#the attention to detail on everything like in his room and in his van is amazing

[annymaght]

(By bunyan75 on Instagram)

Of course Ben has a sticker on his laptop that says, "fish control the government"

[wylanspipebomb]

i made a master doc of all of wylan’s anxious habits and thoughts from crooked kingdom. enjoy:

“Wylan tugged at the hem of his sky-blue jacket… and tried to look at ease.”

“All he had to do was… figure out what to do with his hands. Clasp them in front? Too much like a singer at a recital. In back? Too military. He tried just dangling them at his sides, but that didn’t feel right either. Why hadn’t he paid better attention to the way waiters stood?”

“His hands were shaking as he took the bottle from the silver ice bucket…”

“So Wylan took stock of the room’s details - a trick he’d often used to steady himself whenever he arrived someplace new…”

“Wylan knew he couldn’t have prevented his father from double-crossing the crew and kidnapping her. He knew that, but he still felt responsible.”

“‘Oysters, miss?’ Wylan asked. His voice sounded too high. ‘Buttered prawns?’ Too low.”

“What am I doing here? He found himself gnawing on his thumb and forced himself to stop.”

…Kaz never yelled the way Wylan’s father did but, Wylan had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony…”

“...Wylan said, fiddling with a pen on one of the blotters.”

“Wylan tugged the strap of his satchel… Wylan tugged on the satchel strap again.

“Wylan was gnawing on his thumbnail.”

“‘Will he?’ Wylan said softly. He used his finger to draw a line across the map of Ketterdam…”

“Wylan pulled on his lip.”

“‘Don’t you think we should be more cautious?’ Wylan asked, his own face buried in the collar of his coat.”

“Wylan tried to make himself relax and unbuttoned the roughspun coat Kaz had obtained for him.”

“‘Come here.’ Warily, Wylan sidled closer.”

“Jesper released a guffaw that had Wylan looking frantically over his shoulder again, afraid of drawing attention.”

“Wylan tugged at a thread unraveling from the sleeve of his coat.”

“Jan Van Eck had done his best to care for his son, and if he’d failed, then the defect lay with Wylan… and everything he said made perfect sense. Wylan could not be trusted with a fortune because he would be too easily swindled. Wylan could not go to university because he’d be the target of mockery.”

“His father’s ire had been unpleasant, but it was his logic that haunted Wylan- that practical, irrefutable voice that spoke in Wylan’s head whenever he thought about attempting something new, or trying to learn to read again. ”

“Wylan felt ridiculously pleased - until he thought about Kaz finding out. Then he felt a little like the first time he’d tried brandy and ended up spewing his dinner all over his own shoes.”

“Wylan waited, nervous.”

“Wylan looked down at the bouquet. It seemed smaller and more straggly than he thought.”

“... on it sat a vase of the wisteria Wylan had seen outside. He inhaled deeply. The smell was comforting.”

“He set the wildflowers down on the desk. Their stems were broken. He’d been clutching them too tightly.”

“Wylan leaned over his shoulder and felt a hopeless, choking panic grip him… he fought for breath. ‘Jesper, please,’ he begged, his voice thin and reedy. ‘Read it to me.’”

“Jesper pulled him into the chair behind the desk and pressed against Wylan’s shoulder blades, urging him forward. ‘Put your head between your knees, focus on the floor. Breathe.’”

“Wylan forced himself to inhale, exhale, to gaze at those charming blue tulips in their white tile boxes.”

“Wylan took a deep, shuddering breath through his nose. He couldn’t fathom what was happening, couldn’t understand the scope of it.”

“So just do one thing at a time. It was a technique one of his tutors had taught him to try and keep him from getting overwhelmed by the page… Wylan had managed to apply it elsewhere”

“One thing at a time. Stand up. He stood up. You’re fine. ‘I’m fine.’”

“‘We’ll be fine here,’ Wylan managed in a voice that sounded too loud and too hearty to his ears.”

“Wylan studied his mother, his thoughts a jangle of misplayed chords.”

“He’d planned to play it beside her grave like some kind of idiot.”

“Wylan didn’t register the walk down the drive…”

“He hated that Jesper was seeing him cry, but there was nothing he could do, not about the tears, not about any of it. He buried his face in his arms, covering his head as if, were he to only will it strongly enough, he could vanish.”

“‘You don’t understand. It was me. I caused this.’”

“Because through all of it, he’d believed that he deserved his father’s contempt…”

“Wylan wanted to be brave, but he was cold and bruised…”

“Wylan had stayed inside for two days, terrified.”

“His second was that his father had sent someone new to kill him. He gripped his paddle.”

“All Wylan wanted to do was stand as close as he possibly could to him and know that he was safe.”

“‘Kaz,’ Wylan said, twisting the tail of his shirt.”

“Wylan nodded, anxiously. ‘I’d like that.’”

“‘I don’t know why I’m so nervous,’ said Wylan.”

“He’d clenched his hands so tightly in his lap his knuckles had become white stars.”

“‘I can’t read.’ His skin went instantly blotchy, but his voice was steady.”

“Jesper could see the anxiety in his face, what it cost him to speak those words. It made him feel like a coward.”

“Wylan fiddled nervously with the buttons on his shirt.”

“‘It felt like I’d choke on the words. I was so afraid he’d sneer at me. Or just laugh.’”

“... in the afternoons he’d spent sitting in the pantry or curled into a window seat behind a curtain, hoping that everyone would forget him…”

“Wylan drew a line on the floor with his finger.”

“Wylan’s heart stuttered. Sound it out, Wylan. A child half your age can read this without trying. He’d thought he was ready for this.”

“Wylan hesitated. ‘You can go if you need to.’”

“This was the nightmare he’d had countless times as a child - standing in public, his deficiencies exposed.”

“Wylan tried to smile, but Jesper could see he was all nerves.”

“‘I feel like an intruder. Like any minute, my father’s going to barge through that door and tell me to get out.’”

‘“I was terrified. I still am.’ He looked down at the keys and played a gentle chord.”

[cynic-spirit]

The Compliment

It was a typical night at the club, everyone was in good spirits, and the teasing was in full swing. Steve, Sam, Nick, and Thor were all gathered at the table with Bucky and Yn. The conversation turned toward Bucky’s endless compliments for Yn, which had not gone unnoticed by the group.

“You know, Yn,” Steve started with a knowing smirk, “Bucky here never misses a chance to compliment you.”

Sam nodded, grinning. “And all you ever do is say, ‘Thanks, Bucky,’ like he just handed you a cup of coffee or something.”

Nick chuckled, leaning back. “The guy’s practically composing love sonnets, and you’re over there with a ‘thanks.’”

Thor laughed, his deep voice booming through the room. “A simple ‘thank you’ doesn’t do the man justice.”

Bucky immediately stiffened, sensing the trap being laid out before him. He raised his hands in defense, looking at Yn. “Guys, don’t—”

But it was too late. Yn’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh? I don’t appreciate him enough, is that it?” She arched a brow and turned to Bucky, a playful smile on her lips. “You think I don’t compliment you, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Yn, don’t...”

Yn leaned forward, her voice taking on a dramatic, almost poetic cadence. “You know, Bucky, I could compliment you more. Let’s start with your hair.” She gestured to his dark locks. “It’s like the Starry Night by Van Gogh—each strand as dark and deep as the night sky, swirling in endless beauty. A masterpiece.”

Bucky shifted in his seat, already feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “Oh no…”

Ignoring his discomfort, Yn continued, her voice smooth and confident. “Your face,” she said, letting her eyes trace his jawline. “It’s chiseled like the statue of Michelangelo’s David, each angle sharp and perfect, as if molded by the hands of the gods themselves. That jaw... it could cut through glass.”

Sam snorted, already having trouble containing his laughter. “Oh man, she’s really getting started.”

Thor, looking absolutely entertained, nodded enthusiastically. “This is gold.”

Yn pressed on, turning her attention to his lips. “And your lips... they’re like the delicate curves of Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne—soft, inviting, a work of divine craftsmanship. A kiss from those lips is surely like being touched by art itself.”

Bucky’s hand shot up to his face in pure embarrassment. “Yn, please…”

But she was just warming up. Her eyes flicked to his piercing blue gaze. “And your eyes... they’re Monet’s Water Lilies, serene yet striking, pools of blue so deep they could drown a person. They see through everything, Bucky. They are like art come to life.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a grin. “She’s killing him.”

Nick laughed, nodding. “Oh, he’s done for.”

Yn’s gaze dropped to his shoulders. “Your shoulders,” she continued, her voice dripping with admiration. “They’re like the Parthenon—broad, strong, capable of holding up empires. They carry the weight of the world with grace and ease.”

Bucky’s composure was visibly slipping, but Yn didn’t stop. Her hand brushed lightly over his arm as she moved down. “And those biceps... like the curves of Rodin’s The Thinker. Every muscle perfectly sculpted, a testament to strength, carved out of pure marble.”

Thor chuckled, “She’s describing a literal god.”

Bucky groaned softly. “Oh my god…”

Yn, completely unfazed, shifted her focus to his chest. “Your chest, Bucky... expansive, like the canvas of da Vinci’s The Last Supper, full of detail and meaning. It’s a masterpiece of strength and power, every inch telling a story.”

Bucky was gripping the table at this point, trying not to collapse under the weight of her words. “Yn, I’m begging you—”

But she went on, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “And your abs, Buck... they’re like the architecture of Gaudí’s Sagrada Família—intricate, precise, a wonder of design and craftsmanship. Every muscle a deliberate work of art, as if designed to mesmerize.”

Sam covered his mouth, barely containing his laughter. “I can’t... I can’t breathe.”

Steve was practically in tears. “He’s not going to make it.”

Yn moved to his back, her hand tracing lightly over his shoulder as she leaned closer. “Your back... strong, like Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. Every line, every muscle, like a perfect fresco, a divine creation.”

At this point, Bucky looked like he might actually melt into the floor. His entire face was flushed, and his breathing had grown shallow. “Yn, please stop.”

Yn smirked, but she didn’t relent. “And your legs, Buck... tall, powerful, like the pillars of the Pantheon. They’re pillars of strength, holding you up with unshakable resolve.”

Bucky slumped a little further in his chair, completely wrecked. “Oh my god…”

“And your hands,” Yn continued, her voice growing even softer. “Long and graceful, like the hands of Donatello’s Saint George. Each finger delicate, but strong, like a sculptor’s tool, capable of shaping the world.”

Thor nudged Sam. “This is better than any show I’ve seen in years.”

Nick grinned. “He’s not surviving this.”

Then, Yn’s eyes twinkled with one final blow. She lowered her voice, her lips curving into a playful smile. “And of course, your derrière... firm and perfect, like Canova’s Venus, a form that should be displayed in museums.”

Sam lost it, doubling over in laughter. “Oh my God, she went there!”

Bucky was slumped forward now, completely defeated, his face buried in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening…”

But Yn wasn’t quite finished. She leaned in for the final blow, her voice soft but devastating. “And lastly... your ithyphallic form, Bucky... like the great statues of ancient Greece, standing proud, a symbol of strength and power. Truly... a marvel of artistic anatomy. exquisite Mr Barnes!”

That was it. Bucky finally slumped fully over the table, his face hidden in his arms, utterly wrecked. “I... I’m done.”

Yn sat back with a satisfied grin, crossing her arms. “What do you expect from an art professor, Bucky?”

Sam, unable to breathe from laughing so hard, raised his glass. “To Yn. The only person who could turn Bucky Barnes into a piece of art and utterly destroy him in the process.”

Steve clapped his hands, laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. “I’m never going to let him live this down.”

Bucky, still face-down on the table, groaned, his voice muffled. “I’m never challenging her again.”

Bucky remained slumped over the table, face buried in his arms, even as Yn gracefully leaned back in her chair and reached for her drink, completely at ease after delivering her artistic onslaught of compliments. The room was filled with laughter, but Bucky didn’t budge, clearly too mortified to resurface just yet.

Steve, wiping away tears of laughter, nudged him with a finger. “Hey, Buck, you still with us?”

Bucky let out a muffled groan from his position, his face still hidden. “Leave me here. I’m dead.”

Sam, still chuckling, leaned in, tapping his shoulder. “Come on, man, you survived worse than this. Hydra’s got nothing on what just happened.”

Thor, grinning ear to ear, clapped Bucky on the back, sending him jolting forward just slightly. “He’s strong. He’ll rise again. Though, I admit, that was quite the battle to witness.”

Bucky groaned again, this time even more dramatically. “I’m not rising. I’m staying down. Just... let me go.”

As Yn got up from the table to head to the restroom, the rest of the group watched her go, still chuckling at Bucky’s complete and utter defeat. The moment she disappeared from sight, Steve saw his chance and slid over next to Bucky, who was still face-down, refusing to lift his head.

“Come on, man,” Steve said, trying to sound sincere, though the amusement was still clear in his voice. “She really meant every word. You know that, right?”

Bucky let out another groan, his face still buried in his arms. “Steve... leave me be. Just... kill me. Put me out of my misery.”

Sam, overhearing the conversation, leaned in with a grin. “Nah, we’re not letting you off that easy, man. You gotta live with this one.”

Bucky’s hand lifted slightly, waving in the air before slumping back down. “Mercy... I’m asking for mercy here.”

Steve shook his head, patting Bucky on the back. “You know she wasn’t just teasing. That’s the thing. Every word? She meant it.”

Bucky lifted his head just enough to glare at Steve. “She made me sound like a piece of museum art. And don’t even get me started on the... ithyphallic form thing.”

Steve chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. That part might’ve been a bit much.”

Bucky slumped back down onto the table, covering his head with his arms. “A bit? Steve, I’m not recovering from this.”

Nick chimed in, laughing from his side of the table. “You’re like the Venus de Milo, man, but with arms.”

Thor’s deep laughter rumbled through the group. “And perhaps a bit more... fully sculpted, as Yn described so poetically.”

Bucky groaned louder. “I’m asking you all... end it now. I can’t go on like this.”

Steve just shook his head, grinning as he stood up. “You’ll survive, Buck. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s going to do this again next time you compliment her. So, you better get used to it.”

Bucky let out another defeated groan. “I can’t... I’m never complimenting her again.”

Sam raised his glass with a grin. “Oh, sure you won’t, man. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Bucky, still slumped over, gave another pathetic wave. “Goodbye, cruel world.”

Nick leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, the best part of all that? It was so poetic. Nothing about it sounded vulgar or cheap.”

Thor nodded in agreement, stroking his beard. “Indeed, it was vivid, bold... but elegant. She has a way with words, that one.”

Steve, grinning, leaned in closer to the table. “Yeah, I mean, she described Bucky’s ithyphallic form—" He paused, holding back laughter at the word, “—and even that somehow sounded like it belonged in a museum exhibit. That takes talent.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Right? Most people would just go for something basic. But Yn? She practically turned him into a walking art gallery.”

Nick added with a smirk, “I’ve never heard anyone talk about someone’s biceps like they were carved by Michelangelo and still keep it classy. She’s something else.”

Thor chuckled deeply. “You know, Bucky, you should feel honored. To be praised in such detail... so grandly.”

Bucky, still slumped over the table, let out another dramatic groan. “Please... stop...”

Steve patted him on the back, still thoroughly amused. “Come on, Buck. You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a living masterpiece, apparently.”

Bucky didn’t lift his head, but his voice was low and defeated. “I don’t want to be a masterpiece. I want to disappear.”

Sam raised his glass, his grin wide. “Sorry, man. No disappearing for you. Yn just immortalized you with that monologue. You’re stuck as art now.”

Nick added, “And it wasn’t just any monologue. That was the kind of stuff people quote. Like, forever.”

Bucky groaned louder. “Just... let me die in peace.”

Thor chuckled again. “Death by compliments. That’s a first.”

Steve leaned in, shaking his head in disbelief. “Seriously, though. Not a single word was out of place. She even threw in those references to art... the Pantheon legs... Venus—”

Bucky raised his head slightly, enough to glare at Steve. “Stop... talking.”

Steve just grinned, unfazed. “I’m just saying, Buck. She turned you into a poetic masterpiece. You can’t escape it.”

Bucky slumped back down, his voice muffled as he muttered, “I’m not going to survive this.”

Nick leaned in, his grin mischievous. “You know what, Bucky? It’s gonna be tough for anyone to top that. You’re basically untouchable now.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, anyone else tries to flirt with their girl, and you can just throw down, ‘Well, have you ever been compared to Michelangelo’s David and Apollo and Daphne? No? Thought so.’”

Bucky groaned again, a long, low sound of pure exasperation. “I’m begging you... leave me alone.”

Thor raised his glass, a wide grin spreading across his face. “To Bucky, the masterpiece none of us knew we needed.”

The rest of them clinked glasses and laughed, while Bucky stayed slumped over, unwilling to rise to the challenge or the teasing. This might just be the hardest thing he’s ever had to endure, and it didn’t involve a single fight—just words. Beautiful, poetic, devastating words.

As the laughter continued, Bucky finally muttered under his breath, “Next time... I’m not even going to open my mouth.”

Steve chuckled, leaning forward with a grin. "I mean, come on, she literally described his derrière like it belonged in the Louvre. ‘Firm, like Canova’s Venus’—who even thinks of that?"

Sam, barely able to keep from laughing, chimed in, "Yeah, and when she got to the ithyphallic form... I mean, seriously, who does that and makes it sound like it should be on a pedestal somewhere?"

Nick raised his eyebrows. “But you know what? She’s right. Both of those—" He paused, biting back a laugh, "—definitely deserve to be celebrated. She wasn’t kidding. Bucky’s got it all, man.”

Bucky, still face-down on the table, let out another exaggerated groan. “Please... for the love of God... stop.”

Thor, with his booming laugh, clapped Bucky on the back, causing him to jolt forward slightly. "Ah, Bucky, you should be proud! Few men have had their derrière and their... uh... more impressive assets so elegantly praised. It was like an ancient hymn, a celebration of the body."

Bucky lifted his head just enough to glare at Thor, his face flushed. “I don’t need my body celebrated, Thor.”

Steve grinned, folding his arms. “Well, it’s too late for that now, buddy. Yn has officially made sure your ithyphallic form—" he paused, clearly enjoying the moment, “—and your... well, your other fine qualities are immortalized.”

Sam couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. “Man, you’ve been sculpted and celebrated. She didn’t just compliment you—she turned you into a freakin’ statue! Everything got its moment of glory. And I mean everything.”

Nick added with a grin, “Yeah, you heard her, man. Your derrière—firm, like Canova’s Venus, a ‘form to be displayed in museums.’ That’s some high praise right there.”

Bucky groaned again, dropping his face back into his arms. “I’m not surviving this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Thor, ever the encourager, shook his head with a wide smile. “But you should hear the end of it. Bucky, she has celebrated you from head to toe. And every part—yes, even the parts that some might... blush to mention—have been given their due respect. This is not something to run from, my friend.”

Steve nodded sagely, completely serious. “Exactly. You’ve got a Michelangelo’s David jawline, Venus-level derrière, and don’t even get me started on the ithyphallic form. Bucky, you’re a walking masterpiece.”

Bucky lifted his head just enough to shoot Steve a withering glare. “You’re not helping.”

Sam, still laughing, chimed in, “Look, man, you gotta own it now. Both the front and the back were celebrated in such vivid detail, and let’s face it—you deserve it.”

Nick grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, if I were you, I’d be pretty proud of the whole package getting that much attention. People pay to have their art appreciated like that.”

