#there's a world you need to know au

[fitrahgolden]

There's A World You Need To Know: 6 - This growing need

About a month later, Kate was in session with Gregory and Hyacinth, doing self portraits.

“Hey, Hyacinth. Can we talk about what’s going on in your drawing? Would that be OK?”

“Um, I don’t know if I can.”

“Oh, OK. Why do you feel like you may not be able to? Do you not want to?”

Hyacinth threw her colored pencil down. “I want to, but–”

Gregory sighed, exasperated. “She’s sad because you and Anthony don’t talk anymore.”

“Greg, shut up!”

“Gregory, if Hyacinth doesn’t want to talk about it, you can’t–”

“But I want to talk about it! She’s scared we can’t because it’s about you, not us. Not really.”

Fuck. “Um, you can tell me, if you’d like. I’ll let you know if I can’t talk about it, OK?”

“Well, Hy and I thought you and Anthony were friends but he’s never around when you’re here anymore. Um… Actually, we thought you were in love or something.”

Fuck!

“We tried to tell Mum and she told us we can’t talk about it. Which is so dumb! Why can’t we talk about it?!”

“Greggy, can you take a breath? Remember when we talked about how even if you write, or sing, or draw, or breathe, some things can still be really hard to talk about?”

“Yes,” the kids said in unison.

“Well, it’s no different with adults. And we said you really can’t make someone talk about something if they don’t want to.”

“But we want to talk about it.”

Kate took a deep, long breath. “OK.”

Hyacinth took a mindful breath as well. “Well, Gregory and I really liked when you and Anthony liked each other. Anthony was so happy. It made everything better. The stuff we talked about, with him spending more time with us and feeling more like a brother than a mum. He used to act more like Mum. I know he used to have to be our mum when Mum was unwell but she’s taking care of us now. For a little while he stopped being our mum but now he’s our mum again. I liked when he was our brother. I didn’t know he could be just our brother.”

“It was awesome!” Greg interjected.

“It was! So, when you guys started being friends and talking all the time, we thought he would be our brother forever. I know it's selfish.”

Kate put her hands over Hyacinth’s “It’s OK to feel selfish sometimes. Everyone does. And you’re doing a really good job talking about it. I completely understand what you are saying.”

“So, if you two got married, Anthony would be happy forever and so we would have our brother forever.”

“You guys, it’s very good that you want your brother to be happy. And I know you feel like you know what would make him happy, but it’s important to remember you can’t make someone happy and you may not know exactly what they need. And them being happy may not look the way you think it should. Just like we talked about with your mother, right?”

The kids just nodded, deflated.

“So… You aren’t in love and aren’t getting married?” Hyacinth asked shyly.

“Kids, I want you to focus on the things you can control. Do you remember what those things are?”

Greg spoke up. “How we handle and communicate our feelings, how we react to the world around us, and how we ask for help when we need it.”

He then turned to his sister and whispered, “That means ‘no,’ Hyacinth. They aren’t.”

—

Kate walked into her Mum’s house and it was quiet. “Mum?”

“Kate?” Mary walked out into the hall. “Hello, love!”

Mary gave Kate a hug, and when she did, Kate clung to her and couldn’t stop the tears from falling immediately.

“Kate? Kate, what is it?”

“I messed up, Mummy.”

“Come, let’s sit down.”

Once they settled on the couch in the living room, Mary clutched Kate’s hands.

“What happened?”

After a breath, Kate answered, “I resigned from working with the Bridgertons.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you when you stop working with a family. You get so invested in your work. But, you said you messed up?”

“Well.. I–I got too invested. In the kids. And…in their brother.”

“Ah.” Mary sat back. “You two are…together?”

Kate shook her head vigorously. “We, um, we kissed. About a month and a half ago. But I haven’t seen him since.”

“OK. Well, I know that wasn’t OK, you know, because of you work, but if it was just a kiss and you aren’t seeing either other–”

“No, Mummy. It wasn’t just a kiss. I, uh, I think we love each other.”

