#tommy's questions in the mailbox

[tommyinnit-fanblog]

transgender tommyinnit you agree

Yes yes glad we agree on this

[30somethingautisticteacher]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @typicalopposite and @bangpop91

Enjoy some of the next chapter of my letter fic Our own Words!

Chapter 1 on Ao3

****

"Earth to Kinard!"

Tommy jerked awake, nearly falling off the couch. "Yes, sir!"

"You've hit your maximum flight hours," Captain Dennis said, studying his exhausted pilot. "You are on mandatory leave for the next 72 hours."

"But sir—" Tommy straightened, trying to appear more alert than he felt.

"No buts. You're working yourself to the bone to distract yourself from your personal life, and you're not safe to fly." Dennis's tone left no room for argument.

"Ground ops..." Tommy tried, desperation creeping into his voice. "I'll take ground support."

"Tommy," Captain Dennis began, his voice softening with concern. "That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Tommy murmured.

"Order yourself an Uber, and we'll see you in three days."

The drive home was slow, but Sanjay, his Uber driver, didn't try to make small talk. Tommy reminded himself to leave a big tip. He rolled himself out of the black Buick, barely managing to stay upright.

"Thanks," he yawned.

He trudged up his walkway, stopping at his overstuffed mailbox. Inside, he mechanically sorted through the stack. "Bill, bill, advertisement, letter—" he paused, exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he stared at the familiar handwriting.

His heart skipped a beat. Could it be? The stamp of a bioluminescent fish in the corner answered his question. That had been one of his favorite of Ev— Buck's deep dives.

Tommy collapsed onto his couch, the letter grasped tightly in his calloused hands. For a long moment, he just stared at his name written in that achingly familiar handwriting. Finally, he opened the envelope with trembling fingers and began to read.

"Dear Tommy..."

A tear rolled down his cheek, then another. He loved him. Evan loved him and he had hurt Evan so much.

But Evan deserved better than him. Evan deserved someone who was whole and unbroken. Someone who could open up to him. Tommy wanted to—God, he wanted to—but his trauma ran deep, and he didn't want to burden Evan.

So he ran. Ran like he always did. Ran to protect Evan. Ran to protect his own heart.

****

Open tags!

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 45: Peace And Goodwill

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Thomas’ gifted money to John did not go wasted. The view of the approaching country house brings a smile to my face, however the sight of someone hunched behind a boulder pointing a gun does not. The car halts next to the mailbox and I check the name. Shelby. I’m in the right place.

“Oi! Steenstra!” John shouts from across the lawn. “‘S that you?”

“Hello, John!” I wave back, clutching the bag of cookies I brought with me. “I come with neutral intentions and glad tidings!”

He relaxes and starts jogging over, followed by two small dogs. “You just missed Ada!”

“Thanks again for the party invitation. You didn’t really-”

“Oh yes, we did!” John cuts me off with a hug and eyes the bag. “It’s been a whole year since you’ve made us biscuits!”

I smile and quirk a brow. “So you’re excited I’m here just for my culinary skills, eh?”

“No, I did miss you,” he says sincerely. “‘S good to hear you and Ada have enjoyed America but it’s good to have you back.” He tugs at his coat. “It’s been bloody freezing! How are you not cold?”

I shrug. “I love the cold. It brings me back to my Scandinavian roots. The cold feels natural to me.”

John rolls his eyes and starts walking towards the house. “Oh, big deal. Brag about ancestors living in an ice cube. Let’s go inside for some tea, eh?”

He leads me to the front door and I walk inside to a cozy-looking parlor. I can’t help but notice the beautiful greenery draped over the fireplace. 

John catches me looking. “First time seeing a British Christmas, eh? We’ve got our traditions.” 

He points to something above my head. I look up to see a sprig of green plants with white berries tied together with a red bow.

“Mistletoe?”

I’m not unfamiliar with the custom. In my culture it’s a druid tradition that’s supposed to be a symbol of male fertility.

John grins deviously. “Want me to call Tommy over?”

I hold up a warning finger. “No. I mean it, John. No talk of that. I’m here to-”

“What? To make everything better again?” he mocks sarcastically with narrowed eyes. “Nice try.”

As if on cue, Esme appears in the doorway. Here we go.

Her vicious eyes cause me to freeze. “Verena.”

“Hello, Esme,” I greet gently. “How are the kids?”

“What money do you use?” 

Her question throws me off. “Pardon?”

Behind me John groans. “Again, Esme?”

“What. Money. Do. You. Use?” She demands.

“M-My earnings. And some funds from my vader.” I hold up my bag. “I brought biscuits. Some chocolate ones, but also some almond cookies. They’re shaped like Dutch Christmas characters.”

“You have no idea what we’ve gone through,” Esme snarls. “And you show up like nothing’s changed?”

My own face twists into a scowl. “You think I don’t know things have changed? I am truly sorry for what Thomas did to John and the others but it was not my fault.”

“She’s right,” John agrees. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll all come to terms because you’re playing peacemaker, Verena. I did invite him-”

“No, John!” Esme hisses. “No more of him!”

I hold up my hands and look between the couple. Tea will have to be postponed. “It’s been lovely to see you all but it’s getting late.”

“Good to see you, Verena,” John waves from the couch.

I can’t help but smile and set the bag of biscuits down next to him. “Merry Christmas to you both, and the children.”

I retreat back to the door before Esme can skin me alive. She follows me the same as a fox stalks its prey. 

“Are you staying with that bastard?”

I reach for the doorknob. “Yes.”

“Tell him to go to Hell.”

I think part of him believes he’s already there.

I’m so tired of being stuck in the car. Throughout the drive to Arrow House I watch the sun sink behind heavy gray clouds. I might not be as cold as others but I do still catch on to the dropping temperature. As the giant mansion approaches, a few random snowflakes scatter across the car window. I haul my trunk up the stone steps and am greeted by a stern-faced lady with her hair in a tight bun.

“Ms. Steenstra?” I nod and she continues. “I’m Frances, the head housekeeper. May I call a footman to take your bags?”

“No, no. That’s quite alright. I can manage.” I walk past her into the hallway and nearly bump into another maid. “Oh! Hello-”

Her eyes widen with panic. “I apologize, Ms. Steenstra!”

I frown. “What for?”

She looks down and wrings her hands together. “We’re not supposed to be seen. I- I took a wrong turn. This is the wrong staircase.”

There’s more than one? “You have your own staircase?”

She nods, still looking at the floor. “A hidden one.”

My curiosity sparks. “Can I see?”

Her head flies up. “Oh, miss, you don’t want to. It’s dark and full of spiders.”

I know Thomas treats his employees well but her skittery behavior makes me suspicious. “How exactly does the staff work here?”

Behind me I hear Francis let out a disapproving sniff. “A routine of tradition. You Americans obviously don’t follow it.”