Bucky groaned even louder, burying his face deeper into his arms. “I’m asking you all... please... stop. I can’t take any more.”

Thor, with a playful grin, crossed his arms and said, “Oh no, Bucky, this is something to relish. There are men in history whose greatest hope was to be immortalized in such a way. And you? You have been praised in the way of ancient heroes, from every angle.”

Steve leaned in, still amused. “Including some angles that probably don’t see that much poetic love.”

Bucky, with one last exhausted groan, slumped even deeper into the table, as if trying to disappear entirely. “I’m begging you. Let me die in peace.”

Sam raised his glass with a wicked grin. “To Bucky Barnes, whose derrière and ithyphallic form have been rightfully celebrated in the way all true art deserves.”

Nick, laughing, clinked his glass with Sam’s. “I’ll drink to that.”

Steve and Thor joined in, while Bucky stayed resolutely face-down, his resolve crumbling.

As the glasses clinked around him, Bucky let out one last, defeated sigh. “Next time... I swear, I’m not saying a word.”

After what felt like an eternity, with his head buried in his arms, Bucky finally lifted himself from the table. Slowly, he sat up straight, blinking a few times, looking like he’d just come back from a long and arduous journey. The group, still grinning like fools, turned to him, their amusement evident.

“Hi... welcome back, buddy,” Steve said, patting him on the shoulder with a playful grin.

Thor chuckled. “We weren’t sure if you were going to rise again. Thought maybe the weight of all those compliments finally took you down for good.”

Sam smirked, raising his eyebrows. “You alive, or do we need to get someone to give you CPR?”

Bucky exhaled deeply, rubbing his face with his hands as if trying to wipe away the memory of the poetic onslaught. “I always knew she had a way with words… and she’s brilliant, no doubt about that... but...” He paused, glancing around at his friends, who were watching him with entertained smiles.

“But what?” Nick asked, leaning in, clearly enjoying Bucky’s reluctant confession.

Bucky let out a long, exhausted sigh. “But I am never, and I mean never... ever... challenging her again on anything.”

The group laughed, fully understanding where this was coming from.

“Smart move, man,” Sam said, grinning. “I don’t think you’d survive another round.”

Bucky nodded, looking dead serious. “I won’t. I’m happy not getting any compliments from her for the rest of my life. In fact, I’m good with just silence forever.”

Steve chuckled. “Come on, you don’t mean that. You love when she compliments you. Maybe just not... quite like that.”

Bucky shook his head, his face still flushed at the memory. “Nope. I’m good. I don’t need to be compared to Michelangelo’s David or have my... ithyphallic form praised ever again.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure? Because I gotta say, that’s one hell of a compliment.”

Bucky glared at him. “I’ve had enough compliments for a lifetime. I’m done. No more. I’m tapping out.”

Thor, still chuckling, leaned back in his chair. “Well, Bucky, it’s good that you’ve learned your lesson. She clearly has the upper hand.”

Bucky sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, and I’m fine with that. Totally fine. She wins. She can have all the victories. I don’t need any more... artistic descriptions of my body.”

Sam raised his glass once more, his grin wide. “To Bucky, who has finally learned not to mess with an art professor with a poetic mind.”

The group clinked their glasses again, laughing while Bucky just shook his head, clearly still recovering from the ordeal.

Steve grinned, patting him on the back. “Good choice, man. Because after that, we all know—you wouldn’t stand a chance in another round.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, still in disbelief over everything that had just happened. “I’m not taking that risk again. No way. I’m keeping my compliments to myself from now on.”

Sam, with a wicked grin, added, “Yeah, and maybe avoid giving her any challenges for a while. Unless you’re ready for her to turn you into the next Renaissance masterpiece again.”

Bucky groaned, dropping his head into his hands again. “I’m good. Thanks.”

As the laughter continued to ripple through the group, Steve, ever the instigator, grinned at Bucky and raised an eyebrow. "At least she didn’t talk about your lovemaking, buddy. Could’ve been worse.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in horror, but before he could even respond, Yn returned to the table, having just come back from the restroom. She caught Steve’s comment, her ears clearly perked up, and with a playful smirk, she leaned forward, looking directly at Bucky.

“Do you want me to, Bucky?” she asked sweetly, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Bucky’s heart stopped, and he turned to her, panic written all over his face. “No. No, no, no. I am begging you—please don’t.”

The rest of the table, however, erupted in enthusiasm, completely ignoring Bucky’s pleas.

“Yes!” they all chorused, grinning from ear to ear.

Sam leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Please, Yn, I think we all want to hear that.”

Thor nodded eagerly. “Yes, Bucky’s lovemaking... told through the lens of an art professor! It would be an epic tale, worthy of legends.”

Nick smirked, joining in. “You’ve already turned the guy into a sculpture—now we need the full masterpiece.”

Bucky slumped back in his chair, his face going bright red as he stared up at the ceiling, looking like he was seconds away from total defeat. “Guys, no. This is my final plea. Mercy.”

Yn, still smiling, simply gave him a wink and took a sip of her drink, clearly letting Bucky off the hook this time. “Alright, alright... I’ll save that for another time.”

Bucky exhaled in relief, slumping back in his chair. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

[bone-shaped-shadows]

Jesper finds out about Wylan’s true identity- Show Version fic

Jesper wanted to roll his eyes as Kaz went on and on about their newest heist. Sometimes that man could really go off on a tangent in the name of dramatics, saying a whole lot without saying much at all.

Jesper knew he should be paying better attention to Kaz but as the man droned on, he shrugged off the thought, choosing instead to play with Wylan’s fingers.

Besides, he was listening for the key points and knew his favorite partner in crime would fill him in on any details he had missed.

Wylan would tease him gently for it as he did so but Jesper didn’t mind, delighted by Wylan’s dazzling memory as he would recite word for word what Kaz had said when Jesper found it difficult to focus.

He smiled, not caring how besotted he must look, as his thumb brushed over the ring he had given Wylan in order to track him during a previous heist and then had refused to take back, enjoying the weight of it whenever they held hands and having an easy way to pick him out in a crowd, especially in instances where he had gotten lost amongst people taller than him, Jesper thought with a gentle smirk.

Wylan lightly pinched him and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was distracted or because he somehow knew what Jesper was thinking.

Suddenly he came back to himself as Kaz paused in his speech to loom over the others, who were all sitting down, “Meet Wylan Van Eck… Jan Van Eck’s son and our guarantee on thirty million kruge.”

Kaz had an almost wild look in his eye and he spoke somewhere harshly as he smirked down at Wylan, asking a question Jesper hadn’t even register Nina asking, “He can’t double cross us if we have his firstborn as collateral.”

Jesper saw Wylan flinch out of the corner of eye and frowned as Wylan dropped his hand like he was burned.

“Look, Kaz I don’t know what’s going on here but-”

“No, you don’t know.” Kaz said, but as he stared down at the youngest Crow, who shoulder’s started to shake slightly, his tone softened, very very slightly.

Wylan gripped the fabric of his pants tightly, clearly trying to regulate his breathing, and refusing to look up at Kaz or sideways, despite Jesper trying to catch his eye.

He was sure he had an interesting mix of confusion and frustration flittering across his face but he tried to force a neutral expression despite some anger building in his chest.

Now was not the time, despite how he might feel about it, his focus on Wylan who looked like he was beginning to dissociate.

“It won’t work, I’m not leverage, I’m a liability.” He said softly, almost off-handedly.

Kaz opened his mouth, but Wylan cut him off, “I can’t guarantee you anything, unfortunately, much less thirty million kruge. See, I’m no Allby Rollins, Kaz, my father will not beg for me. If you attempt to use me as leverage all you will be doing is serving him a second chance to kill me on a silver platter and he will gladly take it,” Wylan laughed mournfully.

Suddenly Wylan forced himself to stand, eyes blazing, “Might even use his own hands, this time, really make sure it sticks.” Wylan spat out and then turned heel, bolting away from everyone else in the room.

Jesper’s eyes trailed after him and he expected… for something, anything. For Wylan to look, or even just glance, at him. For him to head up the stairs to their room, for Wylan to call out to Jesper or hold out a hand, a silent request for comfort - any proof that the two of them were a team, that he trusted Jesper to be on his side, always, even amongst their crew.

But Jesper watched, with a awful heavy feeling in his chest, as Wylan did none of those things.

Instead the younger man threw open the door to the Crow Club and ran out into the shadows of night.

By the time Jesper shook off the shock, and ran after him, Wylan was already long out of sight.

Jesper wasn’t sure how to feel about everything that had just happened.

He felt bitter about Wylan keeping this secret, when the other had felt so strongly about Jesper’s own secrets…

He paced their room, waiting for Wylan to return.

Why had Wylan kept this from him? Had he said something that made the other feel insecure? Did he not trust him with this specifically or did Wylan think him entirely untrustworthy of his secrets?

Kaz knew everything about everyone in the barrel and kept everything close to his chest. It drove Jesper up a wall but he had come to expect it and accept it.

But Wylan… Wylan and him were suppose to be partners, they were suppose to trust and support each other.

Why hadn’t he trusted him?

Jesper threw himself on their bed and threw his arm over his face, resigning himself to wait, questions echoing in the silence, until Wylan came back to him.

When Wylan failed to return home that night, or by morning Jesper, Kaz, and Nina split off to search for him.

Jesper tried not to drown in the feelings that quickly built up and choked him when he found the ring he had given Wylan hidden in his wear-house.

He looked at Nina hopefully, as she returned shortly after him, but she shook her head sadly, unable to find him or get a read on his heartbeat.

She held out her hand and Jesper took it, and the comfort she offered, “We’ll find him. We’ll bring him back, talk it all out, even if I have to drag him back by the nape of his shirt myself.”

He nodded, then gave her a half smile, “I think it’s my shirt actually.”

She snorted, “At this point? I don’t think you can claim that any more.”

He chuckled softly but said nothing else.

When Kaz returned and all of the obvious spots, the wear-house, the waffle place Nina had gotten them all hooked on, the one music shop they all knew he he loved to visit despite being a bit out of the barrels, failed to yeld results, Kaz grimaced.

Jesper and Nina followed him up to his office and watched with careful eyes as their boss opened one of his many safes and pulled out a list written in Inej’s handwriting as well as a stack of letters with blank envelopes.

Kaz glanced over the list before seemingly deciding something without bothering to get any input from the others.

He stuffed the list in his pocket and gestured for the others to follow him.

Jesper bit his tongue, determined not to yell at Kaz until Wylan was back with them safe and sound.

Kaz and Nina silently followed him to a dock on the fifth harbor where Wylan sat, and watched as Kaz dropped the stack of letters in his lap.

Wylan glared at them like he could set them on fire that way and pull one out from under the twine holding them together. He held it between his finger tips as if it had traces of posion on it.

He then held it up to Kaz, without looking at him.

Kaz opened it.

“What does it say?” Wylan asked, his tone completely devoid of any emotion, “What did he write that made you believe he cared about me? That I was worth anything to him?”

Kaz lifted a brow at him but proceeded to read off some of the letter, “If you’re reading this then you know how much I miss you and want you home.”

If you’re reading this…

Jesper suck in a breath, the pieces starting to fall into piece.

Wylan laughed, but it was a broken thing and Jesper hated it.

“I can’t read, Kaz. I’m… I’m not stupid or lazy. When others look at pages in a book they see straight lines of letters that stay exactly where they were penned. It’s all put together for them and it makes words. For me? Might as well be written on a hummingbird’s wing with how quickly they shift around. The fact that he sent letters at all, it’s only meant to mock me… to threaten me.”

Wylan sighed, “He’d only love me if I could read, but I can’t so he never will.”

Kaz considered the new information.

“Who knew?”

Wylan glanced at him.

“Who knew that you couldn’t read.”

“Hmm? Everyone here now.”

“Not who knows, who knew?”

Wylan didn’t say anything but Jesper cleared his throat and raised hand up in a small wave.

“Why didn’t you tell the rest of us?” Kaz asked somewhat to Wylan but mostly to Jesper, “This is important information.”

Wylan responded before the other could, “One, you don’t get to talk about hiding important information… and two, because it’s mine, not his. This is mine… and so was… it was suppose to be mine.”

The shame was his? Jesper wondered.

Jesper tried not to sound bitter as he spoke up, “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before, Wy.”

“It’s not shame Jesper…or…”

Wylan tilted back to look, well more pass them, than at them, eyes haunted.

“Have you ever drowned?”

Wylan ignored everyone’s horrified looks as he straightened up and began to babble.

“It really is a very strange experience. Your inside are being crushed by the pressure of the water in your lungs but the outside of you, as you float… almost feels weightless, like it doesn’t even really exist anymore. Like you don’t exist outside of those few places of pain…”

“Truly, the oddest set of sensations”, he mused.

Jesper creeped over to Wylan but didn’t dare touch him, in this state. He instead sat down by him in silence and was as still as he could be. Wylan’s hand twitched towards him and Jesper offered him his own. Wylan grasped onto it like a lifeline.

“I can still feel him holding me under the water, sometimes… which is a large part of why I didn’t want to do any of,” Wylan waved his hand, “this.”

Kaz hummed, in such a way that Wylan felt like the other had ordered him to elaborate without even opening his mouth.

“I had nightmares last night, for the few hours I manage to sleep, and I’ll have them again tonight, and probably tomorrow, and maybe the next night too.”

“It not shame… or at least not entirely, that holds my tongue. It’s the exhaustion that comes with not being able to sleep. It’s the anger that boils in me until I snap at people who don’t deserve it. It’s the sorrow that makes me want to hit myself because why I am like this? Why am I broken? Why aren’t I good enough?”

Jesper opened his mouth to reject that notion, but Wylan squeezed his hand, “I know, I do, I know but it’s how I feel, whenever I think about how my father ordered my death.”

Wylan looked at Kaz, “I’m sorry I’m unable to be the collateral you wanted,” he joked but it fell flat.

“Don’t be,” Kaz assured him, “Now I know and now I replan.”

Kaz made a gesture, and Jesper helped Wylan up to his feet.

“You may not be Allby Rollins but your father will experience everything Pekka Rollins did.”

He took in the anger on Jesper’s face and his lips twitched into a slight smirk, “Who knows, he may even get a worse fate.”

Nina laughed and Jesper placed a kiss on Wylan’s forehead but Wylan just looked hollowed out.

“Come on, you louts,” Nina told them, heading to Wylan’s other side to offer comfort, “let’s head home.”

And so they did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The line: I’m no Allby Rollins, Kaz, my father will not beg for me came to mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I wrote this, hope y’all like it : )

[redwolfstabs]

[Everyone Blame Cleav3rrr for this idea guys. It’s totally his fault-]

Imagine Doug Van Housen meeting Billy Loomis..

This will be something like- Billy being in the Animal Room timeline suddenly, and he’s meeting Doug and it’s hhhh

Anyways

——

Title: The Vexation

Word count: 2648 Rating: Mature? CW: knives, blood, fighting

____

Billy's awakening was accompanied by a relentless pounding in his head, one of the most excruciating pains he had ever experienced. The throbbing beat against his skull, rendering even the slightest movement a daunting task.

His entire body seemed to be in agony, and the awareness of this discomfort hit him almost immediately. Everything hurt, and the pain in his head took center stage, amplifying his irritation. Slowly, he rolled over onto his side, his eyes barely opening. Something felt amiss. Something was undeniably wrong.

With a sudden jolt, he sat up, a hand instinctively clutching his head as a surge of pain swept through him. The room he found himself in was alien, a stark contrast to the familiarity of his own space. Taking in his surroundings, he noted every detail that distinguished this room from his own. It was different—disconcertingly so.

As he rose from the bed, a distinct thud resonated on the floor. Glancing down, he discovered his knife, the trusty switchblade that Stu had gifted him. Stu. The mere thought of his friend intensified the disorientation. Where was Stu? Did he exist in this unfamiliar realm?

Picking up the knife, Billy set it on what appeared to be his dresser, contemplating the mysterious circumstances of his surroundings and the conspicuous absence of Stu. The room held a strange atmosphere, and Billy couldn't shake the feeling that something profound had shifted.

Billy felt a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him as he sluggishly moved around the unfamiliar room. He needed to find some sense of normalcy, something grounding. Spotting a plain t-shirt and jeans, he hastily threw them on, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered in his gut. Where the hell was he?

Once dressed, he instinctively pocketed his trusty knife in the front pocket, a small yet familiar comfort in this disorienting situation. Memories leading up to this point were a blur, leaving him with a disconcerting sense of amnesia. All he knew for certain was that this place was a far cry from his usual surroundings.

Descending the stairs, he noted the eerie emptiness of the house. A heavy quietness hung in the air, casting a somber mood. His eyes fell on a note resting on the kitchen counter, and he carefully picked it up. The message, 'don't forget to go to the animal room today,' stared back at him, devoid of any signature. A vague recognition flickered in his mind, suggesting that the handwriting resembled his father's. Yet, the idea of his parents being present in this strange place seemed implausible.

His thoughts raced, and the nagging question kept piercing through the confusion: Where the fuck was Stu?

Frustration boiled within him, and he crumpled the note before tossing it aside. What the hell was happening? The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him with more questions than answers.

A curse escaped Billy's lips as he stepped outside, a strange compulsion tugging at his stomach, urging him forward. It felt like an instinct, a force guiding him through the unfamiliar surroundings. Succumbing to this unseen pull, he followed it, his senses heightened by an odd sense of purpose.

Upon arriving at the school, two distinct observations struck him. First, this place was vastly different from Woodsboro. The architecture, the atmosphere—all of it bore no resemblance to the familiar surroundings he knew. The second observation concerned a tall figure surrounded by several guys and one other individual.

Dressed in dark clothes with equally dark hair, the tall figure's face caught Billy's attention. It was an uncanny resemblance to Stu, yet something was amiss. This person exuded a deranged aura, a darkness that Billy couldn't associate with the Stu he knew. The observation unsettled him, but rather than approaching closer, Billy chose to keep a distance, at least for the time being. There was an air of caution, a hesitation to delve into the unknown.

Billy surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings before deciding to enter the building. Although he couldn't recall ever being here, an inexplicable knowledge guided him, directing his steps. A subtle internal voice suggested that he didn't have to be here yet, but an insatiable curiosity compelled him forward. He wanted to see, to understand, and to meticulously note every detail.

Navigating through the hallways, he encountered an anarchy symbol on the wall, triggering a vague sense of déjà vu. It was as if he belonged here, and that feeling only intensified when he noticed a guy dozing off in a chair. Rolling his eyes, Billy descended into what seemed to be a basement, a place that, on the surface, appeared to be a hellhole designed to isolate certain individuals.

To his surprise, the atmosphere down there exuded an eerie sense of normalcy. It was a paradoxical thought—how could a place that seemed like a hellhole feel so commonplace?

As he explored further, another striking realization dawned on him: Stu didn't exist in this strange realm. Instead, the mysterious guy from earlier was present. Intrigued, Billy felt an urge to learn more about him, to unravel the enigma surrounding this unfamiliar counterpart. It was a necessity, a gut feeling urging him to comprehend the dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy's fingers traced over the surface of one of the desks, and he decided to claim a seat. His legs stretched out, ankles crossing, and a semblance of relaxation settled over him. Several minutes passed, and more people filtered into the room, none of them paying any attention to him. That sense of anonymity pleased him.

He observed the dark-haired figure, one of his companions addressing him as 'Van Housen' while another simply called him Doug. Doug Van Housen. The absurdity of the name almost tempted Billy to snort, but he restrained himself, biting his tongue.

