. At least you seem like an interesting idiot."

Jon actually smiles, somehow pleased with the observation. "I'm Jon."

"Daisy Tonner." She offers a hand, which Jon shakes as firmly as he can manage. "You seem a bit old for trespassing in haunted houses, Jon."

The elevator dings and she wheels him out into the imaging wing. "I was looking for the woman who died there." Daisy gives him a skeptical look and he sighs dramatically. "I didn't know she was dead."

Daisy nods her understanding. "I remember when she died actually. They brought her here that night. Never seen someone with so much blood loss be so… Erratic. We had to strap her down." Daisy looks contemplative as she recalls the memory.

"She was a crazy bitch to the very end, then?" Jon asks, bitterness creeping through his tone at the woman who caused Gerry (still causes Gerry,) so much pain. Jon doesn't allow himself, yet, to dwell on the heartache of the years of Gerry she took from him.

"For sure," Daisy tells him. "What do you do for a living then?"

"I'm a librarian?" Jon tells her, but it goes up a bit at the end, like a question.

"Really?" Daisy asks wryly, "You don't sound very sure."

Jon considers laughing but remembers his ribs in time to settle on a tired smile. "I do work in a library but to be frank, most of the time I just feel like my boss's busy boy. Always running here and there and doing everything but what I thought I was supposed to be doing."

"Most professions aren't what we think they are when we sign up for them," Daisy observes. She parks his wheelchair outside a door and leans around to let them know a patient is waiting.

"Do you like being a nurse?" Jon asks her when she settles against the wall beside him, looking rather more intimidating than one would expect from the average health care worker.

"Most of the time. Sometimes it can be just exhausting and draining." She shrugs, contemplative. "Sometimes I get a patient that makes all the shit worthwhile. Mostly I just want to deck someone, though."

She cracks up at that and looks down at Jon to give him a feral grin. "Your boyfriend seems like a worthwhile candidate. Very punchable face."

"Careful, he might enjoy it," Jon warns her, deadpan.

They exchange a pointed look for a moment, before bursting into laughter. It pains Jon significantly, but he considers it worthwhile to enjoy the moment with a strange new friend.

*

By the time Daisy returns Jon to his room, both Martin and Gerry are there. Daisy looks pointedly between blue-haired, pierced, goth Gerry, and pink-haired, jumper clad, soft Martin and then eyes up 'born an 85-year old man' Jon for good measure.

Jon just shrugs at her and she nods in acknowledgment, before helping Jon into his hospital bed.

"As soon as the imaging comes through, it'll be checked by the surgeon on duty," Daisy informs them briskly, "then they'll come through and let you know what's happening. You'd best settle in for a bit of a wait. Buzz if you need me."

With a curt nod and a small smile for Jon, Daisy is off.

Martin comes over and pulls Jon into his comfortable arms, pressing his lips to Jon's forehead. He sighs out in relief to have solid reassurance that Jon is alright, alive, and relatively unscathed.

Gerry also moves over from his perch on the windowsill, and folds himself onto the bed, cross-legged in front of his errant partner.

They settle all together, Martin beside Jon, one unwavering arm around his shoulders, Gerry in front of Jon, both of his hands holding both of Jon's.

Jon opens his mouth to apologize.

"I'll go first," Gerry tells him, gently. "I am sorry that I was so upset earlier and that I raised my voice. I was fucking scared and I took it out on you when you needed me to be soft and steady. I'm also sorry that I didn't tell you Mary was dead before."

Jon tries to interrupt now, but Martin silences him with a squeeze.

"I meant to tell you, but it was all very messed up and over-wrought and I honestly forgot." Gerry looks chastised, a rare blush staining his cheeks. "I hope that we can get better at talking these things out so that this doesn't happen again."

He pauses, considering. "And I hope that if I have made you think that you can't talk to me by avoiding telling you things in the past, that you can forgive me and I will do what I need to be better."

Jon is truly floored, and utterly speechless. The words themselves had been a little bit halting and slightly awkward, as Gerry struggled to express himself, but the earnestness proves to Jon just how much Gerry loves him.

"I- I'm sorry too." Jon stutters out. "I'm an idiot but I love you. I hope we can get better at this together."

His words feel downright juvenile after Gerry's acknowledgement, but it's all he's got, pounding head and trapped emotions preventing similar declarations (oh and his total lack of social skills). Gerry beams at him regardless and he leans forwards to kiss Jon sweetly on the forehead.

Martin grabs Gerry's hand and places a kiss on his palm, sending him a significant look. It feels like approval to Jon, and he can't help but appreciate their bond just as much as his own with each of them.

They settle to wait, and they take turns reading from Martin's book to pass the time, each of their voices having a few moments to fill the air and weave around them.

Dr. Basira Hussain eventually comes in, assuring them that Jon's concussion is mild, his ribs are only bruised, and that he should make a full recovery (if he rests), in just a few weeks. They thank her profusely and she leaves them with Daisy to check out.

Gerry goes off to take care of the paperwork and in a few minutes, they're saying goodbye and walking out of the hospital together. Martin and Gerry flank Jon carefully, there to support him if he stumbles.

He also sits between them in the taxi, head on Martin's shoulder and one hand grasped between both of Gerry's. He feels exhausted and floaty from painkillers, and every jolt of the car makes it difficult to breathe.

He smiles, rather unexpectedly. Despite his current predicament, he's glad enough to know that Mary Keay is dead and that chapter of their lives is definitely closed. He does wish he had just asked Gerry, but he hopes that the strained feelings and injuries will blow over and she will finally be out of their lives for good, nothing but a sad, angry memory. A shade living only in the memories of those that didn't know her.

[b-rainlet]

Gotham for the fandom ask thingy.

(I ran here so fuckin fast you have no clue)

Hello anon! :D I will answer this now, so you don't have to wait any longer but also....this would be very nice to answer through gifsets...(maybe when I am feeling up for it).

For now, have this:

(It's not proof read because I just sat at this for several hours and I don't wanna look at it anymore).

Favourite Male Character

You mean...besides the obvious answers?? :D

Ngl, it's S2 Jerome. I love that little twink with his parental issues and his tragic backstory and I wanna see him happy. There's a reason I have a bunch of AUs where he ends up having a family (mostly in the form of Lee as his Mother) and gets some actual help instead of being ostracized for being a mentally ill person snapping after years of abuse.

(This also ties into my very strong feelings regarding the fact that nobody actually helps the people at Arkham. And I don't mean the main villains there, I mean all the inmates who get treated like shit and are left behind on the regurlar (remember in S2 when Arkham was about to explode and nobody was talking about evacuating the inmates???? I do).

Other than that, one of my faves is also Jonathan. Which may be a little surprising because I barely talk about him but he was my favourite character throughout the show and he had way too little scenes.

(Kinda telling that the characters I latched onto are both helpless teens who were fucked over by the people who were supposed to protect them and can both trace their villain origin story back to Jim Gordon not caring enough about them lmao).

But the cast is big and varied enough that I actually like everyone? Butch, Zsazs, Penguin, S1 and 2 Ed, Jervis, Harvey, Jim......I like them all!!

(Special shoutout to 514A too, he was soft and baby and I wanted to keep him safe and sound really desperately).

(Another special shoutout to Barnes!! I didn't expect to like him when I first saw him, given he looked like he was gonna be mean and stoic and all, but I ended up really liking him and his story!)

Favourite Female Character

Let's just pretend Ecco doesn't exist for this answer ajdkaskaslj.

I fell in love immediately upon seeing Ecco but all! the women! are so!!! good!!!!

I especially have a soft spot for the side characters. I mean, upon first watching I got attached to Alice (even though she only features in two episodes lmao), and also Kristen Kringle - who isn't talked about much within Fandom, but she was pretty and her and Ed were actually quite cute but then she had to die for him to become the Riddler which was...pretty much telling us from the beginnning 'The woman here die to advance the men's plots'.

Barbara was also a big surprise to me because I figured she'd be the female love interest and nothing more but!! her and Jerome were the best thing in S2 and also the most entertaining thing about the Maniax Plot. (In several ways, I think I had the most fun watching this show during S2 , it was just. Good).

Also upon being in this Fandom and thinking about certain characters a bit longer I also really like Vicky Vale. And Montoya. And I wish they had kept both around for longer.

(I also wish they wouldn't have made Vicky a love interest for Jim. Or Sofia. No love interests for Jim except Lee and Barbara please).

Also Selina!! I love both Selina and Tabitha with all my heart - which may also be surprising because I barely ever talk about Tabby but I contain multitudes aklskddsm, and while I like sharing my horny thoughts about Ecco, I also love to think about Tabby and daydream about her being happy and exploring her (and Selina's) issues with showing weakness and affection and their strong loyalty regarding people that they trust.

I just.....women. Women good.

(Women also deserve to have more character than just being somebody's love interests and I have enough wips that completely sideline the guys to focus on the woman instead lmao).

Least Favourite Character

I don't have many characters that I hate??

I generally tend to instantly love everybody unless they are specifically made to be unlikeable. (I also spite-like characters who are hated for petty reasons, I just have a lot of love in my heart and not much energy for hate lmao).

But there were characters who annoyed me while I was watching.

For one, I think Gotham has a variety of super entertaining villains, but the main villains of each season tend to be....boring.

Safe for Strange they all kinda fell flat for me. Theo. Kathryn. Ra's Al Ghul. His Daughter. Mostly because their plotlines were less exciting than stuff like Jerome's carnival or Mother and Orphan's Hotel of Horrors.

Or their motives seemed a lot less understandable than the ones of the other Batman villains who pretty much always come from a place of suffering and abuse and break/snap under the pressure that's put on them (continuing this take of Gotham creating its own villains by leaving behind - mentally ill - people that need help, which I think is very true to most - if not all - Batman villains).

And then you have some characters that simply suffer from the fact that the show was cut short - which is pretty much any and every S5 character that had way too little screentime, but in this specific case means Jeremiah.

Because I disliked Jeremiah a lot while watching.

Without wanting to step on anybody's toes, him and Nygma are probably the two characters on this show I ended up disliking the most.

Mostly because Miah felt like a very cheap copy of Jerome and to this day I think it was a bad idea to replace Jerome with him, since Jeremiah - to me - seems like a super flat character.

Maybe if we had gotten him without meeting Jerome first, just having a Joker character introduced in S4, maybe I would've adored him, who knows.

But in comparison to Jerome...no. Just no.

(I will spare you from any longer rambles, but I think if you follow me, I talked about the ways Miah is lacking for me before).

My made up version of Miah though? I love him.

With Nygma it's even worse because I adored him. I instantly liked him. I was 100% behind him right up until the godawful Isabella plot happened and then it just all went to shit so quickly, I couldn't stand seeing him on screen anymore.

It's surprising that I didn't stop liking Oswald but to me, Oswald pretty much stayed the same while Ed became all bitter and hard and I just miss dorky S2 Ed you know?

It actually got so bad, I completely turned my back on Nygm/obblepot as a ship because I was so severly disappointed and I barely talk about Ed because I just can't stand what they did with him.

(Another victim of bad writing).

Favourite Ship

I'm just gonna stick to canon ships because I don't ever shut up about my Fanon ships so you probably know which ones I love the most :D

There isn't much romance going on within Gotham if I think about it - apart from Jim - which I definitely prefer. You wouldnt guess it from my blog, but I am not a fan of too shippy stuff because in most cases it just means sex scenes and I can live without those. I want action! Blood! Dead People! Not a two minute make-out session between two bland characters!

I gotta admit that Ed and Lee have some cute scenes and I would definitely ship them if I didn't dislike S4 Ed so much (S2 EdLee tho?? Yes).

Also I thought Jim and Lee was okay and Baby Batcat was quite cute at times but mostly I don't care about the canon ships.

I do ship Barbara and Jim though :D

I remember right before they hooked up in S5 I was like: 'I wouldn't mind if they got back together' and then went 'yay!' when they did and I wouldn't have minded a little more 'Will they?? Won't they??' between those two and them just having the mother of unhealthy relationships on this show.

(Also Jim/Barbara/Lee poly relationship but we can't have everything).

Favourite Friendship

So many good relationships on this show!

I need to rewatch the show soon because I probably already forgot about most of them but from the top of my head: Oswald/Butch and Oswald/Zsazs

Which were both then done dirty lmao. One by having Oswald be overly petty (one of the few times I was like...Pengy...wtf...) and the other by passing up the obvious opportunity to have Zsazs find out who really killed Falcone and just...letting Oswald and Victor never interact again. 

Then of course Ivy and Selina which also gloriously fell apart. Just like Ivy and Oswald. 

(Gotham isn’t the best when it comes to maintaining friendships). 

And the biggest and most grandious friendship of them all: J Squad. 

(Who have too little scenes together honestly and then also simply fell apart after Jerome died. Consistency who?)

Favourite Quote

I don’t know, I don’t have many quotes in my head from the show. Me and my niece mostly reference: “Yeah, that’s a spoon.” - “IT IS ALSO A FORK!!1!!!”

Also: “Gotta Go! Gotta Go! They’re after me and the Scarecrow!”

(There are some dialogue blurps I have written down somewhere because they are inspriration for gifsets but in order to be able to just recite some of them from Memory, I would have to watch this show way more obsessively). 

Worst Character Death

I don’t even gotta say anything do I? :D

But I think the character death that actually made me cry was Jerome’s first death. I clearly remember crying because...he just wanted recognition! And praise! And instead he was used as a pawn and betrayed by someone he idolized and he was only 18! My poor little meow-meow!

Seriously, the only things that make me cry on this show: Jerome’s first death, any and all mention of Bruce as a baby - told by an emotional Alfred, any and all Bruce/Alfred interaction at all and Solomon Grundy. 

This made me so happy you have no idea Moment

I seriously need to rewatch this show, it’s been so long :D

But I remember being pretty excited for the J Squad Team Up - because I was like ‘If I were Jerome I would definitely work with Tetch and Scarecrow since they’re also in Arkham atm’ and then he did!!

And I also distinctly remember in S3 that I was close to falling asleep right when they scene came on where Oswald realizes his feelings for Nygma and let me tell you - it caught me so off guard, I was awake instantly lmao. 

(I knew that people shipped them but I was so used to mlm ships being popular when they only have a handful of scenes and are platonic friends that I didn’t expect them to actually have a possibility of being canon). 

From then on I was super pumped for them to deliver on that ship but well....we all knew what happened asnksnndk. 

Saddest Moment

Aside from the already mentioned scenes in the character death column, the scene where Bruce leaves and Selina runs to the airport. I always liked Selina but she wasn’t a priority character of mine (much like Bruce isn’t) but then that scene happened and in an instant, I felt super protective over her. 