The girl in front of me gulps. “Frances has the highest position of housekeeper. I’m only a scullery maid.”

My jaw drops and I wait for Francis to exit before speaking. “This traditional system is one-sided. How is being forced into always being in a poor society fair?”

Her eyes light up. “Actually Mr. Shelby is most generous with his terms of employment. Frankly, Francis is the one holding onto tradition.”

“Ah! You’ve met Lydia.”

We both turn to where Thomas has just walked in from his study. The maid immediately starts apologizing.

“Sorry Mr. Shelby. I was just leaving-”

“You can stay,” I assure Lydia and give Thomas a look. “She can stay, right Thomas?”

He looks as if this sounds like a simple request. “Yes.”

Another pair of eyes peeks out from behind Thomas’ legs. “Daddy, who’s this?”

Oh my. Charlie’s grown so much! He’s already talking. He’s grown into a sturdy, adorable child with curious eyes. Seeing him gives half the reason I wanted to return so badly.

Thomas kneels down next to him and points to me. “Charlie, this is my good friend Verena. Do you remember her?”

He scrunches his face at me. “V-Veena?”

“Vah-ree-nuh,” Thomas annunciates.

“Veena?" Charlie tries again. How cute!

“I like it,” I chuckle and also kneel down to his level, extending a hand for him to shake. “Merry Christmas Eve, Charles. It’s good to see you again. Have you been keeping your daddy in line?”

Charlie recognizes I’m no longer a complete stranger and grins at his father. “Uh-huh!”

Thomas puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charlie, Verena and I are going out for a talk. We’ll be back for supper, alright?”

Charlie nods eagerly. “Okay.”

Thomas calls for Francis to take him away and we both walk back to the front door. I look out the window and gasp in delight to see even more snowflakes flurrying through the darkening sky. It’s nearly dusk. The magical sight of the pure-white flakes almost looks imaginary.

“It’s finally snowing!” I can’t contain myself.

“Would you still be up for talking outside?” Thomas asks mysteriously. “I’ve got an idea.”

Now fate is just being cruel. A horseback ride through the snow? How more romantic is that? I guess as a city girl this is something very special. But Thomas doesn’t see this as anything intimate. To him a horseback ride is just another pastime. He preps a beautiful dark gray horse for me and his black horse for himself. 

“Do you know how to ride?” Thomas asks as I mount the large beast.

“I’ll figure it out as I go. I’m really excited!” I gush as the horse begins to trot through the billowing snow.

Thomas brings his horse ahead of me and starts leading us through the fields. I’ll admit the feeling of sitting on the horse's back is unfamiliarly awkward but the horse itself is being very gentle with me. It has a patience of its own and doesn’t go too fast.

“How’s she working?” Thomas calls from ahead.

“Very cooperative!” I respond. “What’s her name?”

“Scarlet.” He pauses a second. “I’ve got a question about your father.”

“Shoot.”

“How does your father handle differences in his employees? By sex, I mean.”

Interesting. There’s little chance that Thomas will change his own mind about how he runs things; but it’s refreshing to hear he wants to know how other families deal with problems. He’s showing an interest in my family the same way I have taken an interest in his.

“Simple. They’re all paid fair,” I say as Scarlet steps over a small brook. “What you work for is what you get. If you put in the time and effort then you reap the rewards. Man or woman, he doesn’t discriminate. Unlike some other shops near us. But he does set certain boundaries so women are not put in harm’s way.”

I’m starting to lose Thomas through the thick snow. He notices and halts his horse so we can stop to chat. 

 “Does he ever have strikers?”

“No need for any. Half of his employees are our family and he’s too gentle to let a disagreement go unsettled. Firm but kind, as moeder says. But our business is much less than yours. Yours is… an empire.”

Thomas nods, regarding me with a look that shows deep thought. “Your father runs things through strong capitalism.”

I smirk and wipe away some snowflakes from my hair. “That’s the American dream for you. We’ve had countless immigrants who were looking to build a life for themselves and their families. They start as bartenders, busboys, and janitors. Now they’re paid by salary. Some of the best rumrunners I’ve ever seen. Quite similar to how you run things.”

A spell of silence falls over us and we take a moment to enjoy the peaceful serenity. The only sound is the whistling of the wind through the tall grass. In the distance I see the warm glow of the Arrow House windows flickering through the snow. Not quite like Christmastime in Brooklyn but it looks like what all the greeting cards advertise. Abel’s right. It’s going to be a challenge to be away during the holidays.

Thomas breaks the silence. “‘S this your first Christmas away from home?” 

His soft voice and the bittersweet homesickness tug at me. “Yes.”

“Will you miss your family?”

A sad smile crosses my face. “That obvious, hm? I’ve only been away for a week but it’s different without being there for the holidays.”

Thomas reaches across for my hand but I still grip the reins. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have waited until after the holidays for you to come back.”

“Because I knew I was needed here,” I answer wisely. “It’s been a hard year on everyone and… I felt God telling me to come back.”

“Is that the real reason you came?” 

He asks as if I’m not telling him everything. Why does this have to be so hard?!

“I still love your family after all these years, Thomas. You all need as much help as you can get.”

Thomas considers my answer and hums. “Charlie was certainly happy to see you. I’m sure they all were.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. Ada and I have been the peacekeepers between the two opposing sides. Thomas vs. the line of everyone who hates him. And that line’s starting to become noticeably long.

“Thomas, please,” I plead as he starts leading his horse back towards the house. “You need to talk to your brothers. Mend this family.”

@meadows5

[kaarijazineofficial]

Blog Update Post #3: Applications are open!

Hey there Kääryleet!

Things are getting started in earnest! We present to you all today, the artist application form! Ta ta-ta-ta tum!

And to go along with it, we have some guidelines for our resident creatives to follow:

The printed zine size will be 5 x 7 inches (roughly a5)

Submissions must be illustration or cosplay photography

Submissions must be 300dpi and CYMK for printing purposes

Submissions must be in portrait orientation

Applications will only be accepted via the form provided

SFW only*

Submissions must include Käärijä and/or anyone that he has performed with (what we call the “extended Käärijä universe”)**

No original characters

A copy of the printed zine will be sent to Jere’s mailbox in Vantaa, so applicants must be comfortable with their submissions being shown to he and his team

If deadlines cannot be met, applicants should contact a member of the fanzine team

We are accepting a minimum of 20 submissions, but will accept more if provided

Should we receive less than 20 submissions, we will default to an e-zine format

This is a volunteer-based project. There will be no profit for anyone involved.

*As a general rule of thumb, anything that Käärijä has done during a performance is acceptable (we know he can get a little naughty), but if you have doubts, please reach out to the team for clarification

**This includes, but is not limited to: Jukka/Allu/Jaako, Häärijä, the Dancers, Frank, Bojan, Tommy, etc

(Some of these rules and guidelines will be reiterated in the application form itself, so bare with the repetition)

And also a rough timeline for you folks:

Applications will be open up until and including October 21st 

One week of selection following closing of applications

Selected applicants will have the following rough timeline:

Three weeks for thumbnails

Three weeks for primary sketch

One month for refined sketch/lineart

One month for final illustration

Following that, it will be in the team’s hands, so we will be giving updates with the printing process as it proceeds. 