The room buzzed with the flickering light of a TV as someone switched it on, broadcasting something that failed to pique Billy's interest. Instead, his focus honed in on Housen, and he meticulously noted every detail—the shoes chosen for added height, the clothing, and the palpable irritation emanating from him.

Though Housen appeared to radiate a dangerous aura, Billy's instincts were driven by a desire to prod, poke, and unravel the enigma before him. He wanted to see what made Housen tick, to uncover the reasons behind his seemingly menacing presence. It wasn't about fear; it was about understanding, peeling back the layers to reveal the truth about this mysterious figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to his boy- his.. friend.

Billy contemplated the idea that he could easily kick the leg of Housen's chair to gain attention, but for the moment, it felt unnecessary. As conversations unfolded around him, Billy remained observant, catching shadows moving behind the door labeled as the exit. He recalled the guy asleep in the chair and speculated that there might be more of them, silently watching.

An uneasy feeling settled in Billy's stomach as the alarm bells rang in his head. The notion of being watched by unseen observers didn't sit well with him.

Amidst the ongoing chatter, Housen's voice carried irritation and impatience. Everyone continued talking, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger lurking behind the door. Billy's attention shifted back to the shadows moving again.

When he saw Housen's hands inch toward the desk, Billy was quick as he stood and reached over and grabbed his shoulder, his voice low and meant for Housen alone. "Not yet. They're waiting, just for you. Wouldn't want them to actually have a reason to mess with you today, would you?" A sly smile played on Billy's lips as he touched a mark on Housen's jaw. "Especially not after this."

Tension gripped Housen under Billy's grip, but as he met Billy's gaze, a fiery determination burned behind his eyes. Billy reveled in the intensity, wanting to stoke that flame.

"What?" Housen retorted in a hushed tone.

Billy motioned toward the door. "The shadows under the door. They move whenever you speak even remotely too loud. They're waiting for you to do something."

Housen blinked, swatting away Billy's hand, but the fire in his eyes seemed to dwindle. He glanced at Billy, then at the guy beside him, commanding, "Beat it." The way he spoke had an immediate and powerful effect, causing everyone to stop. It made Billy twitch, craving more. Housen patted the chair after the guy left, and Billy sat down, anticipating the unfolding dynamics of this peculiar place.

Billy wasn't in the business of making friends, especially not with someone who wasn't Stu. Nevertheless, this guy intrigued him in a peculiar way.

Housen directed a question at him, his tone probing. "What are you here for?"

Billy casually lolled his head to the side, feigning disinterest as his gaze rested on the TV. "Secrets, secrets," he replied nonchalantly.

Housen emitted a noise of acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the TV. The room resumed its chatter, eyes off the two of them. "Why does everyone look at you like you're a threat?" Billy inquired, seeking answers.

Housen shot him a scowl this time. "What was it you said just now? Secrets, secrets?"

Housen sighed after that, seemingly only a willing to share. "Most people don't live; they exist. Yet, I've shown people what living is."

Billy snorted at the analogy. "What a dumb fucking analogy."

A sizzle of irritation began to form in Housen's gaze. "What?"

Billy grinned mischievously. "'Oh, people exist, they don't live!' Come on, man. Be more creative than that." The exchange was laced with a peculiar blend of tension and amusement, as Billy continued to toy with the mysterious Doug Van Housen.

Housen blinked at Billy, a subtle acknowledgment of the inevitable irritation that lay ahead. "Well, you're obviously going to get on my nerves."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Could say the same about you. What's with the fucking clothes, by the way?"

Housen looked at him again. "Style," he answered, the word delivered with an air of simplicity. The response tempted Billy to snort, but he managed to restrain himself this time.

Billy sensed that he wouldn't particularly like this character, yet there was an undeniable allure in the challenge of trying to unravel him. It promised a momentary diversion, a puzzle to solve in the peculiar environment they found themselves in. The dynamic between Billy and Housen, though laced with tension, held the promise of an intriguing dance of personalities.

__

As a day or so passed, Billy continued to navigate the intricate undercurrents of the peculiar environment surrounding him. One noteworthy observation concerned Housen's peculiar fixation on a particular individual—someone named 'Arnie Mosk.' Arnie seemed like an ordinary kid, grappling with everyday issues, perhaps even a drug problem. However, for reasons unknown, Housen harbored a distinct issue with him.

One day, Billy happened to be passing by the bathroom just as Housen and his entourage emerged, a few of them sharing hearty laughs as if they'd just witnessed something uproariously funny. What caught Billy's attention, though, was the unsettling look in Housen's eyes as they briefly scanned over his face. The glance was devoid of anything good.

Deciding to investigate further, Billy entered the bathroom and found Arnie on the floor, his face soaked with vomit. Sighing, Billy approached, offering assistance. He urged Arnie to report Housen's actions. When Arnie questioned him, Billy skillfully shut down the inquiry with an easygoing demeanor.

Now, the time had come for Billy to address Housen and the unsettling dynamic he seemed to harbor.

Billy positioned himself in the hallway, strategically near a classroom not currently in session. Hidden from view unless one approached closely, he readied himself for what he intended to do.

Taking out his switchblade, he deftly opened it, using the blade to clean dirt from under his nails. The minutes ticked by, and then the unmistakable sound of boots approached—Housen's boots. Billy heard the slam of a body against a locker, confirming that Arnie was the unfortunate target.

Billy shifted his grip on the knife handle and stepped out from his concealed position, moving carefully to avoid triggering Housen's awareness. Uninterested in the exchange of words, he acted swiftly, lunging forward. A firm hand clamped around Housen's head, covering his mouth, while the other pressed threateningly against his neck.

"Don't try anything. I'll make sure you bleed out right now," Billy hissed, low and menacing. He then directed a gaze toward Arnie. "Go, and don't say anything." Arnie blinked for a moment before swiftly making his exit.

Billy emitted a primal noise before issuing a directive. "Let's chat in a more private area." A forceful kick to Housen's foot set him in motion, and Billy guided him toward the bathroom, preparing for the private confrontation that lay ahead.

In the confined space of the bathroom, Billy wasted no time asserting dominance. He forcefully shoved Housen, relishing the satisfying thud as his face collided with the stall. A smirk played on Billy's lips as he scratched his head with the butt of the knife.

"You know," he began, the mockery evident in his tone, "I knew you were insane. What I didn't know was that you seem to move without reason."

Housen touched his nose, inspecting the blood on his fingers before locking eyes with Billy. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

Billy tilted his head, his smile widening. "You sure?"

Housen took a deep breath and advanced toward Billy. However, Billy, anticipating the move, sidestepped and expertly tripped Housen with a swift kick. He taunted, "Not very good without your little boys, are ya?"

Billy, well-aware of the dynamics within Housen's group, knew that his followers did most, if not all, of the heavy lifting. Housen was more of a barker than a biter.

As Housen lay on the floor, Billy applied pressure with his boot on Housen's back. Bending down, he grabbed a handful of Housen's black hair and pulled, prompting a pained noise. The knife tapped mockingly against Housen's exposed neck.

"Are you living now, Doug Van Housen?" Billy asked, reveling in the role reversal.

Housen emitted a noise akin to a growl. "If you want my blood, then take it, it's yours," he gritted out. His words hung in the air, causing a momentary pause for Billy. It felt like a challenge, an invitation, but also a statement that echoed eerily in his mind. His?

Growling in response, Billy couldn't resist the temptation. He cut a long line into Housen's arm, feeling a surge of aggression. "Don't fucking say that."

"Why not?" Housen breathed out. "Doesn't it make it fun for you?"

"Not at all," Billy retorted, releasing Housen's hair and pushing him to the floor. The desire to inflict further harm waned, replaced by a strange feeling that he couldn't quite define.

As Housen touched his face, he posed a curious question. "How pissed would you get if I said you were like me?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "You'd be a liar if you said that."

"Wouldn't I?" Housen smiled, and the next sequence of events blurred for Billy. Suddenly, Housen was on him, and the knife slid away from both of them.

"You curse someone in your life. As do I. My question is, who is it you curse?" Housen looked down at Billy, and a memory stirred in his mind, prompting a laugh.

"You did not just fucking ask me that. What? Did you read the story of Job and how he never curses God?"

Housen grinned. "You're knowledgeable."

Billy shook his head. "That was an easy fucking guess. What about you? Who do you curse? Mommy or Daddy? Or! Better yet, is it-"

Before Billy could finish his sentence, Housen cut him off with a hard punch to the nose. He felt the warmth of his own blood, and a twisted smile spread across his face, relishing in the sensation.

The room seemed to spin, and Housen's words became distant echoes as Billy's head lolled to the side. His eyes scanned the floor, fixating on the glint of his knife. The instinct to retrieve it surged within him.

In a hazy, almost detached state, he focused on the weapon, his mind tuning out the words that continued to spill from Housen's mouth. The need to reclaim the knife became an urgent, singular thought, overshadowing everything else in the room.

-End for Now!-

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: gambling addiction, implied violence

AO3 link

Chapter 51 - Jesper

It was a rare thing for Jesper’s mind to wander this far during a game of cards. Usually they possessed his focus the same way a fight did; in the same way the world could narrow just you, a gun, and a target, so could it to a hand of cards, an opponent, and a table to serve as battleground. He had learned to study the other players, to recognise the underlying bristle in the air, the slight changes of demeanour, the sense of anticipation that gathered when a player came alert to the fact that they might have a winning hand. He was good at noticing it, or at least he liked to think he was. He was less good, and of this he was painfully aware, at hiding his own tells. It required close concentration on both sides to keep everything in control, and every detail - from the glimmer of a button on someone else’s waistcoat down to the feeling of the paraffin wax that was coating his forearms so he wouldn’t get caught out if a Grisha amplifier might be present at the game - demanded attention. It was rare for Jesper’s mind to wander far, then, when it was so in tune and so close and so cautious, every tiny quiver in the air something to consider. But not tonight.

Jesper was losing, but that was nothing new. So what was new? Why was his mind so sullenly refusing to focus on the game, and instead continually drawing him back to the feeling of Wylan’s palm pressed against his? His head on his shoulder? The feeling of his cheek beneath Jesper’s thumb as he wiped a tear away? Jesper felt like he needed to stick his head in a bucket of cold water to wake himself up. He felt like he was dreaming.

He gave a sidelong glance to Rojakke, whose hands were moving so deftly through the pack of cards he shuffled, readying to deal the next hand, that it seemed they moved as a force entirely independent from the rest of his body, wondering if Kaz had told him to control the deck. Kaz had told Jesper that it was to be an honest game, but Kaz was a damn liar and Jesper wanted justification for this loss. Or rather, he wanted justification that wasn’t the wandering of his mind. The sound of Wylan’s voice, the piercing shimmer of his eyes.

He was brought swiftly back to the room by the sound of Nina laughing, and looked up from his distracted stupor to see her pouring champagne into the waiting glass of Ido De Baal.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, lapushka?” he asked, looking up at her from his chair.

Judging from the rugged flush across his cheeks he was already well on his way there. He’d used the Ravkan word for darling, Jesper noted, though as far as he knew the man was Kerch through and through. He was also, Jesper had definitely noted, winning. If Jesper was losing worse than anyone else at the table then De Baal was winning better than them, and he had been for the entire game. Was Rojakke controlling the deck, then? Had Kaz told him to?

“I’m just doing my job,” came Nina’s reply, low and soft but also lilting, a joyous and teasing tone with undertones that she was clearly letting De Baal determine for himself, “Lapushka,”

He laughed and Nina smiled at him, her teeth clinging ever so slightly onto the top of her lower lip. Jesper had expected Layla’s loss to be more noticeable than this, and maybe Nina wasn’t quite as swift - he couldn’t be the way his focus kept slipping - as she would’ve been, but she’d been working these fools all night long and she’d been doing it well, like she was slowly soaking coffee through hard tack and had finally deemed it ready to take a bite.

“Do you speak Ravkan?” she asked, sweetly, with what, on the surface, seemed like genuine interest, “Or do you just know how to flatter a girl in every language?”

De Baal gave a casual shrug, though his smile did not fade.

“It is the most important aspect of travel, is it not? To give every girl the attention she desires in her own tongue?”

Nina gave a very soft mock gasp, a hand pressed over her chest in fake, non-committal melodrama.

“You insult me sir,” she teased, “I didn’t take you for a player,”

He tapped the cards he’d just been dealt, a point enough for the joke all on their own but he said it out loud anyway and Nina laughed harder than was strictly necessary.

“I learned some Ravkan for a business deal,” he drawled, collecting his refreshed champagne, “and I find that some of it still comes in handy at home,”

“Ah,” she nodded, “I should have known you were a businessman. I knew it would be something that desired strength, fortitude of mind,”

Jesper thought that was perhaps the closest she’d come to being obvious, that it was a see-through course of terrible flattery, but De Baal preened. They talked casually, or with the illusion of being casual, for a moment longer about De Baal’s business in Ravka and Jesper had to marvel at how easily she was pulling all this out of him, how simple it was to lower his defences. The corner of Nina’s mouth twitched, before she leant close and murmured something in Ravkan. Jesper wasn’t close enough to hear but that hardly made a difference. Whatever Nina had just said would have been lost on him, and apparently it was lost on De Baal as well. He turned to her somewhere between questioning and expectant, Nina’s tone had hardly suggested an insult after all, and she gave him a coy smile.

“It seems your grasp on my language has disappointing gaps,” her voice was breathy. She glanced at the door for the briefest second before her eyes fell upon him again, and right before she turned to leave she purred: “Maybe if you find me later, I can provide you with a translation,”

He was not subtle as he watched her leave.

Jesper picked up his new hand of cards and moved to survey them. Would Wylan be struggling tonight? It had been a long day anyway, and his part in the job - Dammit, Jesper. He looked at his cards - actually looked at them this time - and made a cautious bid. Not, decent cards or none, that he could do much except be cautious with his meagre pile of remaining chips. He tapped two of them against each other distractedly, watched De Baal across the table for a moment. To his left sat Van Reik, a lawyer or something else just as boring that Jesper had forgotten from the Zelvar District and the biggest threat to this job going wrong. Van Reik came to the Crow Club pretty often for a someone of his standing, considering that he used his own name and didn’t hide his face - his lot usually took themselves to the Lid if they fancied a go at something they could pretend was dangerous, and even if they touched the Barrel itself they definitely didn’t venture this far South - and he always, much to Kaz’s absolute fury, requested this specific game room because the back wall was lined with windows. Most of the clubs had none at all, as did most of the rooms at the Crow Club, because the bosses wanted their patrons to lose track of time, to forget how long they’d been there, to think they could surely afford to place one more hand, after all it wouldn’t take that long would it? The windows in this room drove Kaz mad - though Jesper supposed they had come in useful when they brought Jeluna in; he would have hated to leave her even more in a dark, windowless box. Kaz probably wouldn’t have cared.

The windows were unlikely to pose too much of an issue tonight, starting the game at twelve bells and playing through the dark hours was less noticeable than playing through sunset, but they needed the session to last and if Van Reik cared about the windows he probably had his own methods of timekeeping as well. They needed to keep all of them, but particularly De Baal, here until… well, Jesper wasn’t actually sure exactly what because Kaz, of course, hadn’t deigned to tell him the entire plan. Until the aftermath, he’d said, but gave no specificity to the aftermath of what, or when it would begin. Jesper knew that they were taking out a bridge, because that was what Wylan had been working on, but that was the extent of it.

Did Nina know more? He doubted it. Inej surely did though, and she wasn’t even here. Jesper felt a brief, strange pang of jealousy at that - he didn’t even know if she knew. She probably did though. Inej knew almost everything. He wondered again if her and Kaz’s agreement of secrets went both ways, if she knew the things Kaz had locked up on Jesper’s behalf. His skin prickled beneath the paraffin wax. Kaz wouldn’t have told anyone, not even Inej. Wouldn’t he?

Jesper’s turn rolled around and he laid his cards onto the table. He won a hand, bid, lost, bid, won, bid and lost and lost again. The night ticked by. The signal from Pim came, telling Jesper and Nina there was no longer a need to drag things out but just to let them take their course. Another round passed. Jesper lost again. The game ended. Nina left to give Kaz a report of the information that she’d gleaned from the players, apparently a lot of it, and then - in her own words - go back to the White Rose and sleep more soundly than the dead.

Jesper considered going downstairs and playing another hand. He considered getting some sleep. He considered going to see Wylan, but it was almost dawn and he was probably - definitely - asleep. So a slow meander down the staircase his journey became, as the table behind him was cleared and tidied, unsure of whether he would linger or walk back to the Slat. It would depend, he decided even though he could feel an impatient exhaustion tugging on his bones, on whether anything caught his eye and his attention as he crossed the Crow Club floor. It was a foolish bargain to make with himself, a plainly obvious attempt at justifying the pull to stay because of course he knew that something, somehow was sure to grab his attention.

He just wasn’t expecting the thing that stopped him to be Kaz Brekker.

“Here,”

He held something out at arms’ length between them and it took Jesper a moment to acknowledge, beneath the black fabric they were wrapped in, what looked suspiciously like the shape of his revolvers. A second passed where he just stared at Kaz, before he tentatively reached out to take the package from him.

“Kaz-”

“I’m holding you accountable if he screws up,” said Kaz, brushing one gloved hand down the front of his coat - the one that he’d held the guns out with, the other was gripping the head of his cane, “but it would appear you made good on your end of the bargain,”

Jesper smiled in spite of himself, parting the fabric package and running his fingers eagerly over the guns. They were cool to touch, comfortable in his hands; they slipped so easily and happily into his gun belt as he shoved the stupid, sad little pistol away across the table. He could finally return that useless little lump to Anika.

“Thanks, Kaz,”

“It’s not a favour, Jes,” his voice was cold, “I keep to my word,”

There was perhaps something implicit in the phrase, the way he briefly lingered on I, that Jesper pointedly chose to ignore. Not even Kaz’s ever-present sourness could ruin the rise in his mood that came with the return of his prized revolvers. He walked out of the Crow Club feeling like he was floating, and leapt right up out of his skin when the Wraith appeared at his side.

“Saints - Inej! Every time,”

She smiled as Jesper laughed softly, shaking his head, but he thought her expression looked a little strained. Her eyes were sad; her face was drained. She looked even more tired than Jesper felt.

“Kaz is organising a parley with the Black Tips,” she told him, as they began to walk towards the Slat, “A week’s time. He wants you as a second,”

“Unbelievable,” he sighed, “I just spoke to him, he didn’t say a word of it,”

“Of course he didn’t,”

Jesper barked a short, shallow laugh and Inej gave him another, ever so slightly forced smile.

“How was the job?”

“Nina killed it, if that’s what you mean,” he shrugged, “Other than that I only know what Kaz told me, which was nothing. We kept De Baal at the table long enough, and I guess the bridge came down without a hitch because Kaz gave me my revolvers back,”

“Wylan must have himself worth Kaz’s time,”

And worth Kaz’s cash.

“What does he want with a councilman anyway?”

Inej faltered, looking up at him.

“Councilman?”

“Yeah,” Jesper fidgeted with his revolver, having missed Inej’s confused misstep, “some guy that De Baal works for. You think he’s kinda pushing it a bit? Going after Wylan for his father, and now this guy?”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t-”

“Was it Councilman Hoede?”

“Er- yeah, yeah that sounds right. Why?”

Jesper glanced back at her to discover that Inej’s eyes had darkened and her fingers were dancing over the handles of her knives.