“Oh.”

Kate squeezed her eyes shut and put her head in her hands. Mary started rubbing her back. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I kept seeing Greggy and Hy afterward. But it was… I couldn’t be who they needed me to be, who I had been for them. They started talking to me about Anthony. About me. It was a disaster. They took it pretty hard, but I had to explain to them that I’d gone as far as I could with them and I recommended Will Mondrich. He’s great. We work the same way. He’ll be good for them. But they were so upset. And I couldn’t do anything about it. They hate me.”

“I’m certain that isn’t true. You did what you had to, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

They sat in silence as Mary continued rubbing Kate’s back and Kate’s tears continued to fall.

“So… What did you tell Anthony?”

Kate winced. “Nothing.”

“Kate.”

“I know. I’m scared. I don’t think this is enough for us to be together. And I can’t look him in the eye and disappoint him again.” 

“He’s going to find out, if he hasn’t already.”

“I know.”

“And then what?”

Kate shrugged, defeated. “He knows where to find me.” And she dreaded the idea.

—

That night, Anthony parked his car in front of Kate’s house. He took a few shallow breaths before running up to her door and knocking, too loud and too rapidly. He could hear shuffling on the other side of the door, but when it didn’t open, he knocked again.

“Kate, please open the door.”

There was another pause and he raised his fist to knock again when the door opened slowly.

Anthony took her in. She's painting, he thought. It was obvious from her clothes and the colorful smears everywhere. He thought about the photo she sent him while she was in Cork. The photo that would his phone's background right now if, A) Tom hadn't been the one who took it, and B) his family weren't so fucking nosy. She looked so beautiful when she was in her element. She looked beautiful all the fucking time.

"Are you alone?"

Her voice was almost a whisper. "Yes. Well…"

On cue, a little corgi puppy ran up and sat at Kate’s feet, looking up at Anthony.

"You got a dog,” though his voice implied a distinct lack of interest.

"Yes. His name is Newton." Kate stared at Anthony, not sure what to expect.

"OK. May I come in?"

Kate’s eyes widened. "I don't think that's a good idea."

It stung, but too many things were going through Anthony’s mind to linger on that. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew Violet would. Or Will would introduce himself."

"So? This is it, Kate. It's what was standing in our way."

Kate said nothing and Anthony panicked.

"Right? Right, Kate? Do you still… I thought this is what we were waiting for."

"It's not that simple."

Fuck, of course it wasn’t. "I love you. Do you love me?" He tried his best not to sound angry. He wasn’t angry, but this was killing him.

"Yes." Her voice was small but sure.

Anthony felt himself exhale and hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. At least she hadn’t hesitated. "We love each other. You aren't working for my family anymore. What else do we need?"

"Time."

"What?"

"I can't jump into a relationship with my clients' brother as soon as they aren't my clients anymore. There has to be time. Distance."

Distance? Literal distance? "How long?"

"I'm not sure, Anthony. I’m sorry."

Anthony stepped forward and pulled Kate's face to his, their foreheads touching. "Then we'll wait to tell people."

Kate shook her head vigorously. "No."

Goddammit. "Kate."

"No, I don't want us to be a secret. You deserve better than that."

Things were silent for a while save for their ragged breaths.

"Can I please kiss you?" Anthony was begging and he didn’t care. He’d never felt so desperate.

Kate nodded before tilting her chin up so their lips could meet. Immediately, Anthony’s hands were everywhere. They eventually made their way into the bun sitting messily atop her head. He blindly fumbled until her hair fell around her back and shoulders. Newton had the decency to fall asleep at some point before this.

Forgetting himself, he worked open the oversized button down she was wearing, revealing a old stretched out tank top that was so fucking thin. He started to push the overshirt down her arms, but stopped suddenly when he remembered they were in her open doorway. He may have stopped undressing her but he couldn’t stop kissing her.

