#twelve wheeler truck

[ravivarma700rv]

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[sapphic-bats]

INSPIRED BY THIS!!!

Murray’s been without a drink for far too many days.

Sure, it’s been two, but he’s been doing a lot of crazy shit in that vast amount of time. Decoding, logistics, hell, he’d even been on lookout.

So what if it was twelve-thirty in the morning? He was in desperate need of some vodka. Stat.

So he rounded the corner to the Wheelers' kitchen, still slightly groggy and glooming over his drink-less hand.

To see two very recognizable people making out against the wall.

At first, he stared, stopping in his tracks. He couldn't particularly make out who they were in the dark, and with his sleep-fogged brain. But then it hit him. All at once, like a truck careening full-speed at him in the dead of night.

As soon as he knew, his surprise and confusion melted away in a mere instant.

Will, nor Mike, seemed to know he was there. Leaning into the kiss with eyes shut gently yet tightly, the former had the latter pressed firmly against the wall, heads moving with their lips as their fervent kissing progressed, Mike's hands on Will's cheeks and Will's, in turn, on Mike's waist. They were deep into it, unaware of their (unfortunate) surroundings, and clearly didn't hear Murray's somehow-quiet shuffling into the night-cast kitchen.

Murray, completely unimpressed, quickly scanned the countertops for his familiar bottle of Slotichnaya. He remembered that he'd last left it in the living room, much to the complaints of Ted Wheeler, who somehow wasn't aware of the apocalypse that had dawned on their heads.

He raised his brows, unphased, and silently retrieved a glass from the cupboards. He slunk out of the kitchen, of course, mumbling to himself,

"I always fucking call it."

(LMAO should I write a prequel to this where Murray only insinuated to someone else that they were dating?? In full canon to the post that inspired this.)

[egipci]

Meditations

That’s seven hours that they’ve been gone now which you know because your dad sat you down and taught you how to read that old-school clock. The first time he drew a square and arms inside it and wrote in a twelve, a three, a six, a nine and he said when the big arm’s at the twelve I will be back, or a little after, between the twelve and the three I will be back. You said it’s a square, a clock’s not square, so he rounded over the corners and said a clock can be any shape but here you go here’s a circle and I’ll be back between the twelve and the three or by the six when it’s light outside but you shouldn’t wait up, you should listen to whatever your brother says, when he says time for bed you go to bed and I’ll be there before you know it. Between the three and the six. You nodded then but later you told your brother how the clock didn’t really look like the clock on the wall so he filled in the rest of the hours like he fills the hours you spend alone together. But now he’s not here. They didn’t say when they’re coming back and they’ve been gone for seven hours. You know this because you counted the hours on the clock. They didn’t say where they’re going and maybe it takes seven hours to get there. If it takes seven hours to get there then they just got there or maybe they’re not there yet but they’re about to get there and it takes some time to finish their business and then it will be another seven hours before they're back which means they’ll be back when it’s light outside which means they’ll be back just in time for school. But if they're not back in time you’ll have to miss class because Dad said don’t leave this house until we get back, unless when they get where they’re going Dean calls and says hey sleep tight we’re turning in but we’re heading back first thing in the morning we're seven hours away, which means maybe you’ll have time to go to school and back and Dad won’t even know it and all the while at school you’ll be at your desk wondering where are they, how far is that, what if they call again and I’m not home, what if they’re already on the way back, what if they’re rounding the corner and they're about to pull up into the driveway right now and I’m not there and Dad looks for me and freaks out and comes to pick me up before school’s over and he’s super pissed and starts shouting in the car about never going anywhere without him. But this will only happen if they come back tomorrow when you’re still at school. If you get back before they’re back you’ll wait for them and it’ll get dark again and you’ll be waiting for Dean’s call again and again you’ll be thinking maybe they’re not coming back, not tonight, they’re coming back tomorrow and maybe tomorrow on their way back something happens to them like Dad’s too tired and he’s driving anyway because he’s rushing to get to me and he’s driving real fast, because he called and I was’t there to pick up, he’s driving all sleepy and he starts to fall asleep and the car drifts off the road and flips over a bunch of times or it drifts left and a huge 18-wheeler is coming from the other side and the trucker can see them drifting but the truck is so huge he can’t stop it in time so he honks loud but Dad’s asleep because he’s tired and Dean’s in the passenger seat sleeping too and I'm not there to wake them up, so there’s nothing to do about it, and the truck runs into them and it crushes the car and when the ambulance gets there Dad and Dean are in a really bad state and they take them to the hospital and they need blood but I'm not there to give it, unless the EMTs get up to the car and they find Dad and Dean dead, if they find Dad and Dean already dead they won’t know anything about you so they won’t know to call you at the house or at school to tell you and you’re just waiting for them to come back but they’re not coming back, they’re not coming back tonight or tomorrow or ever because they’re already dead, they crashed on the way and you weren’t there and all this time they’ve been dead and they’re never coming back but no one knows to tell you.

[luminousvision]

heaven is very close by

We make a right onto the Interstate 40 onramp. It is just past seven on this foggy Sunday morning. Mom drives to church with us in the back.

“Every time we pass a car, we get one point. Every time a car passes us, we lose a point,” I say.

“One! Two. One,” I count, pointing at the cars.

“Zero,” my sister says. “Minus one?” she asks, pointing to a fancy red Corvette in the fast lane. It swerves dangerously to get ahead of a car in front of it.

“Minus two,” I concede. “Okay, how about two points for every car we pass?”

“One.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Four!”

“No, I already counted that one.”

“But we passed him after he passed us,” she says.

“That doesn’t count.”

Trucks are worth three, we don’t count cars getting off the freeway, and we consider ignoring cars driving recklessly, but we couldn’t always agree on whether they were.

“What about them?” my sister asks.

Three cars are stopped on the freeway shoulder, one flipped over and crushed to half its size. Another has broken lights and the third has no back bumper. Metal and glass debris cover the left two lanes. Two police cars and an ambulance flash their lights as uniformed figures pull on a pair of legs from under the flipped car. There is a stretcher on the ground.

“That’s six cars. Twelve points!” I say.

“Ambulances are big, like trucks. It should be thirteen.”

We soon arrive in the church parking lot. “Mom, we got thirty-six points,” my sister says.

“That’s very good, Vivian,” mom says, handing us a five-dollar bill. “Don’t run through the parking lot. It’s not a race.”

We run to the reception room anyway. A folding table displays an assortment of coffees and pastries. We each grab a Svenhard danish and place the money in the basket. Mom catches up and leads us down a hallway.

“Mom, is God really always watching us?” I point to an inscription above a painting of the Crucifixion.

“Yes, of course, dear. Heaven is very close by.”

I open our books and follow along, but I eventually fall asleep. I wake up as the straw basket comes around. Mom puts in a twenty without hesitation and passes it down. “It’s important,” she says.

I dream about driving our old silver Camry down the freeway. I could swap into cars I passed. But I’d mine stolen by anyone who passed me! I drove an eight-seat SUV, a shiny sports car with a logo I had never seen before, even a big eighteen-wheeler. The faster I go, the cooler my car gets. I push the pedal harder, going faster and faster until Vivian, appearing in the passenger seat, points ahead, eyes bulging, and screams: watch out!

Mom nudges me awake. The people around us file down the rows and exit the chamber. We join them. In the hallway, I look up at the Jesus painting.

Vivian asks for another pastry, but mom says no and drives us to the taco truck. Vivian and I each order a burrito. This post-church meal is the only time we ever eat out. Mom doesn’t order anything, saying its cheaper at home. We look down at our burritos and chew silently.

“We spent thirty-six dollars today,” I say as the car engine whirrs.

We redouble our counting efforts on the way back. “Mom, drive faster,” Vivian says.

“It’s a dollar for each point,” I say.

“Okay,” she replies. The car doesn’t speed up.

I don’t remember how many points we got that day. We never got many with mom driving. When we pulled into our garage, we asked if dad could drive us to church next Sunday. Mom said okay, but he got yet another speeding ticket a few days later. They are very expensive. Mom was angry and didn’t let him take us to church.

[poetofthedyingstars]

im tired and i wanna give up already, it's like the fourth day of school tomorrow i hate myself

[bronan]

That prompt game: vert 16, 23, 27 and 35

Thanks anon!!! I love Vert and wow you picked some gooood prompts 🙏💦

HEADCANON PROMPT MEME:

16. Smile – okay let's get the obvious out of the way, vert wheeler has the best smile and we know this because we all have eyes that can see. he tries to be serious and stern when it's Leader Time but it's hard for him to hold that smile back when he's feelin' it. It’s really cute.

alright alright now when I saw this prompt, the first thing that popped into my head was this: vert smiling at his dad, a moment when you know his heart was hurting so bad but he still wanted to try to reassure jack that he would be okay, that they'd both be okay. Sometimes, things like saying goodbye... it's way too hard to talk about it or say it plainly out loud, but a smile can convey a lot of things, can be a small comfort. You can tell when vert's doing this - smiling for the sake of smiling, not because he's happy - because you can see it in his eyes. I'm sure he got used to seeing his mom smile at him when he caught her feeling down and overwhelmed after jack's disappearance. Just an automatic, learned reaction at this point; I could see vert being absolutely stressed beyond belief but if someone were to catch him off guard he'd probably flash them a smile while his eyes said "God please end me we are out of soda for the fifth time this week and it's only Tuesday." 