She is now my baby. My daughter. My beloved wife. She deserves everything and most importantly she deserves better than Bruce Wayne. 

(Coincidentally that was also the scene where I decided I don’t care much about Bruce asldjkjlj. I absolutely adore early seasons Bruce though). 

Favourite Location

There are so many different locations, I don’t think I can adequately answer this with my spotty memory :D

But I always loved the few episodes where Alice features, because I love how her scenes are shot so probably the little carnival Jervis prepares for her.

Also!! Jeremiah's church!

Or Commissioner Loeb's secret house (Especially the Attic).

There are a lot of cool locations, I gotta gif some of them soon :D

[flutteringphalanges]

                            Stifling the Howling Wolves

Summary: “Quid Pro Quo, Agatha. Consider it a friendly gesture of sorts. You give me what I want and I’ll return the favor.” The Count offered her a toothy grin and even though she was safe behind the prison wall, the nun still felt a shiver run down her spine. “And what would that be?” She inquired, maintaining her calm, collected state. “I’d love to learn more about you,” he answered simply. “In exchange for your blood, I will tell you everything. Just a small amount. The offer stands.” She thought hard. Harder than she’d ever had. They were losing time. Mina’s life was in mortal danger. She had to make the decision now. “Okay,” she agreed. “You have a deal.”

Ship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: M (may eventually be change to Explicit) 

“Silence of the Lambs!Dragatha”

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N:  Firstly, I want to say welcome! I'm so stoked to be taking on an idea like this! This is dedicated to @mitsukatsu because it's one of her favorite movies and she's been here since day one of planning this. Also almost all characters used in this story are from the show! I really love incorporating all of them in. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated -Jen 

                                                 Chapter One

                                                Budapest, Hungary

Agent Philip Sokolov wasn't at all bothered by the icy air as he stepped out of the black vehicle and onto the stone walkway. After all, he'd served in the British Royal Navy and knew the cold like the back of his hand. Adjusting the file folder in his grasp, the man's eyes fixed forward, taking in the sight of the large, stone abbey that lay before him. St. Mary's Convent of Budapest, Hungary. A decent sized monastery tucked away from society and the thrills of modern day life. Yet despite this, it hadn't taken him long to locate what he was looking for. Or rather, who.

"Do you really think she'll be able to help? She's a nun after all."

For a Mobile Surveillance Officer, Olgaren tended to stick out like a sore thumb. He was tall, towering nearly fifteen centimeters above the other man and quite burly. And on one or more occasions, his "mouth of a sailor" had gotten him in trouble. Despite this, he had been a reliable and loyal partner, probably one of the only people Sokolov entrusted his life with. But his skepticism on the agent's judgement that day wasn't exactly the most welcoming. Especially since he could very well be putting his job on the line.

"She's our last resort," Sokolov explained as they walked up the long pathway towards the main gate. "If there's the slightest chance she can get something out of him, I'm willing to take it." The two men stopped at the entrance, the former captain now holding the officer's gaze. "Agatha Van Helsing is our only hope."

Olgaren's lips pressed into a firm line, but he offered Sokolov a nod. Further questioning would have to wait. In front of them on the opposite side of the gate, a woman was approaching. Her face was round, framed by a white habit that fell against her dusty blue robes. Sokolov smiled as genuinely as one could as the head nun stopped in her tracks.

"I see you made it here safely," she commented, her eyes looking both men up and down. "The roads can be treacherous."

"We managed just fine," he agreed. "I believe we talked on the phone a few days ago? You're Mother Superior if I'm not mistaken?" Sokolov began to fish in his pants' pocket with his free hand retrieving his wallet. "These are my credentials. I'm from the United Kingdom's Security Service, MI5. Thank you for being so cooperative with us."

"I didn't think I had much of a choice," Mother Superior replied, unlatching the gate. "I must admit I am still confused as to your reasoning for coming here. Besides, of course, wishing to call upon one of my nuns." She took a step back, allowing them passage. "You must understand my concern seeing as our convent has no association with England."

"I apologize for the lack of disclosure. Believe me, if I could, I would answer your questions. But this is a matter of national security. My orders were to talk to Sister Agatha, and to Sister Agatha alone." He gave the woman a sympathetic look to which she merely frowned in response. "Does she know we're coming?"

"She's expecting you, yes." Mother Superior spoke, motioning for them to follow her. "I'll take you to her quarters. I believe she's in there now."

Sokolov had begun to notice multiple pairs of eyes watching him as he made his way down the cloister. Nuns had begun to appear, standing their distance as they whispered to one another. It made him feel strangely uneasy. It wasn't like they were going to do anything. If he had been in their situation, he'd stare too. Doing his best to stay focused, he met the head nun's surprising fast pace until they stood in front of a door.

"She's in there," Mother Superior nodded. "I suppose I'll leave you to your visit then."

The woman turned on her heels and walked away leaving both Sokolove and Olgaren to their own bidding. The taller man glanced over his shoulder before looking back at his partner with a shrug. Sokolov found himself absentmindedly readjusting the folder in his grasp before he raised a fist and gently wrapped on the door.

"Come in."

The door let out a soft creak as the man pushed it open. The room was small, simple with a bed, book shelf, and a desk squeezed into a corner. To Sokolov, it seemed to be a rather boring set up. Then again, this wasn't a lifestyle he'd have chosen.

"You look surprised."

Sokolov's attention turned to a woman, much younger than Mother Superior, sitting at the table. She seemed rather relaxed all things considered, her blue eyes bright, lips curved into a smile. When she stood up, the nun was the first to extend her hand in greeting. Sokolov took it and for a moment was a little taken aback with how strong her grip was.

"If I may apologize for being blunt, but might I ask why you are here?" Agatha smiled looking at either men. "I'm assuming I haven't broken the law. If I had, I think it'd be Hungarian authorities after me, not some men from England."

"No ma'am, you haven't done anything wrong," Agent Sokolov explained quickly. "My name is Agent Sokolov and this my partner-"

"Yes, yes, I know who you are. Mother Superior did inform me that you'd be visiting." The nun said with the wave of her hand. "But I'd like to know what brings you to here." She motioned around her as if to emphasize her point. "You've come a long way."

"Sister Agatha…"

"Please," the woman smiled. "Just Agatha will suffice. No need for such formalities."

"Agatha," the agent corrected. "I suppose there isn't a best way to jump into this discussion, so I'll get right to it. You are the distant relative of Abraham Van Helsing? The vampire hunter?"

"Something tells me you aren't asking me because you want to write a book." The woman replied after a long moment, studying both men's expressions. "Yes, Abraham was my great, great, grandfather. I am very well versed in his history."

"So you know about vampires?" The man ventured.

"Well yes." Agatha chuckled, looking rather amused as if waiting for the punchline of a joke. "But many people do, don't they? While I did grow up being told the legend of my grandfather, one can simply google about the creatures."

"What about Count Dracula?"

The smile faded away from Agatha's face, her expression changing to one of uncertainty. "What about Count Dracula?" As if suddenly concerned by the appearance of her bookshelf, she began to rearrange her books. "He was just a story. Just as all of the other ones were. He never existed."

"But you don't really believe that to be the case, do you?" Sokolov watched as Agatha seemed to hesitate, one hand resting on the wooden case. "Agatha, we're here to tell you that Count Dracula is in fact alive and is being detained in England. Has been for many years now."

She was silent for a moment. "That's not possible." Agatha turned, facing the agents once more. "Count Dracula was said to have died on The Demeter. His body was never recovered, but there was no evidence that he had survived."

"Dracula is a very intelligent and highly skilled man-if you even want to call him that," Olgaren frowned. "He was finally caught in England three years ago when one of his victims managed to escape. Jonathan Harker. When we were able to locate and imprison him at a highly secure facility, we believed that to be the end of things. We paid the Harker family a lump sum of money to remain quiet about what Dracula was and that was that. No need to get the public up in arms. Life had resumed to normal."

"Until very recently," Sokolov finished. "When new cases began to show up. Strange murders that, in a sense, mirrored Dracula's. But at the same time they were different. More...ritualistic. Agatha," he exhaled, looking directly into her eyes. "We believe we are dealing with another vampire. A serial killer at that."

He held out the case file towards Agatha. She eyed it for a moment almost hesitant before accepting it. Sokolov watched as she flipped through its contents, her brow furrowing as she studied the papers from within. After a while she looked up, closing the folder as she did so.

"So why is the MI5 coming to me?" The woman questioned, not offering the file back to Sokolov. "I'm not my grandfather."

"Dracula refuses to talk to anyone," the agent responded, looking from Olgaren and back to the nun. "We're hoping that maybe he'll speak to you. Because of who you are. We need to catch the killer before things get really out of hand and we think that Dracula knows more than he's telling us. That information in the folder alone is what we have on Dracula. If you agree to come with us, we can share with you everything that we can. You'll have our entire archive at your disposal." He inhaled, his tone almost pleading. "England needs you, Agatha. Won't you help?"

                                                         XXX

Agatha could count on how many times she'd ridden in a plane on one hand. Her most recent, being many years ago, when she left Holland to join St. Mary's in Hungary. As the plane took off, she relaxed in her seat and gazed out the window as the ground was replaced by the cloud covered sky. It felt surreal leaving the convent. Saying goodbye to her sisters she'd known for so long. But it felt even more bizarre finally having the confirmation that Count Dracula, her family's one true enemy, was alive. Something she had begun to give up hope in learning that was true.

"I want to thank you again for coming."

Sokolov's smile was warm as he took the seat beside her. She straightened up, turning her body to face him. Methodically, he pushed another folder over the tray table towards her. On the opposite side of the plane, Olgaren was fast asleep, snoring rather loudly. Doing her best to block the noise out, she took the file and opened it.

Agatha would be lying if she didn't admit that her stomach immediately twisted at the picture that lay before her. A woman, skin so pale it was almost translucent, was stretched across a long, metal table. Against her own better judgement, she flipped to the next picture. This time she was looking at the neck. At the flawless skin defiled by a set of sharp, fang like marks that dug deep within the flesh. Again she turned to the next image, feeling the bile begin to rise into the back of her throat. Right in the middle of the chest was a large hole as if something big had been shoved into it, penetrating past the rib cage and into the heart itself.

"Kathleen Piper." Sokolov explained as the nun took a moment to collect herself, closing the folder. "She was his second victim, found floating in the Thames. Completely drained of her blood. Based on the particles we found within her chest cavity, the object is always made of wood."

"A stake," Agatha said quietly. "He stakes them."

"We believe so, yes," Sokolov agreed. "Almost as if he is trying to keep them from turning. We don't understand his motive behind that. There's a lot we don't understand which is why we need you." He folded his onto the table. "We've dubbed him the Midnight Slayer. It lacks creativity, but he does only seem to kill at night. All of his victims so far have been young women."

"And that's the reason you've been led to believe he has to be a man?" The woman questioned, a slight frown forming on her lips.

"No," the agent sighed. "It's because the only detail Dracula ever offered up was that we were looking for a man. That's how we know the Count has more information on the case. Which is why we need you. Because maybe he'll open up more to you more than he has to anyone else." He exhaled, running a hand through his graying hair. "Because you're a Van Helsing."

She stared out the window for a bit, watching as the white clouds floated by. Just hours ago, she was just a nun. Living a quiet life, left to her own devices. But now she was being pulled into a horror of a mess. Chaos that involved Count Dracula himself. A monster she had believed to be dead after years and years of researching. And though she wished she could just turn around. Pretend that this never happened. Her curiosity, ambition, and aggravating need to do what's right overweighed that.

"I'll help however I can." She responded, finally returning her attention to Sokolov. "But don't expect any miracles."

The man chuckled at her words. "An odd statement coming from a nun. Aren't you supposed to believe in that sort of thing?"

"I'm not your average sister." Agatha with a small smile, watching as the plane began to descend towards the airstrip below. "Far from it."

"Well, I should hope as much," he agreed. "We certainly do need that." Sokolov sighed, leaning back in his chair momentarily allowing his eyes to close. "We certainly do."

[oingos-bitch]

Another JoJo Mall Fanfic™ -- Hooters (Part 1)

Beware of spoilers! Specifically Part 5/Vento Aureo spoilers!

Risotto  drove  up  to  the  Hooters  side  of  the  mall  and  parked  his  car  in  the  handicapped  spot.

'It's  early  in  the  morning,  and  we're  only  gonna  take  about  30  minutes  to  do  the  interview..'

Melone  stepped  out  of  the  car  as  his  Capo  pondered  the  morality  of  the  situation.  He  fluffed  his  hair,  straightened  his  white  blouse,  made  a  few  faces  in  the  car's  window,  and  with  that  decided  he  was  ready.  He  asked  Risotto  if  he  was  also  ready  to  go,  but  the  Capo  seemed  to  be  lost  in  a  long  chain  of  possible  scenarios.  What  if  his  teammates  found  out?  Would  they  belittle  him?  Would  they  feel  guilty  because  of  it?  He  would  hate  it  to  see  the  guilt  on  their  faces.  Or  worse  yet,  what  if  the  Boss  had  found  out?  What  if  his  snitch  of  an  underling  Doppio  found  out  and  ratted  on  him?  He'd  have  his  head  on  the  Boss's  wall  for  sure,  another  example  of  what  not  to do  and  a  symbol  of  endless  shame  to  La  Squadra  di  Esecuzione.  God,  that  was  an  even  worse  thought  than  the  first  one.  

He  breathed  in, 'Fuck it,'  and  jumped  out  of  the  car  on  his  exhale,  startling  Melone.

"Jesus  fuck! Oh, sorry,  Capo."  

"It's  fine."

And  with  that,  they  strode  gallantly  across  the  parking  lot  to  their  (hopefully)  new  place  of  business.  Who  cared  if  the  Boss  wanted  their  heads  on  a  platter,  anyway?

'Remember,  be  confident.'

Risotto  misjudged  his  strength  and  ended  up  slamming  the  door  into  the  side  of  the  wall.  He  also  misjudged  the  volume  of  his  voice,  accidentally  shouting.

"HELLO!  I  AM  RISOTTO  NERO,  I  CALLED  ABOUT  THE  JOB  A  FEW  DAYS  AGO.  THANK  YOU  FOR  INVITING  ME  TODAY."

At  first,  the  two  Joestars  jumped  in  terror,  but  after  hearing  the  occasional  voicecracks  in  his  speech,  they  giggled  politely  and  invited  him  to  sit  down.  Risotto's  eyes  widened  in  embarrassment  and  he  quietly  sat  down.  Melone  followed  suit.  

"So,  Mr.  Nero  and  Mister...?"  Jonathan  quizzically  looked  at  Melone,  who  smiled.

'Just  Melone is  fine,  sir."  

"Okay,  Mr.  Melone!  Um,  shall  we  get  started  with  the  interview?"