Once again, if there are any questions or concerns, please either contact a member of the team, or drop an Ask to our blog. Expect additional posts in the future regarding any tweaks to the timeline, deadlines, or submission requirements, as well as refining or clarification on what is required. Thank you all again for your patience and interest! We’re all so excited to see what we create!

 With that, to hammer it home:

APPLICATIONS ARE NOW OPEN. DEADLINE FOR APPLICATIONS IS OCTOBER 21ST.

[solarmorrigan]

Consider the following:

Steve, after breaking up with driving away from Tommy and Carol, isn't thinking terribly clearly. He has a head injury of some kind, probably, he's had a fight with his (ex?)girlfriend, with Jonathan Byers, and with his (ex) best friends, and his whole view of himself and who he wants to be has been called into question

So, like, he probably shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car

But he is, and he takes a turn too fast, bumps over the curb, and digs a tread mark right into the corner of someone's yard. And even if the mark wasn't obvious (though it is, of course; it's a big, ugly furrow of torn grass and mud), Steve wouldn't be able to pretend it hadn't happened, because the person who presumably owns the house is right there, standing by his mailbox

Enter Bob

Bob, who has just gotten home from work and is getting his mail when someone comes skidding around the corner and digs a track through his yard. And Bob isn't quick to anger, so he's really more surprised than upset, and before he can even make it to being upset, Steve parks and gets out of the car and most thoughts go flying from Bob's head except, "What the heck?"

Because this kid is obviously fresh from some kind of beating, dried blood still clotting on his face, shirt dirty, shoulders hunched, and he sort of looks like he's about to cry. But he apologizes to Bob and says that he's not sure how to fix it but that his dad might be able to pay for it, like some kind of landscaping service, maybe, and-

Bob interrupts. He tells Steve it's fine, the lawn will survive, and asks if he'd like to come in and sit down for a minute. Maybe have a glass of water? (Because the kid is almost shaking, and Bob thinks he should probably sit down before he falls down - or worse, before he gets back behind the wheel)

And Steve is so baffled by the reaction that he isn't sure what else to do but nod. So Bob leads him inside and sits him at the kitchen table and gets them both a drink and sits down with him and then - he asks what's wrong

Steve isn't even sure where to start. He tells Bob that he's been kind of an asshole. Actually, probably a huge asshole. And he doesn't want to be like that, he doesn't think, but he doesn't really know where to start... not being that way

Bob tells Steve that he doesn't seem all that bad to him. After all - he'd made a mistake just earlier and had owned up to it and apologized to Bob. Offered to fix it. Sometimes that's the best thing you can do in the world: apologize for your mistake, and offer to help fix it

And - well, maybe Bob is onto something, actually. Steve doesn't know if an apology will fix what he's said or done today, but it's not like he has any other ideas (it's not like he isn't genuinely sorry)

They sit for a little while longer. Bob chatters at Steve about his job at Radio Shack, just letting him calm down for a bit, giving him a safe and quiet space to regroup, until he seems ready to go

Steve apologizes again about the yard, and Bob tells him that if he really wants to, he can come back this weekend and help fix it. Bob doesn't think he knows much more about landscaping than Steve does, but he's sure that between the two of them, they can figure something out

Steve promises that he'll come back

(And he does. In spite of everything, in spite of monsters being real and little kids being stolen away into fucked up alternate dimensions or whatever the hell had happened, Steve comes back. He and Bob do their best to set the yard to rights, and get into some other yard work, too, and that night is the first night since hitting a flower-faced beast in the head with a baseball bat that Steve actually gets any sleep at all)

-

Part 2 Stop with part 1 if you want this to end in fluff. Part 2 is hurt/no comfort

Tagging @momotonescreaming, @paperbackribs, and @zerokrox-blog because you asked about this one for that wip-ask game and I meant to post this much sooner, sorry!

[jacksonscouts]

Whew! This week has been...oof

Anyone else wanna play silly games and not think about political events? Let's get to it!

📣: I made a feedback poll for us. Check that shit out.

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Send a Scout-themed ask to as many Scouts as you'd like!

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[tommymaddox]

Tommy only took two wrong turns on his way to Marlow's new house; the town was all too familiar to really get lost in but certainly not memorised enough to go somewhere new without an accidental detour. Thankfully he had some guidance to the house in question, Marlow having previously pointed it out as one she hoped for, so there was no need to check mailbox numbers as he rolled down the road or seek his phone maps.

'Delighted' doesn't do justice in describing the happiness that washes over him when Marlow greets him with a declaration of her ownership. "Now I could I get used to hearing that," he playfully returns, dimples doing their best work as his smile takes over his face. With one hand he wraps Marlow up, squeezing her with a kiss pressed to her temple, the other remains resting behind his back holding a flat box, no bigger than an A4 piece of paper, with a red ribbon holding it together. "I'm so happy for you Marls," he breathes into her hair, releasing her a moment later to hold the box out before her. "I made you something. Go on, open it. Hopefully you have a place for it, and it doesn't clash with any interior design ideas you have planned." He hovers, watching her as he rambles a bit out of nerves. He had never made a piece like it, let alone put so much thought into the meaning behind it, the care her had for its owner. "I started making her before I knew about the house, and she finished up right on time for this as if it was fate. When it all came together I realised... I think I just made a mini you."

who: marlow & @tommymaddox where: the new townhouse when: early september

Day Three of having her own place and Marlow had impressed even herself with how much she had gotten done. There were still plenty of boxes to unpack -- mostly things for her room and the office space. Not to mention the more extranious tasks, like painting the walls and finding smaller decor items. A number of photos that needed to be framed and hung or distributed across various surfaces.

But, all of the basics were more or less together. The living room had a couch and a television, the spare room had a desk and mismatched book shelves, and the kitchen was stocked with all the necessities. Only the dining room, over the counter from the kitchen, was less than presentable, with a temporary table and chairs. Marlow didn't think there was anypoint in getting a whole new table, though, when she Cage was going to be putting together something custom.

With Tommy coming over that evening, Marlow wanted the place to be functional, if not totally together. Dinner and helping to unpack was ostensibly why he was coming but she hopedthey might finally discuss what happened more than a month ago. It was clear they couldn't keep pushing it down, ignoring it. Not if they wanted their friendship to survive.

Marlow was eager to be on the other side of the conversation, but terribly nervous about it. So when the doorbell rang, she leapt up and skittered toward the front door. But she had a smile for Tommy when she opened the door, waving him in. "Welcome to my home."