"You're sure it has to be this way, right? You can't invite me in right now? I miss you so fucking much, Kate. Invite me inside. Please."

"No. No, not yet." Kate protested between kisses.

Anthony whimpered. "As soon as you say when, I'll come running. You know that, right? You are it for me."

Kate just nodded, tears mixing into their kisses but neither of them let up.

"And I'm it for you, right? Can I hear you say it? I need something. Fuck, I feel like I'm dying, baby.”

"You're it for me. I promise. I love you."

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[spacebubblehomebase]

"A New Day Will Dawn."

-Said some guy named Luke probably.

Welcome to my #HHStargazersAU! Stay Tuned~♡? -Bubbly💙

[bet-on-me-13]

Ghostly Host AU

So! Ghosts need a physical Anchor in the living world, or they are liable to fall apart and fade away if they stay for too long.

In Amity Park, this usually isn't too much of a problem. Sure most Ghosts can't stay for a week without a Host, but the ambient Ecto-Levels in Amity Park are enough that they can stay for a few days or so at a time with little worry.

This changes however, during Reign Storm.

When Pariah Dark awakens, Tens of Thousands of Ghosts use the Fenton Portal to escape the Rule of Pariah Dark, running away into the Human Realm.

If Amity Park had stayed where it was, this would have been fine. They could have stayed in the Living Realm for a few days, and maybe the Weaker ones would need to find a temporary Host, but that was fine since Amity was filled with thousands of Liminals.

Unfortunately, Pariah Darks first move was to suck Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, alongside all of the Ecto-Energy that had accumulated there.

Now left trapped in the Living Realm with no way back to the Zone, thousands of Ghosts suddenly needed Hosts or they would start dying off by the Hundreds. In a Panic, they spread out across the Planet in search of viable Hosts.

Any normal Person wouldn't do, they needed a Living Being that could actually handle their Power, or someone who matched their Soul. Preferably both. Liminals were the best since they had a durable Body and a Malleable Soul, so any Ghost could use any of them as a Host.

But outside of Amity Liminals were very rare, and finding someone who matched their Soul was time-consuming and hard. Thankfully, in recent years the population of Aliens, Metahumans, Enhanced Soldiers, and even extra durable baseline Humans had spiked across the world.

All across the planet, People suddenly found themselves stuck with a new Passenger in their Bodies.

Those new passengers thankfully weren't malicious, for the most part, but it was still annoying. The only good thing was that they now had new Powers, which neat.

They could summon the Ghosts in their Body outwardly, and then command the Ghost to use their Powers in whatever way they wanted. Only other Hosts could see another person's Ghost, which meant they looked very awkward to normal people when they fought. Generally, Hosts seemed to act more strangely after getting a Ghost, as if they lost a few of their Inhibitions.

Why did they feel the sudden need to strike a flamboyant Pose? Or over dramatically scream?

[dustbunsinspace]

Part of 🟢 Leo gets Overwhelmed au🟢

Aah, I’m so happy I made it in in time! 💙✨ Merry Christmas, tumblr nation! Here’s a little comic about 03 Usagi and Leo going so see the Rockefeller tree after the events of the Christmas Aliens episode.

Little post about events earlier that night

Also this is literally how maskless Leo looks to me, he’s so moomincore ;

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

fear was the first and last defense of all your kind. and yet, you had not thought you would ever find yourself so paralyzed by it, especially not like this. not with him.

aka i think abt what it must be like to be a mouse in a world where animals are people a lot and i bet it would especially suck if ur love interests suddenly got infected with some kind of virus that made them murderous and bloodthirsty lmaooooo

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[starry-bi-sky]

Who is the more well-adjusted twin; Damian, or Danyal? Why, it's Damian, of course!