“I need to talk to Kaz,” was all she murmured by way of reply, “I’ll speak to you tomorrow,”

Jesper shrugged. He wasn’t going to get involved.

“You should get some sleep, love,” he said, as she quickened her footsteps and began to overtake him.

“Then when would I get any work done? Oh - you should know,”

Jesper looked up.

“The Black Tips aren’t done with me,” she said - and if there was a slight tension in her shoulders? A nervous catch in her voice? The unsubtle drift of her hand back towards her blades? Jesper didn’t get the chance to question it, “We might need to remain alert. Riesen knows,”

“Knows-?”

Inej’s eyes flashed very briefly as she shook her head.

“He knows, Jes. And he’s not happy,”

Ah. Liesbeth Stoevelaar. Jesper nodded once, opened his mouth to try and reassure her, suggest she got some rest, maybe even offer to hang around if she was nervous - Stoevelaar had broken straight into her bedroom, after all - and then closed it again upon the realisation that Inej had melted in the shadows and he had been left alone.

[noelle666]

Ship/Kiss challenge - Heinrix van Calox/Noelle von Valancius (dinner/date)

Original post with all options

Basically, it is a retelling and everything will be almost the same as it is seen in the game (I'll skip some dialogues to not repeat them and not make this short fanfic too big, Heinrixmansers know the scene anyway =) ) but filled with emotions my RT experienced during this evening. PS Jesus, I was torturing this piece of text since the end of April... -_-

The illustration for this scene by Vetus Vulpes

50. ...out of love 6. ...on a falling tear (if I understood it correctly)

A date, a real dinner date. Who would've thought the interrogator has this romantic note somewhere deep inside of him? But Noelle knew, she saw his "true nature" every time he was next to her in her quarters, when he was kissing her hand and looking gently into her eyes. Still it was a surprise, especially considering the tone Heinrix used to call for Lord Captain to the wardroom. He can be forgiven, he will learn.

Time was passing smoothly, the atmosphere in the room was filled with warmth. Noelle suggested a toast and raised her glass to clink it with Heinrix's. "To us".

Us? How long will this "us" last?

A thought pricked psyker's mind for a mere moment, but it was enough to be depicted on his face, to manifest it as an unease expression. Noelle noticed the change in his mood, she was always attentive to details, she always felt something is wrong with the one who is dear to her. One question after another, one attempt to evade after another, Heinrix tried to maneuver between words as a voidship maneuvers between enemies, but the harder he tryed to avoid difficult and painful topic the more fragile his defence became. He tried to explain, wanted Noelle to understand...

"Void. Take. You".

Words stroke him as hard as a heavy hammer strikes anvil, as thunder on a stormy day. The interrogater looked at the priestess: her head was lowered, it seemed like she wanted to not show her face but freezed on her chair, lips are slightly opened, they were... trembling. The young woman was staring at one point, then the moment after her eyes started to move nerviously. A wet line on her cheeck appeared running down from her sky blue eye.

"Noelle?"

"How... can I trust you...when you go... and say things like that?" - Lord Captain gathered all her might so she could start speaking, her voice was quite, she was talking slowly, making pauses when a lump was about to come to her throat. She was not angered, she was... heartbroken. She looked at Heinrix: raised eyebrows, a wet line crossed her other cheek, and another tear was runnig down from her eye, and another. - "You... don't even want to... try..."

"No... No. No! Not this! NO!" - terror shackled Heinrix heart. He got used to failing in regicide, he could accept failing his mission (it is frustrating indeed but every fail is a lesson, so you need to try hadred next time), but failing Noelle, hurting her, the one who he...

Lord Captain stood up from her chair, she lowered her gaze and was about to turn away, all her being desired to run away from this place, from him, but her feet could not move as if they were glued to the floor. Her heart, acking little heart, was protesting. Noelle was lost, she didn't know what to do, her mind was in a fog.

"No! Please! Don't! DON'T!" - terror intertwined with pain started screaming inside the interrogator's head. He leaped to his feet and in a blink of a moment he was standing right in front of Noelle; he grabbed her shoulders with trembling hands, his gaze was piercing her face.

"No, Noelle, wait! Don't say that! I didn't mean that... I..."

SAY IT, VAN CALOX! SAY IT, DAMN YOU!

"I love you!"

The time stopped.

"I love you, Noelle - never dought that, I beg you".

The words were pouring from Heinrix's lips, filled with passion, fear, explanation, honesty... and doubt. He pulled his beloved closer to him, Noelle put her head to the interrogator's chest listening to his heart which was on a brink to jump out of his chest right into her hands. Heinrix was talking and talking - such an unusual behaviour for a person whose job is to force someone else to speak; he was torn between duty which gave his life purpose, the only purpose, and what he really wanted, what he needed - happiness with the one who he loves...

"I love you".

... and the one who loves him back. The words spoken by this fragile yet stong young woman filled his soul with light and warmth Heinrix never experienced. Deep inside he wanted so badly to hear them but was so frightened at the same time.

"I rather spoiled the evening... didn't I?"

The psyker gently touched the priestess' chin and looked at her face; she tried to avert her eyes for she was afraid to cry more (because of stress mostly). Noelle blinked, and tears ran down on her pink cheeks.

"No, it's entirely my fault. I will do my best to make it up to you in private".

They left the wardroom and headed towards the lift to Lord Captain's quarters; Heinrix was holding Noelle's little hand, he felt her being nervous and too quile. When the mechanical doors closed behind their backs, the man picked up the priestess as if he was worried she may faint. The young woman was surprised with this gesture and wanted to protest, but then she put her head on the interrogator's chest - the sound of his heartbeat became an anchor, a rope she needed to hold on to, to not lose herself. Noelle closed her eyes and buried her face in Heinrix's neck, a tear ran down on her chick again and then another one, but young woman was not sure if those were tears of sadness - probably a mere residual effect of a strong experience she had several minutes ago.

The mechanic doors opened and the psyker confidently stepped into the room, walking through corridor and the main hall right into Lord Captain's boudoir. Heinrix sat on the edge of the bed and looked to his beloved: so small and vulnerable, so fragile yet strong and bright in spirit. His warm lips touched her cool wet cheek, they moved up to her eye repeating the way paved by tears as if he was trying to wipe off all the trails of pain caused by him. Heinrix was holding Noelle close in his arms, tightly and gently, guarding her yet being afraid she may dissapear the moment he releases her. An egoistic little thought, a stupid fear, but so what? This means he is alive, he is a human being and those are his true feelings.

"I will never make you cry again. Never", - Heinrix were repeating these words in his head while covering Noelle's face with kisses.

[madaboutmunson]

Hot For Teacher

Fic by me for the @st-rarepair-minibang event Art by the wonderful @busyheadkeepbreathing (Mischievous_Oddity on AO3 - Their fic is posting tomorrow and it is so awesome so keep an eye out for it plus all the other amazing fics they have posted already!) - Thank you so much for these incredible moodboards!

Summary : It's not every day that Eddie wakes up to find that his uncle has managed to seduce someone, and it's definitely not every day that he happens to recognise that same someone. So when he happens to screw up and upset both his uncle and his date there's only one way he can fix it Pairing: Wayne Munson/Principal Higgins Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 7.7K AO3 Link

Another day, another dollar, Eddie thinks to himself as he idly scratches his stomach whilst taking the time for a stretch and overly dramatic yawn.

He rolls and forces himself to a slumped sit as the morning light battles through his blinds. He rubs his eyes again, reaches for his watch and grunts when he realises he can't just roll back into bed.

You know, graduating was a whole lot shittier than people made it out to be because now, with no college waiting for him at the end of summer, he’s been unceremoniously booted into the world of work. Well. Looking for work. Unfortunately, rockstar was not a job you could just apply for, so Eddie had taken to photocopying his resume of transferable skills and was handing them out everywhere! Handling money, self-motivation, communication skills, attentive to detail, customer service experience, creative, team player. All that jazz. Technically, he has been doing it as part of a band and his little side business at school with the help of Reefer Rick.

’You gotta get your foot in the door, Ed.’ That’s what Wayne had advised when he’d proposed on going on an open mic night road trip around the states, ‘All those other kids’ll be off on vacation, you get first pick for a change. Better chance of finding something you might like when it’s less competitive,’ and as much as he hated everything about it, he knew Wayne was right. But also has to be the sweetest lil’ puppy-eyed nephew he can be because he needs Wayne to take him to jump-start his van, which he had to leave at Gareth’s because the old girl had given up the ghost.

He gets to his feet, puts on his Garfield slippers to match his boxers from the same gift set and pads out quietly to the kitchen. 

He rubs his eyes and yawns a little more, making his way to empty and refill the coffee machine.

Gazing bleary-eyed into the living room, he can just about make a form on the fold-out bed. He grabs his mug, and then as the form fidgets on the bed, he sleepily smiles and reaches for another cup.

He’s putting the third sugar in his Garfield mug when something occurs to him. He frowns at the wall and pushes out his bottom lip. Something wasn't right. 

Narrowing his eyes, he takes a step backwards and looks into the living room again, and his eyebrows nearly shoot off his face entirely, covering his mouth not to let out a laugh and to hide the mischievous look on his face.

Well, well, well, Ol’ Uncle Wayne seemed to have got lucky last night, the fucking hound dog! The form on the fold-out bed wasn’t his uncle because he was on the sofa. Eddie can see his shiny balding patch from here. He secretly hopes he takes after his mother’s side, who all had full heads of hair until well into their seventies. He steps forward and tries to take a closer look at the form under all of the goddamn blankets. Shit, his Uncle is taking chivalry to a whole new level, probably freezing his balls off for this chick.

Eddie grimaces, hoping they hadn't been bumping uglies, and he was breathing in their stale sex air, fucking gross! No, they’d be all snuggled up together, and his Uncle is a gent, not a one-night-stand guy. No way.

He smiles and begins plotting all the ways he will mercilessly tease Wayne about this for the rest of the month at least. He reaches up to the cupboard to get another mug, pours half a cup, no sugar or milk, and finishes the one for himself and Wayne.

He hears the creak of the couch springs first, then a gruff but hushed, “Mornin’ Ed. You’re up early, ain't ya?”

“Well, you know the early bird gets the worm and all that shit,” Eddie whispers with a theatrical splaying of his hands, “Talkin’ of dirty old grubs, who’s your friend here? Didn’t you make me promise to tell ya if I had someone stay over? Do these rules not apply to you?” Eddie blinks like one of his condescending teachers at school, and his uncle rolls his eyes with a wry smile.

“Shut up and gimme my coffee, you little punk,” Wayne teases.

“Why don’t you wake up your friend here, so I can take her fucking order, too, huh?” Eddie pretends to be put out and curtsies, but he can’t hide his smile. This moment was going to fund the bank of ribbing his Uncle for weeks.

“I don't think that's a good idea. Best let ‘em sleep. He had a rough night.”

Inches away from picking up Wayne’s cup, Eddie’s human engine completely cuts out. First of all, what was he hiding? Second, he sounded nervous. Wayne only ever sounds nervous when the church women come around and start fussing about the place. And last, he’s still sleepy but heard what he heard.

“He?” Eddie questions quietly with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, he. That a problem?” Wayne says with all the defiance of a teenage girl being asked about her greaser boyfriend in the fifties. If he had the capacity for a ponytail, he’d be swishing with attitude at Eddie right now.

Well fuck! Is his Uncle gay? Not an issue if he is. Eddie’s very open-minded when it comes to all that sort of thing. In all fairness, he’d never known his uncle to be involved with anyone. At one point, he thought maybe he’d had his dick blown off in ‘Nam or something, and that's why he wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. My god! That raises new questions. What kind of guy had changed his Uncle’s mind? A hundred bucks says this guy thinks John Wayne is the greatest or is at least from the South because those were the two things that you could talk about five miles away from his Uncle, and he’d magically turn up with a big smile on his face like, “Talkin’ ‘bout Cowboys are ya?” Eddie facepalms. What an idiot. Now, it makes sense. No wife and no kids (apart from the blessing that was his good self). He always said he had better things to do but was obsessed with Westerns and Cowboys. Clearly, it's not just for the predictable plots.

Taking a sip of his coffee and setting it down on the countertop, he leans over and observes the shuffling form. Now he knows it's not a broad. He doesn't have to avert his eyes.

“Don't gawk, Eddie, Jesus!” Wayne mouths quietly, making Eddie poke out his tongue, fold his arms and turn away.

His mind is running a million miles a second. Who was this guy? Why was he so special? It can’t just be Westerns. Was it tough for older gay people to meet? He knew it fucking sucked in high school, not that he was gay, of course, just, you know, it must be tough. He liked girls, definitely. Just could appreciate a handsome dude, that's all. Sure yeah. 

He can hear them quietly muttering to one another, and the fold-out bed creaks from movement. He’s stood up. Eddie knows all the noises of that goddamn thing. He had to learn them from sneaking back in late at night.

You know what? He’s got things to do and places to be. He’s gonna break the ice. “I made you a coffee too. I didn’t know how you took it, so it's just straight out the pot.” Eddie says kindly, utilising a bit of the voice he’s been practising for if he ever lands an interview.

“Well, that's very kind of you, Edward. Thank you. That's how I take it anyway,” A not southern voice replies, but there is something familiar about it. Maybe it just sounded local.

“Best call him Eddie. He’ll start actin’ up otherwise. Well, more than usual,” Eddie can hear the smile in his uncle’s voice, and then the pair of them chuckle together. Eddie wrinkles his nose. That laugh was familiar, too. He gets an odd sensation and a twitch in his middle finger.

“Sorry, of course. Eddie is quite right, of course. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,” the voice says as the focus of the entire universe warps, pulls and at lightning speed zooms in on him as his brain places the voice.

No. No way. Absolutely not. That would be crazy. It could not be that asshole. It doesn't even make sense why he would be here. Eddie takes a deep breath and decides to stop being insane. His brain is just used to hearing the voice of that dickhead every goddamn day. Lovely day for it, isn’t it, Edward? I can’t wait to see the latest production. I hear you’ve been the driving force behind it. So I know it's going to be an absolute stormer! Nah, Eddie is unlucky, but he’s not that unlucky. Imagine finally leaving school and that happening. He laughs.

“Like that little quote, did you, Edward? It's one of my favourites,” the voice adds, “Sorry, I mean Eddie. I’ll get it eventually, just habit,” Eddie's stomach drops out of his ass, through the floor, plummets right through the centre of the earth, out the other side and gets swept up in the planet's orbit, amongst all the additional space junk.

He turns back towards the living room, and it must be the day that all the gods of every faith have decided to test him because there stands Principal Higgins.

Most of his body goes slack for a second, and his knees feel almost like they might buckle from shock. What the fuck? But soon, a furious tension arrives, and like the bubbling kettle that he is, he blows its top with his own version of a whistle.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!” Eddie screeches, “Why are YOU in my home?” his eyes are so wide you can see the whites all the way around his irises, “Where are the rest of your clothes?!” He looks between them but gets no further answers, just another helping of trauma.

“Now, Eddie. Son. I’m gonna need ya to calm down, ‘kay? It's not whatcha think,” Wayne slowly gets up off the couch, his arm outstretched towards him like he’s trying not to startle an already rabid dog, and currently, the way Eddie is almost foaming at the mouth, he’s not entirely wrong in his approach.

“Is that- IS THAT MY NEW METALLICA T-SHIRT? OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod  OH! MY! GOD!” Eddie raises his hands and grips onto his hair while pacing in the world's smallest circle, hoping this is all a fucking nightmare because it feels like one. It has to be one. The worst one. He can feel his heart racing. Is this how he’s going to die? No, not like this. Please, gods, not like this. He slaps himself hard in the face.

“EDWARD! What in the blue hell?” Wayne yells.

“Oh, you! You don't get to tell me anything!” Eddie gestures vaguely between them, “Whatever arrangement you have!” Eddie's insides recoil at a thought, “This isn’t so I could graduate, is it? You didn’t sell yourself to this tyrant for a scroll, did ya, Uncle Wayne? SAY IT AINT SO!” Eddie rubs his hands down his face, and he can feel the thin layer of sweat forming from pure panic.

“You know, I think Edward is very distressed right now, and I should probably go.” Principal Higgins says as he goes to remove the t-shirt, and Eddie almost full-on convulses with repulsion.

“Jesus H Christ! Keep it on! Keep it. Burn it. Whatever. I do not want that back!” Eddie puts his hand out in a stop motion and turns away from the potential hellscape about to be uncovered.

“Ok, that's enough. George here was just-” Wayne tries to douse the fuse to the time bomb that is Eddie but instead fans the flame, and it starts moving exponentially quicker.

“GE-OR-GE?! GEORGE, IS IT NOW?” Eddie's eyebrows are raised so high they might be two surprises away from leaving his face altogether. Wayne folds his arms and purses his lips like he’s waiting for Eddie to finish.

“Thanks for the ride and for letting me stay, Wayne.” Principal Higgins says, gathering his clothes from a drying rack.

Eddie points at him accusingly with one hand clutching his fluffy robe around himself with the other, stepping towards him with a renewed sense of purpose. “No! No! Uh-Uh. He’s not Wayne to you. He’s Mr. Munson. Not Wayne” 

Principal Higgins puts his hands up in front of him, “Alright, Eddie, alright. Mr Munson it is.” Eddie shocked face moves between the two of them like he's watching a tennis match, “Just calm down, ok?” and that makes Wayne close his eyes slowly and shake his head because telling Eddie to calm down only means one thing.

Eddie erupts.

“CALM DOWN?! CALM THE FUCK DOWN?!”

“Language, Eddie,” Wayne mutters lacklustre because he knows it's useless.

“Oh, sorry if my language offended you, sir. Maybe if you get off your moral high horse when you've spent the night with MY PRINCIPAL.”

“Ex-Prinicpal, Eddie. You graduated, remember?” He offers him a small smile, sending Eddie into toddler mode. He’s holding his breath, wrinkles up his nose and clenches his fists until he’s red in the face because he's so mad he can’t get the words out to express it.

So he does something else.

He stretches his hands directly out in front of him, pointing them at Higgins, Wiggling his fingers slowly muttering under his breath.

“Erm, Way-Mr Munson, what is he doing?” Higgins says, a little nervous.

“I’m cursing you, Higgins,” Eddie says in his best demonic Freddie Kruger impersonation, and that puts the fear in him.

“Ignore him. He’s just being dramatic.” Wayne tuts and shakes his head. Eddie raises his chin and widens his eyes, looking down his nose at Higgins and pushes his hands towards him quickly, making Higgins jump back with a yip.

“Are you sure he’s not cursing me?” Higgins says, a little afraid, starting to gather his things much faster.

“You crossed the threshold to my lair, and now you must pay the price, Higgins, with your soul.” The Principal backs away, frantically trying to put his knitted vest over Eddie’s Metallica shirt, and Wayne simply rolls his eyes, sits down and lights up a smoke.

Eddie widens his eyes a few times, muttering some pig Latin, which makes Higgins's face contort in confusion as he backs towards the door. “Thanks again, W-” Higgins starts to say but is cut off but Eddie rolling his eyes back into his head and chanting louder, “I-I-I mean Mr Munson. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the t-shirt Eddie.” he whimpers quickly, as he reaches behind himself for the handle of the door to reverse out of the trailer half dressed. Not Eddie’s concern as long as he was out of here. That was the main thing.