He  looked  over  to  his  brother,  who  was  unabashedly  staring  up  at  the  giant  in  front  of  him.  Even  when  sitting,  he  still  towered  over  the  Joestars.  Even  though  he  was  thinking  the  same  as  Dio,  Jonathan  was  much  more  discreet  in  his  musings,  meaning  that  he  decided  to  ignore  the  elephant  in  the  room.

'I  didn't  think  anyone  could  get  any  bigger  than  the  Joestars.'

"SO,"  JoJo  declared  rather  loudly,  snapping  Dio  out  of  his  trance,  "Why would  you  like  to  work  for  our  mall,  gentlemen?"  

"Well,  our  Boss  decided  to  cut  some  of  our  pay  during  these  last  few  months,  and  since  we  cannot  really  afford  much  of  our  necessities  we  decided  to  get  a  second  job  to  compensate  for  our  lack  of  pay." Risotto  admitted.  Melone  nodded  in  agreement.

That  seemed  good  enough  for  Jonathan.

"Okay!  Next  question-"

"Wait."  Hissed  Dio,  "Why  do  you  want  to  work  for  US  specifically?"  His  brother  sighed.

'Can't  Dio  go  through  one  day  without  flattery?'

Melone  quickly  stepped  in,  "Because  you  two  gentlemen  sounded  quite  respectful  and  professional  over  the  phone,  and  from  my  experience,  that's  one  of  the  signs  of  a  great  boss,  and  an  extraordinary  businessman!  And  how  could  we  not  take  the  opportunity  to  work  with  such  amazing  managers?"

Risotto  smirked. 'Thank  God  he's  so  good  at  kissing  ass.'

Dio  seemed  satisfied  with  that  answer,  though  he  wasn't  letting  him  off  of  the  hook  just  yet.  Jonathan  anxiously  continued,  "Oh,  why  thank  you! Now,  shall we  move  on-"

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Melone,  is  kissing  arse  one  of  your  listed  skills?"  He  sneered.

"DIO!"

"Because  it  should  be.  You're  smart,  unlike  this  twit  here,"  he  pointed  to  his  brother. "Flattery  will  get  you  everywhere."

Melone  sheepishly  smiled  at  him,  regaining  his  composure.  At  least  the  worst  was  over.

"May  I  speak  now?"  Jonathan  looked  over  at  Dio.

"You  may."

"Right...So,  I  just  have  one  more  question  for  you  two!"

"JoJo,  don't  make  it  that  easy-"

"Quiet!  They  seem  like  wonderful  young  men,  I'm  sure  they'll  be  great!  Now,  last  question...What  are  your  schedules?  So  that  we  may  plan  accordingly!"

Dio  groaned  loudly,  his  brother  was  making  this  way  too  easy  for  them.  But  whatever,  they  needed  employees,  and  if  they  stepped  out  of  line  they  could  always  fire  them  without  remorse.  Well,  he  could.  Jonathan,  he  wasn't  so  sure  he was  capable  of  that.

"Great!  We'll  meet  you  here  on  March  thirteenth!  That's  the  grand  opening  of  the  mall,  so  we  might  need  you  here  a  bit  earlier.  Is  that  okay?"

"Yes,  that  works  perfectly.  Thank  you  so  much  for  this  opportunity,  sirs,"  said  Risotto.

"Thank  you  so  much  for  your  time!  Enjoy  the  rest  of  your  day,  sirs!"  Melone  added.

"Likewise,  Mr.  Melone!  Oh,  and  one  more  thing."  

"Yes?"

"May  I  ask  of  you  two  to  not  park  in  the  handicapped  spots?  I  know  they  may  seem  unimportant,  but  they  are  there  in  case  someone  needs  them," Jonathan  shyly  requested.

"Ah, yes,  of  course.  I'm  very  sorry,"  Risotto  apologized,  face  flushing  slightly.

"Thank you.  Alright,  have  a  good  day  now,  gentlemen!"

Jonathan  waved  as  they  walked  out  the  door.  Dio  sat  silently,  his  eyes  never  leaving  Risotto.

"Dio,  why  were  you  staring  at  Mr.  Nero?"  Jonathan  asked  once  they  were  out  of  earshot.

He  leaned  towards  the  brunette,  almost  as  if  telling  him  a  secret.

"Don't  you  think  it's  rather  uncomfortable  for  him  to  be  carrying  that  monster  around  in  his  pants  all  day?"  Dio  licked  his  lips.

".....DIO-"

Meanwhile,  in  the  parking  lot,  Risotto  sneezed.  He  could  swear  that  there  was  someone  talking  about  him.

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Diavolo  grimaced  as  yet  another  bill  was  presented  to  him.  He  was  a  powerful  stand  user,  yes,  and  an  equally  powerful  mafioso,  yet  not  even  he  was  safe  from  the  inevitability  of  paying  bills.  It  further  depressed  him  knowing  that  his  goons  out  there  weren't  bringing  in  enough  money  as  they  used  to,  and  what  made  it  worse  was  the  prediction  that  most  of  the  population  would  soon  stop  buying  altogether,  courtesy  of  those  damned  school  seminars.

'Goddamnit..'

He  punched  a  hole  in  the  wall,  allowing  him  to  cool  off  before  thinking  of  a  Plan  B.  He  could  always  take  up  a  second  job,  but  as  what?  He  certainly  couldn't  join  a  workforce  that  required background  checks,  he  couldn't  start  a  puppet  company  because  the  officials  would  eventually  find  out  during  inspections,  so  needless  to  say,  his  options  were  slim  to  none.

"Goddamnit.."  He  growled.  Swiveling  around  in  his  chair,  he  peered  outside  the  window  out  at  the  street.  Nothing  seemed  to  be  unusual,  just  the  same  boring  street  lights  and  payphones.

'Yes,  that's  it.  Just  focus  on  something  else  for  a  bit.'

He  then  noticed  that  there  was  a  building  painted  differently  than  the  others, 'Red's  a  nice  colour.'  And  the  streetlight  to  his  right  had  a  chunk  taken  out  of  it, 'I  wonder  how  that  happened.'  And  just  below  that  missing  chunk  was  a  pale  yellow  paper  advertising  a  new  mall -- wait,  a  new  mall?  He  pressed  his  face  against  the  window  to  get  a  closer  look.

"Joestar  Bros.  Mall.  Help  wanted.  Call  927..."

He  couldn't  make  out  the  rest  of  the  paper,  the  characters  were  too  low  for  him  to  see.  There  was  no  other  choice,  he  had  to  get  out  of  the  house.  Reluctantly,  he  trudged  out  of  the  door  and  into  the  street,  hastily  snatching  the  paper  and  stuffing  it  into  his  pocket.  Once  inside  the  confines  of  his  office  again,  he  scanned  the  advertisement.

"Call  927-867-5309..."  

He  punched  the  wall  again,  there's  no  other  option  right  now!  He  HAS  to  do  this,  who  knows  when  he'll  get  another  chance?  And  besides,  he  can  always  just  get  rid  of  the  owners  if  they  start  getting  too  nosy.  But  what  if  they're  notable  people?  

"FUCK!"  He  screamed,  kicking  his  chair  across  the  room.  He  heaved  heavily,  trying  in  vain  to  calm  down.

'Don't  worry,  no  one's  gonna  know  who  you  are,  you'll  be  fine...'

That  seemed  to  work,  for  the  time  being.  After  staring  vacantly  at  the  ceiling  for  approximately  half  an  hour,  he  worked  up  the  nerve  to  dial  the  aforementioned  number.  He  hoped  he  didn't  sound  too  nervous.

"Hello,  I'd  like  a  job.."

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March  thirteenth,  he  didn't  want  to  be  late!  Diavolo  pulled  his  pink  hair  through  his  hair  tie,  walking  briskly  to  the  mall,  Thank  god,  he  got  there  at  7:51  A.M., 'I  have  a  few  minutes  to  spare.'

All  of  his  anxiety  seemed  to  dissipate  once  he  stepped  into  the  air-conditioned  restaurant.  Everything  seemed  to  be  great  so far,  he  just  had  to  lay  low  for  a  bit  and  serve  some  food  to  some  people,  pose  for  a few  pictures,  and  occasionally  clean  up  the  place.  How  much  easier  could  it  get?

Melone  heard  the  telltale  ring  of  the  doorbell  and  went  to  greet  the  newcomer. 'I  hope  they're  cute.~'  He  rounded  the  corner  and  theatrically  gasped  at  the  sight.

Diavolo  turned  to  his  right, his  face  soon  contorted  in  terror.

".....Boss?"

[themoonismymuse]

boyfriend || part one

Part two

Masterlist

Summary: you have been dating King Steve Harrington for awhile now, but one party can change everything... 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader and (eventually) Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1639 

Warnings: cursing? teen drinking, drama, angstttt and like two seconds of fluff :)

Song: boyfriend (with Social House) by Ariana Grande and Social House

A/N: ok so this went in a direction i did not intend for it to go… it was originally supposed to be super fluffy but whatever, i live for the angst. also i hate this

Steve walks beside you, his arm slung over your shoulders. It’s in the morning; first period hasn’t even started yet. Some girls watch you enviously, but mostly people just gawk. Apparently, it’s still weird that you and Steve are dating.

You reach your locker, but Steve doesn’t let go of you. “Steve, I have to get my-” you try to get out. Before you can finish, he swings you around so your back is against the lockers and he’s right in front of you. He smirks down at you, studying your features carefully. He wants to remember each feature of your face, each freckle, every golden fleck in your eyes. “Steve,” you say impatiently, tapping your toe on the linoleum tiles.

“But, babe. You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart flutters a bit as he dips down and captures your lips in his. These kisses never get old. “Okay, okay,” you say, even though you really wish you could stay there forever, with him.

He pouts but steps to the side, leaning on the lockers. You open yours and start pulling books out. “You know, school isn’t that important. We could skip today. Go somewhere secluded…”

You look at him sternly. “I have a test today. You know that.”

Steve grabs your waist as you try to walk away, pulling you back into him. He rests his chin on top of your head. “Stay with me,” he says in a baby voice.

“You’ll see me soon,” you try to wiggle out of his embrace.

“Please?”

You don’t give in. “Steve. I have to get to class.”

Steve lets go of you, but holds onto your wrist. “Love you, (Y/N/N).”

You smile lightly and say, “‘Bye, Steve.”

Later that evening, you find yourself in the same position as earlier. Tammy Thompson is throwing a Christmas party, so, of course, you had to go. Steve has his arm somewhere else this time, around your waist. You found this super unnecessary, but secretly loved it.

“You better not get drunk this time, Harrington. The last time that happened I had to drive you home and you vomited on me,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. “You didn’t have to drive me home.”

“Who else was going to if I didn’t?”

“Fair point.”

Inside Tammy’s house, the two of you find your way over to the host, handing your gifts in for the Secret Santa she organized. You had gotten Nancy Wheeler, which was a relief for you. Nancy is one of your closest friends.

Steve wouldn’t tell you who he got, which led you to believe it was you. “It is not you! Why would I give you a gift in secret if I could just give it to you out right. It doesn’t make sense,” he would respond.

You had forced Steve to wear a tacky Christmas sweater because he made you wear the red velvet dress you owned that you despised. “It’s so cute on you, though!”

“I hate you, Steve Harrington.”

“And I love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Music is booming all around you as you walk through the crowd. Steve tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him. At the table for Secret Santa gifts, a pretty large pile was already there. You carefully place your beautifully wrapped present in the front of the pile. Steve drops his bag beside yours and says, loudly over the noise, “Let’s go get drinks!”

You sigh, knowing where this is going to end up going.

You follow him to a table surrounded by teens. Red punch is at the end of the table and  there are snacks in glass platters on the table. There’s a little sign that says: KEGS OUT ON BACK PORCH. You use the ladle to pour punch into two red cups for you and Steve. Steve is watching the crowd of people dancing, gazing in a bored manner. “Here,” you say as you thrust the cup into his hand.

He grins at you. “Thanks, baby.”

You stick your tongue out. “I hate it when you call me that.”

You walk off into the crowd, leaving Steve at the table. You hear a shout, “But you are my baby!”

The music playing has a bass that resonates in your heart. As you’re sipping your drink, you hear a voice. “(Y/N)!”

You turn around, searching for the owner of the voice. Nancy Wheeler approaches you, a joyful glint in her eye. Your entire mood lightens at the sight of her. The two of you embrace in a loving hug. When she pulls away, she hands a package to you. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it,” she apologizes bashfully.

A gift. You sputter out a thanks. “Open it already!” She jumps up and down.

You open the little box, revealing a golden necklace. A little cherub charm dangles prettily from the chain. You feel your eyes begin to well up. She is so thoughtful. “Aw, don’t cry!”

“Thank you so much! It’s beautiful,” you choke. “I think this drink might’ve already made me a little loopy…” you laugh.

Nancy joins in the laughter. “Put it on!” She requests.

You unclasp the necklace and wrap it around your neck. The charm lays delicately on your chest, right above the neckline of your dress. “Thank you again. I love it.”

“I love it, too. That’s why I got it for you,” she laughs.

The two of you speak for a while, moving over to a couch that doesn’t have people draped over it. A familiar face appears over Nancy’s head by the front door; Jonathan Byers. You grin and say to Nancy, “Your boyfriend is looking a little lost, Nance.”

Nancy turns around and sees Jonathan. “Hey, Jonathan!” She shouts.

He walks over and you grin at him. “Exciting party, yeah?” You ask.

“Sure,” he sighs, sitting down. “I almost thought about not coming, but I realized Nancy would kill me if I didn’t.”

“You know I’m right here,” Nancy says.

You stand up, saying, “I’ll leave you two at it, then.”

Nancy grabs your arm. “But you have to stay. Jonathan just got here.”

You give her a wink. “Exactly. I have to go find Steve anyways. He’s probably already wasted.”

Somehow, the living room is even more packed than it was before, making it difficult to navigate. You push your way through, holding your drink high in the air so it won’t spill. There is a lot of grinding going on, which makes you slightly uncomfortable, but you keep walking through. In a second, someone topples into you, causing your cup to slip from your hand and the sticky red punch pouring straight over your head. You screech, sounding like a very loud baby bird. “What the fuck!”

The person who bumped into you was actually two people, a girl from your history class and some random guy. “Do you mind?” You say, seething with anger.

“Not really,” the girl says, going back to making out with the guy. The guy gives you a once over than returns to the girl.

The crowd parts for you now, the commotion gathering most everyone's attention. You pass through. “I guess Steve’s perfect princess isn’t so perfect,” a nasty voice sneers.

You turn quickly to see Carol draped over Tommy H., both dancing with no space between their bodies. “What did you just say?” You hiss. Carol has never spoken to you like this before. She’s normally friendly. Well, as friendly as she can be.