[tmmyrp]

If you don't mind me asking, what are your pronouns?

(Sorry to bother you!)

not a problem anon my very cool pronouns are he/him

[trashyslashers]

What are your Headcanons of Ghostface, Thomas and Michael with an extremely airhead s/o. That can easily get distracted and wander off to the woods during the night because they saw a shiny thing, or someone that randomly say something like "Does helicopters have honks?" After being silent for 10 minutes.

First piece in.... nearly a year?

Hope I still have it.

thank you!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghostface

Gives Danny an excuse to insist you stay around him all of the time - or at least, any time you both have outside of trials.

What about it? He's gotta keep an eye on you - hell it's how you two even met outside of a trial in the first place. You THOUGHT you saw some sort of glimmer out in the woods, and while you were correct, it wasn't anything pretty or interesting like you'd anticipated. Rather, it had been the gleam of the campfire against Danny's knife as he did what he enjoyed most; staking out and looming in the woods around the Survivors' campfire. He just can't risk letting you wander off and end up running into another Killer - no sirree.

He definitely teases you about it. A lot. "Aww, what's that bruise from? Did someone accidentally walk into a tree again?"

Of course, to anyone else it would sound like he was genuinely picking on you, but the subtle inflection in his voice that he only had when speaking to you was a dead giveaway he meant it fondly.

Or as fondly as Danny could. As much as he did love you, he's a sadistic fuck and will absolutely take advantage of it during any trials the two of you have together. He just can't help it - you just look too cute running from him, and he can't waste any opportunity to get a photo or two of you pinned under him.

Thomas Hewitt

Oh no, no, no, no no no no.

Tommy does not like this one bit.

Sure, it can be cute, and sure, it gives him a reason to keep more of an eye on you than he already does, but one of these days you're going to get hurt and he does not want that - !

Especially with all of the clutter tools laying around the Hewitt household; you nearly gave him a heart attack when you tripped and fell face first over a chair because you were too preoccupied watching a moth crawl along the ceiling as you walked to notice where you were going.

Is absolutely perplexed by the types of questions you ask out of the blue most of the time. Do helicopters honk? Do dogs have belly buttons? Do trees talk to each other? Honey, even if he could, he'd have no idea how to answer. You'll just get a pat on the head from Tommy whenever you ask these.

You know what.... just stay by his side, okay? Right by his side - okay? Unless he has work to do down in that basement of his, or for Hoyt - you may as well be handcuffed to him with how adamant he is that you stay right by him so he can keep you out of harm's way.

Michael Myers

Just how??? Sure, he knows you are smart, but how on earth does someone manage to be so airheaded at the same time?

You were nearly hit by a car late one night because of it; movement from the neighbor's cat across the street had gotten your attention, enough so that you paid absolutely none of it to any oncoming traffic. Had Michael not been there suddenly to grip the back of your shirt and pull you back to the sidewalk, the side of your thigh would've had a nice new tattoo from the grill of the car - if it wasn't broken, that is.

He's already been something like a silent protector of yours- but once he truly realizes just how spacey you can be at times, this is upped to the nth degree. You can be sure that even a task as simple as strolling to your mailbox absolutely warrants, in Michael's mind, his looming from a window, or from behind a tree, just to make sure you don't accidentally get yourself into any trouble.

Will not tolerate it if anyone gives you any shit for it. Coworker, boss, classmate, family, friend, anyone, gives you shit and insinuates that you're stupid, or anything of the sort for your tendency to space out on occasion? It would take leagues of begging on your end to keep him from retaliating - though preventing that would be next to impossible if their ridicule actually upset you.

As intimidating and cold as Michael may seem to be, and is, you're his S/O for a reason, and he'll be damned before he lets you get hurt.

[steve-harringtons-lover]

Patiently Waiting - Steve Harrington x Henderson!OC

PART 1: CHAPTER 1 - MISSING CHILD

Warnings/Notes: Stranger Things basically, slow burn with Steve Harrington, enemies to lovers

Authors Note: If you would like to see Denise's face claim and read the prologue then you can head over to my Wattpad which is Loverg1rlxoxo!! Other than that hope you enjoy!!

"I'll take your X-Men 134!" Will Byers yelled as he passed The Henderson's mailbox. Denise Henderson opened the front door and walked onto her doorstep.

"Dustin!" Denise shouted at her younger brother, who was sitting on his bike beside their mailbox. His head snapped towards his sister. "Where have you been? You were supposed to be home an hour ago and mom went to bed worried sick!" Denise shouted, walking towards her brother.

They walked up their driveway together. "The campaign ran late. I lost track of time." Dustin defended. Denise sighed.

"You could've called," Denise commented. Dustin parked and they went inside. "Get to bed. It's a school night." Denise pointed her finger at Dustin, who was standing outside his bedroom door. He nodded before entering.

____ _ _ _

Denise, Dustin, and their mother, Claudia, sat at their dining table in the morning. Their mother had made them breakfast before school. Denise and her mother were in mid-conversation when the telephone rang.

"I'll get it." Her mother stood up from the table and walked to the phone in the living room.

"So, what happened during your campaign last night?" Denise asked Dustin. Dustin began to rant about Mike's dnd campaign.

"... and then Lucas said, "It's not the Demogorgon.", but it was the Demogorgon. Then, Will lost the dice and we had to leave so I guess we'll pick up later today." Dustin finished, and Denise nodded along at the appropriate time.

"I should join you guys sometime. I haven't played in forever, though." Denise chuckled. Before Dustin could respond, their mother came back with a pale face.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Denise was quick to ask. 

"You rode home with Will last night right, Dusty?" Claudia asked. Dustin's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, we raced home. Why?" He asked. Denise looked between the two.

"Nothing, dear. Don't you two worry about it." Claudia patted both her kids' hands.

Denise and Dustin soon left for school. They carried on with their day but were still wary about Will and what had happened to him.

____ _ _ _

A knock came from the Chemistry class door. "Sorry, Mrs. Harbin, may I speak with Denise Henderson?" The principal entered the room.

Denise picked her head up. Denise squirmed under everyone's stare.

"Uh oh. Looks like the freak is in trouble." Steve Harrington joked from the desk beside her, whispering to his friend Tommy H. Denise rolled her eyes before standing up.

She followed the principal to his office. She saw Jim Hopper, the chief of Hawkins police, and another police officer.

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Denise asked, her eyes flicking between the officers. Hopper shook his head.

"Have a seat, kid." Hopper offers, and he and the other officer sat down in their chairs. Denise hesitantly took a seat in the wooden chair across from the two police officers. "You know Will Byers, correct?" Hopper asked.

"Yes, I've known him for a while. Why?" Denise asks. The other officer writes something down in the notepad he is holding. "Did something happen to him?" Denise worried.

"The kid just probably got lost on his way home or something. I'm sure he is completely fine." The officer with the mustache and notepad spoke up. Denise furrowed her eyebrows.