People who can read vert well will know the difference in a heart beat, lol. And sometimes he's just not good at faking it at all. But he does try.

23. Romance – we all saw how he tried to hit on Grace, right? god. help this poor boy. Vert is so cute because he's so awkward. At least, with grace he was. I think it would be easier for him to make the transition from friend to significant other with someone he'd gone through life-or-death situations with, a close friend, someone he knows well and has gotten very used to. I think he just knew so little about Grace and psyched himself out badly, totally fumbled it.

That being said, I hope he's still awkward sometimes. I hope he still stumbles over his words and gets red and loses his train of thought when he looks into their eyes a little too long. It's just way too cute. I don't know what I'd do if vert were suave and cool with flirting.

As a partner, we already know that vert would be 100% there for his significant other just like he's there for his team. Vert tried to play the tough guy card in the beginning of the show by saying he didn't need a team, but he sure changed his tune fast once he had his new teammates in front of him. Vert is the kind of guy who loves fiercely and honestly and with his whole heart. Anyone would be really lucky to have him. 🥺 king

27. Sleep – vert's bedhead cracks me up and I didn't ever fully understand it until I started going to sleep with product in my short hair. I literally wake up with my hair going in twelve different directions and brother it is stuck like that until I wash it. Vert is clearly a morning shower-er. I imagine he's just so exhausted by the end of the day that he collapses into bed (probably facedown, let's be real) and zonks out until the morning. Hair askew. Pillow lines in his cheek. Feeling like he got hit by a truck. You know, that really deep sleep where your body wasn't quite sure if you were ever even gonna wake up again so it just didn't prepare itself in time when morning comes.

Then there's those nights where Vert just can't shut his brain off, so he lies awake and tosses and turns and gets frustrated as hell. When he was a kid who couldn't sleep, I headcanon that jack would take vert on late night car rides, listening to the radio until he passed out from the ride, where jack would then circle back to the house and carry him to bed. He hasn’t been able to do that for a long, long time, but it's probably not strange to catch Vert going out on his own for a drive, late at night, just him and the radio. It's different when your dad's not there to drive you, though.

35. Guilt – do you ever wonder if vert blames himself - even just partially - on his dad leaving? I mean, before he knew that jack didn't actually mean to abandon him like that. I think vert takes so much on and tries to carry everything and everyone on his shoulders. He is the leader. He has people who depend on him, a multiverse that is depending on him - and he's just 18. You already know that Vert takes every action - and its corresponding consequence - personally, as if he were the one who caused that wreck, or made that person get hurt, etc. He comes away from every single mission replaying it in his head whenever there's a call that was a bit too close, or a downright bad experience. How could he have done better? He failed his team just then, didn't he? Someone got hurt and maybe he could have prevented it. They were counting on him.

Vert needs time to decompress after missions. They're a lot. It's just a LOT, saving the multiverse. Keeping his home safe. Keeping his friends alive. And every single time something bad happens, Vert blames himself for it. Guilt would gnaw at him all day long if he didn't have his friends to pull him out of it. That, and the drive to keep on keepin' on, the type of resilience that puts vert back out there every single day until the job's done. I think it takes a special kind of strength to get back up every single time and I think Vert draws a lot of that strength from his love for his friends. And I think that’s pretty cool of him.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 16: Mini Elvis

The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot. "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed." "You knew it was a trap," Percy hissed. Ares gave me a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV." Taking the shield from Percy I shoved it at him. "You're a jerk." Annabeth and Grover caught their breath. Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back. "See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas." The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS. Percy said, "You're kidding." Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job." He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuff Oreos. Percy said, "I don't want your lousy—" "Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving him his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot." I could see Percy gritting his teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but I also didn't want anything that Ares had touched. Reluctantly, he swung the bag over his shoulder. I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us. Great, I thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.

I imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAWS BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER. "You owe us one more thing," Percy told Ares, trying to keep my voice level. "You promised me information about our parents." "You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "They're not dead." The ground seemed to spin beneath me. "What do you mean?" "I mean Percy's mom was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept. As for yours, I saw them myself. Upstairs with the big guys. Why do you think you're causing one of the biggest uproar up there? They're refusing to tell who your parent is. No matter how much cut." He smirked. "What...?" Percy and the others must've seen something as they all held me back. "What are they doing to them?" I could feel the ground shake as Percy's grip on me tighten. We'll save them... calm down. Not the hero. Us. So calm down. "Calm down Y/N." Percy whispered. The ground stopped shaking and took a deep breath. "I will make you all kneel." I said. He looked at me confusedly. Then he shrug it off then laughed, "Oh yeah? can't wait, kid." Percy gripped my shoulder. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues." Behind his sunglasses, fire glowed. I felt a hot wind in my hair. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time you're in a fight, watch your back." He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street. Annabeth said, "That was not smart, Percy." "I don't care." "You don't want a god as your enemy. Especially not that god." "Hey, guys," Grover said. "I hate to interrupt, but ..." He pointed toward the diner. At the register, the last two customers were paying their check, two men in identical black coveralls, with a white logo on their backs that matched the one on the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck. "If we're taking the zoo express," Grover said, "we need to hurry." I didn't like it, but we had no better option. Besides, I'd seen enough of Denver. We ran across the street and climbed in the back of the big rig, closing the doors behind us. The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was like the world's biggest pan of kitty litter. The trailer was dark inside until Percy uncapped Riptide. The blade cast a faint bronze light over a very sad scene. Sitting in a row of filthy metal cages were three of the most pathetic zoo animals I'd ever beheld: a zebra, a male albino lion, and some weird antelope thing I didn't know the name for. Someone had thrown the lion a sack of turnips, which he obviously didn't want to eat. The zebra and the antelope had each gotten a Styrofoam tray of hamburger meat. The zebra's mane was matted with chewing gum, like somebody had been spitting on it in their spare time. The antelope had a stupid silver birthday balloon tied to one of his horns that read OVER THE HILL! Apparently, nobody had wanted to get close enough to the lion to mess with him, but the poor thing was pacing around on soiled blankets, in a space way too small for him, panting from the stuffy heat of the trailer. He had flies buzzing around his pink eyes and his ribs showed through his white fur. "This is kindness?" Grover yelled. "Humane zoo transport?" He probably would've gone right back outside to beat up the truckers with his reed pipes, and we would've helped him, but just then the trucks engine roared to life, the trailer started shaking, and we were forced to sit down or fall down. We huddled in the corner on some mildewed feed sacks, trying to ignore the smell and the heat and the flies. Grover talked to the animals in a series of goat bleats, but they just stared at him sadly. Annabeth was in favor of breaking the cages and freeing them on the spot, but I pointed out it wouldn't do much good until the truck stopped moving. Besides, I had a feeling we might look a lot better to the lion than those turnips. I found a water jug and refilled their bowls, then Percy used Riptide to drag the mismatched food out of their cages. He gave the meat to the lion and the turnips to the zebra and the antelope. Grover calmed the antelope down, while I used my knife to cut the balloon off his horn. Annabeth wanted to cut the gum out of the zebra's mane, too, but we decided that would be too risky with the truck bumping around. We told Grover to promise the animals we'd help them more in the morning, then we settled in for night. Grover curled up on a turnip sack; Annabeth opened our bag of Double Stuff Oreos and nibbled on one halfheartedly; I tried to cheer myself up by concentrating on the fact that we were halfway to Los Angeles. Halfway to our destination. It was only June fourteenth. The solstice wasn't until the twenty-first. We could make it in plenty of time. On the other hand, I had no idea what to expect next. The gods kept toying with me. At least Hephaestus had the decency to be honest about it—he'd put up cameras and advertised me as entertainment. But even when the cameras weren't rolling, I had a feeling my quest was being watched. I was a source of amusement for the gods. And it wasn't helping knowing they're hurting my parents. Here I was risking my life for them and what are they doing? "Hey," Percy cooed, "We'll save them. No matter what. I promised you that." "Okay." Percy pulled me closer until I was resting on him. Annabeth cleared her throat. "Hey, sorry I wasn't much help back at the park... I could've helped getting you guys out... It's just..." She shuddered. "Spiders." "Because of the Arachne story," I guessed. "She got turned into a spider for challenging your mom to a weaving contest, right?" She nodded. "Arachne's children have been taking revenge on the children of Athena ever since. If there's a spider within a mile of me, it'll find me. I hate the creepy little things." "We're a team, remember?" Percy said. "Besides, Grover did the fancy flying. All we did was grab the shield." I thought he was asleep, but he mumbled from the corner, "I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?" Annabeth, Percy and I laughed. She pulled apart an Oreo, handed me and Percy a half each. "In the Iris message... did Luke really say nothing?" I munched my cookie and thought about how to answer. The conversation via rainbow had bothered me all evening. "Luke said you and he go way back. He also said Grover wouldn't fail this time. Nobody would turn into a pine tree." Percy answered. In the dim bronze light of the sword blade, it was hard to read their expressions. Grover let out a mournful bray. "I should've told you the truth from the beginning." His voice trembled. "I thought if you knew what a failure I was, you wouldn't want me along." "You were the satyr who tried to rescue Thalia, the daughter of Zeus." He nodded glumly. "And the other two half-bloods Thalia befriended, the ones who got safely to camp..." Percy looked at Annabeth. "That was you and Luke, wasn't it?" She put down her Oreo, uneaten. "Like you said, Percy, a seven-year-old half-blood wouldn't have made it very far alone. Athena guided me toward help. Thalia was twelve. Luke was fourteen. They'd both run away from home, like me. They were happy to take me with them. They were... amazing monster-fighters, even without training. We traveled north from Virginia without any real plans, fending off monsters for about two weeks before Grover found us." "I was supposed to escort Thalia to camp," he said, sniffling. "Only Thalia. I had strict orders from Chiron: don't do anything that would slow down the rescue. We knew Hades was after her, see, but I couldn't just leave Luke and Annabeth by themselves. I thought... I thought I could lead all three of them to safety. It was my fault the Kindly Ones caught up with us. I froze. I got scared on the way back to camp and took some wrong turns. If I'd just been a little quicker..." "Stop it," Annabeth said. "No one blames you. Thalia didn't blame you either." "She sacrificed herself to save us," he said miserably, "Her death was my fault. The Council of Cloven Elders said so." "Because you wouldn't leave two other half-bloods behind?" Percy said. "That's not fair." "Percy's right," Annabeth said. "I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you, Grover. Neither would Luke. We don't care what the council says." Grover kept sniffling in the dark. "It's just my luck. I'm the lamest satyr ever, and I find the two most powerful half-bloods of the century, Thalia and Percy." "You're not lame," Annabeth insisted. "You've got more courage than any satyr I've ever met. Name one other who would dare go to the Underworld. I bet Percy is really glad you're here right now." She kicked me in the shin. "Yeah," I said, which I would've done even without the kick. "It's not luck that you found Thalia and Percy, Grover. You've got the biggest heart of any satyr ever. You're a natural searcher. That's why you'll be the one who finds Pan. I mean, you found me despite my scentlessness... is that a word?" Percy muffled a laugh. I heard a deep, satisfied sigh. I waited for Grover to say something, but his breathing only got heavier. When the sound turned to snoring, I realized he'd fallen sleep. "How does he do that?" I marveled. "I don't know," Annabeth said. "But that was really a nice thing you told him." "I meant it." We rode in silence for a few miles, bumping around on the feed sacks. The zebra munched a turnip. The lion licked the last of the hamburger meat off his lips and looked at me hopefully. Percy didn't take long to fall asleep. Annabeth rubbed her necklace like she was thinking deep, strategic thoughts. "That pine-tree bead," I said. "Is that from your first year?" She looked. She hadn't realized what she was doing. "Yeah," she said. "Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer, and they paint it on that year's beads. I've got Thalia's pine tree, a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress—now that was a weird summer...." "And the college ring is your father's?" "That's none of your—" She stopped herself. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." "You don't have to tell me." "No... it's okay." She took a shaky breath. "My dad sent it to me folded up in a letter, two summers ago. The ring was, like, his main keepsake from Athena. He wouldn't have gotten through his doctoral program at Harvard without her.... That's a long story. Anyway, he said he wanted me to have it. He apologized for being a jerk, said he loved me and missed me. He wanted me to come home and live with him." "That doesn't sound so bad." "Yeah, well... the problem was, I believed him. I tried to go home for that school year, but my stepmom was the same as ever. She didn't want her kids put in danger by living with a freak. Monsters attacked. We argued. Monsters attacked. We argued. I didn't even make it through winter break. I called Chiron and came right back to Camp Half-Blood." She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Please. I'm not into self-inflicted pain." "You shouldn't give up," I told her. "You should write him a letter or something." "Thanks for the advice," she said coldly, "but my father's made his choice about who he wants to live with." We passed another few miles of silence. "Luke actually told me about you two coming to camp already." "Really?" She looked at me amazed. "You two must've gotten close fast." "Well, I don't know. I feel like I had to talk to Luke. Like I had to be there for him. The same with Percy." We have to be there for both "You're not wrong. I'm not sure how I'd be without your help." Percy yawned. "Yeah, I wouldn't have been able to handle him." Annabeth glared at him. I laughed, "I think you two are cute." Both of them blushed and said some excuse to disprove me. Which then turned into them showing off who's better than who. "If I'm dating anyone it'll be Y/N!" Both of them huffed and glared at each other. I shook my head and smiled. At least I've gotten new friends out of this. "So," Percy trailed off. "If the gods fight," he said, "will things line up the way they did with the Trojan War? Will it be Athena versus Poseidon?" Annabeth put her head against the backpack Ares had given us, and closed her eyes. "I don't know what my mom will do. I just know I'll fight next to you." "Why?" "Because Y/N will and whether I like it or not you're my friend, Seaweed Brain. Any more stupid questions?" "That's all Mr. Peabody." "Shut up, Droopy." I felt her rest on my shoulder and she fell asleep. "Am I that comfortable?" "Yeah," Percy laughed as he rested on my lap. I had trouble following their example, with Grover snoring and an albino lion staring hungrily at me, but eventually I closed my eyes. ~~~ I woke with a start. I was second one awake. Grover was talking to the antelope. "Morning?" "Everyone had the Y/N privilege except me?" "You fell asleep first." I stroked both Annabeth and Percy's hair, which unfortunately woke up Annabeth. "Sorry about that." "It's fine." She yawned. She brought out some Oreo and handed me one. Until the truck stopped. "They're checking the animals aren't they?" Annabeth froze. I shook Percy's shoulder. "The truck's stopped," I said. "We think they're coming to check on the animals." "Hide!" Annabeth hissed. She had it easy. She just put on her magic cap and disappeared. Grover, Percy and I had to dive behind feed sacks and hope we looked like turnips. The trailer doors creaked open. Sunlight and heat poured in. "Man!" one of the truckers said, waving his hand in front of his ugly nose. "I wish I hauled appliances." He climbed inside and poured some water from a jug into the animals' dishes. "You hot, big boy?" he asked the lion, then splashed the rest of the bucket right in the lion's face. The lion roared in indignation. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," the man said. Next to me, under the turnip sacks, Grover tensed. For a peace-loving herbivore, he looked downright murderous. The trucker threw the antelope a squashed-looking Happy Meal bag. He smirked at the zebra. "How ya doin', Stripes? Least we'll be getting rid of you this stop. You like magic shows? You're gonna love this one. They're gonna saw you in half!" The zebra, wild-eyed with fear, looked straight at us. There was a loud knock, knock, knock on the side of the trailer. The trucker inside with us yelled, "What do you want, Eddie?" A voice outside—it must've been Eddie's—shouted back, "Maurice? What'd ya say?" "What are you banging for?" Knock, knock, knock. Outside, Eddie yelled, "What banging?" Our guy Maurice rolled his eyes and went back outside, cursing at Eddie for being an idiot. A second later, Annabeth appeared next to me. She must've done the banging to get Maurice out of the trailer. She said, "This transport business can't be legal." "No kidding," Grover said. He paused, as if listening. "The lion says these guys are animal smugglers!" "We've got to free them!" Grover said. He and Annabeth both looked at Percy, waiting for his say. "Percy, open the lock." I snapped at his face. Outside, Eddie and Maurice were still yelling at each other, but I knew they'd be coming inside to torment the animals again any minute. He grabbed Riptide and slashed the lock off the zebra's cage. The zebra burst out. It turned to Percy and bowed. Grover held up his hands and said something to the zebra in goat talk, like a blessing. Just as Maurice was poking his head back inside to check out the noise, the zebra leaped over him and into the street. There was yelling and screaming and cars honking. We rushed to the doors of the trailer in time to see the zebra galloping down a wide boulevard lined with hotels and casinos and neon signs. We'd just released a zebra in Las Vegas. Maurice and Eddie ran after it, with a few policemen running after them, shouting, "Hey! You need a permit for that!" "Now would be a good time to leave," Annabeth said. "The other animals first," Grover said. I cut the locks with my knife which wasn't as easy as what Percy had done. Grover raised his hands and spoke the same goat-blessing he'd used for the zebra. "Good luck," I told the animals. The antelope and the lion burst out of their cages and went off together into the streets. Some tourists screamed. Most just backed off and took pictures, probably thinking it was some kind of stunt by one of the casinos. "Will the animals be okay?" I asked Grover. "I mean, the desert and all—" "Don't worry," he said. "I placed a satyr's sanctuary on them." "Meaning?" "Meaning they'll reach the wild safely," he said. "They'll find water, food, shade, whatever they need until they find a safe place to live." "Why can't you place a blessing like that on us?" I asked. "It only works on wild animals." "So it would only affect Percy," Annabeth reasoned. "Hey!" He protested. "Kidding," she said. "Come on. Let's get out of this filthy truck." We stumbled out into the desert afternoon. It was a hundred and ten degrees, easy, and we must've looked like deep-fried vagrants, but everybody was too interested in the wild animals to pay us much attention. We passed the Monte Carlo and the MGM. We passed pyramids, a pirate ship, and the Statue of Liberty, which was a pretty small replica, but still made me homesick. I wasn't sure what we were looking for. Maybe just a place to get out of the heat for a few minutes, find a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, make a new plan for getting west. We must have taken a wrong turn, because we found ourselves at a dead end, standing in front of the Lotus Hotel and Casino. The entrance was a huge neon flower, the petals lighting up and blinking. No one was going in or out, but the glittering chrome doors were open, spilling out air-conditioning that smelled like flowers—lotus blossom, maybe. I'd never smelled one, so I wasn't sure. The doorman smiled at us. "Hey, kids. You look tired. You want to come in and sit down?" I'd learned to be suspicious, the last week or so. I figured anybody might be a monster or a god. But my knife wasn't glowing so... I figured. Besides, I was so relieved to hear somebody who sounded sympathetic that I nodded and said we'd love to come in. Inside, we took one look around, and Grover said, "Whoa." The whole lobby was a giant game room. And I'm not talking about cheesy old Pac-Man games or slot machines. There was an indoor waterslide snaking around the glass elevator, which went straight up at least forty floors. There was a climbing wall on the side of one building, and an indoor bungee-jumping bridge. There were virtual-reality suits with working laser guns. And hundreds of video games, each one the size of a widescreen TV. Basically, you name it, this place had it. There were a few other kids playing, but not that many. No waiting for any of the games. There were waitresses and snack bars all around, serving every kind of food you can imagine. "Hey!" a bellhop said. At least I guessed he was a bellhop. He wore a white-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt with lotus designs, shorts, and flip-flops. "Welcome to the Lotus Casino. Here's your room key." I stammered, "Um, but..." "No, no," he said, laughing. "The bill's taken care of. No extra charges, no tips. Just go on up to the top floor, loom 4001. If you need anything, like extra bubbles for the hot tub, or skeet targets for the shooting range, or whatever, just call the front desk. Here are your Lotus Cash cards. They work in the restaurants and on all the games and rides." He handed us each a green plastic credit card. I knew there must be some mistake. Obviously he thought we were some millionaire's kids. But I took the card and said, "How much is on here?" His eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" "I mean, when does it run out of cash?" He laughed. "Oh, you're making a joke. Hey, that's cool. Enjoy your stay." We took the elevator upstairs and checked out our room. It was a suite with three separate bedrooms and a bar stocked with candy, sodas, and chips. A hotline to room service. Fluffy towels and water beds with feather pillows. A big-screen television with satellite and high-speed Internet. The balcony had its own hot tub, and sure enough, there was a skeet-shooting machine and a shotgun, so you could launch clay pigeons right out over the Las Vegas skyline and plug them with your gun. I didn't see how that could be legal, but I thought it was pretty cool. The view over the Strip and the desert was amazing, though I doubted we'd ever find time to look at the view with a room like this. "Oh, goodness," Annabeth said. "This place is ..." "Sweet," Grover said. "Absolutely sweet." There were clothes in the closet, and they fit me. I frowned, thinking that this was a little strange. I took a shower, which felt awesome after a week of grimy travel. I changed clothes, ate a bag of chips, drank three Cokes, and came out feeling better than I had in a long time. Search and find them Huh? Look for them and warn them I came out of the bedroom and found that Annabeth, Percy and Grover had also showered and changed clothes. Grover was eating potato chips to his heart's content, Percy looked like he was having a headache, while Annabeth cranked up the National Geographic Channel. "Percy you okay?" "Yeah it's just.... All those stations," he told Annabeth, "and she turn on National Geographic." "It's interesting." "I feel good," Grover said. "I love this place." Without his even realizing it, the wings sprouted out of his shoes and lifted him a foot off the ground, then back down again. "So what now?" Annabeth asked. "Sleep?" Percy and I looked at each other and grinned. We both held up our green plastic Lotus Cash cards. "Play time," I said. I couldn't remember the last time I had so much fun. I came from a relatively poor family. Our idea of a splurge was eating out at Burger King and renting a video. A five-star Vegas hotel? Forget it. I spent most of my time playing and... looking for someone I think. I bungee-jumped the lobby five or six times, snowboarded the artificial ski slope, and played virtual-reality laser tag and FBI sharpshooter. I saw Grover a few times, going from game to game. He really liked the reverse hunter thing—where the deer go out and shoot the rednecks. I saw Annabeth playing trivia games and other brainiac stuff. They had this huge 3-D sim game where you build your own city, and you could actually see the holographic buildings rise on the display board. I didn't think much of it, but Annabeth loved it. Percy was playing with Grover. I'm not sure when I first realized something was wrong. Probably, it was when I noticed the guy standing next to me at VR sharpshooters. He was about thirteen, I guess, but his clothes were weird. I thought he was some Elvis impersonator's son. He wore bell-bottom jeans and a red T-shirt with black piping, and his hair was permed and gelled like a New Jersey girl's on homecoming night. When he saw me he gave a smirk and invited me to play a game of sharpshooters together and he said, "Groovy, man. Been here two weeks, and the games keep getting better and better." Groovy? Later, while we were talking, I said something was "sick," and he looked at me kind of startled, as if he'd never heard the word used that way before. He said his name was Darrin, but as soon as I started asking him questions he got bored with me and started to go back to the computer screen. I said, "Hey, Darrin?" "What?" "What year is it?" He frowned at me. "In the game?" "No. In real life." He had to think about it. "1977." "No," I said, getting a little scared. "Really." "Hey, man. Bad vibes. I got a game happening." After that he totally ignored me. I started talking to people, and I found it wasn't easy. They were glued to the TV screen, or the video game, or their food, or whatever. I found a guy who told me it was 1985. Another guy told me it was 1993. They all claimed they hadn't been in here very long, a few days, a few weeks at most. They didn't really know and they didn't care. Then it occurred to me: how long had I been here? It seemed like only a couple of hours, but was it? I then tried to move, but I bumped into a girl. "I'm sorry!" She said. "Hey, no prob." "Oh... uhm... No prob?" "I--- No problem. Say Uh... I kinda lost track of date. What's the year again?" "Huh? It's 1930. Okay, I'm sorry I have to go. I'm looking for someone." Everyone is important in our story "Did you say something?" I go by Y/N L/N, you'll find the one you're looking for at the zombie shooting game. I left her alone and confused. I didn't know why. But I knew now this place is wrong. I tried to remember why we were here. We were going to Los Angeles. We were supposed to find the entrance to the Underworld. My parents... for a scary second, I had trouble remembering their names. I had to save them. I found Percy first. "There's something wrong." We said at the same time. "Years?" He asked. I nodded. We then looked for the others. We found Annabeth still building her city. "Come on," Percy told her. "We've got to get out of here." No response. I shook her. "Annabeth?" She looked up, annoyed. "What? "We need to leave." "Leave? What are you talking about? I've just got the towers—" "This place is a trap." She didn't respond until I shook her again. "What?" "Listen. The Underworld. Our quest!" "Oh, come on, Percy. Just a few more minutes." "Annabeth, there are people here from 1977. Kids who have never aged. You check in, and you stay forever." "So?" she asked. "Can you imagine a better place?" I grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from the game. "Hey!" She screamed and hit me, but nobody else even bothered looking at us. They were too busy. I made her look directly in my eyes. I said, "Spiders. Large, hairy spiders." That jarred her. Her vision cleared. "Oh my gods," she said. "How long have we—" "I don't know, but we've got to find Grover." We went searching, and found him still playing Virtual Deer Hunter. "Grover!" we both shouted. He said, "Die, human! Die, silly polluting nasty person!" "Grover!" He turned the plastic gun on me and started clicking, as if I were just another image from the screen. I looked at Percy, and together we took Grover by the arms and dragged him away. His flying shoes sprang to life and started tugging his legs in the other direction as he shouted, "No! I just got to a new level! No!" The Lotus bellhop hurried up to us. "Well, now, are you ready for your platinum cards?" "We're leaving," I told him. "Such a shame," he said, and I got the feeling that he really meant it, that we'd be breaking his heart if we went. "We just added an entire new floor full of games for platinum-card members." He held out the cards, and I wanted one. I knew that if I took one, I'd never leave. I'd stay here, happy forever, playing games forever, and soon I'd forget my parents, and our quest, and maybe even my own name. I'd be playing virtual rifleman with groovy Disco Darrin forever. Grover reached for the card, but Annabeth yanked back his arm and said, "No, thanks." We walked toward the door, and as we did, the smell of the food and the sounds of the games seemed to get more and more inviting. I thought about our room upstairs. We could just stay the night, sleep in a real bed for once.... Then we burst through the doors of the Lotus Casino and ran down the sidewalk. It felt like afternoon, about the same time of day we'd gone into the casino, but something was wrong. The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat lightning flashing out in the desert. I ran to the nearest newspaper stand and read the year first. Thank the gods, it was the same year it had been when we went in. Then I noticed the date: June twentieth. We had been in the Lotus Casino for five days. We had only one day left until the summer solstice. One day to complete our quest.