Eddie sports a broad closed, mouth smile as he turns back to his uncle, making a show of dusting his hands, “No need to thank me for taking out the trash for you, Oldtimer. This time, the pleasure was all mine” he chuckles and heads back to get their coffees. 

Strangely there is no echo to his chuckle nor any nod or smile of thanks when he delivers the hot drink—more of a snatch of the mug and avoiding looking at Eddie altogether. 

He scrunches his face and walks over to sit at the two-seater table. He knows this feeling. He doesn't like it. He slides into his seat, brushes down his robe, and eyes Wayne weirdly, “Want a fresh cup?” Eddie tries to break the tension. He can’t seriously be mad about Higgins, the Mega-bastard.

“No, Edward. I do not want a fresh cup.” 

Oh shit. A sentence of whole words, no contractions, hardly any drawl, and Edward. He knows what this might be, and it's way worse than Wayne being mad at him.

“You know, I thought I might try some of the stores near the arcade today, then maybe a few construction companies or the library…” he lets his voice trail off. Obverses his uncle pointedly, flicking over pages in the car magazine that he is obviously not reading. He doesn't even have his glasses on, “maybe join the circus or start my own cult?”

“That sounds nice for you, Edward. You do that.”

In another dimension where Eddie doesn't have to go job hunting imminently, he’s banging his head against the desk.

“Well, the thing about that is there is a small issue with, uh, the whole doing of things today, and I was hoping-” Eddie gets cut off mid most charming smile and fluttering of eyelashes.

“And you were hoping I’d take ya to pick up the van from Gareth’s because she’s not speakin’ to you either. Can’t say I blame the ol’ girl. You never look after her how you’re ‘sposed to” Ok, well, at least he’s talking like himself again. That's progress, at least. “Always drivin’ the poor thing like she’s a drag racer, never check her levels. Twice I seen her smoking, Eddie,” he continues to mutter a checklist of vehicle crimes Eddie has committed to his precious van, and he dares not interrupt because he really needs his help, “Well, how ‘bout this buddy.” Eddie beams in anticipation, “It's a no.” The surprise of a ‘no’ smacks so hard he might as well have got up and slapped him across the face with a wet salmon.

Uncle Wayne doesn't say no to Eddie, he says maybe, or we’ll see, or maybe in a few years, son.

“But-but you said about getting in with job applications and getting up early, and I did that, and I got the smart clothes that you got me all hung up ready to go. Come on, Wayne, please?” Eddie is all but on his knees, begging. Walking into a shop from the car park dressed like a prep was one thing, but from here to town? He’d be a laughing stock.

“No, Eddie and that's final!” Wayne says, glancing at him and then back down at the magazine.

Eddie closes his eyes slowly and presses his lips together. He knows what he has to do. He doesn't want to, but he also does not want to have to walk or bike to hand these resumes out.

“I’ll find Higgins and apologise straight after, I promise,” he says with absolutely no intention of doing it, but he’d figure out something later.

That gets his full attention. The magazine is closed shut, the mug is on the coaster, his arms folded, his lips pursed, and he’s looking directly at Eddie. And Eddie can see it in his steely eyes. Wayne is plotting.

“Ya know, I get rebelling against authority, and I get the whole hate the principal thing, but I can’t say I’m not disappointed. Didn’t even ask what happened. Just chased him outta here. Ya coulda be chasing him back out to anything.” Wayne says with a huff.

Anger he can stand, but disappointing Wayne is his kryptonite, and his uncle damn well knew it too. Eddie takes the bait.

“Go on then, what happened? What was so bad you had to invite my nemesis to have a sleepover with you?” Eddie waves his hand in front of himself to gesture for Wayne to continue.

“Nothin’ to it, really. Was on my way back from work in the small hours, saw someone walking in the pourin’ rain an–”

“Ok, whoa whoa whoa! You just pulled over in the dark to pick up some stranger at the side of the road in Hawkins? Are you insane?!”

Wayne rolls his eyes and continues, “As I was sayin’, I saw someone walking in the pourin’ rain, and as I passed them, I saw in my mirror it was George,” Eddies face automatically displays disgust at the mention of Higgins’ human being name, “I stopped an’ offered him a ride home. He was all embarrassed said he couldn’t go back there,” he eyes Eddie, “For reasons I’m not about to let his mortal enemy in on. He’d been sleepin’ in his car for a while. Yeah, since before your graduatin’. Anyhoo, his car is a bust. It had been playin’ up since the graduation ceremony and finally gave up the ghost, and he was stuck. I offered to take him to a motel, but he was worried about anyone else findin’ out, so I brought him back ‘ere. Someone forgot to pick up my laundry, so the only clean items around for him to sleep in were fresh goddamn air or a t-shirt I found.”

A cold, harsh realisation hits Eddie at full speed. He’d been the one the tamper with Higgins’ car. Said he had stage nerves, pretended to take a leak and instead fucked around with the car. One final act of revenge.

“Look, man. I didn’t know any of that shit.” Eddie laughs awkwardly, “I was just, you know, caught off guard.”

“Oh,” Wayne says, raising his eyebrows, “So if I’d woken ya up last night after my very long work shift and explained the entire situation to you. You would have what? Willingly give your ex-principal a t-shirt and show them some sympathy? Is that what you are saying right now?” Wayne stares him directly in the eyes and simply waits. He’s waiting for Eddie to lie or to be proven right.

“I don't like the guy, ok? There isn’t any law against disliking people,” Eddie says hurriedly, suddenly needing to wrap himself tighter in his fluffy robe as Wayne slowly looks down into his cup with a nod, and Eddie can feel it brewing.

“Thing is, Eddie. Ya didn’ even ask. Ya saw a guy lying on a bed he didn’t choose, in clothing, he wouldn’t have picked out in a montha Sunday’s, embarrassed, an’ scared, and ya drove him outta the house.” Eddie sheepishly raises his eyes to Waynes from under his hair, “Ya kicked a guy when he was down and out, Eddie. That ain’t right.” Wayne says sadly and shakes his head a little, averts his eyes.

Eddie’s insides squirm uncomfortably, and he tries to get back on the right side of Wayne, trying to get him to see if it had been anyone else, Eddie would not have done that, “But he’s not just some guy, Wayne. It was Principal Higgins. Come on, don't be mad. Once I’m done with these resumes, I’ll go apologise, yeah?” Eddie nearly gags on his own words, a small price to pay to avoid the words that would absolutely crush him

Wayne gets up, puts his mug in the sink, and mutters, “I ain’t mad, Son, just disappointed, is all.” 

FUUUUUUUUCK!

Eddie's heart crumples in on itself. That's it. He’d finally done it. 

After years of fucking up, everything from breaking a mug to being brought home by Hopper, who broke the news to Wayne that whilst he didn't strictly mind that Eddie was dealing on a small scale, he should be fucking quieter about it. Then the general weird appearance that makes most of the town stare or spread idle gossip, getting less than impressive grades at school, getting into fights, losing his temper with Wayne regularly all the way through puberty and getting high or drunk way too often with his friends. The recovery of which would lead to letting Wayne down with something he should have been doing instead.

After all of that, Wayne always looked a little disappointed but never outright said it, always found a way around it, but this. This was a step too far, and the words echo in his dumbass empty head.

“I ain’t mad, Son, just disappointed, is all.”

Eddie winces at those words as they stab into him repeatedly, dagger-like.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tries, and it's a real one, the lump in his throat trying to choke him out and the sting at the corners of his eyes, but he knows it's not gonna fly this time. He’d really let him down. Even at his age, the unknown of what would happen next makes his pulse race. 

Wayne nods and collects his hat and keys. He walks over, but his eyes do not meet Eddie’s as he puts on his cap and places the keys in front of Eddie on the table, “You ain’t gotta be apologizin’ to me. Take the truck. ‘M going for a walk.”

And with that, he’s gone. Eddie watches him walk away through the window, suddenly feeling small and engulfed by the robe that he pulls tightly around himself. He slumps off to the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day.

Twenty minutes later, Eddie finds himself in a situation he never thought possible, dressed in a button-down and un-tarnished jeans, his hair tied back in a low ponytail, driving around the trailer park and surrounding roads looking for Principal Higgins, or should he say, George Higgins. He isn’t his principal any more, thank Christ. You know what? No. It can be just Higgins. There. Good! Fucking Higgins! Jesus Christ, on a bike.

Not far from the entrance to the trailer park, he spots the tour dates on the back of the t-shirt, teamed with tan slacks and a chequered jacket slung over his arm in a hunched plod back to town.

Eddie drives a little ahead and pulls over, watches in the rearview mirror how the guy’s face lights up and his pace quickens towards the car. Man, was he in for a surprise.

“Wayne! Thank God. I didn’t know what I was gonna–” he starts saying as he sits in the passenger seat and on Eddie’s resumés. He swallows that one down and reminds himself this is for Wayne, “Oh. Uh. Eddie. Do you want me to get back out? Did you stop for someone else?” He struggles as he raises himself out of the seat again to hold the stack of papers he’d say on.

OF COURSE, THATS WHAT I WANT, Eddie thinks to himself, but buries it, grips the wheel white-knuckle tight, forces a small pinched smile and through gritted teeth manages, “No, of course not. I thought I’d see if I could help with your car. Wayne said it cut out on you?”

“Y-Yeah, that's right, b-but it's fine. If you drop me in town, I can speak to a mechanic there,” Eddie watches him pat for his wallet and scrambles to another pocket. He knows this dance, had to do the moves many times himself.

“You could do that, sure, or…” Eddie starts and trails off because two halves of his brain are having a slappy hands fight with one another.

“Or?” Higgins asks, and he sounds genuinely confused by what the other option could possibly be, but Eddie detects that slight waver of hope in his voice. It makes him roll his eyes, and the side of his brain that is only concerned with getting on the right side of Wayne again sends the one concerned with being cool and tightly held grudges built on dry sand, reeling into next week with an almighty whack.

He takes a deep breath and tries but fails to relax his shoulders, “Or I can take a look for free. I help out with a lot of cars in the trailer park.”

He’s met with silence. 

He waits a little longer, and there is still no response, and out of sheer concern that Wayne was gonna be extra pissed if he had literally killed Higgins with kindness, he turns to look at him.

Immediate deep regret!

The guy's bottom lip is wobbling. How did this guy run that fucking hell hole? He’s a jello of a person. Eddie looks back at the road to direct his flicker of a sneer somewhere.

“It’s not a big deal. Whereabouts is it?” Eddie tries to steer the conversation to something easy for him to digest.

Higgins clears his throat and blubbers, “Er, just one first side road into the forest after the school.” Eddie can’t bring himself to ask for anything more specific in case he gets emotional, and he would have to comfort him. The thought almost makes Eddie heave. He’ll stop this car and run to town himself before he does that. No way! He tries to think of something else.

“You friends with my uncle then?” Eddie tries, and he almost snaps his head around when the reply is immediate.

“Oh yes! Way- I mean, Mr Munson is a fantastic pal.” Higgins enthuses and then quickly corrects himself. There is another clearing of his throat.

This is what Luke Skywalker felt when he found out who his father was. Fantastic pal? Pal? What the fuck?

But Eddie beings to experience something worse than realisation. He’s curious.

“I didn’t even know you were friends,” Eddie says, a little weirded out.

“Oh,” Higgins says disappointedly, “He hasn’t mentioned me to you?” Eddie’s fingers tighten around the wheel again. What the hell was happening right now? Eddie chooses to ignore how much that sounds like someone realising their love is unrequited. No. No, this is not what he thinks is happening. He remembers now. Of course, he means the school stuff. 

“Well yeah, of course, he’s mentioned you when you’ve called about me,” Eddie laughs and shakes his head, “You know all those meetings with the three of us, and sometimes an extra teacher, to bring forth the ‘evidence’” Eddie makes air quotes whilst still holding onto the wheel with the remaining fingers.

Then there is a small laugh from Higgins, “He never did listen to any of it though, did he? Always team Eddie,” And the fondness dripping off those words almost makes Eddie want to slam on the breaks and vomit somewhere, not just out of repulsion but also because he’s just been reminded of all those times Wayne’s backed him against all odds, against all comers. It must be that that makes the words fall out of his mouth.

“Until today,” Eddie grumbles.

“What because of what happened in the trailer?” Higgins asks dumbly but with concern. The fucking dick!

“Yes! What happened in the fucking trailer!” Eddie all but hisses back, sighs, and tries again, “Sorry about that. Yes, how I overreacted in the trailer didn’t impress him as you can imagine.”

“Well, it must have been a hell of a shock for you, honestly!”

Eddie nods and smiles. Then his eyes shoot open wide, realising that he’s agreeing with his mortal enemy!

“Shit,” Higgins laughs, “If I had woke up in my house at your age and my Principal was asleep in my living room. I’d have questions too!”

Oh! Now he’s cussing and relating like they’re fucking buddies or something. A whole body shudder ripples through Eddie. He tries to get to the controls of this conversation again.

“So, what were you expecting him to mention?” Eddie asks. Even though he might live to regret it, the claws of curiosity are gouging into him.

“Oh, it’s stupid, honestly. He's a busy guy, and he probably was more interested in what you had to say. He’s always recounting your funny stories and jokes. He always says he doesn't do them justice because he says you tell them best.” Higgins says like it's nothing, but Eddie is so glad this section of the road is creating extra noise. Otherwise, he would have heard the gasp that just left Eddie as his heart squeezed.

Of course, his uncle wouldn't mention anything to Eddie, that was not to do with Eddie because everything was always about Eddie. He knew Wayne always had his back, no matter what, but to hear that he openly talks fondly about him to other people is almost enough to turn Eddie into a blubbering mess himself. “You guys, old friends or somethin’?” Eddie tries to say something quickly so Higgins can prattle on whilst Eddie composes himself.

“Ah,” curiously Higgins stops, “not really. I mean, not from school or anything, if that's what you mean?”

Eddie gets another sinking feeling that the reason they have bonded was also his own doing, “Well, you don't work at the same place. It’s rare Wayne goes out, and I was in those meetings too, so, uh, forgive me, but I fail to see how you’ve managed to befriend my Uncle. What do you have secret phone hangouts or something?”

He glances over at Higgins, who seems to be shifting in his seat, “Uh, well, we have a kind of brunch sometimes at the diner,” he says quietly.

“It's either brunch or it's not, Higgins,” Eddie laughs.

“My lunchtime but your uncle’s breakfast time, Happened accidentally at first. Then your uncle is such an empath. I guess he just did it out of kindness, really, maybe pity.”

Oh, sweet satan. This guy used the word empath unironically. Though this is a standard Wayne move, always the good Samaritan, even if it bites him in the ass later, “Don’t you have lunch with the rest of your henchmen at school?”

That makes Higgins scoff out a laugh, “I understand why you’d think that Eddie, but, uh, it’s not like that. They don’t like me as much as you think they do.”

Eddie swirls that around his brain for a while, thinking about how often he’d been sent to Higgins’ office. How many times did Higgins do anything other than make Eddie sit in his office with him while he did other things, and Eddie finished up some work or doodled?

“I like a good story. How did your first brunch happen?” Eddie asks quickly, eager to avoid further dismantling his personal Munson doctrine.

“Not that exciting, really,” but Eddie can hear the smile in his tone, “Diner was busy. Your uncle’s usual booth was occupied by some noisy sports team passing through. You know, the smaller booth that overlooks the bit of the car park with more greenery in the distance? So he sat at the corner of the counter near me. And we sorta knew one another, and we just got talking.” There it is again that softening in his words. A quick glance over, and he’s sure there is a blush on his cheeks.

Was this why it upset his Uncle so much? He remembers their mutual chuckle from this morning. Though he wishes Wayne would have befriended any other sadsack fuck in this town, he knows how particular his Uncle is about getting close to people, so Eddie does a quick check.

“And then what? You just bumped into one another and talked about…well, what did you talk about? Other than my good self, of course,” Eddie asks more gently.

“Yeah, guess there was a coincidental element to it, but then, at least on my part, it became a little more purposeful,” he drifts off a little and then quickly stutters back into action, “It-it’s not every day I get the chance to talk to someone who I have so many common interests with, you know?

Eddie can feel him looking at him intermittently. It reminds him of when John, one of the original members of Hellfire, was persuading Eddie to let Jenna join. He didn’t have an issue because she was a girl, just she was one of the science kids. She turned out to be a great player and also John’s girlfriend. 

Eddie’s suspicion meter is close to all the springs exploding out of it like a cartoon, and suddenly there is a new emotion leaping off the bench to join the team. Protectiveness.

“Common interests like what?” Eddie frowns a little.

“Uh, music, like rock n roll, but also some of that folk element, country and soul. Westerns, Hammer Horror,” he chuckles. Eddie feels himself want to look round at him, to see if he could telepathically find out what inside joke they had about dated scary movies, “Sports, human rights and well,” there is a pause, “you, of course, but purely from an academic side of things from me,” and though he doesn’t want to be, he is impressed by his apparent honesty.

“And how long have these brunches, or whatever the fuck, been happening?” Eddie asks.

“A little over a year now. Probably could have been longer, but I guess we never had a reason to sit together before,” Higgins shrugs, “Just nod hello or sometimes he’d check in about how you were doing.”

Wow, so now he’s two for two bringing this pair together through his own idiocy. 

“Uh, you know, Eddie, while I have this chance, I just wanted to let you know, regardless of what some of your teachers may have said to you. I always thought you were a very bright and creative kid. Just maybe the way a school is structured didn’t give you the right space to flourish,” Ok, so now this confirms it. He was totally trying to kiss Eddie’s ass here. Actually, it was more likely, at this point, it was Wayne’s ass he might be after.

Eddie grimaces at his intrusive thoughts. They threw him for a loop sometimes, and that one was several inversions leaving him feeling grossed out and nauseous.

“Look, man, you don’t have to say all that crap, I’m not gonna curse you, and I was going to look at your car anyway,” Eddie says to try and make him back off a little.

“Oh, so Wayne was right. You don’t go for all that spooky stuff, then?” Higgins asks happily.

“Now, now Higgy Wiggy, I didn’t say that. I just said I’m not gonna curse you this time.” Eddie says semi-seriously, and silence falls in the vehicle again, making Eddie look over at the gulping guy in a Metallica tee, “I’m just kidding, Higgins, geez!” Eddie laughs as the deserted car comes into view.

Within minutes Eddie is rolling up his sleeves and popping the hood to undo the damage he’d done previously. Meanwhile, Higgins was shuffling around in the back seat.

One particular shuffle almost sends the open hood smearing muck onto Eddie’s freshly washed hair, and that makes him say something. He storms around the side of the car, “Hey man! Could you take it easy whilst I’m under there? I’m pretty fond of my head. It completes my whole look, you know?” He yells sarcastically.

As he rounds the vehicle to stare daggers at Higgins, the sight that befalls his eyes is something more worrying. The guy was halfway through donning a crumpled suit and filling a trash bag with wrappers and cans.

Higgins can’t meet his eyes, “Sorry, Eddie. I was just eager to get into my own clothes and, well, didn’t want you to see all this,” he half smiles awkwardly, “too late for that now, huh?”

And amongst the general chaos of the backseat, he notices a few things. His Uncle’s copy of The Hobbit, a few blankets that were crocheted by the old lady that lives in the trailer park, but they have so many they end up in a cupboard, and a T-shirt from the Indi 500 the year he and Wayne had gone to it, “You like racing?” Eddie asks, gesturing at it.

Higgins responds with a melancholy, forced smile and water-brimmed eyes, shaking his head in a no.