“You heard me, slut,” Carol sneers.

She’s only drunk. It’s fine. You tell yourself. “I-I-” you stutter to produce any words.

Carol looks over your shoulder and her smirk grows wider and nastier. “And maybe Steve is getting bored of our perfect princess,” she says and Tommy H. laughs.

You whip around quickly and your face falls. Steve is all over some girl. Blood rushes to your head and you feel a little woozy. There’s a pounding in your skull. You feel like crying. Screaming. Doing anything other than just standing there stupidly. You make a decision and stomp over to where Steve and the girl are. “What the fuck are you doing, Harrington?” You say, anger building up inside you. You’ve had enough shit tonight.

The girl jumps off of Steve. She spots you with a horrified look and makes a quick escape. Steve isn’t so lucky. You tower over him and say loudly, “Having fun?”

The noise has died down in the room so you can almost hear your heart break. “Y/N, Y/N, it’s not what you think.”

“Don’t lie to me. I trust you enough to know that you won’t cheat on me, but guess what? You did!”

He tries to sputter a response, but you cut him off. “Don’t fucking talk. You don’t get that freedom anymore. I’m so over this shit. You say you love me, but I find you here with some whore. What the hell?! I thought you had changed. I thought everything had changed. But you are just the same as you were a fucking year ago.”

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you turn to see Nancy and Jonathan. “Let’s go,” Nancy whispers.

You turn back to Steve, who looks like he’s about to cry. “Take my advice and stay the fuck away from me from now on,” you say icily. Nancy takes hold of your hand and begins to walk you towards the door.

“Please-” Steve tries to grab your hand, but you turn around quickly.

You lean forward so you’re inches from his face. “Fuck you,” you spit.

Before you can regret anything you said, you leave Tammy’s house and walk off into the chilly night. Your eyes sting, but not because of the cold.

Part two || Part three

A/N: pretty sure i’m going to make a part two because i already started writing it but please, enjoy this <3

[distortingbones]

relistening to a guest for mr spider and i'm really struck by the parallels between jon and martin's upbringings-- martin's mother resented him because he reminded her of his father (who she despised), while jon's grandmother resented him because he reminded her of his parents (who she loved & mourned). both jon and martin carry a similar trauma, but because of that difference (hatred vs mourning) they present in very different ways.

keep reading for a big chunk of analysis of how this has affected them/their relationship throughout the podcast, as well as it what it means for current events in canon. 

more than anything, martin wants to distance himself from his father by becoming someone worthy of love, or, failing that, someone who people overlook. (better to be invisible than to be hated, he figures.) he structures his whole public-facing self around being a trustworthy, kind, caring person. 

he first develops feelings for jon while jon is mistreating him (season 1) because he sees jon as somebody who is in need of love and affection. he can bring jon tea, check in on him throughout the day, and jon gives him very little acknowledgment in return. although it would be a stretch to call jon abusive, this still mirrors martin's parents' relationship, where his mother was the victim and his father the abuser. if martin plays the role of the person offering care and jon doesn't reciprocate, then in their unequal relationship, martin is unequivocally placed into his mother's role. martin gets to be the giver, and he is satisfied that this means he is not acting out the role of his father.

sure, jon still dislikes him, but that's because martin is "annoying and incompetent" (in quotes because it's obviously not true), never because jon thinks martin is a bad or abusive person. to martin, that's what's important. it's part of why he's so horrified when jon accuses martin of lying to him (and committing murder) in season 2. martin suddenly realizes that jon sees him as someone who is manipulative and capable of doing great harm, and that's martin's worst nightmare. up until this point, martin has continued to care for jon, no matter how awful and paranoid jon gets, because to martin it's not about how jon treats him, it's about how he perceives him. (ultimately martin gets better at sticking up for himself, but this is his headspace during season 2.)

this is also part of why martin finds the lonely so compelling. without other people around, he doesn’t have to worry about how he is perceived, because there’s no one there to perceive him. he doesn’t have to worry about being a bad or abusive person, because there’s nobody else around to abuse. nothing hurts in the lonely, because martin’s primary source of anxiety and internal conflict is finally lifted. when jon rescues martin from the lonely, martin says, “i see you,” and comes back to himself. but really, it’s the fact that jon sees martin that saves him. in that moment, martin is sure that jon loves him, that jon sees him as somebody who is worth saving, sees him as somebody who brings goodness into the world. martin feels fully and completely seen by jon, and he is overwhelmed with relief and joy that the person jon sees is good.

okay, what about jon, you ask?

jon is desperate to live up to his parents, who his grandmother mourned. much like martin, he yearns to be “good enough”. however, while for martin “good enough” means "not being abusive”, jon’s goalpost is invisible and constantly out of reach. martin at least had a model of how not to behave (like his father), but jon didn’t. even if he had tried to imitate his parents, it would never have fixed the hole in his grandmother’s heart. it’s impossible for the living to measure up to the dead, because our memory of the dead is both fixed and idealized.

jon internalizes that he needs to be more, better, but he’s never really sure how so he just criticizes every aspect of himself. he’s constantly comparing himself to others, but even when the comparison is favorable he still doesn’t feel good enough.

(big sidenote: i have adhd and headcanon jon as adhd because he displays a number of symptoms, and it’s really common for people with adhd to develop a deep feeling of unworthiness. we grow up with authority figures telling us we’re not “living up to our potential”, as we alternate between hyperfixating and losing focus completely. for example, i was often chastised as a kid because i read YA fantasy novels voraciously, but sometimes struggled in school because i refused to read anything that didn’t hold my immediate interest. guess who else read nonstop but wouldn’t read anything he deemed boring?? jonathan jarchivist sims. i’d be willing to bet he developed a serious unworthiness complex from authority figures asking why he couldn’t apply himself to [x thing] the same way he did to his interests.)

he works himself to the bone trying to be the best archivist that he can, but of course elias really screwed him over by giving him a job that he’s not actually qualified for and doesn’t know how to do which even further degrades his already paltry sense of self-worth. he projects this fear of incompetence onto martin, which is why he criticizes martin so harshly. even if jon’s not great at his job, at least he can say he’s better than martin. for someone who constantly compares himself to others, this is at least a small source of comfort.

when martin shows kindness to jon in season 1, jon brushes it off, because he thinks love is something that has to be earned. at this point jon feels deeply unworthy-- he’s in way over his head with work, and is terrified by the eye watching him give statements-- so he thinks martin doesn’t have any reason to care for him, which means that martin’s affection for him is not valid. in season 2 jon even suspects martin has ulterior motives, because he can’t fathom why anyone would genuinely want to give him love.

this post will expand into even more of a monster if i if get into all the times that jon puts himself down for things he can’t control (it wasn’t stupid to break the table alright, he was doing his best). he also consistently internalizes the criticism of others even when that criticism is unfair/cruel (look at what happened with tim in season 3, or when his coworkers discovered that he was feeding on people, etc etc etc). jon is way too willing to believe that he is a bad, stupid, evil person.

he’s also always going above and beyond to prove himself. again, countless examples, but like the dude literally charged into the buried to save daisy just because he thought it might be possible to rescue her. she’s not really his friend at that point (in fact she tried to kill him), and also he’s not at all responsible for her entrapment. but he thinks it would be the right thing to do, and so he does it, and damn the consequences.

he says if he dies, the world just loses another monster. but also, his parents died and they were the ones his grandmother loved, so maybe if he dies doing what’s right then maybe he’ll finally be good enough too.

anyway, by season 4, martin is effectively gone, and this is when jon’s feelings for him really start to show. (you can probably argue that his love for martin was evident earlier, but i personally think this is when jon becomes actually aware of how he feels.) the primary model of love jon saw growing up was the mournful, longing love his grandmother felt for his dead parents. he wasn’t taught how to love somebody who’s there with you, but he does know what it’s like to love somebody who’s gone. he begins to not just want to be “good enough” in general, but also specifically good enough for martin. (i.e. it’s martin’s reaction to jon feeding on strangers that really makes jon feel ashamed.)

when jon follows martin into the lonely, elias tells him flat-out that he will likely not return. jon doesn’t hesitate-- after all, he’s well-versed in taking enormous risks to save others, and this is for martin, to whom he so desperately wants to prove himself. it’s only once he finds martin that jon finally feel worthy of his love, and allow himself to accept it.

when martin says “i see you” and begins to come back to himself, jon knows he succeeded, that he proved himself, that he is worthy of love. and martin knows that jon loves him and thinks martin’s worth saving. in that moment, they don’t just love each other, they both feel loved, something that seemed almost impossible for these two traumatized men.

and it would be such a beautiful wrap if that was where it ended, right? but instead the eyepocalypse happened and we have to deal with all the messiness that is season 5.

so, jon was manipulated into ending the world as we know it, and the guilt from that undoes the tenuous scrap of self-worth he developed via saving martin.  he’s thrust into a position where he doesn’t think it’s even possible for him to be good again, let alone good enough. the only morally pure thing that he can think of to do is to use his power to protect martin, the man he loves, which is why he’s so emotionally paralyzed at the beginning of season 5. he can be good enough within the confines of their cabin, he can keep martin safe there, but out in the world ruled by fears he knows that there’s no way to be the perfect person he so desperately wants to be.

he ultimately agrees to go try to stop the fearpocalypse because he knows it’s the right thing to do, and jon has never, ever shied away from doing the right thing, no matter how dangerous. but he’s forced to make a lot of messy, difficult decisions out there-- he feeds off people’s fear to keep himself going, he murders not!sasha, he will certainly have to kill even more. as far as jon’s concerned, he’s crossed the line permanently. there is no way he is ever, ever going to be “good enough” again, after the choices he’s made. it doesn’t matter if he’s doing the best he can, or if he makes a net positive impact, or even whether or not events are his fault, he’s proven that he’s not perfect so he will never believe he is good enough.

meanwhile, martin comes into season 5 feeling rather empowered. even after all the effort he spent pushing people away in season 4, jon loves him, and that makes martin feel pretty confident that he’s a good person. he has a solid sense of self-worth, which means it’s easier for him to act and make tough decisions.

he also has a less rigid view of morality than jon does (despite generally being nicer). he sees the entities and their avatars as creatures who abuse others and cause harm, much like his father. if he could have hurt his father to save his mother, you know he would have, and he’s wiling to murder in order to save innocents. also, because he’s secure in his belief that he’s a good person (thanks in large part to jon being such a loving boyfriend), martin is less likely to scrutinize his own actions the way jon does. martin is making choices based on what feels right, what he thinks will have the greatest net positive outcome, while jon just sees every single harmful thing he does as another item in the pile of reasons that he’s not good enough. jon looks at his actions individually, while martin looks at them holistically.

anyway, right now they’re functioning. despite his absolutely annihilated self-worth, jon is still able to find an anchoring purpose in the fact that he can use his eye power to defend martin. martin is able to move forward and act because he has the warmth and confidence of knowing jon loves him.

it wouldn’t take much to break them, though.

if martin died or was lost to a power, jon would absolutely crumble and lose all direction.

if jon stopped loving martin and told martin that he was a bad person, martin would absolutely crumble and lose all self-worth.

that’s what makes annabelle cane’s interest in martin so worrying. right now, martin is confident enough that her call doesn’t really phase him, he just hangs up on her. but if martin were to give in and join the web, it could ruin everything. jon would feel like he’d failed martin, and, knowing jon’s stance on avatars, martin might feel that jon thought he was evil. they would both fall apart completely and lose themselves to the entities they serve.

[jgroffdaily]

[This article appears in the September 16, 2019, issue of New York Magazine.]

Within minutes of my meeting Jonathan Groff, he asks if I would like a slice of cherry pie, and then, only a short time later, if I would like to be eaten by a giant plant. The first I readily accept because Groff and the rest of the cast of Little Shop of Horrors have thoroughly analyzed the desserts they picked up for a bus ride down from New York to the suburban Philadelphia puppet studio where they’re rehearsing for the day, and they’ve all concluded it’s the best option. The idea of being eaten by a plant seems a little less palatable, considering the contortions involved in entering the hippopotamus-esque maw of the man-eating Audrey II, which is operated by several puppeteers, and because I’m not sure if Groff is making a serious offer. I learn quickly that he is always offering you things, and those offers are always serious.

The puppet in question represents the largest form of Audrey II, a sassy carnivorous horticultural oddity that convinces Seymour, an awkward flower-shop assistant, to commit murder in the pursuit of fame, fortune, and a suburban life with the original Audrey, a human who works with him. The day I visit, Groff, playing the misfit Seymour (despite good looks that actor Christian Borle, who plays the maniacal dentist, Orin, describes as “scrumptious”), and his castmates are climbing inside Audrey II one by one, figuring out how each of them will die. Wearing a hat from Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s “On the Run II” tour, Groff jumps inside wielding a floppy machete, which is so un-aerodynamic it keeps getting stuck in Audrey II’s lips. Groff suggests a real machete prop would be sturdier, and they try substituting an umbrella, which flies out more cleanly. Michael Mayer, the director, says with satisfaction, “It’s a belch!”

Staging this revival of Little Shop is “illegal fun,” as Groff puts it. The original ran from 1982 to 1987 but never transferred to Broadway, at the insistence of writer-lyricist Howard Ashman, who wanted to preserve the show’s off-kilter spirit in a smaller space. Ashman and composer Alan Menken would go on to fill the Disney Renaissance — which consisted of films like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast — with the Marie’s Crisis–ready melodies and queer subversions you can already hear in Little Shop (Ashman died of aids-related complications in 1991). Despite a Broadway staging that kicked off in 2003, this version is staying put at the Westside Theatre Off Broadway in hopes of preserving the quirky spirit of the original. There’s a lot of laughter in rehearsal as well as dress codes like a “kimono Wednesday,” which Mayer enforces by handing me a spare kimono when I drop in that day.

I can’t imagine anyone who is consistently involved in or adjacent to homicide having a better time. In addition to playing a murderously nice guy in Little Shop, Groff stars in Netflix’s David Fincher–produced drama Mindhunter, playing an FBI agent who interviews serial killers; the show is based on the real work of John Douglas, who was one of the first criminal profilers. Considering he’s no big fan of true crime, Groff is somewhat confused about how he became a poster boy for gore and mutilation, though he’s enjoying the texts from friends who point out that even when he does musical comedy, there’s a dark edge involved. A few days after we meet in Philadelphia, we’re talking over breakfast at the cozy Grey Dog in Chelsea, where he insists on paying for everything, picking up all the water and utensils, and getting up from the table to refill my coffee cup when it’s empty.