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

[greenroseunderglass]

Pride Ask Game

31. A trope about your identity that applies to you?

I'm a non-straight woman and I can do all those things the country songs say "a man oughtta know." Shoot, ride a horse, change a tire beside the road, build steps, drive an 18-wheeler, ride a motorcycle, etc. The ONLY thing that saved me as I was being raised in a conservative Southern household was A) My dad had a soft spot for 'the tomboy' when I was really young, and B) as I grew up I learned how to do all the things my mother insisted I learn as well. Things like how to walk and how to waltz and how to match an outfit down to shoes and jewelry with ten minutes to change, how to fix your eyeliner while driving a car, how to add two people on an hour's notice to a dinner planned for twelve, etc, etc.

There are some things on both these lists I'm glad to know, but the indoctrination is what I still have problems with. I either had to be a tomboy OR my mother's daughter and the places I got hurt were the places where the same people caught me in the wrong box.

How crazy am I from all this, still?

Well, while driving an 18-wheeler for money I once rented a car and made an eight hour round trip to collect a bespoke dress to wear at a formal dinner at a Toronto writers convention'. Which I was paid to drive to in my big truck. (It's a thing, you can take your time off where you want under certain circumstances.) Where I wore my girliest things and only once on the way back from the bar stopped to check on the truck and decided to sleep there for the night and woke up so disoriented (mascara? Check. Diesel smell? Check.) I sat there and cried for awhile.

I'm not quite that crazy any more, but still living proof traditional gender roles can mess you up when they're the only options on offer.

[femmeharringrove]

merry christmas yall have the first chapter of a fic i completely forgot about

It’s Christmas eve, and Steve hasn’t slept in at least three days but that’s fine.

It’s not, not really, but those are the two words the boy has learned to live off of: that’s fine. It’s the motto of complacency, his father said once, after hearing it on the radio. Steve was just twelve at the time and already knew then that his father’s opinion wasn’t worth shit. Steve isn’t complacent, thank you very much. If he has to label himself, he thinks chill is a better word. He’s a chill guy, he’s the most chill person he knows, and everyone loves a chill person so it’s fine.

It’s stupidly early and he’s on the stupid green sofa in his stupid big house and he feels like shit, which is a surprise to exactly no one. The living room is a mess – he should clean it, he thinks vaguely, but he doesn’t plan on making a move anytime soon. If his parents were coming home he’d do it; can’t have them knowing their son’s become a wallowing slouch as of late. But they’re not coming.

His mother called yesterday, trilling over the line in her unnaturally pitched voice about how Prague was just beautiful this time of year and she wished he could be there to see but someone had to hold the fort down and speaking of they just won’t be able to make it back for the holidays but how would he feel about driving to Cincinnati on New Year’s Eve to join them at one of his father’s business socials that would be fun right? And Steve just listened because what else could he do?

He hadn’t been expecting them, anyway. The family hadn’t celebrated Christmas together in four years.

And in those four years he’d had options. Tommy’s family was happy to have him over, he spent many a holiday with the Hagans and then he’d spent that one truly merry Christmas with the Wheelers, and it was fine, but now he’s got none of that. This year, it’s him and the big empty house and he sort of hates it but it’s fine, thanks.

Steve watches the shadows on the wall shift with the rising sun and feels some vague sense of relief; it’s easier to breathe when the sun is out. That’s what’s been bothering him, really. When he does sleep, his dreams are plagued with darkness and cold and danger, and when he wakes up it’s still darkness and he feels like he can’t breathe. Those nightmares have gotten worse, infinitely worse over time. It’s easier to avoid sleep altogether sometimes. And he has no obligations this holiday season, no parties to appear at or houses to crash, so he can afford the heavy circles under his eyes this year.

It’s fine. It has to be fine, so it is. Even if it isn’t really.

Hawkins got snow last night. Steve drags himself up from his seat and meanders to the back door, eyes gazing out over the endless white carpeting the ground outside. He used to love snow. Now anything cold makes him uncomfortable. He hates the winter, makes him think of the dark Upside Down.

Or that damned Soviet Union and their officers and their cold, cruel faces watching on as he tells them he’s not a spy.

Had that really been this year? It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like just yesterday. He tears his eyes away from the snow and pads into the kitchen in search of something warm. Coffee? Definitely coffee. He waits in the kitchen while the dark beverage brews and since he’s here he figures he may as well get some food into his body. Steve can cook – it becomes a necessity when you spend most of your childhood devoid of parents – but he doesn’t really want to cook. Takes too much energy, and he’s not willing to put said energy into that. So he goes with toast, because you can never go wrong with toast, right? He even slathers the bread with copious amounts of butter. It’s not the most fulfilling breakfast, but he likes it well enough.

The coffee finishes brewing and Steve spills a good bit of his father’s whiskey into it before dunking three spoonfuls of sugar in and retreating back to the couch. He grabs the remote on his way over and drops himself gracelessly on the cushions before pressing a button. The screen flickers to life and he chugs half of the hot beverage, flips through channel after channel before settling on some feel-good holiday movie. He hates these movies, he really does, but if he’s lucky it might be enough to lull him to sleep for an hour or so.

Steve used to love Christmas movies. He watched families on television gather together and enjoy one another’s company, children waiting for the magic of Santa Claus while parents shared tender moments under mistletoe. It was everything a younger Steve had desired in a holiday. Even when he had his parents home for Christmas, things had been different. Their home was filled with strange adults, co-workers of his father’s and social acquaintances of his mother’s. Santa Claus never came to visit him – his parents would simply give him a gift or two gathered from their trips abroad. He used to enjoy it, but as he got older the presents got less and less interesting, less personal. He went from wishing for those perfect movie-esque holidays to resenting them. That being said, they have their appeal.

Even now Steve can’t help but get a sense of warm comfort and joy radiating from the film, a warm sensation wrapping around his chest. It’s a strange comfort to him, in spite of his bitterness. There’s something inherently warm about holidays, and yet Steve finds himself feeling cold. He wonders idly what his parents are doing now, if they’ll remember to call tomorrow. The boy sits and sips on coffee and wonders and he’s right about the movie because he ends up dozing for a little bit. He dreams of families and caroling and trees and the whole scene takes on a peaceful, golden haze. Something almost physical wounds around his body like a cat rubbing along his frame in a form of greeting. It’s the nicest dream he’s had in a long time.

Which is why, when the doorbell startles him out of his dreams, Steve feels like he’s capable of murder.

The boy is so confused at first he doesn’t realize it’s his doorbell. When the incessant ringing gets accompanied by an even more incessant knocking on the door, Steve groans. The warmth seeps away and he heaves himself up from the couch. The mug is drained of its remaining lukewarm contents before he sets it on the coffee table. Footsteps land heavy as he stomps his way to the door, yanking it open and preparing to bite off the head of whoever dared to disturb him so early on Christmas Eve of all days.

His face morphs from a snarl to a look of surprise. Dustin grins up at him, oblivious to Steve’s previous anger.

And he’s not alone, either. El is there, too, brown eyes sparkling at him, arm tucked in Max’s as they flash him identical grins. On Dustin’s other side, Will’s smile is something more timid than the rest of his co-conspirators. Steve’s shoulders drop.

“What are you dipshits doing out here?” he snaps playfully. “Not you, of course, Will.” Will’s smile widens while Dustin and the girls make faces of protests.

“Hey!” Dustin squawks indignantly. “I’m your favorite, that’s not allowed to change!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve’s hands settled on his hips. “Who rang the doorbell?” El’s hand shoots up. “Uh-huh. And who started knocking?” The younger boy shares a guilty look with Max, who kicks guiltily at the ground. Will blinks at him in innocent confusion. Steve smirks. “So, every single one of you played a role in waking me up from my nap with the exception of Will. Little Byers is now my favorite.” Max groans and Dustin makes another scandalized sound, while Will and El both try to hide their giggles. Steve feels a mix of fondness and frustration as he watches them; that seems to be his default emotion around these damned kids. Shaking his head, Steve opens the door wider. “Okay, okay, now why don’t you all come in so I can figure out what I owe this visit to?”

“No need,” El responds, her laughter dying down. That amused happiness never leaves her face, however. “Will you have dinner with us?”

“Mom and Hopper want you to join us,” Will adds. “You can help out with the tree and everything.”

“And baking and cooking and shit, because Hop and Mrs. Byers aren’t the best in the kitchen,” Max finishes, and even though Will makes a small attempt to protest he and El share a knowing shudder. Dustin bounces on his feet slightly as he looks up at the older boy.

“Plus, if you say yes I can ride back to the house with you!” He grins broadly. “Whaddya say?” Steve blinks.

What does he say?

It’s a nice idea, sure. He loves these kids, feels safe with the two adults in question, and spending the day with them promises to be interesting at the very least. But if they’re all there, he has little doubt about Nancy and Jonathan being there too, and he’s really not mad about it anymore but there’s a little bit of awkwardness lingering between the trio. And even if he did go, those lovebirds will have each other. The party has each other, Hopper has Joyce.  Steve is bound to be left out eventually. He knows it’s not on purpose, of course, but he knows how this goes. How many times has it happened before? And he’s already a little bit pissy this holiday season, that truth isn’t likely to make this any more enjoyable.

But eight pairs of eyes watch him expectantly, hopeful looks etched onto their faces. Steve’s gaze shifts past them, down the driveway and he finds Hopper’s truck waiting at the end and he doesn’t have to see the man to know he’s also waiting for an answer.

He doesn’t like disappointing people. He’s chill, Steve goes with the flow as a matter of principle, and this is where the flow seems to be leading. He makes a show of sighing, theatrics making the kids smile even wider.

“I shouldn’t –“ A series of pleas and protests interrupt him and he has to work hard to keep from smiling. Damn, Steve should have run off to New York or Hollywood and becoming an actor, he’s good at this. “- Oh, alright. I guess I can come for a little while. Dustin pumps his fist into the air as the others grin widely. Dustin rushes to the Beamer and Max isn’t far behind.