“Just like the T-shirt, huh? He’s got some cool ones, thanks to me,” Eddie jokes, and it earns him a little laugh as Higgins wipes his eyes on his jacket sleeves. Eddie returns to an issue he feels more comfortable dealing with, leaving Higgins to sort out what he needs to.

A little while later, Eddie returns to a much cleaner car and a much more Principal looking Higgins. As he hands him the keys, “Try starting her up for me, yeah?”

Higgins nods with a smile and does as asked, and life breathes back into the engine, “Oh, Eddie! This is wonderful, thank you!”

“Least I could do,” Eddie sighs, cleaning his hands on a rag from his Uncle’s tool kit before loading it back in the truck.

He stands there momentarily, looking at his strange reflection in the paint, and ponders. Eddie and wherever he’s lived previously had the Munson name associated with things more shaped like his dad’s opportunistic and, let’s face it, criminal ways, but what if he could amplify the other side of that name? The one that protects and fixes. The one that helps others in need and shows kindness even when it may not be deserved.

He turns back.

“You know, I feel like I’ve got some bridges to mend, so after I’ve dropped these around town, I was thinking I might pick up some wings and make Wayne his favourite kind,” Eddie announces as he paces around the car. Higgins looks up at him, “I get a little carried away sometimes, and we usually have to live off them for a few extra meals to get my money’s worth,” Eddie’s nose twitches a little before he says the improbable, “I could swing back round this way, and pick you up, so you could save me from chicken wings for breakfast?” He pauses, but Higgins is just staring at him, “Don’t get me wrong, they’re delicious, even if I do say so myself, but that kinda heat first thing in the morning, we’ll that’s an interesting way to start the day,” he grins and kicks at the ground.

“Y-yeah, I’d really like-“ Higgins starts, but Eddie gives him a quick glare, “I mean, I think I could help you with that, sure,” Eddie sends him back a nod.

“Cool. See you in an hour or so.” Eddie says finally before hopping back into Wayne’s truck.

A few hours later, Eddie finds himself in clothing mostly more suited to himself, other than his Hot Stuff Garfield Apron. He had two plates piled high with wings around a small bowl at the centre with a sauce of his creation, one spicy, one blue cheese, plus a pot of mac n cheese from a box. 

He lines the plates up and looks over at the two of them watching the game on the TV, occasionally squabbling over who was at fault on which team for things not going in their favour, occasionally laughing loudly at the other when their prediction was correct or a commentator agreed with them.

Eddie can’t remember a time in the last few years he’s seen Wayne this animated. His eyes are sparkling even, and a secret smile graces his face even when he’s proved wrong, and trying to look annoyed about it. 

“Grubs up, jocks!” Eddie yells over with a laugh. The two of them scramble to see who can get there first. They both look over the food and then up at Eddie.

“Wow, Eddie, this is quite the buffet!” Higgins says enthusiastically, as Wayne and Eddie exchange a comical look at the word buffet.

“Yeah, it looks great, buddy. Thanks,” Wayne says with a big smile, and he blinks softly at Eddie, “Ya done me real proud today, son.” His voice is gruff as always, but that gentle fondness is back, and Eddie grips tightly to the countertop and presses his lips together not to get emotional about it.

A moan of delight comically breaks their shared stare. Higgins has taken a bite from a chicken wing doused in the blue cheese sauce.

“Told ya,” Wayne says as he puffs out his chest, “Best chef in town, right here in my own home!” He beams over at Eddie and back to Higgins.

“It’s not that I didn't believe you!” Higgins protests, “But I’m thrilled I got to sample the proof,” he smiles at Eddie before reaching for another and freezes. This time an unmistakable blush hits his cheeks, “Sorry, I just got carried away.” He says meekly.

Eddie turns to the plate of food to see the issue, Wayne has reached for the very same wing, and his fingers are draped lightly over Higgins’. Eddie traces the arm up to Wayne’s face. It’s hard to make out if he’s blushing on his face just from stubble and the ageing of his skin, but the top of his ears give him away.

Wayne is staring at Higgins, completely frozen too, until he gradually turns his gaze to meet Eddie’s. The sparkle of mischief and laughter is gone. In its place is fear. His eyes dart away momentarily, and he almost seems to force himself to look back at Eddie, who gives him a weak but encouraging smile.

Then Wayne does something incredibly brave, he wraps his fingers around Higgins’ hand, making a small gasp escape from his old Principal, and waits.

Eddie looks between them both.

“I fucking knew it!” He yells and laughs.

Wayne smiles, and Higgins looks bewildered, “What, you’re just ok with this?”

“With people being gay? Yeah!” Eddie makes a face like he just asked him if the sky was blue, “About this situation in particular?” He gestures a finger between the two of them and folds his arms, “Absolutely not!”

Higgins looks deflated, but Wayne still has a smirk on his face.

“But you know, I suppose,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head, “It deserves a chance, right?”

Higgins' face lights up, and he throws his arms around Wayne.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Eddie claps his hands together, “Do not make me load up the spray bottle, ok? Your orientation I’m indifferent to, but no fucking on my stuff and nothing tonsil hockey or worse whilst I can hear or see you, understood?” Eddie says, flicking the kitchen towel over his shoulder and looking at them both in turn.

They both nod at him quietly, Higgins crimson-faced and serious, Wayne with a smile he’s trying to repress and a twinkle in his eyes, possibly caused by the tears that almost welled up in them.

“Tomorrow, I’m gonna help you find a place, and until we have that squared away,” Eddie says, leaning over the counter and looking at Higgins seriously before turning to look at Wayne, “Let me know if you’re having a fucking sleepover!”

[lea-heartscxiv]

TadaAi Valentine's Day

TadaAi were the next and second to last to be voted in this poll and here is the date they had on Valentine's Day this year on our sims gameplay.

You can see all images (because here it can only be uploaded 30 images) and an extra images of TadaAi's date in our Blogger. (From me and @van-yangyin)

Blogger: English | Español

Read their date below the cut line ↓

The sun was no longer visible.

Ainosuke: Tadashi, don't head to the mansion today, we'll do the final Valentine's Day event preparations for "S" at your apartment. 

Tadashi: At my apartment? 

Ainosuke: Yes, is there a problem?

Tadashi: No, Ainosuke-sama.

They arrived at place. Tadashi drove into a subway pay parking lot. Ainosuke in order not to attract attention when he got out, inside the car dressed in other clothes.

Ainosuke: I'll follow you.

Tadashi: Understood.

And they arrived at the entrance of building where Tadashi's apartment was located.

They went up to the floor where Tadashi's apartment was located.

??? A: Could that guy be the one from last time?

??? B: I don't know, honey. Last time we were on a trip and we only heard the rumors.... (Referring to Tadashi's birthday, November 22nd, 2022, where during the night they celebrated in his apartment)

??? A: Well, I didn't get a good look at him, I only saw that he has blue hair and is very handsome and tall!

??? B: Honey!

??? C: Wow, then I want to see him too!

Already inside the apartment Tadashi directed Ainosuke towards his work room.

Tadashi: Here, you can put your laptop and make final preparations, the finished illustration is in the desktop folder with the name 【バレンタイン デービーフ"S"】

Ainosuke: Perfect, and on the web?

Tadashi: I will go prepare the bathroom now so you can take a bath. While you are bathing I will finish putting up the final text you have decided on. And before I go to take a shower, if you think it is OK, we will publish it so that everyone who wants to can start registering. But... There is one thing I do not understand...

Ainosuke: About what?

Tadashi: Why Regulars vs. Goofys? Langa-kun is Goofy, you know that.

Ainosuke: I know. All Goofy who wish to participate must register first. Once registered, all the Regulars who wish to give chocolate to a particular Goofy must challenge them, and that way they will all beef at the same time against that Goofy. You got that right, didn't you?

Tadashi: Yes, but in that case you will not be able to go against Langa-kun.

Ainosuke: I know I won't be able to go against Langa-kun, but if he gets challenged to a beef by as many people as I think he will, he'll have as much fun as I will if... Everyone is free to participate if they wish.

Tadashi: Oh... I understand. ✨ «Ainosuke-sama wishes me to participate against him, for fun?» - thinking.

Ainosuke: So go prepare my bath.

Tadashi: Yes, I will get it ready right away.

Tadashi went to prepare the bath for Ainosuke, while Ainosuke wrote the final details for Saturday night's event at Crazy Rock.

Ainosuke: Let's see how many people register this time and want to give me chocolate. Now to wait for the bath. But first... How was this being ordered...?

Tadashi comes back to tell him that the bath is ready, and Ainosuke goes there happy after getting what he wanted.

Tadashi: Ainosuke-sama, what would you like for dinner?

Ainosuke: It's all ready.

Tadashi: All ready?

Ainosuke: Yes, I'm also able to do some things by myself sometimes.

Tadashi: Are you sure you do not want me to stay with you in the bathroom? As... Always...

Ainosuke: Did you put everything where I told you?

Tadashi: Yes, the towel on the chair, along with the bathrobe and the other thing you asked me for.

Ainosuke: Then now take care of finishing setting up the web page for the website before we publish it.

Tadashi: Yes.

Ainosuke went to take a bath and Tadashi grabbed the USB with information Ainosuke left inside, placed it in his laptop and proceeded to include the text in the web page, with all the images and vectors integrated. Once finished.

Ainosuke: You know, Tadashi, that you look very handsome when work?

Tadashi: Ainosuke-sama! Are you done already?

Ainosuke: Yes, whenever you want can go take a bath, or a shower, or whatever you want to do.

Tadashi: But do not you want to check if everything is correct and publish the web page first?

Ainosuke: Not yet, I will read it first.

Tadashi: Well then, with your permission I am going to take a shower.

Tadashi left Ainosuke checking the web page. And when he was getting undressed to take a shower, the doorbell rang...

Tadashi: Who will it be at this time of night?

Ainosuke: Tadashi, I will go.

Tadashi: No, Ainosuke-sama wait.

Ainosuke: Don't worry, whoever they are, won't recognize me.

And despite the refusals of Tadashi who didn't even see how his Master was wearing, Ainosuke opened the door.

Ainosuke: «It must be the pizza delivery guy.» - thinking - Here's ADAM for.... Who are you?

??? A: Wow, how handsome and tall he is....

??? B: Good afternoon-night, sorry for the inconvenience, we are the neighbors.

??? C: AAAAH! He has very captivating red eyes.

Ainosuke: Wow... Mr. Tadashi has your neighbors on the landing. Good night, I'm ADAM, the cleaning guy. I thought you were the pizza delivery guy...

Tadashi: A... A...

Ainosuke: Yes, ADAM. Do you want me to keep cleaning? Or set the table for when the food arrives?

Tadashi: Better keep... cleaning, A... Adam... Setting the table is not something a cleaning guy should be doing... Good night, what do you want? 

Ainosuke: Well, then when the pizza delivery guy comes, I'll get the door. Ok?

??? A: Is it a Japanese guy with a foreign name? Or is it a foreigner? Is it a working nickname? 

Ainosuke: What do you think? *wink*

??? B: You shouldn't ask such things, honey. In fact I don't know what we're doing here, it's none of our business...

??? C: Are you a yakuza? But it doesn't look like you have tattoos...

Ainosuke: I'm only a very passionate love guy who loves to clean his clients' houses with a big love and passion.

??? C: Oh my god it's like in a BL story, the super serious young worker who has no physical attractiveness at first glance, who a young cleaning guy falls madly in love with him, who is also super attractive and muscular.

Ainosuke: No physical attractiveness? It's not like you're any better than a kappa either.

Tadashi: A... Adam, I think the pizza delivery guy is coming, if you all excuse us.

??? B: Of course, sorry for the inconvenience. Honey, Mayu we should go now.

??? D: Handsome.

??? A: But now was the best time!

??? B: Saori, let's go, I'll take you in my arms. All of us, let's go.

??? A: See you, young ADAM, when you come back to clean Mr. Kikuchi's house.

??? C: Yes, see you... Hey, Kikuchi-san, don't let him get away, I can tell he loves you so much.

??? B: Leeeet's go!

And the family went back to their apartment. While finally seeing that place was clearer, the pizza delivery guy approached Tadashi's apartment.

Pizza delivery guy: Pizza for ADAM-san?

Ainosuke: Here, it's me. Here's the money.

Tadashi: «He ordered pizza for both of us to eat...» - thinking.

Pizza delivery guy: Have a nice evening, bye.

The delivery guy left and the door finally closed, so Ainosuke took the opportunity to tell Tadashi to go take a bath.

Tadashi: No, I'll just take a shower. We can't waste any more time.

Ainosuke: Well, then take a shower, but don't go out until I tell you and dress up, elegant.

Tadashi: Elegant?

Ainosuke: Do you want to waste more time?

Before going to take a shower Tadashi tried to find the most elegant clothes he had in closet of his apartment. And then he finally went to take a shower. When he finally finish hear Ainosuke's voice.

Ainosuke: Go ahead, Tadashi, anytime you want to come out.

Tadashi: Ainosuke-sama, it's like my birthday...

Ainosuke: Well, today it's just simple food and later some sweet or other. Sit down. (Referring to the fact that on his birthday he took him along with Kaoru and Kojiro to eat at a fancy restaurant.)

Tadashi sat down and Ainosuke sat down too. They started to eat.

Ainosuke: Don't think that's all.

Tadashi: No?

Ainosuke: You'll see.

When they finished eating the pieces they needed they left the box on top of the kitchen counter.

Tadashi: Ainosuke-sama. Thank you.

Ainosuke: That's not all, I'm going to look for the penultimate surprise of the night. Wait for me at the table.

He went to look for something special that he had prepared for this occasion.

Ainosuke: They're none of the sweets you used to give me when you were little, but I wanted to buy the best ones for you.

Tadashi: But, Ainosuke-sama, that was not necessary.

Ainosuke: Happy Valentine's Day, Tadashi, shall we go to the sofa and watch a movie while we post the Valentine's "S" event web page?  This is the last surprise.

Tadashi: If you wish.

They went to the sofa and posted a movie, at Ainosuke's request. Once they were seated Tadashi posted the S Valentine's Day event web page with a notification so that from that moment on everyone could watch it and participate.

Ainosuke: Of course I am already registered. Let's see how many people want to give me chocolate this Saturday.

Tadashi: «Ainosuke-sama... I will be the one to beat everyone who beefs against you and give you chocolate this Saturday. Name: Snake. Skateboard position: Regular. Choose the registered Goofy you want to give all your love to with a chocolate this Saturday: 愛抱夢 (ADAM)» - thinking.

~The End?~

Poses by @simmireen, thank you for your hard work!

Maybe you want to read too:

JoeCherry Valentine's Day | Renga Valentine's Day | Miya Valentine's Day | Shadoka Valentine's Day

[tiikerikani]

That's it, I'm famous now

2023.06.02 – Radio Suomen Kesäilta yhdessä (Linnanpuisto, Hämeenlinna)

It was raining on and off all afternoon so I decided to hide inside the castle, and also to survey the festival grounds from there.

The whole park was fenced off for the event, so I had to walk alllll the way around to the other side to get into the castle area.

There were sheep doing the lawn around the moat 🐑

You don't need to pay the admission fee to go to the gift shop or the cafe, but you do to get into this tower. Thanks, Museum Card!

Just then I noticed the Vesterinen dressing rooms on the left there. (I recognized their van, lol)

I spent a bit more time poking around the museums but went back outside when I heard the sound check… and hung around at that bridge, outside the fence. When they were heading back afterward, Senpai rounded the corner to go inside, and … waved at me? I think he beat me to it by a split second. Am I recognizable from THAT distance????

Later, I was sitting by the river near this nifty boat to kill time when another fan showed up with his folding chair and blanket. We decided to go find out if we were already allowed in. It seemed so. There was practically nobody else there yet, so we're just eager beaver fan army.

I'm not really the festival type so this is probably the closest I'll get to one. Since this was being put on by Yle (which is funded by our taxes), it was free to get in. I wouldn't pay €€€ to see such a short set without songs to cry to. It was also going to be broadcast live on TV, radio, and webcast.

The other thing is that I prefer seeing artists whose songs I kind of actually know, and this lineup happened to work out that way.

I kind of like Olli Halonen because his songs describe the contemporary Finnish self-image (and to some extent the stereotypes) in an updated, 21st century way.

There was a Katri Helena superfan who had a vintage album cover that she wanted autographed, as well as her new memoir. Consequently there was a small autographs/selfie session in the corner after her set. But seriously, she's been performing for literally 60 years and still sounds great.

Kalevauva.fi (and Paleface) were also there to premiere their new Hämeenlinna song. They were on the smaller stage next to the broadcast booth. I was, of course, NOT giving up this position at the front of the big stage so I skipped seeing them. (Fortunately they showed the music video on the big screen.) This was obviously for practical reasons because it takes a long time to set everything up for such a large band...

But let's face it, Vesterinen was obviously the headline act and whom everybody was here for, even though they all technically had equal billing.

Anyway, since I can just get screencaps from the TV recording, I didn't take so many pictures of my own… and actually rewatching this was pretty okay, it's hard to hear the details in the backing vocals when you have earplugs in at the live show.

(Wait, are they setting up the afterparty tent over there?? It was not there earlier.)

Because of the time constraints of a live TV broadcast, a lot of the usual banter was omitted, which meant that the other band members didn't get introduced because there's too many of them and it would take too long :D

At least he didn't gesture at me this time. Because if he had, and it had gotten on TV, I'd either be terrified or I'd have had the most legendary once-in-a-lifetime screenshot for my profile picture somewhere.

(Okay, this is pretty legendary too.)

MESSAGE FOR SENPAI!!!!!!

(Honestly I was worried that the Very Serious Security Guy in front of me was going to make some kind of move.)

Afterwards, the blondes (who also got their 5 seconds of fame) saw the band leave the stage area but didn't manage to yell at them quickly enough to get their attention, and I was just paralyzed over whose name to yell. I noticed that some of the other groupies had migrated to chatting with the people in the sound/lighting booth, so I went over and handed my envelope [1] to one of the guys in there. I didn't stick around because a) I didn't want to get into trouble, and b) I needed to catch the train back to Helsinki.

I kinda wish the TV people actually put any of my dancing/dramatic singalong on screen; they do not see in it what Senpai sees in it ;) But then, it also suits better the melodramatic songs that weren't played here.

The one cameraman on the ground did spend a significant amount of time with his camera pointed at (or past) me on a few occasions and I was trying really hard to pretend he was invisible. I'm not the "Hi Mom!!" type. He is responsible for this shot (and it does linger on me a bit):

__________

[1] This endnote is longer than that note. I mostly just wanted to hand over my traditional copy of the piano score for my latest arrangement. I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to hand anything to anybody at all, so I brought a small piece of paper and scrawled the note while I was hanging around at the bridge.

_________

Set list:

Maailma palaa

Kohti sydänpeltoja

Ilman mua

Tummilla teillä

Nuoriherra

Kukaan ei koskaan

Faarao

Kolme hyvää vinkkiä

Älä lopu yö

Hetken ikuinen

// Onnellinen mies

// Arlandan portailla

(Note: the encore songs were not on the TV broadcast, only the webcast/VOD, which, for folks in Finland, should be available until the end of the year.)

[Concert write-up archive and master calendar]

[abbinurmel]

American Politics in general I've noticed really is metaphorically very often a lot like having a broken down car in a garage.