And I have an explanation for this! But first I wanna preface this that this is just me like, rambling about this thought I have and it's not an attack on the trope as a whole. I love the Danyal Al Ghul au which is why i'm so deeply passionate about it, because I think it has a lot of potential to be explored. It's no secret that I've mentioned before that I think Danny's psychological development tends to get overlooked and underutilized in DAG aus, and the impact that growing up in an assassin league often goes ignored. This is just me further expanding on that.

Now lets set the stage! This is specifically for Danny who is adopted by the Fentons later down in life. Lets go twin au. At 10 years old, Damian goes to the Wayne Family, Danny is adopted by the Fentons (regardless of their affiliation with the League). By 14 years old, who ends up the better adjusted, more socially aware, spiritually in-tune with themselves, sibling? Why, Damian is! Why is that?

Because he has the actual support he needs compared to Danny. And I'm not talking about good or bad parents Fentons, because either way my opinion doesn't change. Damian would end up the better off twin, because, frankly, his family knows his background. They know he grew up in the League, they know what the League's teachings are, and they know he's a born and raised assassin. Knowing this, they can then help tackle and dismantle the teachings and lessons he has been given and ingrained into by the League. They may be a dysfunctional family, but they're functional enough to at least actively help deprogram all of the League's teachings that have been ingrained in Damian throughout his childhood.

Can't say the same for Danny.

Lets say Fentons here don't know his background -- and even if they do, the results may just stay the same if they play their cards wrong, -- Danny's now just been thrown into the deep end of a pool and is essentially being told sink or swim. Regardless of how he got there -- undercover, faked death, etc -- he has no proper support. He knows the League is meant to be secret, he's not gonna speak on it for various reasons. Whether it be some still lingering loyalty, fear of harm, or whatever. Whatever the reason is, he does not have a proper support system in the Fentons, no matter how nice they are. They can only tackle the surface level stuff and whatever Danny allows them to see -- if Danny ever lets them see it at all. For what do assassins do when they don't want to be caught? They hide. Sometimes in plain sight.

"But Jazz--" Jazz is a child. She is 2 years older than Danyal and no better at giving him a proper support system than the two adult Fenton parents, even with parentification. We don't know when she got into psychology or how long she'd been studying it by the time Danny's 14. We just know she's really into it. Even then, Jazz is not a licensed or reliable therapist, or even an experienced or implied good therapist, and should not be used as one either. It's a disservice to her character to reduce her down to 'supporting female emotional crutch'. Besides, therapy only works on people who want to get better. Danny, who'd be hiding who he really is, has very little incentive to want to, or to even think something is wrong with his way of thinking, even with exposure to the outside world.

When people's beliefs are outright challenged, they tend to double down on them, and Jazz canonically has a habit of psychoanalyzing her family and declaring what she thinks is the problem -- regardless of whether or not she's right about it. Jazz would get into psychology, try and psychoanalyze Danny, and all it would do is cause him to clam up, shut into himself further, and throw up even more walls so that she can't figure out that he has been lying this whole time. It would do more harm than good, and would actively hinder any progress he'd make in trying to open up to them. Roads and good intentions and all that.

That being said, I think Danny's development and dismantling of the League's teachings would be slower than Damian's. Much slower. Because he would be the one having to pick apart everything and figure out what is right, what is wrong, what he wants to keep, and what he wants to toss. Everything he unlearns would be stuff he has to unlearn himself. If he even gets to that point at all -- depending on his experiences, he very well could not change at all, or change very little. The League acts as a purge for humanity, meant to reign in their hubris and retain balance, they just also happen to be assassins for hire. Danny's time spent in Amity Park could as well strengthen his belief in their teachings just as much as it could weaken it, especially if it goes as canon and he gets bullied.

Regardless, being tossed to a civilian family as someone who is very much not a civilian, without any support, would be actively detrimental to Danny's overall mental health and development. Especially to strangers like the Fentons. Damian was closed off and standoffish even with blood family, and it took him time to open up to them -- Danny, with the Fentons, would be even more so. He doesn't know them, he doesn't trust them, he has no rhyme or reason to open up to them, and since the Fentons don't actually know him, they can't help him the way he needs. Once "Danny Fenton" is made, he has even less reason to open up. So long as Danyal allows it, they will only ever know Danny, and they'll never know Danyal.