"I know Will and Will has never gotten lost on his way home. I saw him riding his bike to his house." Denise revealed. Hopper sat forward on his chair.

"You said you saw him bike home?" He asks. Denise nods.

"He was racing my little brother to our house. He rode by shouting something before riding towards his house." Denise explained. Hopper looked to his partner.

"Did you happen to hear what he said?" Hopper questioned. Denise looked to the floor, trying to remember what he said.

"Something about X-Men 134. I don't really remember." Denise answered. Hopper nodded.

"Okay, that's all. Thanks." Hopper leaned back in his chair, sighing and looking at his partner. Denise breathed a sigh of relief before leaving the principal's office. She went back to her Chemistry class and sat in her assigned seat.

She easily ignored Steve and Tommy H.'s chuckles and whispers too drowned in the thoughts about Will. Her leg began to bounce and she spaced out until the bell rang.

____ _ _ _

After doing her homework and eating dinner, Denise knocked on Dustin's closed door. "Dusty, can I come in?" She asked. Dustin opened the door. Denise walked in and Dustin closed it behind her.

"What's up?" He asked, taking a seat on his bed. 

"I just wanted to see how you are doing since Will is you know..." Denise trailed off. Dustin nodded.

"I'm worried. The chief came to talk to Mike, Lucas, and me after school today." Dustin explained. Denise looked up at him.

 "The cops came and talked to you too?" She asked, taking a seat beside Dustin.

"Yeah. They wanted to know where he lived and we asked if we could help, but they told us to stay home." He explained. Before Denise could reply, Dustin's radio began to buzz.

"Dustin! Come in! Do you copy?" Lucas' voice could be heard through the static. Dustin rushed over to his radio.

"I copy, over," Dustin answered. Denise stood up.

"Meet me and Mike at Mirkwood! Mike has a plan! Over!" Lucas rushed out. Dustin furrowed his eyebrows.

"Why? You both do know that it's pouring out, right? Over." Dustin asked, making eye contact with Denise, who mirrored his confused expression.

"This is no time for questions, Dustin! Just meet us there! Over and out!" Lucas exclaimed. Dustin tried to get Lucas' attention, but it seemed he had turned off his radio.

"Let's go!" Denise said, throwing Dustin his jacket.

The group met at the police barricades outside of the woods. They had their raincoats on and flashlights out. Their plan was to look for Will. 

"Will!" Mike called as the four ventured deeper into the woods. "Will!" He called again.

"Byers!" Lucas tried.

"Will!" Denise shouted, trying her best to see with the small light her flashlight emits.

"I got your X-Men 134!" Dustin attempted. Denise rolled her eyes at him. "Guys, I really think we should turn back," Dustin commented. 

"Seriously, Dustin?" Lucas exclaimed. "You wanna be a baby, then go home already!" Lucas complained.

"I'm just being realistic, Lucas!" Dustin shouted over the beating rain.

"No, you're just being a big sissy!" Lucas claimed. Denise huffed.

"Both of you stop arguing!" She snapped, moving to stand between the two boys.

"Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad? And we're going to the exact same spot where he was last seen? And we have no weapons or anyhting?" Dustin asked. Denise wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

"Don't think like that, Dusty." She said.

"I'm just saying does that seem smart to you?" He looked up at Denise.

"Dustin, shut up." Mike said. The four paused as they heard some rustling. "Did you guys hear that?" Mike asked, looking around. They all turned around when they heard some rustling from behind them. They all gasp and turn around once again when they heard more rustling from behind. This time they weren't met with darkness.

Their flashlights landed on a girl with a shaved head who was soaking wet.

____ _ _ _

[vinyls-and-valentines]

What if I said it was witchfucker wednesday? What then? Would you even care? Would you take out the overpriced flower bouquet you bought off of Tommy last thursday? Would you help me carry this boombox to the Zone 5 mailbox (my arms hurt)? Would the Witch think the blood stains on that crash queen's shirt are sexier than the spray paint on ours? All of these questions and so little answers...

[tommyinnit-fanblog]

Options on zombieinnit (the one from 100 days!! 😼)

ILOVEHIMILOVEHIMILOVEHIMILOVEHIMILOVEHIM !!!!!!!!

He genuinely doesn't get talked about enough which is so sad. fr my forever #1 favorite MCYT villian

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (February 3/2021) - The Egg Fights Back

Some interesting new discoveries are made about the Crimson, as Karl time travels once more to an older time.

In the present, Puffy attempts to destroy the Crimson and makes a discovery of her own:

The Crimson can defend itself.

---

- Fundy has figured out how to create life! In the form of little clay figures shaped like people, named after his viewers.

- The mini goblins have their own AI and are going to be able to path-find. If they path-find and combine enough, they’ll be able to fight.

- He can also destroy the ones that misbehave with a special stick.

- In the future, the clay figures will be more advanced. Though chat suggests giving the clay figures the ability to commit arson, Fundy decides that probably wouldn’t be the best idea.

- Tubbo opens his mailbox and reads his letter from Tommy.

- Tubbo’s decided that his goal for today is copious amounts of murder, in which he kills anyone he comes across.

---

It’s time for Tales From the SMP: “The Masquerade!”

A group of rich people come together to party...or so they thought.

---

The cast:

Karl plays Karl (just Karl)

Techno plays Sir Billiam III

Ranboo plays the Butler

Fundy plays Oliver Arachtenstein Cumbucket

Bad plays Lord Sebastian

Sapnap plays James

Niki plays Liaria

Quackity plays Drew P. Weiner

---

- Karl walks up to the mansion and meets a piggy fellow named Sir Billiam III, who is hosting a masquerade ball for rich people 

- Billiam introduces Karl to his overworked butler. 

- Karl falls off the stairway and Billiam explains that this is why they have railings

- Billiam shows Karl around to the various bedrooms. The wither painting is Billiam’s favorite.

- Billiam continues to tour Karl around until they reach the ballroom. Billiam calls for the Butler to fetch some wine.

- Oliver arrives to the party. He is living in London and likes to smoke, and wears a giraffe mask.

- Lord Sebastian is next to arrive.

- Next is James, an old friend of Billiam’s. James is divorced, his family gone. James tosses Karl a bottle of wine.

- Liaria arrives

- Drew P. Weiner, who is naked, arrives. He thought it was a nudist party. Billiam is flustered and wants him gone.

- Billiam had another butler named Hubert, but he ran off and now Billiam can’t find him.

- They go to sit at the bar in the ballroom. Billiam tells the butler to feed Drew poison.

- They then head to the dance floor and hang out.

- Drew is sick and the rest of the guests scatter in fear.

- After failing to poison Drew, they go to play Duck Duck Goose on the carpet.

- The lights go dark and they scatter. When the regroup, Drew’s body is found in a secret room

- Billiam has built a few panic rooms of his own. They split to look for more.