A bunch of family members are all aggravated because there was a huge holiday road trip planned to Grandma's and the calendar deadline is coming ever closer; and they are just stuck with this one family minivan. And so, they're all messily debating back and forth for months on end, what is to be done about this van, what is the root issue at the middle of the car trouble, or what could be used as a last minute alternate vehicle instead... And some of them know a lot about cars, and some of them don't, but either way, they all know they are on a tight budget, and pressed for time, and instead of cool heads coming together to find a solution they're constantly arguing about unrelated things and going off topic while sorting the details about the budget, or how to fix the car. Maybe they should seek a higher authority and take it to a mechanic, no no, that'll just end up having us be broke/manipulated and helpless!-they should save time and money by tinkering themself in the garage- NO NO!- they should they ask a neighbor for help, ask the neighbors for their car, are you kidding, we can't become reliant on THEM, then we owe them a favor and we don't wanna look weak and needy- perhaps should they try to lease a new vehicle...are you crazy??...does the problem stem from a piss poor engine from the 1970s or does it just need some TLC, some antifreeze and a tune up, NO NO NO, now listen to me, perhaps we should tell Grandma we need to postpone(- WE ARE NOT DOING THAT!!) ...Fine. I took a look under the hood and I didn't see anything wrong, the van is fine. We can drive it to California and-NO that's a RISK those brakes needed changing ages ago!-This is all your fault, not saving up for a better car! Well maybe if we....if we...and so on. There's obviously some kind of layered, nuanced issue, with all the above and everyone is trying to generally keep their shit together, as keeping sane and polite is the obvious best way to get things done, but most are doing poorly at it....

MEANWHILE; in the middle of all this deadlocked chaotic squabble, the youngest naive well meaning child toddles in from their room upstairs. He keeps tugging on their sleeves, nagging for someone's attention. When they finally give in, and say "What is it Little Timmy?" the bright eyed kid just asks:

"WOULDN'T IT BE BETTER IF WE JUST ALL RODE TO GRANDMA ON **BIKES**???🙃" (The parents eyeroll, the eldest sibling rudely scoffs, while another one shakes their head doting.)

"...Yeah Timmy. That's real nice." sighs Mom. "-Now go play upstairs." He doesn't go away. Timmy insists they must pay attention to his views. This is like, real, real good childhood wisdom, after all. They need to appreciate his deep sage ideas nobody else has ever had. ...And the adults, meanwhile, they are tired, so tired, of this entire fucking conversation. They'd like to move on, but can't. They all wish it was that simple. But they need a car. They've all been arguing for so so so long, about not just the car, but nearly everything else, by this point. It has been a few centuries. And there's clearly many other personal agendas, and inner social tensions, at stake. But the kid's too innocent to understand that. He's not willing to succumb to any moral compromise, or aware of nuance or mundane adult stresses; and is too unemphatic/ black and white in his manner of thinking at this current age, because he hasn't really experienced life. He doesn't know or care about the difference between standing up for Principles vs. analyzing reality and careful formulating an actual strategy to implement them yet and knowing what the possible social pros and cons of that event may be as a result.

Maybe he will hopefully someday.

But for now: all he knows how to do is is say-

"B-But BUT BUT; I *LIKE* RIDING BIKES!"

"Yes Tim."

"-NO mom doncha see IT'S BETTER FOR EVERYBODY!....WE COULD ALL GET HEALTHIER TOGETHER. IT'S BETTER FOR THE ENVIRONMENT, AND-"

"Yes, look, Lil Hypothetical Timmy, that's all very true," Mom kindly sighs, with great aggravated patience. "But sweetheart, we're not in good shape. We're not made for biking every single day. Or riding to Grandma's, who lives 6 hours away."

"WHY NOT!*

"Because we aren't trained to. Not everywhere has bike roads. And your father's lazy-" The husband glares over at her. ("Sharon-"...)

"BUT! People on TV, they do it, and in France, THEY all do it!...."

"Look, honey- those people usually are athletes. They have different bodies. Maybe it"s easier for them to do it in France, but we aren't France, we hace different roads and even the French need to sometimes drive cars too. Yes we should care about exercise and cleaning the air. Maybe we can keep trying to get better. But dropping the car now is not practical, we're just not cut out for only bike riding, and-...."

The dad and all the other gathered relatives eye the mom and kid accusingly for wasting time. Some crack jokes because they are smugly bemused/secretly eating popcorn pleased by the total derailing of this entire conversation, as some of them never wanted the family road trip to Grandma to happen in the first place. A few don't even like much of the family as a whole, and just either personally dgaf about the situation or simply are the sorta ass who basks in pure chaos so long as it doesn't affect them.

"But MOMmm, we COULD be riding bikes! :(" the kid continues to whine. "WE COULD TRAIN, HONEST, WE COULD GET REALLY REALLY GOOD, IF I PRACTICED EVERY DAY, I really could! I am strong!-"

"I know honey..."

"IF WE JUST SOLD THE CAR, GOT A BUNCH OF REALLY *GOOD* BIKES, AND WE PRACTICED EVERY DAY, IT COULD BE FUN, AND-"

"Look sweetie. Just go play upstairs."

"BUT!"

"Look, son, that's a real lovely sentiment, but it's not realistic. Your dad's 47, he's in no shape to undertake such things. Even if we did take our summer roadtrip that way, mommy has to go to work all the way up in the city. It's not safe or easy to bike there, it's too far. We need the family van to work. Your brother Joey has furniture that he has to take up to college and- Look, just head back upstairs"

"BUT MOMMMMM"

"Timmy," the Dad barks growing aggravated. "Taking bikes everywhere is nice, yes. Maybe we can buy you a new bike for Christmas or your next birthday. Or next time mommy ever decides she wants to go someplace nice close by as a family, instead of sleeping with one of the lobbyists next door. But we can't bike to Grandma's and we can't afford a plane. We need right now a car. That's just the way it is."

"WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY EVER *LISTEN TO ME!!?* WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY *CARE* ABOUT *FIXING THINGS?* 😭😭😭 You do not even LOVE me, DO YOU?! YOU DON'T CARE about saving the environment at all, DO YOU!?"

"(Ohferchrissake-)"

"IT'S NOT *FAIR!!!!* I don't even care about Grandma's! THIS FAMILY SUCKS! It is literally THE WORST. FAMILY. EVER!! I'M RUNNING AWAY. THAT'LL SHOW YOU! RRMMPH!"

Timmy dashes off in a pre-pubescent angsty huff and slams the door. Just for the extra emphasis, he slams it thrice more, to make sure you heard it.

Then after tweeting/sobbing his poor idealistic 10 year old wee heart out for about 2 minutes, Timmy immediately gets distracted by playing Minecraft or Roblox while the family tiredly sighs and returns to the endless weary discussion at hand.

Timmy continues on meanwhile resenting his objectively quite imperfect yet still extremely materially pampered life he has; both in justifiable and absurdly unjustified ways; and it's universally agreed by all parties later on as Timmy develops into an adult that he is in a bad need of therapy as well as probably everyone else who hasn't already died yet.

What nobody understands about American politics is that creating a third party big enough to compete with the top two is a project that would take at least ten to twenty years, meaning it would still not be viable for decades worth of elections. It would have to be built up slowly and steadily first for all that time. Currently there are none who can get even 1% of the vote. They're jokes. Addiction parties exist only as a kind of nice gesture and tradition right now, barely getting news coverage other than novel curiosities.

In some other countries you can vote for your "preferred" choice and if they lose, your vote goes to your backup choices. Not in America. You get one vote for one guy and if they lose your vote evaporates.

Also, the electorates get the majority voting power and even if everyone in a district voted for a third party, every electorate is dedicated to voting either Republican or Democrat and will still do so.

[project3research]

First cut exhibition, Manchester

It was an exhibition that featured new and recent works of over 30 international contemporary artists who work with paper in revolutionary ways.

The artists cut, sculpted and manipulated paper, transforming it into fantastical pieces of art. First suggested to me by my teacher, I explored the different artists and their work that collaborated on this project, and found a handful of artists from it whose work inspired my experimentation and ideas for my project. The artists are as follows: Claire Brewster, Andrea Mastrovito and Emma Van Leest. 

Claire Brewster, creates paper cut birds and flora from imagined locations, taking inspiration from nature and the environment, her pieces transcend borders and pass freely between countries with scant regard for rules of immigration or the effects of biodiversity. What drew me to her work was the blurry, dreamlike aspect of her work, the diffused shadows creating an illusion of motion in the objects giving the a life of their own. Moreover, the use of textured and multi coloured paper adds depth the the otherwise flat images, however the only minus of that is that the details of the paper cutting in the birds wings blend in with everything, so unless you focus on the image they look like blank silhouettes.

Andrea Mastrovito, born 1978, he first came to prominence within the Italian art scene in the early 2000s, thanks to his collages on canvas, inspired by linocut printing techniques, in which he overlapped hundreds of layers of cut-out and painted silhouettes. His exhibition ‘L’ile des morts’ a paper cut curtain of a naturalistic scenery, gold paint and collage on wall drew my attention in initially with its sheer size, the idea of making it a curtain separating the exhibition from the rest of the room and making the audience interact with it by going through it, makes the piece more immersive and it helps set the scene of the whole piece. I also really enjoyed looking at how he made use of big silhouetted cut outs, surrounded by smaller finer details, which helped create the contrast and brings the focus to the bigger cut outs. Moreover, it helped create a sense of surprise for the audience once they start exploring the piece and noticing smaller details in the work such as women sitting amongst the branches and tiger crawling on the forest floor. 

Emma van leest, born 1978, Melbourne, is a paper artist that creates filigree paper works. Her works are intricately cut, which adds them texture and movement making all the pieces feel alive. A lot of her pieces are portrayed as an outsiders point of view of a landscape, rural and urban, with the different figures in one piece doing their own thing almost reminiscent of the Japanese art style Tsukuri-e, where you get an almost birds eye view into the scene. 

https://manchesterartgallery.org/event/first-cut/

https://www.cornerhousepublications.org/publications/the-first-cut/

https://clairebrewster.com/papercuts/

http://www.andreamastrovito.com/index2.php?pagina=works&id_cat=0011&id_prod=00000156

https://viola.bz/filigree-paper-cut-by-emma-van-leest/

https://www.frankie.com.au/article/artist-interview---emma-van-leest-541392

[cjwolfwrites]

Made for eachother

Juice Ortiz X Damien “wolf/Lobo” Martinez  (oc ) ft. Father figure Chibs

Premise -  A day in the life of Damien “Lobo” Martinez

Just a fluffy self-indulgent mlm fanfic setting up some backstory and character relationships   

This is probably going to turn into a  multific and its my first tumblr fic so please be gentle 

Damien rolls himself out from underneath a worn down raggedy old pickup truck with a sigh before pulling a bandanna from his back pocket and wiping the sweat from his forehead. It’s a quiet day at Teller Morrow as Damien finishes his workload for today he tells the club prospect to take the truck he finished and put it outside for pickup. When he is done with everything he puts his tools in their right places and heads to his boyfriend's workspace. “Hey, J whatcha working on?” Damien asks with a smile. Juice jumps at the other man’s sudden appearance. “Jesus Damien you scared the shit out of me love”. Damien laughs at the other man’s reaction “I’m sorry honey I don’t mean to sneak up on you it just kinda happens”. Juice laughs as he says “man I really need to put one of those cat collars with a bell on it on you so I hear you walking” Damien laughs as Clay walks into the shop to gather the guys “Juice,Lobo grab your cuts and meet us in the church now” clay barks at the two men “ you heard the boss man we need to go get changed let’s go hun” Damien smiles holding the other man’s hand as they walk towards the clubhouse dorms. Damien goes into his and juices shared room and quickly changes into a plain white sleeveless shirt and black denim jeans before slipping into his nice leather boots and cut before discarding all his work clothes in the duffle at the foot of their shared bed and tucking his work boots in their place beside the desk. Damien walks over to juice who is waiting for him at the door “let’s go get this meeting over with “ Damien sighs wanting. Nothing more than to take a nap and go home both men enter the church quickly and quietly sit in their respective seats as they are waiting for the rest of the guys to show up Damien quietly pulls a field sketchbook out of his pocket and starts mindlessly doodling to pass the time Jax is the last one to enter the meeting room. Before the meeting starts Chibs looks over at Damien and asks. “Aye lad your always drawing in that book during meetings what are you drawing in their kid ”. He smiles as Damien is seemingly snapped from a daze “oh I just draw stuff from around the room usually. It helps me with my focus you can look through it if you want Chibs “ Damien smiles handing off the sketchbook to his sponsor and the closest person he’s ever had to a father figure. As Chibs flips through the book he sees various drawings of the club's logo, the table, different pieces of decor and memorabilia that lined the walls, and even detailed drawings of different club members. Chibs stops on the page Damien was working on 5 minutes prior it was a rough sketch of Damien and Juice from when they both got patched in with a list of materials needed To make an oil painting for the other man and with a smile he says  “damn lad you are a talented bugger aren’t you”. Damien smiles looking at the page Chibs had in between his thumb and forefinger “heh yeah I guess”. Clay suddenly clears his throat and everyone’s attention snaps to him “ today is the day we’re going to go on our monthly gun run and delivery. I want Jax, Chibs,Lobo, juice, Tig, and the prospect to come with me for this. it should be a quick in and out but in case things go south i’d like to have some extra manpower. If no one has any concerns then this meeting is adjourned and if I mentioned your names go grab your things and meet me in the parking lot in ten and oh one last thing Tig, Juice, and half sac you’re in the van and lobo you are escorting with Chibs. Jax and I will lead ” clay bangs the gavel against the table adjourning the meeting.  Damien grabs Juice's hand as they walk back to their room to grab their guns. Damien slips his shoulder holster around him before speaking. “It sucks we couldn’t escort together love” “yeah but at least we’re both going this time and I'm not stuck here”. Juice sighs. They walk to the parking lot join the others as clay says one last thing before they are dismissed to go to their respective  vehicles. Before Damien walks away he gives juice a passionate kiss. “To remember me by pretty boy”. He  grins like an idiot walking away and mounting his bike  Juice stands there while he   blushes like a mad man before snapping out of it and hopping in the back of the van. Jax and clay hop on their bikes and signal for everyone to go. When he got on the open road his mind started to drift back to when him and juice first met.

*flashback*

It was a cold night in queens New York and they were both 17. Damien had just gotten kicked out of his house for being gay. With nowhere to go he hopped into his old beat up 1969 mustang mache one fastback. That  he had bought off an elderly man for dirt cheap after scraping together all of his savings driving to nowhere in particular  when he saw  a boy his age running down the street with  several bags hung off his person. Against his better judgement Damien stopped his car and leaned over the other side to rolling down the window .”hey are you okay dude it’s not safe to be walking to alone around here at night. Do you want a ride? ” Damien smiles lopsidedly wincing in pain from the bruise blossoming across the right side of his face. Juice looks back the man taking in his battered features .The man sitting in the car in front of him looked vaguely familiar and he was trying to figure out why  briefly before deciding  to say fuck it and except the man’s help. Damien gets out with a limp  to help Juice put his bags in the car juice stands there shocked that there was already duffle bags in the car. Juice laughs dryly “heh i guess we both had the same idea “ “you get kicked out of your home too”. Damien smiles solemnly “yeah more or less” Juice says with a sad smile the other man speaks up “The name is Damien by the way “…. He pauses for a minute before continuing “Your Juan Carlos right…we had science and trig together” . “Yeah Damien I remember you “ juice smiles and  Damien takes in the other mans features as he moves back to the drivers seat and motions juice inside. “So Juan Carlos where to” “I don’t care as long as its somewhere far away from New York”

*flashback ends*

Chibs motions up ahead and breaks Damien out of his  thoughts “Aye Lobo we’re here lad”. Damien slows down to a stop behind the van hopping off his bike and waiting for clays command before starting to unload the guns and hand them off to the niners .  The gun run went off without a hitch and soon everyone was back at clubhouse drinking and having a good time.  Damien was sitting at the bar waiting for Juice to finish talking to Clay and Jax about some dirt digging that needed to be done and ignoring the croweater who was trying to get handsy with him as he was nursing his third cheap beer of the night “please leave me alone Leah you know I’m not interested why are you doing this”. Leah smirks “come on baby please let me show you what you’re missing”.she reaches for the button on his jeans before getting pulled back by Chibs. “Leah darling the kid isn’t interested now go find someone else to bother for the night” Leah scoffs and walks away and chibs sits to the right of Damien waving over the prospect to give them both another beer “thank you Chibs I appreciate it she just wouldn’t take the hint”. “Aye, it’s nothing kid I don’t like to see my family being harassed and you’re like a son to me”.  At that the two men drink in silence . Ten minutes pass before Juice is finally able to slip away from Clay and Jax and walk up to his partner at the bar. “Hey love you okay?”He asked concerned  “yeah it’s just Leah again . She refuses to take a hint that I’m not interested”. Damien sighs. “God I’m sorry you  had to deal with her again babe”. Juice says apologetically  “It’s fine”. Damien says burying his face into Juices chest. “Let us go enjoy our night together okay” Juice smiles while holding the other man tightly.

[iriswords]

Blood of the covenant - Part 3

Four words to describe how the Crows behave towards Wylan. Here is the third.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Entire work on AO3

Apart from the characters and references to the plot of the books, which belong to Leigh Bardugo, everything is mine and no use or repost of it, in part or in whole, is permitted for any reason. you can find more info here.

Part 3 - Caring

I. Nina

It was a well-known and hard-to-ignore fact amongst the Dregs that Wylan loved music. They’d all teased him about it at first—and still did, truth to be told, because Wylan made a ridiculously easy target for teasing—but none of them would ever have dared say Wylan was bad at music. 

They’d all been spectators of Wylan’s musical talent, as much in flute- and piano-playing as in music composing. It made, in Nina’s opinion, for nice evenings, or more rowdy ones depending on the mood, and she knew Wylan relished in music the same way he did in numbers and chemistry. 

The fact that he shared this passion with his mom added to Nina’s fondness for the boy’s music, for she had rarely seen anything as endearing as Wylan and Marya sitting together on the piano seat and trying to compose a piece. It usually involved bright, warm laughter, and none of the Crows ever dared disturb them when they were at it.

Wylan’s happiness was too precious a thing, even more so when it was shared with his mom’s.

It was Wylan’s known love for music that made Nina stop in front of a small music shop on her way to her favorite waffle shop. She’d been idly looking at the shops’ display windows, as one did, when she passed the music shop and a particular object caught her attention.

She stopped and stepped closer to the window, examining the object, before eventually deciding to enter the shop. The shopkeeper was an old woman hunched over a  music score, her fingers stained with black ink from the notes she jotted down on the paper. She looked up when Nina stopped in front of the counter, and offered a bright smile.

“Can I help you with something?” 

Nina smiled back. “I wanted to make sure I understood an object’s purpose correctly.” 

Twenty minutes later, after detailed explanations and a chat with the shopkeeper, Nina came out of the shop, a heavy bag hanging from her shoulder and her purse relieved of some weight. 

Coincidentally, Wylan was in the music room when Nina came back to the Van Eck mansion where she and Matthias were staying while they looked for a place of their own. 

She waited in the doorway until Wylan finished playing the piece he had started and noticed her. 

“I’ve got something for you,” she announced brightly, and put the bag on the table in the center of the room. Wylan put down his flute and walked up to her. He observed the large box with furrowed brows. 

“It’s not a trap,” Nina reassured him. “It’s a gift. I was walking by a music shop when I saw something I thought you’d like.”