TL:DR the Fentons aren't the better family option just because they're civilians, and actually that makes them the worser option between the two because they can't give Danny the proper support he needs. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

[skecherss]

Tim n some chickens

[pretend-i-don-t-exist]

on a qijiuyuan streak so far um hm so consider the flavor of sy fully believing that he's just a substitute for who yqy really loves (sj) and doing his best to fulfill the role

maybe it's a courtship for political purposes and so sy is aware that there wouldn't be any genuine romance here, but he is hoping for at least friendship??? he does want to save yqy bc his original ending in pidw is just too tragic... and also full of plot holes and plot armor.

though it gets obvious real quick that yqy is head over heels in love with sqq. nothing sy says or does will dissuade yqy from loving the scum villain. the thing is, it is also obvious to sy that sqq abhors yqy, except that it's less of a disdainful kind of hate and more like hurt? sy is so confused. he's cursing airplane out every time he gets stuck with both peak lords during a tea session.

when he does unlock qijiu's tragic backstory, he goes ??? wtf is this tragedy airplane, why didn't you put this in pidw it would've been so much better!!! more thought-provoking!!! also everything makes so much more sense now. and so he sets out to right the misunderstandings and miscommunication (he does like yqy and sqq, even as the scum villain, deserves an explanation and/or closure)

on sj's side he's fucking pissed that this pale impostor of him is going around taking advantage of the guilt yqy feels over him. he spitefully brings down sy's reputation, bc he's possessive over his qi-ge even though yqy isn't his qi-ge anymore... and he can tell that yqy is not really in love with the impostor, anyway.

yqy is just going !!! bc on one hand he feels delighted that sj does still feel something for him, even if it's just possessiveness from the past... and also sy is genuinely kind and good and yqy has longed for such warmth before, but it always feels wrong when he thinks of everything he's done and failed to do... if it were any other time, he may have grown to love sy, but it's not meant to be.

fuckers think they're playing 4d chess with each other (well, shen yuan's part is more like uh poker but yeah) but like. they're so stupid i love them so much i can't wait to write more chaotic trashfire aus of them save me

[zxal]

he ain't heavy, he's my brother [dimensionswap au]

[fitrahgolden]

There's a world you need to know: 10 - Finally, you have found yourself with me

"Anthony."

He didn't respond. Kate couldn't believe he actually fell asleep in such an uncomfortable position. Really, she couldn't believe how willing he was to stay with her all night in her closet. Before then, no one knew about her ritual. She didn’t want to worry Edwina, Mary, or Simon. The fact that there was something about her only Anthony knew made her smile. She wanted them to know each other like no one else ever could.

"Anthony, you should probably get it up," Kate said as she rubbed his cheek. Finally, he started to stir– and immediately winced.

"Ffffuuuuck." He slowly shifted onto his back. "Christ, what the hell–"

He opened his eyes just enough to see Kate's face. She looked concerned.

"Oh, hey. What's wrong?" He tried to sit up and groaned loudly.

"That's what's wrong. Being a supportive boyfriend broke your body."

"Worth it." Anthony's voice was strained as he continued to move at a snail's pace trying to get up.

"I'm not so sure. Come on. I ran a bath and added some salts." Kate stood and helped Anthony do the same.

"Will you be joining me?"

She gave him a derisive look. "Anthony. You've seen my tub. It's not the swimming pool you have in your bathroom. It seats one, especially when that one is hunched over, taking ages shuffling down the hall."

"Ouch. Way to kick a man while he's down."

"Does it help if I call it tough love?"

"Mmm. It really does."

Once Kate got Anthony settled in the bathtub, she kissed him on the cheek and got up. "Try to keep your shoulders and neck submerged. I'll be right back."