- Suddenly, the lights dim again. 

- When they come back, they find Liaria’s body lying on the wine barrels, and Oliver almost drowns in the aquarium.

- They discuss, drink lots of milk, and find a new secret passageway leading from the barrels to the ballroom.

- Billiam and Karl suspect it might be Sebastian, who was inspecting the wine. They start to confront him, but the lights go out once more. Karl runs with Sebastian.

- Billiam is found outside and must be let back in. 

- Karl shows them where Sebastian died. Karl says it must’ve been Oliver, since he saw Oliver right when the lights turned on.

- Karl has the idea to pair up this night. Karl goes with Billiam as the lights turn off.

- The two of them crawl back up from a secret chamber and find Oliver standing right near James’ body. They question Oliver and the Butler, suspecting them both.

- They give the Butler temporary freedom of speech for thirty minutes.

- At the end of discussion, they still suspect Oliver, and assign him the Butler as a buddy. The lights go dark as Karl stays with Billiam again.

- Billiam shows Karl a panic room armed with defensive fireworks for extreme situations.

- The Butler tells them that Oliver had a heart attack. Karl and Billiam start running from him.

- Billiam leads Karl to a new hiding spot. A secret room behind a painting. It’s his favorite panic room...because it has the Egg.

- Billiam tells Karl that in his travels, he found this mansion. A breeding ground for this mysterious Egg. And in his spare time, Billiam feeds poor people to the Egg as nourishment.

The Egg did the killings.

It can persuade people to do what it wants.

- The Butler begins to glow, and chases Karl down. The noises of stabbing can be heard as the screen goes dark.

- Karl wakes up in a white castle. There’s a wither rose and a book, and his clothes are all white.

The book calls it the inbetween. A dimension connected to Karl’s powers, a home away from home.

He doesn’t get to choose when he time travels, or when he returns, but his body doesn’t have to deteriorate.

If he explores the castle of the inbetween, then perhaps he can find the key to not lose himself.

He has to maintain the library, move it to a new land, and get people to join him. But he can’t let anybody else know what the inbetween is.

Until next time.

- Karl wakes up in his library and begins to write. One of the books is missing.

---

- Puffy has heard rumors that Tommy broke a piece of the Egg and nothing bad happened. Can she do the same?

- She breaks off a piece and it damages her, taking away around three hearts of health. She’s shocked and immediately stops trying to destroy it.

- Ranboo logs on and is confused by where he is. The maps are gone.

- Puffy gets a Prime Suit and goes back.

- Puffy tries breaking a different piece and it almost kills her, doing six hearts of damage. Why did this not happen to Tommy? She doesn’t think she can damage the Egg at all, even with TNT. Every time she goes to break it, it hurts more. A third time and she might not survive...

- Ranboo heads off in a direction.

- Puffy wonders if the Egg chose to let Tommy have a piece of the Egg, if the Egg doesn’t want to hurt Tommy. Maybe it wants Tommy to have part of it.

- Puffy needs to get Techno to help before the Eggpire gets Techno on their side. She needs to do something about this immediately.

- Ranboo makes it home and decides to check on the Egg.

- Puffy writes in the Captain’s Log. She shouldn’t have attempted to break the Egg. There’s some sort of difference between her and Tommy.

She and Tommy both have lost friends and made sacrifices. She thought she could fix this all on her own, but she couldn’t. She doesn’t have another attempt. Each try hurts more and more. But why did the Egg choose to spare Tommy?

It’s time for blood for the Blood God. It’s time for Technoblade.

Next stream, Puffy will visit Technoblade.

- Ranboo explores the SMP and is pleased by the grass blocks in L’Targay.

- As Puffy finishes writing, Ranboo hops down into the spider spawner. He makes his way to the secret room.

- Puffy goes to see Foolish’s builds and then goes to get quartz.

- Ranboo sees the Egg, waiting for it to say something. It doesn’t, so he graffitis it instead.

- Ranboo heads back home.

- He thinks people are probably going to create countries again. It’s already happened with Snowchester. So Ranboo doesn’t want to be involved.

- Puffy works on building projects and Ranboo continues to get rich.

---

Upcoming Events:

- Tommy’s next visit with Dream

- Bad wants to visit Dream again in the future

- Tubbo’s possible visit with Dream

- Quackity’s possible visit with Dream

- Sapnap’s visit with Dream

- Puffy’s visit with Dream

- Ponk’s visit with Dream

- Punz’s visit with Dream

- Jack Manifold’s visit with Dream

- The Eggpire possibly speaking with Technoblade

- Puffy meeting with Technoblade

[mrsmaddiebobaddie]

All the times Tommy and Tubbo almost got caught using their powers

A one-shot set in the AO3 series Orange Slices and Being Above Average

*Possible Spoilers for 'With Great Power Comes a Lot of Trouble'*

When Tommy was 9 he accidentally knocked his mother’s expensive vase off a table, only to spin around and catch it with one hand a split second before it hit the ground. His parents didn’t stop talking about his “lucky catch” for a week.

Tubbo got home from school and wanted to watch TV, and since he was there alone, turned it on with his mind. Thing was, it had broken that morning. His father was baffled at how Tubbo had managed to fix the TV when the repairman couldn’t even figure it out.

When Tubbo shut down their entire town's power grid.

Tommy once shouted “I could have beaten you even without superpowers” after winning a basketball game against an arrogant schoolmate. That took some carefully diverting explanations.

When he was 12, Tubbo kept turning off the microwave while Lani was trying to make popcorn. His parents thought it was fried and bought a replacement.

On a 7th grade field trip to a fish hatchery Tommy thought it would be funny to throw a rock directly into a water filter. After adamant denial of fault and a few hundred dollars in repairs from the school, it was decidedly not funny.

Tommy climbed the vines of a 15 foot enclosed wall and got stuck on the other side. The fire department had to save him.

Tubbo was once listening to his parent’s old voicemails when he came across one about himself. It was from a number with a foreign area code, and the man was asking specific questions about Tubbo’s recent medical history. It instructed his parents to leave the information in an envelope in their mailbox without an outgoing-address. Tubbo tried to dial the number back but only got an error code claiming that it did not exist.

During football tryouts Tommy drew attention when he forgot to mess up some throws and catches, standing out for his extreme accuracy.

When Mr. Watson asked Tubbo to turn the lights off, and without thinking Tubbo did.. with his mind, not his hand. Scratch that, this time they actually were caught, but does it count if the person who catches you also has super powers?

Orange Slices and Being Above Average

[marvelyningreen]

Aftershocks - Night 1

Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3 | (deleted scene)

[Summary: Peter Maximoff is an unflappable sorta guy. He’d never let anything get to him before, and this recent misadventure will be no different. ...Right?