“Get your keys, Harrington, let’s get moving!” he shouts. Steve can’t help but laugh.

“Hang on, you little gremlin, I gotta get real clothes on! And do my hair!” The two set on riding with him dart back over and duck under his arm into the house, and Steve waves Will and El off. “Go on, you two, don’t wait for me. Tell Hop I’ll bring the little devils with me,” he orders. Both nod eagerly before setting off back to the car. Steve sees them off before turning back into the house. Max is in the living room, face wrinkled into something resembling disgust.

“Jesus, Steve,” she says, “Do you ever clean this place?” It has gotten pretty bad over the past month or so. Steve tries not to wince at the judgement he feels radiating off of the redhead.

“Never, it’s a point of pride at this point,” he teases instead, and she makes another face, nose crinkling before she rolls her eyes and makes a snide comment about messy boys. Steve reaches over and ruffles her hair, reveling in her giggled squawk of protest. “Oh, be nice, Mayfield. It’s a holiday!” Dustin’s footsteps thud down the stairs.

“It is the holidays, so I know you got me a gift, Harrington,” he states, eyes narrowing. “Where is it?” Max perks up in interest now, spinning from the curly-haired kid to the taller boy, eyebrows arching up.

“Oh, uh, presents? Yeah, um -” Steve smiles sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. Dustin’s eyes go wide.

“You forgot?” He marches down the rest of the stairs. “I can’t believe you, Harrington! Party members are supposed to get gifts for other party members! How could you forget?”

“Steeeve,” Max whines, head falling back dramatically. “I can’t believe you!” And she shouldn’t. Neither of them should. Again, he’s sure he’s missed his calling in life with the whole acting thing. Of course he got gifts for them – tucked safely away in the trunk of his car. He doesn’t plan on outright putting his name on them, but he’s sure the kids will figure it out tomorrow morning, which ones he leaves for them.

Chuckling at their antics, Steve hops up the stairs two at a time and dives into his room. How did this become his life, dealing with more barely-pubescent teens than any nineteen-year-old should? Steve’s shower is quick, and he styles up his hair before digging out an ugly sweater his grandmother had gotten him four years ago. Back then people were convinced the boy would go through a growth spurt; he did, but he hadn’t beefed up in the way everyone anticipated. The sweater still remains baggy on his slender frame, but he wears it nonetheless. Jeans are hastily yanked on and socked feet are shoved into sneakers before he trips his way down the steps.

Max and Dustin are anxious by the door, and he grins at them as he approaches the hall closet and grabs a coat. He hears his keys jangle softly in the pocket as he pulls it over his shoulders.

“The two of you have no patience,” he teases, watching them dash out to the car. He follows at a slower pace, amusement tugging at his lips. The kids are practically buzzing with excited energy, urging him to speed up, and they clamor into the car the moment he gets it unlocked, Max beating Dustin out for the coveted shotgun position. The younger boy pouts at Steve in the rearview mirror. Steve smiles right back at him. “Don’t look at me, she won this round, buddy.” Max’s smile is smug next to him, and Dustin scowls before slumping in the backseat. Steve shakes his head. “Alright, everybody buckle – even you, slouch potato,” The kid’s sulking is immediately replaced with a displeased squawk, and Steve doesn’t bother to hide his pleased smile as he eases out of the driveway and out onto the road.

It’s an easy trip; Steve exits Loch Nora and cruises down Dearborn. From there it’s a turn onto Maple and he has Max dig out cassettes from the glove box now. Wham! sings about holidays and heartbreak as Steve drives carefully past the Sinclair home, then the Wheelers not long after. He’s sure the occupants of both homes are either not there or too busy to be peering out of curtains in search of their kids’ babysitter, but he doesn’t want to risk having them see him do anything remotely reckless, and so he adheres to the laws of the road. Once he turns onto Cornwallis Street, he relaxes, speed inching up as he goes. Dustin’s previous sour mood has all but evaporated and he talks in that loud way of his, leaning up so he can get a look at the two people upfront. Max is just as chatty, and Steve is happy to let them converse, offering small hums here and there to show he’s listening.

He’s not really listening, but he doesn’t need them knowing.

Whiskey eyes try to focus on the road as he makes another turn, this time onto Kerley. It’s been five months since Hawkins last had to fight off monsters. Five months since the mall went down in flames. Five months since the Soviets and their needles and their gate.

He has nightmares still, about the room and the faces and the pain. Sometimes Robin’s there, panicked eyes screaming at him to help. Other times he sees Dustin, the kid looking betrayed as the general smugly tells him about Steve’s slip-up in his interrogation. Some nights he has dreams that leave him feeling physically cold. Those are the dreams he can never remember – whenever he tries, his head aches in a sharp sort of way that quickly has him leaving the whole thing alone. Even now as he thinks about it a dull throb warns him against it just behind his eyes. His thoughts wander further as the Beamer rolls onto Mirkwood.

Robin thinks he needs help. She may be right. Two weeks ago he almost had a full-blown panic attack in the back room of Family Video after seeing someone who looked eerily like the so-called doctor that ended up tugging his fingernails out with horrific ease. Even Keith had been surprised, awkwardly giving him the rest of the day off. Robin, bless her soul, tried talking him down, but ultimately she just held him while he sobbed frantically. Every day after that she gave him this look and he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of her pity, the cold force of her concern, the bitterness of her remorseful anger.

He still isn’t sure how he knew she was feeling all of that so clearly. Steve’s not great at a lot of things, but he’s always had a knack for reading a room. You learned how to do that after witnessing your parents have screaming matches almost every night they actually spent the night in Hawkins; he had to decide whether the tension in the air was manageable or too electric for him to safely involve himself in. When you struggle up the social ladder of high school, you learn how to read people and earn their favor. It’s his thing, always interpreting. It’s been five months since that little quirk seemed to get more sensitive. He doesn’t exactly know how he feels about that, or if it’s a good thing at all.

Steve slowly tunes back into conversation as he turns off of Mirkwood and makes his way down a simple dirt path. From what he can tell, Dustin and Max didn’t quite miss his additions to their conversation during the drive. Easily the two chattiest people in the Party, the older teen’s convinced they could talk for a week straight, without pause, and never notice the lack of anyone else’s input. It’s impressive, if you ask Steve. Max’s electric blue eyes catch his for a moment and she grins widely. She looks for all the world like a normal girl, not like someone who’d almost lost her brother on the Fourth of July.

The Beamer finally comes to a halt. Steve laughs as the two kids scramble out of the car and rush up the driveway. He takes a moment to turn the ignition off and now he’s suddenly feeling rather hesitant.

Why did he let them talk him into this?

The boy slumps in his seat. He should go home. He should crawl onto the couch in the living room and hide under blankets the rest of the night. The kids would not be particularly pleased with him, he’s sure, but he’ll make up for it with the gifts in the trunk. But if he leaves, when is he going to have a chance to leave those gifts for them? He certainly can’t come back tomorrow, and after that he’s just going to feel bad. Up ahead, Dustin’s head tilts as he looks back at the car.

“Harrington! You coming?” Steve hesitates, waves the kid off, and as soon as Dustin turns again he drops his head against the wheel.

He really, really should leave.

The door is slammed shut with a nudge of his hip, and Steve trudges his way up the driveway. Joyce is at the door, all smiles as usual. In spite of his doubts, the boy can’t help but smile back.

“Steve! I’m so glad you came,” she greets, pulling him into a hug as soon as he gets near. Steve settles in her hold for a few brief moments before tugging away reluctantly.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers. I would have brought something with me, but -“ Joyce cuts him off, gentle hands waving about dismissively.

“Oh, none of that,” she chides, “And it’s Joyce, honey. Besides, you can still help in the kitchen.” Her smile turns almost sheepish. “Hopper and I could use an extra hand.” Both of them are stellar single parents, but Steve knows for a fact that neither can cook to save their lives. Steve’s been mastering the art since he was thirteen, he’s gotten quite good at it. He nods at the woman as he slips past her into the house and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by how homey the place looks.

Wrapping paper, string lights, and other festive odds and ends litter the floor. Hopper and Jonathan seem to be in the process of setting up the tree in a corner. A holiday record plays loudly, barely heard over the roaring chatter of the kids yelling and running around. It’s chaos, the very best kind. He’s surrounded by the inherent warmth of it all and the lingering trepidation melts away quickly as Steve lets his shoulders relax.

Eleven notices him first among the kids, and is quick to slip out of a confused Mike’s grip to greet him. Her hug is warm, and Steve holds her tight, one hand rubbing her back as he returns her embrace.

“Hey, kid,” he chuckles, ruffling her hair. Eleven beams up at him.

“You came,” she proclaims. Now Steve lets out a full laugh.

“Well, of course I did! I couldn’t just not show up. Besides, you and Will left me with the little hellions, remember?” Will comes next, shy smile creeping across his face as he tucks himself easily against Steve’s side. Steve pretends to give him a scolding look. “Had my ear talked off the whole way here thanks to you.” Will knows for a fact the older teen isn’t even remotely upset with him. The attempted glare melts into a grin and the boy relaxes, his smile growing easier as his slender arm squeezes around Steve’s waist, then retracts as he backs off. Lucas, already trapped on the ground with Max and Erica, waves in greeting. His teeth flash brilliantly in his bright grin and Steve tips an imaginary hat in his direction. Not too far off, Mike nods in his own greeting, gruff in his usual manner but maybe the holiday magic is working because there’s something unusually friendly about the gesture. Steve returns it in kind.