Anthony started to relax. Kate reappeared in no time with buttered toast, fruit, and chai. "What do you want first?"

"The chai, please." He started to lift an arm to grab the mug, but Kate pushed it back down.

"No, no. Keep everything in the water. I'll feed you."

Anthony thought he'd feel ridiculous, being spoon fed while in a bath, but truthfully, it was wonderful, being looked after like this. He couldn't remember the last time someone tended to him with such care.

"Are you starting to feel better?"

"Yeah, actually. Why aren't you eating?"

"I already did. Here."

He took a bit of toast and looked up at Kate.

"What? Is everything OK?"

Anthony smiled warmly at her. "Yes, everything is perfect. Thank you. For taking care of me, I mean."

Kate leaned down and kissed him. She pressed her forehead to his temple. "You take care of me. I take care of you. Forever."

Forever.  There was that word again. And this time, Anthony was sure she said it on purpose– and meant it. 

—

Kate was looking at her phone, sitting on her couch with her legs tucked underneath her, when Anthony emerged from her room. "Hey. Are you feeling any better?"

As Anthony walked past he gently took her phone out of her hands and put it on the coffee table as he settled on the other end of the couch. He pulled her over until she was resting her head on his chest. "Much. A full, miraculous recovery, really. I’m truly a medical marvel."

"Liar."

"If you require proof, I'll enthusiastically oblige."

"I guarantee if you try, you'll fuck everything up again."

"Wait, are you saying I’m on probation?"

Kate scooted up a bit and started trailing kisses along the side of his neck. "Yes."

Anthony's eyes rolled back and he sighed. "Then what you're doing right now is cruel as fuck."

Kate laughed as she sat up, straddling him. "Fair enough."

Anthony looked up at her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

Kate cocked her head to the side, "What is it?"

"Are you OK?"

"Oh. Yeah, I really am. I promise."

"You're sure?"

"Anthony, I've been dealing with this my whole life. I've found something that works. I'm sure."

"Have you ever thought about using sleep aids?"

She shook her head. "Don't like them."

"Maybe–"

Kate leaned forward and carefully put her arms around Anthony's neck. "Baby. This is my wheelhouse, remember? I'm fine. You don't need to fix this. OK?"

"OK."

"You're not convinced."

"No, but I suppose that's my problem, not yours."

"That's right," she said with a smile.

After a quick kiss, Anthony cleared his throat. "Um… Did my being there help at all? Or would it have been better if I'd left?"

Kate's widened smile made him tingle all over. "It helped."

"Then wake me up," he responded quickly, earnestly.

"No." Her response was just as quick.

"Kate, I wanna be there for you if it makes it better."

"Then, if you happen to wake up, I won't kick you out of my closet."

"Or mine."

She giggled. "Or yours. We could fit an actual bed in your closet."

"Do you want to?"

"You're so silly."

"No, I'm serious."

Kate sighed and started massaging Anthony's neck. "You, my Lord, are exhausting. In the best possible way. Does this feel OK?"

"Fuck, yessss," Anthony hissed.

Kate laughed and continued to work his neck and shoulders. After a couple of minutes, she started to get up, but Anthony gripped her hips, keeping her in place.

"I'm just gonna get behind you. If the obscene noises you're making are any indication, this is helping."

"I know what else would help. Speaking of obscene noises…" He held her down against his pelvis as he ground upwards.

Despite moving against him in kind, Kate rolled her eyes, "This will not help at all."

Anthony moved one hand up to her throat, and at her moan, moved it further up so he could open her mouth with his thumb. He smiled smugly when she immediately took it in, like he knew she would. He slowly moved it in and out as he said, "Have you not heard of endorphins, Ms. Sharma? Maybe I need to see your credentials again." She bit down hard on his thumb and he pulled it out with a chuckle. He knew he had her. 

"We need to get ready for lunch at your mum's," Kate said, though her voice was weak and her fingers were on the button of his trousers.