Groff signed up to star in Little Shop this spring after careful consideration, by which I mean he got the offer and then listened to the original cast recording on repeat for a whole weekend. He’d never played Seymour before, unlike the majority of white male theater actors, but he had positive memories of seeing the first performance of the 2003 Broadway version just after high school, when he was rehearsing the role of Rolf in a non-Equity tour of The Sound of Music. “I wanted to make sure that I’m bleeding for it eight times a week,” he says, which is his measure for doing musicals; he wants to make sure he won’t get bored with the material. Even now, when I assume he might want a break from it during rehearsals, Groff still has the album on repeat. “I never went to college, and I’m not educated, really, so I couldn’t say, like, intellectually why that is,” he says. “When I listened to it, it shot through my heart.”

There’s a clue, however, in the way he remembers obsessing over the film version of the show as a seventh-grader, standing in his kitchen with the song “Skid Row” on repeat — specifically when Seymour sings, “Someone show me a way to get outta here.” It was an appealing message to a closeted kid whom Groff describes as just “a sweaty, uncomfortable person with a secret that was so deep-rooted I wasn’t even flirting with the idea of being myself.” With a little distance from that version of himself (the child of a phys-ed teacher and a horse trainer, growing up in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and occasionally having to clean stables on the weekends), Groff recalls the kinds of tells that seem obvious in retrospect, like, say, listening to “Skid Row” on repeat. Or developing an obsession with I Love Lucy, which he still watches before going to bed. Or dancing along to the Donna Reed’s Dinner Party album when his parents weren’t home. There’s a similar longing in Little Shop, which has the queerest kind of perspective on its central couple, as Audrey and Seymour imagine an unreachable, heteronormative life away from skid row and where she looks “like Donna Reed.”

If there’s a murderous kinship between Little Shop and Mindhunter, it extends to the shows’ shared skepticism about that white-picket-fence-style normalcy. Holden, Groff’s profiler character, is a cardboard cutout of a man with a girlfriend who introduces him to 1970s-style sexual liberation, but he is ultimately more fascinated with the deviancy of the killers he’s interviewing. To play him, Groff shuts down his charisma, amassing such emptiness between his angular jaw and his eyebrows that you wonder if he’ll slip into deviancy himself. It’s a performance of square, even sinister straightness that feels close to the best-little-boy performances of closeted queer men, though what seems to thrill Holden most in the show are his interviews with killers. “Sexuality is so complicated, and the people I’ve ended up working with who have cast me in straight parts are interested in looking at things in a complicated way,” Groff says, noting that he feels the argument about whether gay actors can play straight, or vice versa, has gotten “sillier” as time goes on. “Being out and gay and being myself, it allowed me to find people that weren’t closed-minded.”

Groff came out when he was 23, without directly consulting his agent, after he’d become an idol to the nation’s theater teens of Facebook by starring as the sexy, rebellious, tousle-haired Melchior in Spring Awakening. “I was so compartmentalized,” he says, “singing about sex but then not talking about it.” He remains thankful for the way Mayer, who also directed that show, choreographed the explicit sex between himself and Lea Michele’s Wendla clinically, without asking them about their own experiences. He hadn’t spent too much time worrying about the aftereffects of coming out on his career, which were more limiting in 2009 than they are now. “I did think I might not be seen as a romantic lead, but ultimately I was okay with that,” he says, explaining that he was in love at the time and didn’t want to hide it. “At 23, I’d rather just have a real romantic relationship than pretend to have one with a girl.”

Several years after coming out, Groff booked a leading role in HBO’s Looking, a comedy-drama about gay men in San Francisco, which he calls one of the most fulfilling roles he’s had. The series ran for two seasons and got a wrap-up movie but never quite found a viewership, even among queer audiences, instead receiving, as he puts it, “a total mixed bag of very extreme reactions.” Some of that was because people just didn’t like the show — which was often slower, more interior, and whiter and fitter than people may have wanted — and some of it was because it was “carrying a lot of weight; there wasn’t a lot of specifically gay content on a major cable network.” To Groff, making the show opened him up to the possibility of using material from his own experience in his work. Among the cast and crew, “we would talk about stories about PrEP and uncut dicks and monogamy,” he recalls, among “so many stories about anal douching,” and those anecdotes would make their way into the scripts. He was used to a sort of “closeted training of the mind” to abstract himself from his own experience. Looking taught him he could use it.

Recently, Groff has developed an ability to end up near the center of cultural sensations. He stepped in for Brian d’Arcy James as Hamilton’s fey Britpop version of King George III midway through the show’s Off Broadway run. It was a somewhat ideal gig, given that he was onstage for only about nine minutes a night, performed crowd-pleasing kiss-off songs, met Beyoncé, earned a Tony nomination, and got a lot of reading done backstage. This fall, he’s in Disney’s sequel to Frozen, where he returns to play Princess Anna’s rugged (at a Disney-appropriate level) love interest, Kristoff. In the first movie, while Idina Menzel’s Elsa got the vocal-cord shattering “Let It Go,” Groff sang only a few lines of melody between Kristoff and his reindeer, Sven. This time around, he’s putting his Broadway training to use with a full-length solo. It’s the second one he recorded for the movie, since the writers had one idea for a Kristoff piece (“a jam”) but then canned that song while promising Groff they’d write something different, which he didn’t quite believe. “Then they fucking wrote that other song,” he says, characteristically effusive. “I was like, Wow, and the animation of the song is so brilliant.”

As personable as Groff is and as successful as he has become — and as beloved, especially among theater fans and people like my mother — there’s a point at which he maintains a certain distance, in what feels like a way to stem his own impulses. He doesn’t use any social media, though he did consider it when Looking was struggling, before he realized “I’d have to be good at it and want to do it, and I don’t.” He has never thrown himself a birthday party, because the impulse to make sure everyone’s having a good time would stress him out too much. In behavior that reminds me of both a secret agent and Kim Kardashian, he regularly goes through and deletes all his texts after responding to each of them. “I want to make sure I get back to everyone,” he says, holding his iPhone up in front of me to reveal the remarkably few surviving messages.

Before Groff gets up to leave breakfast and travel to rehearsal by way of the single-speed bicycle he rides around Manhattan, we end up talking about the larger trajectory of his career. Considering that he’s scaling down for a revival run of a musical Off Broadway, was he ever the kind of actor who thought of his work as building up to something? A big film? A franchise? “I think I gave that up when I came out of the closet,” he says. “I gave up the idea that there was an end goal or ideal or some kind of dream to work toward.” An image appears in my mind of the life Audrey sings about in Little Shop, a place that’s comfortable, traditional, and expected, somewhere that’s green. “When I moved to New York, what I wanted was to be on Broadway. That happened and then I came out, and it’s sort of been anybody’s guess since then,” Groff says. “I like when something makes me cry or I can’t stop listening to it. Okay, I want to do that.”

Little Shop of Horrors is in previews and opens October 17 at Westside Theatre Upstairs. Buy tickets here.

[callunavulgari]

Year-In-Fic | 2019

How many fics did you write this year? What was your total wordcount?

This year I wrote 41 fics (technically 40 as the last was published today, but I wrote it in December so I’m counting it), for a total of 96,689 words. For even more interesting numbers, of that 96k, a little over 70k of them were written in the month of October alone, so I’m pretty proud of that.

Fic Roundup!

children of dust and ash | Bartimaeus |  Bartimaeus/Kitty(/Nathaniel) | 1,801 words |  Kitty summons Bartimaeus on a chilly fall day in her thirty-eighth year.

sweet music playing in the dark | DBH | 1,102 words | “I noticed some time ago that you seem to have an appreciation for jazz.”

Radio Ga Ga | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,143 words | There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. It would be almost boring if it weren’t for Steve Harrington.

Sunlight | Marvel | Loki/Thor | 765 words | They aren’t quite out of the solar system when Loki appears at the arm of Thor’s chair, hair shorn short and a furious snarl on his face.

like the bough of a willow tree | Detroit Become Human | Hank/Connor | 1,214 words | There’s a human lost in his woods.

knocking on heaven’s door | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,748 words | “Just, get in the fucking car. I’ll drive you home.” Billy looked at him, very seriously, and said, “What if I don’t want to go home?”

no more dreaming like a ghost | KH | Axel/Roxas | 813 words | He is in the kitchen, the stove top still warm under his thighs, and everything smells of cherries. The pie is cooling on the windowsill, the sun slanting in warm and buttery, and it is like a dream. A memory. A wish.

Cheers | DBH | Hankcon | 6,368 words | “Are you coming in or not?”Connor blinks, jerks his eyes up and away from those hands and-The bartender has blue eyes. They match the spinning LED at his temple perfectly.

bury a friend (try to wake up) | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,587 words | Steve digs up Billy’s body on a Tuesday.

won’t be too soon ‘til I say… goodnight moon | KH | Riku/Sora | 4,549 words |  The house was built in the fall of 1882.

you’ll never know what hit you | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 5,379 words | “C’mon, ghost,” Shane urges. “Make all my dreams come true. Fuck me up, fam.”

make this chaos count | EOS 10 | Ryan/Akmazian | 724 words | “You really should stop looking for me,” Akmazian tells him, fingers creeping across Ryan’s ribcage, mapping the architecture of his ribs.

eat you up whole | The Witcher | Geralt/Regis | 2,527 words | “How many mouthfuls do you think I could take from you before it had some effect?” Regis whispers, lips against his throat. Geralt can feel the pinprick of fangs. “Four? Six? Ten? More, even?”

forget the horror here | DBH | Hankcon | 4,390 words | “Hello,” the android says, it’s chest heaving, the gleam of its heart brighter, bluer than before.

summoning demons (and other bad first date ideas) | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 3,868 words | “If I let you out of that circle,” Ryan says, slowly. “Are you going to eat me?”

Itch | The Magnus Archives | Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims | 1,440 words | The boneturner takes from him two ribs - one for him and one for Jon.

the salt water sting | Dishonored | Corvo/Outsider | 2,163 words |  The ship wrecks several hundred miles off of the coast of Karnaca.

a skeleton of something more | SGA | Rodney/John | 3,072 words | “John?” he murmurs, still coasting on the pain. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, if cotton were also made of glass.

in the woods somewhere | Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles | 4,570 words | Stiles buys a house in Virginia.

Wake Up | The Magnus Archives | Martin/Jon | 550 words | “If you wake up,” Martin tells him, experimentally. “I won’t go through with it. You can tell me what a stupid idea it was, and we can laugh about it, and everything will be normal.”

Pas de Deux | KH | Axel/Roxas | 506 words | Roxas doesn’t remember what the sky looks like anymore.

try to wake up | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,226 words | They do not, in fact, bone down and praise Satan.

too late to come on home | LoZ | Gen | 1,391 words | “You look familiar,” the boy says in his strange, haunting voice. “Are you lost?”

patron saint of the lost causes | Harry Potter | Draco/Harry | 4,203 words | “Can’t you just, y’know,” he waves a hand and makes an obscene gesture, his cheeks flaring red. “Shag it out?”

wouldn’t you like to see something strange? | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 1,571 words | “I’d say you make my heart pound, but well…” Stiles nods meaningfully to his chest, where if you look hard enough between the slots of his ribs, you can see the lump of muscle that once was his heart, pointedly not beating. “You know.”

the night is softly, sweetly calling | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 2,938 words | Here’s the thing that Stiles never tells the Hales: his mother was strange too.

Haunt | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 1,486 words |  Ryan couldn’t remember a time when the world didn’t believe in ghosts.

bite my tongue, bide my time | PJO | Nico/Percy(/Annabeth) | 1,376 words | “What’s wrong with you?” Nico asks, cowering when Percy places a gentle kiss on his collarbone.

Bird Song | Raven Cycle | Ronan/Adam, Gen | 1,445 words | On a dreary Sunday in early January, Ronan dreams himself a pair of wings.

kiss me hard until you’re done | Star Wars | Reylo | 3,082 words | He looks up at her from under heavy lids, dark hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

beauty in the dissonance | Marvel | Tony/Loki | 1,411 words |  When Tony dies, it isn’t for forever.

like real people do | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 2,808 words |  “I’ve got the sight, man,” he says with a small shrug. “And look, I feel for you. You’re dead and I’m not, and that sucks, but unless you’re planning on doing something about it, I’d really appreciate it if you could stop feeling me up and let me get back to sleep.”

i’d rather drown in your ocean | Naruto | Itachi/Shisui | 1,630 words |  The Uchihas are an odd sort. Everyone says so.

catch your breath | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien/Sam | 2,588 words | Mark had never assumed in a million years that he would ever see Damien again. He hadn’t factored in zombies.

Nightmare | The Magnus Archives | Martin/Jonathan | 1,424 words | “All right,” he says, taking Jon’s still outstretched hand. “Let’s give the dream what it wants.”

dreaming of the crash | Gravity Falls | Mabel & Dipper | 484 words | When the end of the world comes, they’re under the bed.

don’t we love it now? | Kingdom Hearts | Sora/Riku/Kairi | 1,784 words |  When Kairi is eleven years old, she gets lost in the woods.

all this, and love too, will ruin us | Star Wars | Reylo | 1,102 words |  Rey is awake to watch the sunrise

open the walls, play with your dolls | Coraline | Coraline/Wybie | 2,886 words | Halloween at the Pink Palace is a lot like any other time of year.

in every golden trace | Queen’s Thief | Costis/Eugenides/Irene | 4,645 words |  For as long as Costis can remember, he’s had two names scored across the skin atop his ribs, one on either side of his rib cage, nearly perfect mirrors to one another.

a different kind of danger in the daylight | Shades of Magic | Lila/Kell/Holland | 6,930 words | Sleeping with Holland was never part of the plan. 

Best story I wrote this year: Probably the night is softly, sweetly calling. I wrote this for the 18th of October, and it’s the much awaited third part of a Teen Wolf/Addams Family fusion that I wrote back in 2014. A lot of people have asked me to continue this series over the years, but I never did because I felt my writing style had changed too much and then I fell out of the Teen Wolf fandom completely. But I’d written another Teen Wolf fic a few days before (more on this later) and I was just... very nostalgic all of a sudden. My style of writing had changed, but to offset the change of tone, I wrote the story from Stiles’s POV instead of Derek’s and it made all the difference. I was pretty pleased with the result, and hope that it made everyone happy.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. patron saint of the lost causes. There were a couple fics that I think I did a really good job writing this year, the one listed above and below included, but I think that this one was my favorite. Writing Drarry was a surreal experience, because even when I was in the Harry Potter fandom I didn’t really write for it (well, I didn’t publish what I’d written for it) and I was surprised by how easily it came to me. I tried to channel a lot of the feeling of men who had mothers when I was writing this one, because it seemed very right. 