When Nancy makes her appearance, she falters at the sight of him and Steve’s body almost flinches with the strangeness of it all. Her eyes blink once, twice before she gives him that sad smile.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Steve’s answering smile is painfully awkward.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning on coming. The kids roped me into this last-minute, you know how it is with them.” He becomes distinctly aware of Jonathan eyeing them from across the room and clears his throat.

Yeah, maybe this is a little bit of a mistake.

His escape comes in the form of Hopper, the man’s burly arm falling across his shoulders in a gruff greeting.

“Glad you decided to show up, kid. You’re the only competent chef in this house,” he jokes, but it isn’t really a joke. You’d think a couple of adults would know how to cook a decent meal – well, Joyce can cook a decent meal, but it’s just that. His smile is only slightly less awkward as he’s guided into the kitchen, tossing an odd sort of goodbye to the girl as he goes. Joyce gives him a relieved look as he enters the kitchen.

“Steve, do you think you could help me with this soup?”

He’s kept pleasantly busy after that. Between helping with Joyce’s mushroom soup, letting Dustin peel carrots for the pot roast, taking that job away after the kid hacked apart the vegetables beyond recognition, and attempting to restore some general sense of order to the lawless land of the kitchen, Steve barely has time to think about Nancy or Jonathan or the yelling all around him. He hardly pays attention to the pleasant buzz filling his body as a result of the warm atmosphere. It’s dark by the time all the food gets finished. He’s oddly proud of himself as he looks at the spread of food on the table. It’s nothing fancy, but beef and soup and biscuits on Christmas Eve isn’t a bad idea if you ask him.

He can sit at the table with the rest of the adults. There’s space, and Joyce asks him sweetly if he’d like to sit with them. Steve feels decidedly more comfortable on the living room floor with the kids, however.

And that just seems to be the bulk of his problems sometimes, doesn’t it?

Steve Harrington is almost twenty years old, and he has nearly no friends his own age. To top things off, he also has no idea what he’s doing with himself currently, his past haunts his sleep and his waking hours, and his future is all but nonexistent. He peaked in high school and his life has been in a steady decline ever since. But it’s not all bad – at least he’s got the tragic honor of babysitting the six toughest kids in all the world.

And they aren’t even kids anymore, are they? They’re creeping up on their fifteenth birthdays, all of them. Dustin’s is less than a month away already. Steve can’t believe it. They were kids just yesterday, it feels. He was a kid just yesterday, wasn’t he? Monsters have a funny way of forcing you to grow up, he supposes. And they’ve truly grown, his kids.

Eleven’s curls bounce as her head swivels back and forth to follow their conversation, smile warm and genuine as she leans against Steve’s right. Dustin’s always by his side, the little snot. He looks so happy all the time, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he talks animatedly on his left. Mike’s grown so tall, it’s crazy. Coltish legs are folded awkwardly under him as he sits by Eleven’s side. Lucas rivals Mike in height, though he looks significantly less awkward as he leans up against an engaged Max. She’s cut her hair recently; it’s not a bad look, though he knows she wants to grow it back out again. Something about her is tinged with a bitter sadness, something that makes Steve’s throat choke up in a most peculiar way. He gets it, though; Billy’s brush with death wasn’t that long ago, and she’s still struggling with her grief. But she’ll be alright, he knows. Billy’s getting better, her friends are too stubborn to allow her to struggle alone, even if Billy isn’t their favorite. And on Mike’s other side, simply enjoying the moment, sits Will. He’s grown too, but he’s kept much of his quiet mannerisms. He catches Steve’s eye and smiles a little wider, an action Steve mimics.

Sometimes, the calmer Will Byers is the one Steve claims as his favorite. In all truth, he doesn’t have a favorite.

He has different relationships with each kid, that’s all. His relationships with some are weaker than others, weaker than he liked them to be. Some of them share a bond even Steve can’t explain. But the one thing each relationship has in common is the boy’s love for each and every one of them. There’s no favoritism, even if he tells them otherwise. There’s no choosing, none of that. Each of these six kids have Steve’s whole heart.

It’s Eleven who catches him staring next, and she must see the fondness on his face because the smile she gives him is soft and tender and knowing in its own way. Eleven took to him surprisingly quick; he didn’t quite understand it yet, but he was glad the kid felt so at ease with him.

He’s dragged into the present by Dustin very suddenly collapsing against his side, snorting in laughter as Mike stares at Lucas, offense clear on his face.

“How do you not like the Beastie Boys?” he questions, and now it’s Steve’s turn to snort.

“No one likes the Beastie Boys, Mike,” he chuckles, trying to ignore the appalled look the younger teen gives him. “It’s just what you listen to when you reach the teen rebellion phase.”

“I’m not rebellious!” Mike huffs. Steve’s sure Karen Wheeler would beg to differ.

He doesn’t want to spend the night. Joyce already has her hands full with all these kids, and he doesn’t want to add on to that, so he goes out to the car once the kids have all gone to sleep in the basement and gets his sack of presents and he’s going to leave after giving them to Hopper, but Joyce stops him, a curious look on her face.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she questions. Steve feels awkward now, shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“You’ve already got plenty of people spending the night, Mrs. By-“

“None of that,” she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow anyway if you leave, you’re having dinner with us.” Steve doesn’t remember agreeing to that, but now he doesn’t have a choice. Hopper, setting a gift under the tree, grunts in agreement.

“She’s right, kid,” he confirms as he stands straight again. “Can’t get out of this one, the kids won’t leave your door until you come back with them. It’ll be much easier on everyone if you just stay.”

And he doesn’t want to because this is their tradition, this is something they’ve been doing together for years as one large family and Steve isn’t really a part of that, so he wants to give them space, but Joyce is already dragging him back inside with the gifts, then she’s off grabbing blankets and Hopper busies him with the task of wrapping last-minute gifts until he forgets wanting to leave.

The couch is his for the night. Joyce gets him some of Jonathan’s clothes and even kisses his forehead and wishes him a merry Christmas before retreating to her room for the night. Hopper wishes him a good rest, and he understands because it’s already ass o’clock in the morning and it’s only a matter of time before those kids come barreling up the stairs to yell about their gifts. The living room is dark, aside from the gentle blinking of the string lights on the tree. It’s a silent night, indeed. He feels warm, and not just from the blankets tucked in close around him.

For the first time in three nights, Steve sleeps. He’s blissfully without dreams.

It lasts barely five hours.

The basement door is opened quite aggressively, and a cacophony of feet thud in before he hears a loud hushing sound, followed by the loudest whisper he’s ever heard.

“Dudes, Steve’s asleep!” one of the little shits hisses. Steve’s fairly sure it’s Dustin. He prays they turn around and go back downstairs for another hour or two.

“Shut up, he’s gonna hear you!” a girl’s voice hisses back, and she’s impossibly louder than the first kid – undeniably Max, Eleven would never whisper that loud. Jesus, who taught them how to whisper?

“Both of you shut up, let’s just get to the target,” a third, quieter voice butts in, and they’re just quiet enough that Steve can’t tell who it is, which tells him it’s either Mike or Will. He’s betting on Mike.

He knows what their target is. Steve takes a moment to contemplate. Either he lets them poke around the presents until Jim or Joyce come in and stop them, which will definitely result in loud protesting and a permanent end to his rest, or he can get up now and get a little bit of sympathy from at least Will for them waking him up. Either way, he’s awake now.

He hears someone poking at a box and goes with the latter.

“Aren’t you little shitheads supposed to wait for your parents?” he groans, eyes peering at the group blearily. All six of them freeze.

“Abort mission?” Lucas whispers to Mike.

“Abort mission,” Steve confirms before the other kid gets a chance, sitting up and stretching. Eleven treads silently over to the sofa and finds her way under his blanket to press into his side.

“Merry Christmas,” she hums, as if she has nothing to do with the early morning shenanigans that roused him. Will joins them on the sofa, and it’s clear the other four are trying to decide how to best fit themselves on the piece of furniture with their babysitter. It’s about to get very cramped, he realizes.

“Yeah, yeah, bah humbug,” he grumbles in reply, but no one misses his fond smile.

Joyce makes her appearance thirty minutes after that, and of all the things she expects to see on a Christmas morning, this was decidedly not it. None of the kids on the couch notice her upfront, too caught up in their giggles and hushed conversation. Steve looks tired, she notes, but he’s not as pale or tired-looking as he was yesterday. He may not be her kid, but she worries about him nevertheless as if he was. Shaking her head slightly, she pads further into the room.

“I hope you all didn’t wake Steve up,” she tells the younger teens as she reaches the sofa. Guilty looks are shared and a few mouths open in hopes of explaining themselves, but Steve beats them all to the punch.

“They didn’t,” he covers, smiling softly up at the woman. “I was up before these hellions tried getting into the presents.” Joyce doesn’t believe him, not for a second, but she leaves it alone as she leans down and gives Will and Eleven kisses on their forehead. Max gets one next, followed by a gentle ruffling of Mike’s hair because he gets fussy about kisses. Lucas smiles as he gets a kiss, and Dustin responds in kind. Even Steve gets a kiss, and he smiles in spite of his surprise.