Wylan looked up at her, slightly startled. “You bought me something?” he asked softly. 

Nina pushed the box towards him. “I did, and I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to so you don’t get to complain I spent money on something for you. Come on, open it. I’m certain you’ll love it.” 

Wylan blushed, and opened the box with great care. He stared with confusion at its contents for a second, before his eyes widened and he looked up at Nina.

“Is it…?”

“An object that plays music? Yes, it is.” 

Wylan didn’t reply, his fingers gently grazing the brass of the object. A gramophone, the shopkeeper had called it. 

“It’s wonderful,” whispered Wylan eventually. “I— Thank you, that’s amazing.” 

Nina leaned towards him and ruffled his hair. “You’re welcome. It already has a record in it, but the music shop I bought it at had other records as well.” 

Wylan nodded, smiling. “Thank you, Nina. Thank you so much.” 

She shrugged. “Think of it as a replacement for the music none of us can play for you.” 

 II. Kaz

It was a common occurrence, for Kaz and Wylan to work together in Kaz’s office. So common an occurrence, in fact, that every single Dreg made fun of Kaz for his soft spot for Wylan. They never made fun of Wylan for seeking Kaz’s attention, though, because once the Dregs had tried to get to know Wylan, they’d all developed a massive soft spot for him. 

The point was, the Dregs were hypocrites and no amount of scowling or death glares would make them stop. But, no amount of mocking would make Kaz stop welcome Wylan to work in his office, either. 

He enjoyed the company more than he would admit. Wylan was companionably quiet when they simply worked side by side, insightful and creative in his propositions when they actually worked together. And Ghezen knew the kid desperately needed positive attention from someone he obviously saw as a father figure. (Nevermind that Kaz was not much older himself.)

Usually, when they worked in Kaz’s office at the Slat, Jesper would come and fetch Wylan when he deemed his boyfriend had worked enough for the day. Wylan would relent with a fond smile, protesting only for the sake of it, and Kaz would fake being annoyed. Wisely, neither Jesper nor Wylan made any comment about the smirk he was never quite able to hide anymore, though such a silence seemed to cost a lot from Jesper. 

Other times, though, when Wylan was working on something particularly important or was feeling especially inspired, he would barely even glance at Jesper, and the sharpshooter would go home without his boyfriend, who would leave the Slat at ungodly hours of the night.

When this happened, Kaz always made sure to walk him back to the edge of the Barrel. He was, after all, not very fond of the idea of finding the merchling’s corpse somewhere in the Barrel’s filthy streets the morning after. 

 Today, Wylan had showed up at the Slat mid-morning and gone up to Kaz’s office immediately. 

“Are you busy?” he asked Kaz when he entered the office.

Kaz shrugged without looking up from his papers. “Not anymore than usual. I don’t have anything planned today.”

It meant, in Kaz’s language, ‘You can crash here as long as you need to.’

“Thanks,” replied Wylan as he drew the other chair from against the desk. 

Kaz didn’t quite know how to think about Wylan understanding his hidden words so well, so he did what he always did with feelings, and ignored it. 

When two hours later Kaz got up from his chair to stretch his leg, Wylan was still in the exact same position he had fallen in at the beginning, painfully hunched over dozens of paper and furiously scribbling down numbers and sketches of all kinds. He didn’t look up when Kaz walked past him and didn’t seem to notice when he left the room.

When, fifteen minutes later, Kaz came back into the room with a bowl of cut fruits, Wylan had not moved an inch. He startled when Kaz put down the bowl next to him on the desk and stared at the fruits for a minute, blinking slowly, before looking up at Kaz.

“Is it for me?” he asked. 

“Yes,” answered Kaz curtly. “I have business to take care of. I want you to have eaten it all when I come back.”

Wylan nodded absently and went back to work.

 Kaz only came back to the Slat late into the night. He had expected to come back much earlier, sometime during the afternoon, but the problem had taken much longer to be fixed and by the time the old building finally came into view, Kaz was tired and irritable, his limp more pronounced than it had been that morning.  The Slat was near silent as he painfully made his way up the stairs to his office and bedroom. There was still light filtering in from under the closed door when Kaz stopped in front of his office. Wylan must have forgotten to switch it off when he’d left. 

He opened the door and strode inside, stopping short at his desk. Wylan had not left. Instead, he was slumped down over the wooden desk, his head nestled in his arms, fast asleep. 

Kaz huffed, unsuccessfully trying to hold back his smile, and fetched a spare blanket from his bed. The kid didn’t move when Kaz threw it over him or when Kaz switched off the light. 

When Kaz woke up the next morning, Wylan was still there, curled up in his chair instead of slumped over the desk, blanket clutched in his fist. And if Kaz ruffled the kid’s hair and readjusted the blanket on his way out of the room, no one needed to know. 

 III. Inej

At first, Wylan had been terrified the Crows would reject him because he couldn’t read. He kept it a secret for as long as he could, with only Kaz in on it. But they didn’t reject him. They didn’t care that he couldn’t do what they could all do. In fact, they even accommodated to his inability. 

It started with small things, like one of them reading something and explaining it to everyone so they wouldn’t have to read it as well. At the beginning, only Jesper explicitly read to him.

Inej was the second one. 

 They were at a waffle shop, all six of them sitting by one of the biggest tables. Nina was, of course, in a splendid mood, and she and Jesper were jokingly arguing over which topping was the best over waffles. Matthias was focused on the menu, observing it with rapt attention, and Kaz was watching Nina and Jesper argue, unable to suppress the slight smirk on the edge of his lips as Nina destroyed every single one of Jesper’s arguments. Inej sat besides Wylan, watching them all with her usual calm. 

Food shops were not usually a problem for Wylan, for the menus always had food drawings on them, accurate enough Wylan could choose based on them. And if they didn’t, Jesper was more than willing to explain to Wylan what was on the menu. 

Today, his stomach dropped as he opened the menu and discovered it was only text. On his left, Jesper was obnoxiously trying to win an already-lost debate. He closed the menu and resigned himself to order whatever one of the Crows would order, when Inej opened her own menu and started reading the items on it, her voice so quiet only Wylan—and maybe Kaz, who was on her other side—could hear it over the sound of Nina and Jesper’s bickering. 

She went through the whole menu this way, and offered Wylan a smile when she reached the end. 

“Better?” she asked.

The waiter arrived before Wylan could answer her, and he was able to order at the same time as the others.

“Thank you,” he said to her when the waiter left their table. 

She grabbed his hand under the table and squeezed it in lieu of answer. Wylan didn’t stop smiling the whole time they spent in the shop. 

 IV. Matthias

As the Crows, and eventually all the Dregs, had discovered, Wylan was not quite as shy as he first seemed. In fact, he was only shy around either people he didn’t know, or people who, like his own father had, belittled him. 

Once you managed—and one could do so without much trouble—to push past his first shell, you discovered underneath a bright and passionate boy who could rant for hours about music or chemistry. 

Matthias loved to watch his face illuminate when someone asked his a question he knew lots about, loved to watch as he would start talking, quietly and almost hesitantly at first, as though he was afraid the other person would shut him up, and progressively growing more confident.

His entire face would light up, a faint blush would eventually creep up his cheeks, and if he didn’t pay a close attention to his gestures he was likely to clock a bystander in the face. 

All of them, Matthias knew, were very fond of this aspect of Wylan’s personality, and it had become a game amongst the Crows to see who could get Wylan started on the longest rants. They never made fun of him, of course, and instead listened attentively to what he said, even though Matthias had to admit he didn’t always understand what the other boy talked about. 

It didn’t matter much, in the end, because the other Crows more than made up for the questions he couldn’t ask, keeping Wylan going on his rant and making sure he felt listened to. Making sure he felt cared for, which was something his own father had cruelly and purposely failed to do.

The thing with Wylan’s rants, was that they consumed all his attention. He would lose track of time and would fail to pay the minimum of attention to his surroundings. As such, if he went on a tangent while walking, he would regularly walk into people or bump into something and fall. 

Matthias had taken it upon himself—and he knew the other Crows had, too—to watch the boy and prevent him from hurting himself. Often, he gently directed Wylan away from incoming people or obstacles he had failed to notice. Sometimes, too, he interrupted him shortly, just to notify him of a step or hole in the ground he needed to watch for. 

At first, Matthias’s protection of sorts was met with flushed cheeks and meek apologies on Wylan’s part.

Matthias had eventually waved these away. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I like it when you talk about things that interest you. Don’t let this stop you.” 

Wylan had stared at him for a minute, wide-eyed and disbelieving, before he had dove forward and, blushing furiously, had given Matthias a quick hug. “Thank you.”

Matthias had smiled and patted the boy’s head. Watching out for his safety was one of the simplest things he would do for Wylan. 

 V. Jesper

Jesper loved doing things for and with Wylan. He loved Wylan, and loved showing him he loved him, and he didn’t think it would ever stop. 

The activities they did together were numerous and diverse, as they spent most of their days together, either working, relaxing, or tearing apart the Van Eck mansion to redecorate it entirely. 

Today, Jesper required Marya’s help in the kitchen to bake something for Wylan. Wylan had been away all morning already, busy with merchant business that did not require Jesper’s help, and he probably wouldn’t come home until late in the afternoon, if he came home before diner at all. 

Wylan would be weary, Jesper knew, after a day of dealing with self-sufficient merchants without Jesper by his side, and Marya beamed at Jesper when he asked if she could help him bake Wylan’s favorite cookies. 

Jesper had never baked anything before, only cooked simple things on the go, but Marya was apparently a good cook, and an even better teacher. Jesper’s few mess-ups were the occasion for a laugh that was still too rare when coming from Wylan’s mother, and Jesper and Marya took the opportunity to bond more than they ever had since living under the same roof. 

 Wylan arrived in front of his door as the sun began to set. His feet ached from standing for too long, and a headache was steadily growing against his temples. The smell of baked goods hit him as soon as he stepped into the house, and he stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t remember the last time his home had smelled like this. It had been years, most likely back to when his mom still lived with his father and him. She had not cooked anything since coming back.

Shyly, though eagerness was growing in his stomach, he ventured into the kitchen, where Jesper and Wylan’s mom. were talking. Marya sported a large smile, and Jesper was laughing at something, the boisterous sound filling the kitchen. On the counter, sat a plate full of Wylan’s favorite cookies.

“Hello there,” he said finally. “I see you kept yourselves busy while I was gone.” 

Jesper turned around, his eyes still crinkled into a laugh, and leaned towards Wylan to peck him on the lips. “Your mom helped me cook these for you,” he whispered. “I hope you like them.” 

The cookies, it turned out, where excellent. They tasted even better with the knowledge both Jesper and Marya had made them, and that they had made them with the intent of caring for him. 

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4

[stranger-nightmare]

how would the fruity 4 be w a s/o who has anxiety/social anxiety

The Fruity Four With a Socially Anxious Partner

Steve Harrington

Steve doesn’t necessarily understand the whole social anxiety thing but he sees how it effects you and so is always willing to do whatever is needed to help you

I think he’d be the type to just hold your hand and whisper gently “it’s okay, it’s okay” whenever you get a bit overwhelmed

like he’ll squeeze and un-squeeze your hand and tell you just keep focused on that, keep focused on him, and to try and block out all the other stuff that’s overwhelming you

Steve does like to go out to parties and stuff, but he understands that it may set off your anxiety so he’s quite good about staying at your side the entire time and periodically checking in with you, and if you say you wanna leave then he never argues, just throws his jacket over you and walks you home

Eddie Munson

Eddie’s the kind to try and soothe your social anxiety by making you laugh and giving you the ‘who gives a fuck what other people think’ kind of argument

he’s just very good at distracting you with his own goofiness until all you’re focused on is him and your own giggles

he’ll also give you one or two of his rings to play with to keep yourself busy and distracted, and also to keep your hands busy if that’s the kind of thing you need

but if your anxiety is getting quite bad and none of that is working then he’s more than happy to just whisk you away from the situation completely

like if you’ve had a bad anxiety day or something he’ll just take you for a late night drive in his van where the only thing you have to think about is the wind coming through the window, the music on the radio, his hand on your thigh as he drives, just no stress and anxiety, just you and him

and on that last note may I recommend my own lil fic that’s basically along those lines, read it here

Robin Buckley

I love Robin so much but I feel like she’s the type to get stressed by your stress, so if you freak out then she freaks out whilst simultaneously trying to calm you down bless her

Robin’s a lil chaotic, that’s just what she’s like, but she tries her best when she’s with you to not actually do anything to draw attention to you or her

but she’s super attentive and she gets right on it whenever you tell her what you need, you just need to tell her! so if you need to be taken away from the crowd she’ll whisk you away quickly, if you just need some kind of distraction from something then she’ll get right on it

through her chaos she’s always willing to at least try to the best of her ability to do whatever it is you need to help calm yourself down and soothe your anxiety

but also for the most part Robin is a bit socially anxious and awkward herself so she probably has the best understanding of what you’re going through as well

bc of this you guys don’t actually go out too often, you prefer to just stay at home together and hang out with a nice quiet fun night in!

Nancy Wheeler

Nancy is the type to just sit you down calmly and talk rationally through all of your fears and anxieties

like she does that thing where she makes you realise how ‘silly’ some of the things you worry about are but she doesn’t actually make you feel bad or stupid about it, she just logically and calmly talks you through the scenario until you start to realise that there’s not really anything to worry about

but regardless she’s still there to squeeze your hand tightly whenever you do get a bit overwhelmed or anxious

typically you feel quite safe with Nancy even when you’re out in public bc you know nothing is gonna go wrong whilst she’s around, and if they do then she’s hella quick and prepared to take care of everything

she also really intricately plans your days out or whatever in exquisite detail so there’s basically no room for error, she knows being planned and prepared ahead of time makes you feel better and luckily that’s just how she rolls anyway

Masterlist

A/N: as someone with severe severe social anxiety myself I feel like need a Nancy in my life tbh haha!! thank you for sending the lil scenario!! <33

[munsonsgirl71]

Hey love, hope you're doing alright! Could you maybe write Eddie comforting anxious reader? Sometimes my anxiety makes me over analyze interactions and I'll complete spiral thinking that person is mad/hates me and I'llsob, so maybe like reader and Eddie having been dating for long and she over analyzes some little thing and he eventually finds out she thinks he's mad at her or something??

Hope this is okay, thank you! 💕

A/N: So this is short but it's fluffy and sweet, obvs... it's me! Thank you so much for sending this in! This request was perfectly crafted with just enough detail but not too much. I loved writing this!

Anxious - Eddie Munson x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of smut, Eddie being stupid, fluff, fluff and more fluff. Maybe a tiny big of angst if you close one eye and squint the other.

“Baby, stop.” Eddie smiled softly as he reached over and placed his hand on yours, gently tugging it away from where it had been kneading into his thigh. “I need to finish this, okay? And then I'll be all yours.” 

“Okay.” You shrugged as you leaned back into the arm of the sofa and turned your attention back to the slasher flick you hadn't really cared to watch in the first place. “I love you.” 

“Mmhmm.” He nodded as he continued to scribble into his campaign notebook perched on his knee. “Love you.” 

He doesn’t. He hates you. 

That tiny little voice in the back of your mind spoke up again and your heart dropped into your toes. You’d been doing so well. Taking him at his word and not letting the anxiety get the better of you but today had just been a day. You had felt the inklings of that stomach churning feeling the second you woke up without Eddie’s arms wrapped around you. 

He was on the other side of the bed, back to you with his arms shoved up underneath his pillow. There was no kiss when he woke up, he told you no when you asked if wanted to join you for a shower, he was quiet the whole way to drop you off at work. You kept telling yourself that maybe he was just having an off day, he had those occasionally, because everything had been great the night before. He had made you cum four times and you two had spent hours wrapped around each other; touching, kissing, licking every inch of skin you could get your hands on. 

But then he had been fifteen minutes late picking you up from work which was not normal, he barely even kissed you when you climbed into his van, and he headed straight for the shower as soon as he walked through the door. You sat on the edge of his bed and stared down at your shoes as you waited for him to come back. He rushed in throwing on clothes before grabbing his D&D stuff from the bed and heading to the living room throwing an ‘order us a pizza, yeah?’ over his shoulder as he went. 

He’s mad at you. Look at what you did. 

What had you done? Did you say something to piss him off and you don’t remember? Did you leave a mug in the sink or your makeup all over the bathroom? You slid off the couch and padded softly through the living room and down the short hall to the bathroom. Nothing was out of place. All of your make up was neatly packed away in your bag, your toothbrush was exactly where it belonged, no toothpaste in the sink. It was spotless. 

“Hey, pretty.” He smiled as he stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” 

“Just makin’ sure it’s clean.” You shrugged as you ran the tip of your index finger along the rim of the sink. 

“You don't have to keep picking up after Wayne. He’s a grown man, he can clean up his own messes.” He sighed, a playful little sound but it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Your heart twisted and tears sprung to your eyes as you turned away from him and wrapped your arms tight around your middle. “Baby?” 

“Go away, Eddie.” You sniffled as you shuffled over and flopped down onto the closed lid of the toilet. He was on you before you could blink, grabbing your face in his hands and looking over every inch of you with his sweet brown eyes. “Stop it.” 

“Sweetheart, what the hell just happened?” 

“Why are you mad at me?” He had your cheeks squished just slightly in his hands so your words were just a little garbled but his eyes went wide as they hit his ears. “What did I do?” 

“You didn't do anything!” He stressed as his arms slipped around your neck and pulled you into his bare chest. “I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. Why would you think that?” 

“Lots of little things.” You sniffled again as you allowed yourself to melt into his warmth just a little bit. “You’ve been… weird all day.” 

“Weird?” He asked as he pulled back just enough to look down at you. “What do you mean?” 

“You weren’t holding me when I woke up and then you didn't kiss me.” You pushed him away as you looked down at your lap, his hands falling to your knees. “And then you made me shower alone. You were late picking me up and you’ve been ignoring me since I got in the car.” 

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry!” He was practically yelling as he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close into his chest. “I’m not mad at you, I promise. I woke up last night sweating my ass off and felt this like scratchy feeling in my throat. I think I’m getting that cold Henderson had last week and I didn’t want to get you sick.” 

“What?” You blinked back to the tears resting on your lashes as your eyes went wide. “You’re sick?” 

“Not yet, not really, but I know it’s coming.” He nodded slowly as he smoothed your hair down and peppered kisses to the top of your head. “I am so sorry that you thought I was mad at you. I was just trying to put a little space between us so you didn't get sick too.” 

“Okay well next time can you give a girl a heads up?” You mumbled against his chest before you pushed back and gave him a wide eyed, pleading look. 

“I honestly thought I did and I am so sorry that I didn’t.” He nodded slowly. “You let those intrusive thoughts get to you, huh? Anxiety flared up?” 

”Yeah.” You giggled as you looked down to where his hands were now running up and down your thighs. “I’m sor…” 

“Don’t even try to say you’re sorry to me. I won't have it.” 

“Can I have some cuddles now?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes with your bottom lip poked out into a pout for good measure. “I’ll be the big spoon so you can blow your germy breath the other way…” 

“Can’t.” He grimaced and your eyes went wide. “Gotta finish my campaign.” 

“EDDIE!” 

“I’m kidding!” He cackled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hauled you up, making you squeal as you wrapped your legs around his hips. “I love you, silly girl, you know that?”  

“Yeah, I know.” You breathed a sigh of relief as you both pressed soft kisses into each other’s necks at the same time. “I love you, too, asshole.”