Okay, NOW your most popular story. All right, so technically my stats are all messed up this year because when I posted the third part of the Addams/Teen Wolf fusion, I also posted a chapter to Que Sera, Sera since so many people were subscribed to that story. So. From a purely stats standpoint, Que Sera, Sera was the most popular because it has a total of 25,790 hits, 2973 kudos, and 115 comments. BUT, I did not actually write anything new for that one so-

in the woods somewhere was the first fic I’d written for Teen Wolf since I wrote  take me to church in August of 2017. It has over 900 kudos and some 5000+ hits. When I decided to do Dark Month this year, I knew that I wanted to revisit some of my old fandoms, so Teen Wolf was always going to be a given. I wrote take me to church as a cathartic goodbye to the show, the fandom, and of course, Stiles and Derek. It was my soft epilogue for the boys.

in the woods somewhere has a very similar feel to it. It’s post-canon, obviously, and features Stiles buying a house in Virginia and Derek slowly working his way back into his life. It is also very much in the ‘soft epilogue’ genre, leaning heavily into the magical Stiles Stilinski trope while maintaining the FBI agent direction canon was leading us in. Also it has a lot of comfort things for me - judicious descriptions of food, a packed witchy cabin in the woods, and warm shower kisses. Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Possibly either won't be too soon 'til I say... goodnight moon or all this, and love too, will ruin us. The first of these two fics is almost 5k of spooky season Riku/Sora that was strongly inspired by Uzumaki-sama’s old fic Goodnight Moon. It was the second day of October and my prompts for the day were moon cycles, nightmare, cage, lookalike, mirrors, and glowing eyes, which was just asking for fic exploring doppelgangers and old haunted houses. I loved writing it, and maybe I should have expected it since Kingdom Hearts is such a quiet fandom nowadays, but it honestly stung that it didn’t get more attention.

The second of those fics was a Reylo fic (yes, yes, I know, it’s an awful ship, etc. etc.) that was very much written to be slow and melancholy and kind of surreal. Sometimes my smallest fics are my favorite, and I really liked this one. But alas, some things were not meant to be.

Most fun story to write: I had a whole lot of fun writing summoning demons (and other bad first date ideas). A lot of the fics I wrote this year, particularly during October, were really fun and easy to write. I missed writing every day. This one in particular though was about 4k of Ryan accidentally summoning Shane (the demon) while Shane was standing right next to him in his human suit. It let me play with a lot of body horror tropes that I don’t explore usually, and Buzzfeed Unsolved is a very fun, fresh fandom to dig around in. This is the second of the three (I think it was three, at least) fics that I wrote for the fandom during October and I had so much fun with it.

Story that could have been better? I don’t know about better, but Sunlight and Bird Song were both supposed to be significantly longer. I wrote Sunlight shortly after watching Endgame, and it was always going to be me working my way through my issues with that movie (Loki not really coming back, weird wonky time travel, Thor leaving his people after his whole arc was him learning how to be a good king) but I got distracted and had to go somewhere that day and just never got back to it.

Bird Song is actually a fic I’ve been meaning to write for years. Ages ago (and we are truly talking ages ago, like September 2015 ages ago), @kaikamahine gave me a prompt for E, 17, and hymnal, which basically balanced out to Ronan, churches, and wings. So day 20 of October was going to be Raven Cycle (with such prompts as stacked deck, darkness, wings, and fight fire with fire, it was begging for it) and I was finally going to write Ronan wingfic. It was going to be great. There was going to be Calla and Ronan interaction and found family themes and there was going to be a church, because obviously, but then I wasn’t doing so well and ran out of time, SO. Definitely could have been better.

Story I wrote to fix things: beauty in the dissonance, the 24th fic of October, was a Tony/Loki flavored story where both Tony and Loki are, in fact, alive. Sunlight was written as a direct response to Endgame, even if it was never finished properly. make this chaos count was the 4th day of October, and written because I’m still not fucking over Ryan and Akmazian. And then knocking on heaven’s door was written just after viewing s3 of Stranger Things. It was uh, less of a fix it fic and more a wallow in your grief fic, but it still applies.

Oh, and a different kind of danger in the daylight was technically fix it fic? I’m generally okay with how Shades of Magic ended, despite my favorite character dying because it came off as a good death. However, the recipient of my Yuletide gift wanted no character death and I wanted to write something post-canon, so presto, fix it fic.

Longest completed fic this year: a different kind of danger in the daylight, followed by Cheers. Both are hovering between 6 and 7k, which isn’t technically long, but since about 90% of my fic this year was written over the course of a day each... I’ll take it.

Fandom you enjoyed writing for most this year: I had a lot of fun with Buzzfeed Unsolved and The Magnus Archives, but I also had fun dipping briefly back into Harry Potter and Teen Wolf.

Favorite character you wrote this year: I had way, way too much fun writing Geralt and Regis in eat you up whole. I have literally no idea if it translated into good fic, but it was fun and just shy of porny and I just really like Geralt. I also had a lot of fun writing Lila in the Shades of Magic fic.

Most memorable comment(s) this year: I got two comments from @kaikamahine about a week ago that honestly made my day. @faorism reread one of my older Stranger Things fics and left a comment, which made me reread it, which was just very good. Every single comment I got on the new Teen Wolf fics with some variation of ‘missed you’ or ‘so glad you’re back’ made me fucking melt. The two different comments where the reader wasn’t even familiar with the material, just read and enjoyed because I wrote it. The comment on one of my Stranger Things fics that just reads, “What the FUCK this SLAPPED.” The comment directly above that one that is from one of my favorite writers in the fandom. The several comments on the single PJO fic I wrote this year which were different variations of “oh my gosh it’s you” and “it’s been so long.”

And of course everyone losing their collective shit over some of the grosser October fics. Namely Itch.

Fics you wanted to write but didn’t: For the most part, the fics I wanted to write but didn’t are the same as last year- Sabriel AU, Enjolras/Grantaire fic, found family Dishonored fic, bodyswappying Reylo, Sterek Bioshock and Carmilla AUs which I am likely to post as is sometime next year. 

I still want to finish the Castlevania OT3 fic, the giant canon-divergent Bright Sessions AU where years after the series ends, Mark ends up running into Damien again in a small town in the middle of nowhere only to realize that he has a daughter, a farm, a life, and is just so drawn to it that he keeps coming back. I have the Wolf 359 post-canon fic where everyone has feelings and found family is a general theme and maybe Eiffel smooches an AI. I also have the smuttier Wolf 359 fic that’s been lurking in the back of my head for months where Eiffel and Kepler er, basically eiffel tower Jacobi.

Oh, and I have the Reylo fic where Rey (and Ben, through the bond) sit through General Organa’s funeral and keep coming back to each other afterwards. And that Final Fantasy 15 fic where Dino and Noctis do the nasty. And the Hera & Jacobi fic from October. And uh, the post episode 9 fic that’s been lurking about in my brain.

Oddest story: Probably i’d rather drown in your ocean? It was pretty spot on aesthetically for me, but it was weird to write Itachi and Shisui again, especially in a strange modern day vampire context? Also Itch and Nightmare were both Magnus Archive fics that were super gross (Itch) and just plain spooky and bizarre (Nightmare) but they were so fun to write. Hardest story to do: Cheers gave me some trouble initially but got a lot easier as I went on. I hit writer’s block pretty bad with the Shades of Magic fic too, but that seems to be what happens when I come up on deadlines. Easiest story to write? Most of October’s fics were a blast to write and super easy besides. Basically all of the Kingdom Hearts, Stranger Things, and Teen Wolf fic. And the Buzzfeed Unsolved.

Most mining of your own history in one story: Probably either  open the walls, play with your dolls or no more dreaming like a ghost. Not in any way that really matters, but there are a couple familiar details.

Themes, or absence thereof: Mostly either spooky scary things or fix it fics. Sometimes both.

Where did you publish/archive your stories? Ao3, as per usual. Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: The only thing that I currently have planned is the post episode 9 fic and a couple things that I’ve had planned for a while that may or may not come out.

Sexiest moment (excerpt): “How many mouthfuls do you think I could take from you before it had some effect?” Regis whispers, lips against his throat. Geralt can feel the pinprick of fangs. “Four? Six? Ten? More, even?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Geralt murmurs, and Regis laughs.

“I would,” he agrees.

“So, why don’t you find out instead of boring me with all the details?”

Regis pulls away from his throat, far enough that Geralt can meet his eyes again. He swallows at what he finds there. Amusement, yes, but also hunger, brighter than the moonlight reflecting in his eyes.

“A taste, first, I think,” Regis says in a low, cool voice, and then closes the space between them.

Geralt had forgotten the blood on his lip, but he remembers it when Regis catches him in an open-mouthed kiss. It’s wet and bruising, and Geralt is responding before he remembers he shouldn’t, fighting back the only way he knows how with the rest of him indisposed. He claws at him, bites at him, and the vampire laughs when Geralt catches his plump lower lip between his teeth and bites down. Regis gives his mouth one last darting swipe of the tongue before he is pulling away.

There’s a flare of color high on Regis’s cheeks and his ears are distinctly more pointed than they were five minutes ago, the sclera of his eyes gone red.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been bitten by a human before,” Regis tells him, leaning close like he’s divulging a secret. “It’s a rather exhilarating experience.”

“I’m all for a repeat experience,” Geralt quips, eyes narrowed. “Lean in just a little and we can see if I can manage to tear off your lips before you rip out my throat.”

.

“Please,” she whispers, and feels herself quiver like a taut bowstring when he touches her mouth gently, with the very tips of his fingers.

He smiles and leads her away, through the demons and goblins and fae that she came here to kill.

They make it as far as the parking lot before he is hitching her up the side of a gleaming Mercedes, hooking her legs around his shoulders, and hiking her skirts up over her thighs so he can duck his head beneath them. His fingers linger for a moment on the silver of the knives strapped securely to her thigh, and then he is reaching in, guiding her underwear to the side and getting his mouth on her, right where she wants it.

She must make some kind of noise, because he chuckles, tongue circling her clit in a slow, languid way that makes her think that he is savoring her, that he likes the taste of her on his tongue.And he must, because she knows what he is. Knows that just as he’s savoring the taste of her, he is eating her, feeding off of her want like the things that she hunts in the dark feed off of blood and marrow and souls. She knows, but it isn’t enough to stop her from tilting her head back, gasping for him, the distant wink of streetlights and stars so far away.

He makes her come with his mouth on her, with his fingers inside her, and even as she’s shaking around him, she knows that it isn’t enough. She wants more, wants to feel the heavy press of him inside around, wants to kiss his lips and taste herself on his tongue.

“Please,” she says, her thighs shaking, and he laughs, pulling away and easing her down, until her legs are looped around his waist instead of her shoulders. He reaches between them, and she knows what’s happening beneath her skirts, knows that he’s getting his cock out of his pants and pressing it against her, can feel it as he sinks slowly into her, the tight fit of it so sweet, so perfect that it makes her ache.

“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing her shoulders and fucking into her slow, a teasing stretch that makes her mouth water, makes her twitch.

.

“Is this what you wanted?” Hank jeers, one finger circling the rim of Connor’s hole. There’s a flush of angry blue across his cheeks. His hair is coming loose from its usually immaculate tail, curling against his forehead. His eyes are blue. His LED is not. “To lay back and take it? From a fucking machine?”

Connor whines, back arching as Hank dips the tip of his thumb inside, just enough to hold him open.

“That is it, isn’t it?” Hanks says softly. There’s a touch of triumph to his gaze as he fucks Connor open on his thumb. Something mean, too. Disdain, slowly unfurling in the curve of his lips. He shakes his head. “All this time, coming to this bar. Talking to me like you thought I was some kind of human, and you just wanted something like me to hold you up and take you apart.”

“No,” Connor gasps, but can’t help the twist of his hips when Hank adds another finger.

“No?” Hank says with a laugh. “Look at you.”

Connor’s cock jerks against his belly as Hank drags his pants the rest of the way down his thighs. They make it as far as his knees before they tangle, stuck on his shoes. His cheeks feel hot, and he- god, he wants to protest. Wants to say that Hank’s got it all wrong, that this is more. That he’s more.

But then Hank is flipping him over, until the arm of the couch is digging firmly into his belly, his ass high in the air. Hank pulls his fingers out, then leans over and spits, the cool slippery slide of the saliva trailing down the curve of his ass.

“All right, Connor,” he says. “This what you want? I’ll give it to you.”

No, Connor should say. It isn’t like that.

Instead, he says, “Please.”

Crackiest moment (excerpt):

“Did you just sneak into my house?” Stiles breathes, absurdly charmed.

Derek’s in his human disguise, everything dangerous about him hidden away from view, lurking just under the surface. He gives Stiles a look, and says, “Don’t be weird about it.”

He shuts the door behind him.

“I’ve got a nice monster knocking on my door just before the witching hour,” Stiles tells him playfully, making room for Derek to take a seat next to him. “How am I not supposed to be weird about that?”

Derek does something akin to rolling his eyes, the flames doing a little shimmy around the circumference of his eye sockets. He leans back against Stiles’s headboard, seemingly unconcerned that their sides are pressed together. Derek’s skin is very warm, human warm, and Stiles is all bones. He sucks up the warmth greedily.

“I’d say you make my heart pound, but well…” Stiles nods meaningfully to his chest, where if you look hard enough between the slots of his ribs, you can see the lump of muscle that once was his heart, pointedly not beating. “You know.”

.

“What’s the local legend about this thing?” Shane asks, hopping up onto the throne easily and spreading out, eyes on the night sky. He looks good. He always looks good, but Ryan likes him best like this, out here with the moonlight shining down on them and the camera catching all his best angles.

As Ryan watches, he blinks, and turns to look at Ryan, puzzled. “Ryan?”

Ryan clears his throat. “The locals say that if you make a wish while sitting on her throne, the witch will grant it.”

Shane gives him a wicked smile and hums a few bars of Genie in a Bottle. Ryan chokes out a laugh, crossing the space between them until he’s leaning up against the side of the throne himself.

Shane closes his eyes. “I wish, I wish with all my might, please dear god, let there be ghosts here this night.”

Ryan holds his breath.

“C’mon, ghost,” Shane urges. “Make all my dreams come true. Fuck me up, fam.”

All around them, the world is still.

Shane cracks an eye open and squints at him. “Did it work?”

.

“Jon?” someone asks, and Jon blinks.

Martin is standing before him. He’s wearing something out of another time, a costume of silken breeches with a well-cut waistcoat of a rich, opalescent blue. There’s a puffy cravat hugging his neck, and polished buckled shoes on his feet. Jon almost expects him to be wearing a wig, but his hair is the one thing that’s been left untouched, hanging loose around his chin.

“Martin?” Jon asks.

Martin seems to take him in, his eyes running slowly down Jon’s body, lingering at his wrists, his waist, his thighs. It’s a bold sort of move, one that Martin would never be half so blatant about if he were awake.