"See, I know you're trying to pour cold water on this situation, but I will not be deterred. Unless you tell me to stop." He pulled up the bottom of her dress and started playing with her underwear. "Tell me to stop. I dare you."

"Ugh, fuck you."

"Please and thank you."

"I have one condition." She was already short of breath.

"What's that, Ms. Sharma?"

"Let me do the work."

Anthony pouted, "But–"

"Shh…" Kate was already kissing down his chest. "Only you would complain about your girlfriend wanting to give you a blowjob, you munch."

—

"Kate!"

Hyacinth ran down the hall, Gregory hot on her heels.

Anthony and Kate had barely gotten through the door before Kate was bending down to catch the kids in a hug. "Aw, hey, guys. I've missed you."

Anthony smiled down at them. He could tell Kate was surprised by the reception. Surprised and thankful.

"Ooh, is this Newton?!"

The kids looked over at the puppy Anthony had on a lead.

"Yes, I was told I wouldn't be allowed inside without him."

"Well, that's hardly true," Gregory responded. Hyacinth cut her eyes at him. "I said ‘hardly,’ didn’t I?"

"Can we play with him? Please?" Hyacinth was chomping at the bit.

"Yes, he'd probably love that."

Before she'd even finished her sentence, Gregory snatched the lead from Anthony and the kids headed merrily back down the hall.

"They didn't even know I was here," Anthony laughed.

Kate wrapped her arms around his waist. "No one can compete with Newton."

"No," Anthony shook his head and looked into her eyes. "It wasn't just Newton."

"Kate, I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you before Greg and Hy accosted you." Violet held her arms out and Kate stepped into them.

"Not at all, Violet. They're wonderful. I think they just kidnapped my dog, though."

"Oh, dear. They will be asking for their own by the end of the day, no doubt."

"Probably not a great idea–"

"Why don't you let me worry about that, please." Her voice had a sudden edge to it as Violet turned to Anthony.

Kate's brow furrowed as she looked between the two during the beat Violet took before softening and kissing her son on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you two are here! Come on, then. Lunch is ready."

As Violet turned away, Kate reached up to rub Anthony's neck. "Everything alright?"

"Yep." He gave her a tight smile that was clearly bullshit.

He moved to follow his mum, but Kate tugged on his hand. "Anthony."

"What? You want to talk about this in the middle of the foyer?"

"So, there is something to talk about."

"Jesus, Kate. Can you please just turn it off for now?"

Kate's mouth parted slightly and Anthony winced at the look on her face. He ran his fingers through his hair and kissed her hand.

"I'm sorry. Let's just–"

"Yeah, let's." Kate let go of his hand and walked past him.

—

“Kate, I know you have about five jobs, but we’re working on adding classes at Art Blanche and I was wondering if you would consider giving a class. We can work around your schedule, maybe once a week?”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “Ben–”

“I’d love to if I have time. Let me think about it. I’ll come by your shop sometime next week to check it out.”

“Maybe I can court you away from whoever you get your supplies from.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Ben has been letting us work at his store, Kate.” Ben leaned over behind Hyacinth and mouthed work with air quotations.

“Then I’ll have to come by during your shift.”

Anthony put an arm around Kate. “Guys, please. Give her a break.”

“I’m fine.” Kate shrugged him off. 

The conversation did move on and while Kate did let Anthony rest his hand on her thigh under the table, she barely acknowledged him. By the end of the meal, it was all Anthony could do to keep from pouting, which he could admit to himself was childish as fuck.

“Thank you so much for having me, Violet. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I should really get some work done this afternoon. But, Eloise, I will call you about that music lecture in London if you’re sure you and Francesca want to come.”

Francesca nodded. “We’d love t–”

“Yes, please!” Eloise turned to glare at Benedict and Colin snickering at her enthusiastic outburst. “I can be excited about things.”

“Yeah.” Colin smirked. “A lecture. It’s very on brand”

“Greg. Hy.” Anthony looked over to his siblings being suspiciously quiet in the corner. “I think you have something that belongs to Kate?”