Warnings: mild language, references to injury, general trauma-related angst

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, of the established relationship variety. A ‘what if Fietro really was Peter?’ scenario. Same continuity/reader character from Linger and Late-bloomer. ]

On your first night back from Westview, you hesitate at Peter’s door. You’ve gotten so close to saying goodnight to each other half a dozen times, but here you still are.

“Why don’t you stay for a while?” Peter asks after an awkward few seconds of silence. “I’m not really all that tired. Are you?”

“Not really,” you lie.

Judging by the dark circles under Peter’s eyes, he’s not being entirely honest either.

It was late afternoon when you’d gotten back. Well, it was late afternoon here, at least. The passage of time in Westview was nebulous, to say the least.

Hank had been there to meet you when you all emerged from the portal – Peter, yourself, Mr. Lehnsherr and the professor, and the newcomers: Wanda Maximoff and her twin sons, Billy and Tommy. Hank summarily hurried you all off to the lab for debriefing, and also for a precautionary exam. Who knew what side-effects there could be from traveling between realities?

None, as it turns out. Wanda and the boys were just fine. Peter was a little dehydrated and underfed, but was otherwise in good health. You were ultimately the most scuffed-up from the experience.

In addition to the same issues as Peter, you’d amassed a fair amount of cuts and scrapes and bruises. Thankfully, the worst of it is just a badly sprained knee that’ll take several weeks to heal. Inconvenient, but bearable.

Peter has been pretty positive the whole time. If anything, he’s maybe a little too chipper, all things considered. But then again, he was immersed in playing cool uncle to the twins, and was probably just trying to keep their spirits up. They’d been through quite a lot, too.

“You should at least try to sleep, though,” you say, as you limp into Peter’s room.

Peter scoffs good-naturedly. “Are you trying to baby me?”

“Well, one of us has to be the responsible one.”

Peter rolls his eyes. Before you can blink, he’s changed into shorts and an old Pink Floyd t-shirt. He leans in to kiss you.

“I’ll try to sleep if you’ll at least sit down,” he says. “Deal?”

You smile. “Deal.”

As Peter climbs into bed, you settle yourself on the sofa. To say that it’d been a long few days would be understating things to a criminal degree.

You’d stepped through a mysterious portal to rescue Peter from wherever he’d been abducted to. You’d found that the culprit was a witch who’d taken him in an attempt to steal the power of another witch, and that witch is an alternate reality version of Peter’s sister… sorta? Or maybe not. You still aren’t completely clear on how any of this works.

Regardless, you’d ended up helping a woman named Captain Rambeau – who has powers like a mutant, but apparently isn’t one – to free Peter from the witch’s control. And then the young sons of Peter’s not-sister were in danger from some military creep, because said military creep had apparently made a cyborg zombie version of Wanda’s late husband.

Or something. Again, this was a lot to take in in a short period of time.

And no sooner had the business with magic and the military been cleared up than the professor and Mr. Lehnsherr appeared, intending to serve as backup. Luckily, there was no need.

Peter went to make his goodbyes and, in true Peter Maximoff fashion, wound up inviting Wanda and her sons to come back to the mansion with all of you. You weren’t the least bit surprised that the professor was fully on board with this. He’s always the first to reach out with compassion to a soul that’s lost and hurting.

What shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did was hearing Mr. Lehnsherr do the same. Between the three of them, Wanda was convinced to come to the school and to learn about her powers in a place where she and her sons would be safe and among friends.

It was at this point that Peter was trying to be in two places at once – serving as liaison to Wanda and the boys, and also making sure that you were alright. He only succeeded in making everyone dizzy, until Mr. Lehnsherr stepped in. He instructed Peter to focus on guiding the newcomers and volunteered to look after you himself. You found yourself leaning on Mr. Lehnsherr for support as you limped through the portal and back to your own world.

“Y’know what I can’t stop thinking about?” says Peter.

“Hmm?”

He turns to grin at you. “Your strawberry rhubarb pie.”

“I know I canned some of that this summer,” you say. “Do I have any left…?”

“If you don’t, one of the students has plant manipulation powers. I’m just sayin’.”

You laugh, and the conversation goes on in much the same vein - talking about a hundred little things that don’t matter.

Westview isn’t brought up, and neither are witches and magic. Nobody mentions Wanda and her twin sons in the room down the hall.

Peter hadn’t been able to give very clear answers to Hank’s questions about his experience. He said that it was all pretty blurry, and chalked up to a side-effect of that weird mind-control necklace thing.

You aren’t sure whether this is cause for worry or not.

The conversation with Peter has been fading in and out for a while now. Typical sleepover experience, really. Silence for a few minutes, and then a bit of banter, and a scattered response here and there, and then more silence.

It’s… It’s actually been silent for a while now. And when did your eyes close, anyway?

You look at the clock to see that over an hour has passed since you last checked the time. But you’re awake now, and you find that you’re not tired anymore. Moonlight streams through the windows, falling across Peter’s bed. He’s still sleeping, thank goodness.

At first you think that the sudden sense of reassurance is just because Peter’s getting some rest. He’s had quite the experience, after all. But there’s more to it than that. You realize that you’re just glad that Peter’s home and safe.

You haven’t really thought about it before, but part of you had always seen Peter as, well, sort of invincible. He’s clever, and capable, and impossibly fast. He can outpace an explosion. He can redirect bullets as easy as breathing. Nothing outside of a godlike entity or an otherworldly power had been able to touch him.

But you can’t stop thinking about this other man – this Pietro. He was fast, too, and he was probably just as capable. That didn’t prevent him from being shot to death while saving the lives of two other people.

Odd coincidental similarities aside, Peter and Pietro aren’t the same. You know this. And yet… You’ve already almost lost Peter once.

In Westview, once you’d found yourself abruptly separated from Vision, you’d realized that you were in way over your head. There was something sinister going on, and you had no idea whether Peter’s kidnapping was a part of it, or if it was something else entirely.

You’d wandered the streets, trying your best to look like you were supposed to be there. At first glance, everything seemed normal. But the more you looked, the more things just felt… off.

It seemed to be summer, but there were no kids at the pool, or in the park, or riding their bikes up and down the block. All the cars looked just a little too shiny and new for a small town. All the yards were too perfectly manicured. Every single person wore well-coordinated outfits. It all felt staged.

Down the block, you noticed a mailbox labeled with the name “Vision,” and-

You hesitated. Maybe best not to go barging in, right? Leaning against a streetlight, you pretended to rummage for something in your bag while you kept an eye on the house. Again, the oddly regimented behavior continued. People walked past the house at intervals that seemed random at first, but weren’t quite. It was more like they were spaced out intentionally to seem random.

Aside from that bit of weirdness, nothing unusual had happened. You hadn’t seen any trace of Peter in your wanderings. This Vision guy was your only lead. Steeling yourself, you started walking down the street, intent on knocking on that door and figuring out the rest from there.