“You, er. Look nice,” Martin says, and Jon glances down at himself.

He’s sure that moments ago he’d been wearing the same thing he’d worn to the office, shabby coat, mostly clean shirt, a pair of nondescript trousers that didn’t have any stains. But now, he finds himself in a dress. The gown is long and brilliantly red, the skirts heavy around his thighs. There are embroidered patterns reminiscent of roses along the bodice and down the front of his petticoat.

“Well, shit,” he mutters, still staring. Experimentally, he moves his hips, and finds that the skirts swish obligingly with the movement.

“Yes, well,” Martin murmurs, cheeks flushing horribly. “You always did look rather good in red.”

“In red-” Jon repeats in horror. “Martin, I’m in a gown.”

Favorite dialogue (excerpt):

“Are you ever going to stop looking for me?” Akmazian asks him one night.

Ryan is tired. Akmazian is a shadowed figure in the dark that he tries not to look at too closely, because if he does, Akmazian will be gone.

“Maybe,” Ryan tells him, and turns over onto his side. Away from the shadow, the ghost.

The bed dips under the weight of a person who isn’t really there, and Ryan can feel Akmazian’s breath on the back of his neck, warm and damp.

“Don’t touch me,” Ryan says, and means, I don't want this to end yet.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, darlin',” Akmazian murmurs back, then drags his lips over the back of his neck anyway, just to be contrary. Ryan swallows, his throat dry, tongue thick in his mouth. He clenches his fingers in the sheets, eyes squeezed so tightly shut that his vision stains red behind his eyelids.

“Please,” Ryan says.

“You really should stop looking for me,” Akmazian tells him, fingers creeping across Ryan’s ribcage, mapping the architecture of his ribs.

“I know.”

“You’re never going to find me.”

Ryan laughs. “Never say never.”

There is silence behind him and then, “Ryan. Please. You’re hurting yourself.”

Ryan trembles a little when a hand lands on his hip, just this side of too solid.

“Don’t care.”

“You’re hurting the stars.”

Ryan is silent for a moment. Then, “I just miss you.”

A sigh.

“I know,” Akmazian murmurs, and leans over to place a kiss on Ryan’s forehead. “I miss you too.”

Ryan opens his eyes, turns to look, and like always, Akmazian is gone.

.

“Look,” Potter says, audibly slurring. “I’ve had an idea.”

Draco crosses his arms. “And what, pray tell, is this idea of yours, Potter?”

Potter leans forward, using a hand to prop himself up, until he’s well into Draco’s personal space. He smells like beer and whiskey, and his cheeks and jaw are more beard than stubble.

“Break your curse with me,” he breathes, a hand settling atop Draco’s blanket-clad knee.

Draco swallows. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“No, look,” Potter says, leaning in even closer, eyes a bit wild. “We can just… you know.”

“No, Potter,” Draco tells him. “I don’t know.”

But he does. He really does.

“You know,” Potter says again. “Shag it out.”

“I think that you’re confusing things again,” Draco says tiredly. He sets the book on the nightstand next to him. “Remember the terms of the curse? Love, Potter. Not sex.”

Potter’s nose wrinkles. “But sex is part of love. Usually, anyway. It’ll work, I know it.”

“It won’t,” Draco insists, slapping Potter’s hand away when it begins to wander up his thigh. “Do you really think that I didn’t shag my wife before she left me? Because I did. We tried for years. Years, Potter. Trust me, if the curse were going to break because of a fuck, it would have happened well before now.”

Potter blinks at him, his eyes wide. There’s a ruddy flush on his cheeks, and Draco’s not sure if he likes it.

“We could at least try,” Potter says, almost gently. He doesn’t touch Draco again, but he looks like he wants to, hand trembling where it lays on the bedspread.

It feels like there’s glass in Draco’s throat. He is so, so tempted. Here is what he wanted - or at least part of it - Potter in his bed begging to fuck him, and he’s going to have to send him away.

“I think you should leave,” he tells him, and Potter’s mouth shuts with a click.

Favorite lines (excerpt):

“Relax,” he croons, stroking her fingers before he pulls away. “Your secret is safe with me. Most of this crowd knows that I’m not on speaking terms with that side of my family. They won’t suspect you because of me.”

Her face is flushed, either from rage or humiliation. Possibly both.

“So you-”

“Yes,” he says, fingers dropping to caress the fabric of her gown, swirling a thumb around the sweeping petals of an embroidered rose. His gaze is sly, a bit predatory when he glances back up at her. “I know what you have under this pretty skirt of yours.”

Rey’s breath catches, and she feels something- a slow trickle of heat seeping in to pool around her navel. She shifts, thighs sliding together, and hopes that he can’t smell her.

“Just as I know exactly what you’re doing right now,” she tells him in a hard whisper, jerking away from his grip on her elbow.

His eyes widen, affecting a look of innocence - a ‘who me?’ - that isn’t quite as effective when his lips are also curling up into a slow, pleased smirk.

“And what exactly am I doing?” he asks, his eyes laughing at her.

She glares at him. That seems to be enough of a reply, because he chuckles before taking possession of her arm again and pulling her smoothly towards the dance floor. Once they’ve reached the edge of it, he stops, dropping her elbow in favor of dipping into a low, courtly bow.

He looks up at her from under heavy lids, his hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

The dance floor is crowded, full to the brim of masked people sweeping by in jewel-bright dresses and dark suits. She knows not to - knows that this place is a lot like fae courts of old. You don’t eat the food, you don’t drink the wine, and you definitely don’t dance.

But she’s already drank the wine, so she might as well dance.

.

The ship wrecks several hundred miles off of the coast of Karnaca. The storm that ends them is a rare sort, fiercer than most, a huge bank of dark clouds that seems to come from the void itself, blooming on the horizon like a warning. The lightning cracks the world asunder, thunder deafening, but it's the wind and waves that will always be a ship’s downfall.

Corvo watched the wave approach, saw its frothing white caps and the way it had stretched, higher and higher, until it loomed over the ship.

They never had a chance, and by the time the wave came crashing down, Corvo was already holding his breath.

Much of what he remembers after are mere snippets: the gulping suck of the water around him, broken pieces of the ship spinning by along with those of the crew who were unlucky enough to be caught by the ship’s pull, sucked down into the void, devoured by the whale god himself. He remembers his first gasp of air once he’d surfaced, the tang of brine and salt heavy on his tongue as wave after wave battered his body.

He doesn’t think that most of the crew survived the first few minutes much less the whole night, and he is certainly alone when the sun blossoms on the horizon hours later, clinging to a piece of ship the size of his torso and kicking relentlessly towards the dawn.

Corvo grew up on the coast, his hair stiff with salt from the ocean breeze. He grew up in and out of the water, hauling cargo or gutting fish on the docks. He’s familiar with the ocean - how the pull of the tides work, which days its best to avoid the dock, how to escape the sea’s wrath when a riptide or an undercurrent tries its damndest to drown you.

So he knows that his chances of making it to land are slim. But Corvo has always been stubborn, his legs have always been strong, and his story is far from finished.

.

Stiles buys a house in Virginia. It’s a modest thing close to Quantico, but not too close, tucked away into the heart of the wooded Appalachians. The bones of the house is all stonework and sturdy dark wood, a rickety wraparound porch bracketing the house on all sides. The first thing that he’d bought for it were two overpriced rocking chairs he’d gotten from the nearest Cracker Barrel.

Over the course of a year, he fills the house with things. A soft, dark gray sofa. Several solid end tables. A pair of emerald lamps he gets from an antique shop. A moss-green throw that is warm as a hug when it’s wrapped around his shoulders in the dead of winter. His living room is a bit too mountain man chic, but he likes the way that it looks when he’s coming home from a long day at the academy, warm and inviting.

He gets his bed set from a woodworker a couple dozen miles down the road, a man with a gruff bristled gray face and a warm smile, who trades Stiles the custom set for some warding and a couple bottles of what he calls, ‘miracle elixir.’ The set is sturdy mahogany, a pair of wolves carved across the top of the curving headboard, runes filling the gaps between them. The chest of drawers and dresser are just as solid, and Stiles has to hire movers to help him get everything back to the house.

The bulky rednecks decked out in worn flannel that help him with it carefully avoid looking at the runes of the headboard, their eyes skittering away from the carvings like frightened rabbits. They exchange apprehensive looks when they see the herbs drying over the sink in his kitchen, but to their credit, stay quiet and hightail it out of the place when he pays them. Here in the Appalachian backwoods, no one talks about magic, but everyone knows it exists.

Stiles has people over every once in a while - flies his dad and Scott in from California, has Lydia drive down from Boston, or Kira from North Carolina - but mostly, he’s alone. It’s a strange thing to get used to, the silence of the nights out here, where the night sky is bright and clear enough to see the stars above him, not a hint of light pollution to be seen, and the trees rustling in a quiet wind is almost louder than the hoots and hollers of the local wildlife.

He’d thought it would be lonely, and to be fair, sometimes it is.

Some nights he comes home and collapses back onto his sofa, and would do anything to be right down the road from Scott and Melissa and his dad again. He has days where he craves Melissa’s pozole or his dad’s meatloaf so badly that he can taste the heat of it on his tongue.

But mostly, the quiet is nice.

He cooks himself soups that simmer in the slow cooker while he’s at the academy and roasts that he makes on the weekends. He experiments with food the way he never used to back in Beacon Hills, where he had his dad’s heart to worry about if he made anything, and fast food which was easier to grab when he didn’t. He takes a world tour through his kitchen - homemade pierogi, hearty paella, steaming pirozhki, spicy-smelling curries, and hand rolled sushi. The first time that he makes his own bread in the ancient oven that came with the house, the smell of it coming fresh out of the oven is so good that he nearly cries.

It’s three winters into living there before he hears a scratching at his door in the middle of the night, and when he goes to investigate, finds a large black wolf on his doorstep.

It’s favoring one of its paws, dark fur matted on one side of its head where he can dimly make out a sluggishly bleeding gash. It blinks at him, eyes glowing a bright, familiar blue, and Stiles spends a minute watching it before he smiles and steps aside.

Fic goals: Hey Heather, it was only 800 words, but you did technically write something original. Now, let’s do something original that’s a little longer. And while we’re at it, let’s do something novel length. 

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 6x20 Villains

aka if murder is so wrong why does it feel so right

Welcome to this dailyish (weekly? bi-weekly?) text post series where I will rewatch an episode of Buffy and go on an impromptu rant about it for an hour. Is it about one hyperspecific thing or twenty observations? 10 or 3k words? You don’t know! I don’t know!!! In this house we don’t know things.

And in today’s episode the final Big Bad of the season is revealed, and Dawn and I are on the same page about murder.

You know, I think I managed to desensitize myself for season 6 in advance, but Villains is really setting me up to cheer for some murder, and it’s hard to resist. Not that I want to resist.

There really aren’t many characters more hateable than Warren in television. And that got me thinking about him, what he represents, and how that’s portrayed on the show.

Warren is not a foreign concept of a character or person for anyone who’s been aware of the internet in the last 10 years. It feels sometimes like our world is just full of Warrens, who are then indoctrinating more and more insecure dudebros into the mysteries of hating women, and blaming minorities for all of their problems.

But twenty years ago these communities haven’t had their current platforms yet, and nerds were mostly just made fun of in general. As a result, I find it kind of fascinating how Buffy put its finger on the pulse on a now much discussed subset of people, and let the Trio’s actions be truly vile and dangerous while portraying them as pathetic misogynists.

The latter might take away some of the power of these fantasies, while the acts of murder and attempted rape show the real dangers and consequences of not taking their threat seriously. And part of that feels counter-intuitive, after all, being taken seriously is what these guys want… so maybe it’s good that this portrayal is a combination of the two? I don’t know, guys, I don’t know how to fix society.

I’m also starting to come around to Jonathan and Andrew in this context. Because if we truly want to be able to improve society, we have to allow people to change and grow.

But also, make sure that their actions have consequences on them. Like, say… by murdering Warren?

XANDER:  “Warren’s a dead man if she finds him.” DAWN:  “Good.” BUFFY:  “Dawn, don’t say that.” DAWN:  “Why not? I’d do it myself if I could.” BUFFY:  “Because you don’t really feel that way.” DAWN:  “Yes I do. And you should too. He killed Tara, and he nearly killed you. He needs to pay.”

Hey, remember when I said that there’s a straight line you could track through Giles, Willow and Dawn?

I love a good lineage of murder nerds.

This is also a good time to remind you all that Dawn stayed with Tara’s body all day. Alone. Because she didn’t want to leave her. It’s fucking fine.

Xander passively agrees with Dawn, but his comments don’t go nearly as hard as her “I’d do it myself if I could”. Me and Dawn really are on the same page.

Buffy of course has a counter-argument. (While somehow having perfect hair??? Tara just died, Buffy, I can’t deal with your magically-perfect-in-a-crisis hair right now.) She argues that they should stop Willow for her own sake, and because they don’t kill humans or whatever. And because they don’t and shouldn’t have power over some things.

BUFFY:  “We can’t control the universe. If we were supposed to, then the magic wouldn’t change Willow the way it does. And we’d be able to bring Tara back.”

Okay, some of that is weirdly deterministic, like, “if we were supposed to have the power to bring Tara back then we’d have the power to bring her back”, but the line before is kind of interesting. Especially if you replace what magic really means in this context.

“We can’t control the universe. If we were supposed to, then having so much power wouldn’t change Willow the way it does.”

So, ultimate power corrupts? But isn’t that weird coming from Buffy, the most powerful person in the room?

Well, yes and no. Buffy’s story is more in line with the comic book-y “with great power comes great responsibility” mindset, so more often than not, she’s the one limiting her own reach. She’s the one holding herself responsible.

Which usually doesn’t apply in the real world. If people with power aren’t held responsible, then they won’t do so to themselves… But Buffy’s power is unique in it that she’s the only one able to fight the demons in her own universe. Therefore, she has a moral obligation to take that responsibility. Because if she doesn’t, no one else could, as she can’t transfer that power onto someone else.

(That’s why the season 7 finale is such a cool thematic end for the show!!!! But I’m getting ahead of myself.)

Willow meanwhile doesn’t give a shit about all that. She’s running on pure fury. And she’s not coming back.

How could she though? Coming back would just mean feeling all the pain, and fuck that. That’s why Warren’s line about how killing him would mean losing her friends only strengthens her resolve. This is her point of no return, and she’s ready to cross it and burn all her bridges.

She’d rather see the whole world burn than be left alone with the pain.

And Anya with her newly re-acquired vengeance demon powers can sense that. When I wrote about Triangle, I said that that episode helped Anya and Willow tolerate each other more, but they never really became close… Which actually isn’t true.