The pair slowly turned, Newton cradled against Hyacinth. “We weren’t trying to keep him, honestly.”

“Can we watch him for you the next time you go out of town, though? I think he likes us.” Greg said as Hyacinth handed the puppy over.

“I’m certain he does. You two can be his official dog sitters, if Violet says it’s OK.”

“Mum, please!”

“We’ll see.”

Anthony grasped Kate’s hand as they finished their goodbyes, thankful when she squeezed back.

Back in his car, he looked over at Kate, who, of course, was looking right back at him.

“Look, things between my mum and I are… I don’t know, weird and inconsistent right now. I didn’t feel like talking about it–I still don’t–but I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.”

Kate grabbed his hand and rubbed his fingers against her lips. A good sign, he knew, and let out a relieved breath. “Thank you. My reaction was a bit out of proportion. I, of all people, should know when not to push.”

After a few moments of silence, Anthony leaned over slowly, giving Kate time to stop him, before kissing her softly. “Can I still come to yours?”

She smiled and nodded. “But you have to let me work. And I really do think you should take it easy for the rest of the day. Maybe another hot bath. You’re still stiff.”

“Well, at least part of me–”

“Shut up. You’re so corny.”

[verysmallcyborg]

haha oh man are you ever normal in the club. i never am. permanently debuffed

(THANK YOU @oneiroy FOR THEIR NEW AND IMPROVED FACE SCARS. OUGH........!!!!!)

[dietmimo]

The Ex.

Contrary to popular belief, they still get along well.

[umblrspectrum]

still thinking about it so heres a bunch of stuff

[dumbfucksystem]

imagine if the shen family was actually a part of the mafia. and shen yuan just never knew.

like his Family is rich and they are all super close. he’s even in contact with some of his distant relatives pretty often, which is kinda cool for him, he’s sure that this isn’t the case for most families so he considers himself lucky to know the extent of his family tree. sure, some of them seem to have lost a marble or two but what family doesn’t have a couple oddballs in their midst, you know?

and its not just sy’s comical obliviousness that contributes to this. his family is well aware that sy is not suited for this life style- especially his siblings. they grew up watching him get himself into all sorts of weird situations and putting himself at a disadvantage simply because he’s too nice. he can try and deny it all he wants (just like how he denies he’s gay- c’mon sy everyone can tell you are not straight) but his sense of justice would only burden him if he were to work for the Family. not to mention his sense of self preservation is absolute shit and they don’t want to have to babysit him his whole life- and he probably doesn’t want that either!

so they send him off to college, help him find an apartment, and basically do everything they can to help him start off on his own, away from the Family. his siblings had to do a whole lot of convincing to let this happen btw- this kind of thing usually isn’t allowed, but sy doesn’t know anything that could be used against the Family, so they make an exception in his case. better for them to not have a deadweight sticking around either is what they say but they all dote on him anyways and refuse to admit they care about him. sy definitely picked up this line of reasoning from them btw.

shen yuan is a little upset and confused that his Family seems eager to send him off (it’s not like they can’t afford for him to live with them after all- both of his older brothers still live in the Family’s massive house and even his aunts and uncles are living there??). he manages to recover quickly though. at least now he can read his web novels in piece without prompting any dick jokes (his cousins had a field day when they found his account with all of his pidw comments…). now he just needs to figure out how to live by himself.

it’s not that sy is incapable of taking care of himself- it’s just that he’s so used to having other people with him that he never understood how much they were doing for him until they were no longer around. but that’s fine, living on your own is just another learning curve and sy is willing to rise up to the challenge. which he did, by the way! he found a job and pays his taxes and even though that isn’t much he still gives himself a mental pat on the back for it. he is still in contact with his siblings, he never misses an update for pidw which he totally doesn’t get excited for and his life is going great.

……until he accidentally eats some expired food and dies.