And that’s when somebody clamped a hand over your mouth and twisted your arm, pinning it behind your back. Before you had a chance to struggle or even scream, the scenery in front of you blurred and darkened.

You blinked. The world was still again. You were in a dark, oddly-shaped room. It might’ve been hexagonal, but you couldn’t move to look around. The person who’d grabbed you was still holding you immobile.

“So, they sent another one in, huh?” said an unfamiliar voice. “You’d think they would’ve learned by now, but that’s military types for you.”

The speaker stepped into view. It was a woman – middle-aged and dark-haired. She wasn’t worried like Vision had been, nor was she blithely serene like the other people you’d seen. Her presence was commanding, unconcerned. There was something about the way she sized you up that unsettled you.

“I’ve got it from here, thank you,” said the woman.

The other person released you, and you immediately felt some strange energy wind around you. It tightened around your wrists and ankles, binding them fast, and yanked you several inches into the air.

“Who are you? Let me go!” You struggled to free yourself, but you couldn’t budge the restraints even an inch. Even your powers seemed to glance off them ineffectually.

The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Now that’s interesting,” she said. “How did you manage to get into Westview with your personality intact? Even he was calling himself ‘Ralph’ at first. You’re not with S.W.O.R.D., are you? And I can tell already you’re not a witch. Let’s see…”

The woman made some complex gesture with her hands. A purple mist crept across your vision. You felt something wrapping itself around your mind – covering it like a net, humming like an electric current. You shook your head, trying to clear it away, but it clung like a spider web.

The professor. Just before you’d left, he placed some sort of psychic shielding around your mind, just in case. He wasn’t sure what sort of dangers you’d be facing. You doubt this was what he’d been anticipating, but whatever this woman was trying to do to you, the shield resisted it.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. You felt the web’s grip on your mind tighten, vice-like. At first it was just uncomfortable, but the pressure increased until it was a stranglehold on your consciousness. The edges of your field of vision started to go gray. There was a pounding in your head, a ringing in your ears. You tried to scream.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t breathe.

And then its hold released, leaving you gasping for air. If you hadn’t been suspended in midair like that, you would’ve collapsed. The woman watched you with something like fury in her eyes.

“What are you?” she demanded.

Dazed, you blurted out an answer. “I’m nothing. I’m nobody. I’m just trying to find my friend.”

You nearly ignored the movement in the corner of your eye as you tried to pull yourself together. You’d honestly forgotten that there was somebody else in the room. You looked up, and-

Your blood ran cold.

“Peter!”

He was there. He was alright! He-

No. No, he wasn’t. Something was wrong.

Peter watched you with the blank, nonchalant gaze of a stranger.

“Sorry, babe,” he said, shrugging. “Peter’s not here right now.”

“Wha… What did you do to him?!”

You wrenched uselessly at the restraints and Peter… he actually laughed.

“What, him?” said the woman. “He’s fine. I needed a replacement Pietro, and he was the best I could do on short notice.”

She eyed him critically, reaching up to adjust his hair like some sort of demented stage mom.

“Get your hands off him!” you snarled. “And who the hell is Pietro?”

The woman laughed incredulously. “You’re really not from around here, are you? You followed him from that other reality, and- Oh. Oh… I see it now. Oh, that’s too adorable. You’re in love with him.”

Her laugh turned into something that was almost a cackle, and Peter joined in. You felt sick.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do to this town, but Peter’s got nothing to do with it. Let him go.”

“What I’m trying to do-? Oh, pumpkin, you have no idea what you stumbled into.” The woman shook her head in feigned sympathy. “Sorry, but I’m not done with my Fietro yet. And as for you… I won’t be able to get rid of you, but I can’t have you running around getting in my way. I’ll just have to put you someplace for safekeeping, and I know just the spot.”

The woman raised her hand again, and smiled menacingly at you.

“You can try to tell them who you really are,” she said, “But I wouldn’t count on anybody believing you where you’re going. Buh-bye, hon!”

Movement in the room catches your attention, drawing you out of your reminiscing.

Peter stirs in his sleep. He reaches out for a moment, and then his hand falls back onto his chest. He exhales heavily – not quite a sigh – and is still once again.

Then, his hand moves restlessly towards his throat, fingers gripping at nothing like he’s trying to pull at the collar of his shirt, or-

“No, please,” he mumbles, “Please…”

Your knee is stiff from being motionless for so long. It just about gives way under you as you scramble to Peter’s side. You stumble, falling rather than sitting on the edge of the bed.

You catch Peter’s hand in yours and smooth his hair back from his forehead.

“Peter?” You’re surprised at how frantic your voice sounds. “Peter, wake up!”

Peter snaps awake with a gasp. He yanks his hand free of yours, scrambling to push himself back towards the headboard and staring wildly around the room.

You hold up your hands where he can see them, careful not to reach towards him at all. “It’s okay! It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“You…?” Peter stares at you for a moment, as though trying to remember where he is. “Listen, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but can you tell me something only you would know? Anything. Please.”

For a second, your mind goes blank. Something only you would know? You’d spent enough time with Peter that there has to be…

You’ve got it.

You look Peter in the eyes, giving him a little smile. “Who else would know that you’re my hummingbird?”

Peter’s laugh is brief, but genuine. You’d called him that once as a joke – saying that it’d be a fitting codename with his speed, attitude, and love of sugar – and it’d since become your teasing pet name for him. You’d never said it in front of anyone else, though. You may only use it to get a rise out of him, but you never wanted it to become an embarrassing nickname for him or anything.

Peter’s initial panic is replaced by an apologetic smile, but you’re certain that his heart is still racing.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry,” he says. “Bad dreams, y’know?”

“No kidding. You wanna talk about it?”

“I…” Peter looks away, frowning slightly. “I can’t say I actually remember what I was dreaming about, to be honest.”

If you were unsure before, you’re definitely starting to worry now. You make up your mind to talk to Hank and the professor about Peter’s memory lapses. Maybe it’s nothing, but for your own peace of mind, at least…

Still, you don’t want to let on to Peter that you’re worried about him.

“Are you gonna be okay?” you ask. “Need me to get you anything?”

Peter musters up a grin. “Oh, I’ll be fine. And there’s no way I’d send you off to get anything for me with your knee all messed up. But… would you mind staying a little longer? Or you don’t have to leave at all. I mean, it’s already late, and it’s pretty cold out there.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you say, smiling gently. “You just lay back down, alright?”

Peter nods. Once he’s resettled himself under the covers, you lean down to kiss him.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you, too.”

Peter reaches over to hold your hand. He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes again.

That Peter falls back asleep within the hour is a testament to how wore out he must be. As for yourself, you remember seeing the horizon brightening outside the window before you finally drift off.

[pinnithin]

invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat.  He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house. 

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” 

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him. 

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall. 

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly. 

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair,  and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life. 

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,”  Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm. 

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it. 

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing  from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face. 

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time. 

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out. 

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.