Upon this rewatch, I’ve come to the conclusion that Anya and Willow do manage to form a pretty solid friendship following Triangle. Just look at that picture of the two of them in Buffy’s room for instance.

Ever since D’Hoffryn tried to recruit Willow as a vengeance demon, it became painfully obvious that there are plenty of ways Anya and Willow could find to relate. And eventually, they’ve figured that out themselves.

So in this episode, when Anya says that she’ll help Xander and Buffy find Willow, but that she’s doing it for Willow? That’s some good shit.

They arrive late of course. Willow already got bored with torturing Warren, and is ready to direct her fury at her next target.

One down…

[eliasbouchardisarobloxthot]

part three of the power of friendship!

this is my au where jon, tim, and sasha (among others) save the world with the power of friendship! parts one and two are here. as always, the fic is under the cut!

“So we just… stand here?” Tim asked, leaning up against the flower shop window.

“That’s what it says in the book,” Jon said, examining the page.

“Seems like it kind of… sucks, you know? Like, imagine he doesn’t show up and we just have to sit here for the whole day.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Gerard said from inside the book. “Look over there.”

Indeed, standing a few blocks away was a young man with long blond hair, tied back into an incredibly curly ponytail.

“That’s our thing,” Jon said quietly. “Should we approach, or follow him later?”

“Later,” Gerard said quickly. “Follow him. He goes into that cafe over there usually, Amy and I have watched him a few times.”

Jon nodded, closing the notebook carefully. “What’s he going to do?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Watch,” Gerard hissed from inside his book.

The man walked towards the florist’s, stood there for a few moments, and picked out a bunch of lilies before walking out. Jon slipped the notebook back into his bag, watching the man for a few moments before standing up to follow him. The man didn’t seem to notice, but he was cautious anyway, standing back for a while with as casual an expression as he could muster.

Inside the cafe, the man was sitting alone at a table that had space for many more. Upon seeing them, he waved them over with a smile on his face.

Jon was obviously startled by this.

“You going to go over to him?” Tim murmured to him, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yeah. You coming with me?”

There was a pause as Tim and Sasha contemplated this.

“Yeah, I am,” Tim said at last. Sasha just nodded and followed Jon over to the table, sitting down beside the strange man.

As soon as they sat down, the man gestured to an empty chair. “You should give your friend some room, too. The one in the book.”

Jon looked vaguely confused and concerned for a moment. “What do you—how do you know about that?”

The man sighed as if it was obvious. “He’s got a very strong presence, you know. Personality. I can appreciate that. Not many people do, especially not ghosts.” He waved for Jon to put the book down on the chair. “No one but us will be able to see him, you know. It won’t be an issue.”

Reluctantly, Jon placed the book down on the chair. He opened it up, and Gerard appeared, looking bitter.

“Well? What is it that you want from me?” the man said.

“We just want to talk,” Sasha replied, being careful with her words. “You’re written down as being one of those… um, what do you call yourself?”

“I call myself Michael, but more generally we are called Avatars. But you can call me a monster if you like, I don’t much mind.” His voice was strange, a lilting pitch. He laughed quietly, and when he laughed, it echoed strangely in the room. “But yes. I am an Avatar, and I am in that book.”

“What does it mean, being an Avatar?” Jon asked, reaching for his notebook.

Michael laughed again. “A regular candidate for an Archivist, I see. You look like you’ve already been marked—twice! Oh, how fascinating. And you, too—” he gestured to Tim— “and for the Stranger, too.” He made a face. “We can’t win them all, I suppose. Especially not the curious ones.”

“What are you talking about?” Sasha looked frightened. “What do you mean, marked?”

“All in due time, my dear, all in due time. And you haven’t even introduced yourselves yet, how very rude. I gave you my name, you give me yours.”

“I will not give you my name, but you may call me Sasha,” Sasha said, like she was reciting something practiced.

“My name is—” Tim began, but Sasha shushed him quickly.

“You know about the Fey, then, Sasha,” Michael said, twirling one finger in his long blond hair. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to steal your name, though others will. And besides, I’m quite the nice person to have one’s name stolen by…”

“Tell us everything,” Gerard said, glaring at him. “Whatever you think is relevant.”

“Well, if you think I’m going to tell everything to tall, dark, and handsome over here—” he looked at Gerard with a smile— “you’re right. But it’s only fair that some of you answer my questions, too. How unfair would it be for me to bare my very soul to you, and to get nothing at all in return? You’d be very poor sports for it.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Drama queen.”

“But you love it,” Michael said with a wink that would have been interpreted as flirtatious if he hadn’t been such a strange person.

“Just tell us what you know about those… Avatar things,” Tim said.

“Fine… you’re so boring. Ask your questions.” Just as Jon was about to speak, Michael held up a finger. They hadn’t noticed before, but he was wearing long, pink acrylic nails. “But for every question you ask of me, I get to ask you one of my own. Deal?”

Jon sighed. “Deal.”

“Right. Let’s hear what you want to know.”

“What exactly is an Avatar?” Jon asked, pen poised over his notebook.

“Hmm… how do I define it?” He tapped his chin with one long nail. “An Avatar… hm. An Avatar is to a Fear as an acolyte is to a god. Or as a subordinate is to their superior. Either. Both.”

“Then what’s a fear?” Jon asked quickly.

“Ah—” He held up his hand. “You haven’t let me ask my question yet.”

“Very well. Get on with it.”

Michael leaned in, a smirk on his face. “Why haven’t you told them yet?”

Jon paled. “Wh—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Why haven’t you told them yet?”

“I—I suppose I’m just scared to,” he said quietly. “Nothing else.”

“That’s a lie, Jonathan,” Michael said. Jon was suddenly very aware that he hadn’t introduced himself. “Tell me the truth.”

“Because I don’t want them to hate me,” he said finally, after a long while of thinking hard about it.

“Very good. Now. A Fear is simply that—something that people are afraid of. People, animals—anything that can feel fear. It’s like a god, like I said before. Or a particularly preternatural CEO. It really doesn’t do much, just sort of… influences the Avatars that belong to it.”

Jon nodded. “And then it’s your turn.”

Michael smiled. “Good! You’re getting it,” he said, turning to look at Gerard. “You. How did you die?”

Sasha looked concerned. “That’s a bit—”

“Brain tumor,” Gerard said, looking pointedly away from Michael.

“Hmm. Tragic.” He sighed. “Next question, I suppose?”

“What fear are you attached to?” Tim asked.

“The throat of delusion, the unending door—the Spiral.” He tapped his nails against the table. “Now you. Why did you get that tattoo?” he asked Tim, looking at him in a way that made it clear that he already knew.

“It’s a memorial. For my brother,” Tim said uncomfortably, rubbing the axe tattoo visible on his left bicep. “He died four years ago and I wanted to remember him somehow. So I got a tattoo.”

“I—you didn’t tell us,” Sasha said, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” Tim said, shrugging. “I—it’s not fresh anymore, I’ve tried to forget. And the tattoo… it’s just a way of remembering him. His legacy.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“So was he just, like, really into carpentry?” Jon asked, then immediately sat bolt upright, covering his mouth with one hand. “I’m so sorry. I meant to ask why it was an axe, I didn’t mean for it to come out so rudely—”

“It’s fine,” Tim said, looking away. “No, he wasn’t, I just—I feel like it reminds me of him. I don’t know why I chose it, I just did.”

“Fascinating,” Michael said. “Now. Any more questions for me?”

“How do the fears choose people?”

Michael thought for a moment. “I think that’s enough questions for now. The throat of delusion is not one for telling the truth, especially not to people who are actively seeking it. So… if you need me, you’ll know where to find me, and I suppose I’ll see you whenever the Archivists send you as their errand boys again.”

He stood, picking up his bunch of flowers delicately, and left them behind in the cafe.

“So. That’s, uh, that was something.” Jon fidgeted with his notebook, putting it into his back pocket. “Should we just, uh, just go?”

“I mean… yeah, I guess,” Tim said, shoving his hands into his pockets like that would make him somehow more invisible.

Sasha stood to leave, picking up the book and closing it. Gerard was stone-silent as she did, expression unreadable as he vanished into the pages. She tucked it into Jon’s bag wordlessly and handed him the bag, fidgeting with one of her many bracelets once he took it from her.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as soon as they were outside.

“What aren’t you telling us?” she asked, like she’d been holding it in a long while.

“What?” Jon looked confused, holding his bag close to his chest.

“Michael asked you a question. ‘Why haven’t you told them yet.’ What is it that you haven’t told us, and why?”

Jon’s face changed instantly. He looked—not upset, but on the edge of it. Almost angry, and if one looked close enough, almost afraid, too.

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business,” he said, quite obviously trying to make his voice even.

“It’s our business because you’re our damn coworker, and if we’re going to do this, we have to trust each other!” Sasha said, suddenly angry. She tried to compose herself. “Look. You both are obviously hurting a lot, and if you don’t want to go into your entire life story that’s fine, but you have to tell us some things. And if it’s important enough for Michael to ask about, then it’s important for us to know.” She looked over at Tim. “Right?”

Tim mostly seemed like he didn’t want to be thinking about this at the moment. He was preoccupied, gently rubbing his left bicep.

“Look. We don’t have to talk about this now—”

“Yes, we do!��� Sasha was obviously incensed, and sighed sharply as she tried to regain control of her emotions. “We don’t need to talk right this second, but you are going to tell us. We’re a team, and we have to trust each other. Okay?”

Jon didn’t reply for a long moment, looking away from Sasha, but eventually managed a curt nod.

“Now. We should report back to Amy, let her know what we’ve found. As a team.”

[rigginsstreet]

what changes would you have made in st season 3? briana essay writing skills COMMENCE :)

*REALISTIC changes lol

first of all, in the words of the late great biliam hargrove: nobody tells me what to do.

second of all, the fucking stupid ass music number that got my mens killed is absolutely going the fuck in the garbage can where it belongs

i really didnt have a lot of problems with this season as far as what everyones individual plots where. like, i LOVED joppers arc (until the fucking end), i liked jancys (though i feel like they really didnt do a lot in terms of it. i thought we were gonna get way more in terms of the sexism nancy faced at work. it just... felt weak. and all we saw from jonathan was him developing his pictures. i just needed... more)

im not interested in the kids so whatever they were doing i couldnt care less about BUT i will say will shouldve been more involved with the mindflayer stuff like... besides the whole neck tingles business (mindflayer asmr) he really took a back seat and that just.... doesnt make any sense to me.

instead of that fuck ass billy and karen nonsense that time shouldve been used at the beginning to actually SHOW us max and billys development and where they stood as siblings rather than just shoehorning in her crying about him once he was possessed. 

and dustin being away from the party still makes no sense to me. i know everyones got a hardon for steve and dustins bromance but im not one of them and that entire subplot in itself was the most boring thing to me this season like i truly could not have cared less about that about that either. and honestly now reflecting back on it.... the whole notion of a secret russian facility being under the mall and these dopey ass kids just stumbling into it is so hokey but whatever

billy and eleven absolutely needed more scenes. i was fully expecting to have like... a deeper connection between the two of them. i was expecting for us to get eleven going into billys mind and being able to actually talk to him and interact with him and us seeing that billy was struggling trying to fight this thing inside him that he has no fucking clue what it is and hes so scared. speaking of which, i was also expecting to see scenes of billy at home struggling with trying to keep this a secret because he has no idea whats happening to him. like... dacre fucking crushed it with all the acting he did showing us how billy was struggling in such subtle manners, dont get me wrong. but i think we needed more of that on a bigger scale for his ending to have any actual payoff.

also the fact that you have billy being possessed, living in a house with an abusive father, and we got NOTHING of that ?? what ??? bad call. BAD call.

and the season needed more focus on the fact that billys just a kid in all this. hes a PERSON. i’ll keep ranting about this but the fact that NO ONE tried to figure out a way to help him.... it was literally just “is he the mindflayer? welp. gotta kill him now i guess”. so gross. like even the people who hate billy and are still like “are we supposed to feel bad for him?” I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN TO YOU THAT HE’S A HUMAN BEING AND HE DOESNT DESERVE TO FUCKING DIE JUST BECAUSE HE WAS MEAN SOMETIMES! THATS NOT HOW THE WORLD WORKS TIFFANY! but anyway

the fact that steve just rammed into billys car and left him to die in a fiery blaze.... is so out of character to me? lmfao like literally all you needed to do was have steve ram into his car and then notice its billy and have a typical steve harrington freak out like “oh my god. OH MY GOD?” wouldve loved to see SOMEONE struggle with the fact that yeah everybody hates billy but like... you cant just let him die ??? lmfao that is truly the most infuriating part of this entire season. just...nobody fucking cared. even if only for max’s sake. nobody fucking cared it was her brother going through all this. trash. all of them. it also wouldve been nice to see billy apologizing to steve and lucas in his final moments too like nobody rushed down to console max? lmfao okay.... fake ass friends

im also upset that hopper dies after being away from eleven the entire season like.... ugh. like i said, i loved joppers arc and their scenes (along with billys) are by far and away my favorite this season but...it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth the way hopper went out. i mean, his death overall does feel wrapped up like i think the duffers handled it a helluva lot better than they handled billys but...the fact that hopper was the first parent el had that treated her right and took her in and gave her a home and stability... and they barely had any time together leading up to his death... i dont like it.

also the whole flayed plot went pretty much nowhere like..... all these people get infected or whatever just to be led to their deaths to turn to goo and like.... oh... kay ??? the trailer made it seem like they were some type of zombie agents idk i expected something more chaotic to take place. what we got just felt anticlimactic to me.

this season as a whole just left me wanting more. and not in the “oh i cant wait for season 4!” way. but in the way “couldnt yall have done something else with your time?” way. i think this season really couldve benefited from having one or two extra episodes. or maybe even just longer episodes. AND WITH THE TIME YALL DID HAVE WE DIDNT NEED BILLY AND KAREN AND FUCKING MUSICAL NUMBER THE END

OH! and the mayor kline shit.... what? that shit felt like it went nowhere too like...that definitely needed to be explored more. i dont even remember what is reasoning was to be in bed with the russians. wasnt it just about money? like.... he wasnt even really involved ? the fuck was that about. no bueno. 

but most importantly billy should have been at scoops to taunt steve about his sailor uniform if the duffers had just given me that i could forgive everything else but they didnt so here we are the end

AND I STILL MAINTAIN STEVE SHOULDVE BEEN MORE INVOLVED IN BILLYS PLOT CONSIDERING HE WAS LIKE THE ONLY PERSON BILLY REALLY INTERACTED WITH IN S2 BUT OH NO, THE DUFFERS CANT LET PEOPLE KNOW GAY MEN EXIST. imma stop.... imma stop.