“Thank you, for keeping them out of the presents,” she tells him as she straightens up and sways off towards the kitchen. He thinks about going to help her, but he looks at the kids sprawled out on the sofa with him and he just can’t bring himself to make them get up, so he stays put. They whisper back and forth about present predictions (Dustin makes a passive comment about some people forgetting to buy presents, Max makes a face at Steve and it takes serious effort to not laugh), and by the time Joyce returns with coffee the six are practically bouncing with restlessness. Their excitement is downright infectious, Steve feels their giddy joy in his bones, his stomach twisting in a good sort of anxiousness. Hopper shuffles in soon after, makes his way directly to the kitchen and gets himself a mug of coffee. He brings an extra one out for a very grateful Steve. Mike makes a face when the smell of caffeine reaches his nose. Lucas doesn’t have to smell it before he gets that disgusted look on his face.

“I can’t understand why you drink that stuff,” he states. Steve inhales the warm smell, sips on the drink (and he’s got to give the chief a thanks because it’s got just the right amount of cream and sugar – not too much, but just enough to take the edge off of the bitter taste), and pauses for added drama before forming his response.

“Lucas, my friend, let’s revisit this conversation when you hit nineteen.” He rests the mug on top of Eleven’s wild curls and revels in her giggled protest.

Outside, the sun is just beginning to poke through the darkness. Steve glances towards the window, watches the black sky turning into blue, and couldn’t help but feel that maybe, maybe, this Christmas isn’t going to be so bad after all.

In an attempt to distract the gaggle of children from the glistening presents under the tree, Steve finally nudges the kids off of him and makes his way to his feet, and he stretches out his body with a few, satisfying cracks in his spine. He’s getting old.

“Hey. You little gremlins want hot cocoa?”

They do, of course they do. And they follow him like a line of duckling behind their mother as Steve trudges into the kitchen. They sit in a row and happily sip on the warm drinks as the brunette then sets about making breakfast. Joyce rubs his shoulder and says he didn’t have to, but Steve is happy to do it, he likes making himself useful. Besides, he’s good at this, the kids love his pancakes. He even whips up scrambled eggs and slices of wonderfully crisp bacon. The smell draws a bleary-eyed Jonathan from his room. He looks surprised by Steve’s presence, but offers a small smile.

“Merry Christmas,” he offers, ruffling Will’s hair on his way by. He pours himself a cup of coffee, and Steve smiles back at him.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.”

[sugarquill-slayer]

Anyway it’s my birthday soon and I’d love it if I could get a question or two about my characters, so I’m putting my passion project guys here! This picrew was honestly the perfect style for them, it’s great.

Top right is Parker, she’s lived her whole life as a horror movie final girl so she’s taking to the trucker life as a way to get away from it all! Spoilers, it doesn’t work, she nearly hits two horror movie children with her eighteen wheeler. She’s seen a thing or two and listens in on a supernatural radio show to call in and correct them on what they’ve gotten wrong.

Top left is Deborah, host of said radio show, is getting increasingly tired of getting her weird shit corrected by some random. She also has occasional hits of powerful foresight, which got her into the paranormal. Unfortunately she got into it via Weekly World News.

Bottom left is Blair- a twelve year old who likes Minecraft, clowns, and is currently the host to an eldritch space god with the personality of a worse, more feral twelve year old. He eats people to survive and is currently hitching a ride in Blair’s truck to try and find his parents somewhere in the country.

Bottom right is Reggie, thirteen year old (?) newly undead who crawled out of a grave that wasn’t their own and kind of just wants to go back home and figure things out. Was deeply into their Creepypasta phase before they died and they kind of appreciate how it’s adding to their aesthetic a little. They would have *preferred* being a vampire, though.

[car-fantasy-blog]

Buying a Car

Cars are one of the most popular means of transportation, second only to airplanes. There are many kinds of cars available for the driver to choose from and there are many types of cars to choose from, but no matter which one is chosen, everyone enjoys driving in their favorite color, make and model. There are a variety of different types of cars and different ways they are put together to make them work. This information will help you decide if you should buy a new or used car for yourself. Remember, you can always hire professional chauffeur service like Safer Driver Dubai if you do not have a car yet.

A car is essentially a wheeled mechanical vehicle that is used for moving people and goods from one place to another. Most definitions of cars state that they generally drive on roads, seats eight to twelve individuals, only carry one person, and transport goods rather than people. Cars are usually driven by humans and may be driven by a steering wheel or pedals.

Today, there are many different types of cars, each designed to do a specific task or fulfill a certain need. The most common types of cars are used for moving people. They may be used to transport groceries from one location to another, to move cargo, and to pick up freight. They may also be used as taxis or to pick up passengers and transfer them from one location to another. In some countries, they may also be used as personal vehicles.

Trucks are the most common types of cars to use for long distance travel. Trucks are often very large, can seat more than a dozen people in an automobile, and can weigh thousands of pounds. Although they are able to carry heavy cargo, most trucks are designed to move on highways, allowing passengers to go on long trips without a worry of being stranded on the side of the road.

There are various types of trucks, but they are all used for transporting materials from one location to another. For example, a truck can be used to load up a semi-truck with goods such as grain. Another type of truck is used to carry cargo that is large enough to be hauled by a tractor or a trailer. These types of trucks are commonly used to transport freight from one place to another.

Finally, there are four wheelers, which are usually two wheels that are designed to provide stability and maneuverability in the streets. The most common types of four wheelers are used for moving freight. These types of four wheelers include golf carts, bicycles, rvs, and trailers. These types of vehicles are also used to move other people and goods from place to place.

When buying a car, you need to consider all the factors that you need to think about before you buy your vehicle. There are several different types of cars, each with different features. Some cars come with safety features that include air bags, anti-lock braking systems, traction control, etc., which protect the driver from accidents. You also need to look into the type of fuel that is used in the car, which determines how much gas is consumed by the car.

The most important part of purchasing a car is looking at all the options. Buy a car based on how you want it to work for you. Think about the needs you have for it, and what kind of fuel it will burn. Think about the size of the car, what you want to get out of it, and where you want to drive it to.

There are some things that you can do to save money while shopping for cars. One of the best ways to get a great deal on a car is to search for used ones that are in good condition. If you are able to find a cheap car, then you will be able to get a great deal on the car. There are many used cars for sale online, so this might be the way to go if you have trouble finding a car to fit your budget.

Another option is to get an auto loan. Many banks offer loans for the car that you wish to purchase, so there is no reason why you cannot get the money to buy a car. Even though these loans are more expensive, they are cheaper than the monthly payments you have to make.

When you decide to purchase a car, you must also think about insurance. Insurance for your car is very important because you might not have any coverage for your car if it is stolen or damaged while in a collision. If you are not covered, the costs can add up fast.

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 26

So maybe today had passed slower than most days at Charlie’s, but that had everything to do with the fact that replacing brake pads was a bitch of a task to do, and nothing to do with the fact that every waking minute waiting for Billy felt like an hour.

I mean; I couldn’t stop grinning the whole time like an idiot, but that wasn’t because of Billy. I was just happy and shit; and...

Fuck; who the hell was I kidding?

Billy had managed to turn me into a giggling school girl by just asking me on a date.

It was stupid, and dumb, and childish; but fuck, if I wasn’t the happiest girl in Hawkins right now.

Even the fact I had to strip and replace the rotors by hand couldn’t put a damper on things; the black grease that coated my arms up to the elbows, a minor setback on what otherwise could’ve been the perfect day.

Magic By The Cars was playing on the radio, and I hummed along with it happily; hands steadily working at tightening some callipers beneath the truck whilst my mind was half a world away; daydreaming of sun kissed smiles and bright blue eyes.

I heard some heavy footsteps by my legs, and my heart immediately skipped a beat.

It could’ve easily just been Johnny come to make another half assed joke about the limited reach of my arms, but I could still hear his angle grinder halfway across the shop.

I couldn’t keep a smile from my face, because damnit; he was early, but I wasn’t gonna complain. He’d been occupying my thoughts all day, and I couldn’t wait to get in his car and...

My train of thought got cut short as a foot landed on the bottom of my creeper board, right between my legs, then began to slowly roll me out from under the car.

“I thought we agreed six thirty...” I protested as I lowered my tools to get a good look at him, even though the protest was more token than anything else.

Excitement and something deeper coiled in my stomach as my head surfaced from beneath the chassis, then dropped away like a pile of bricks at the last moment.

There was pretty boy standing at the foot of my board, hands on his hips waiting for me to emerge, but not the one I’d been expecting.

“Steve..?” I said; the word halfway between a question and a statement as I took in the familiar sight of too high hair and luxury sports casual.

“And kid I don’t know...” I continued; my eyes trailing from the figure of my best friend, to a kid about three heads shorter, but with enough curls to match Steve in hair height, if not for that stupid hat.

Since when had Steve taken up babysitting?

“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but why the hell are you here?” I asked; pretty sure I hadn’t agreed to do anything with Steve tonight, and very concerned that my two prospective pretty boys might run into one another and start shit again.

Steve looked at the kid for a sec; a look of uncertainty passing over his face, and I began to wonder exactly what brand of shit he’d managed to drag himself into.

There was no way in hell that Steve would be here for any other reason than a service on a weekend.

That, or maybe there was something serious on his mind, but then why the hell was the kid here?!

“You got a minute...” Steve asked, and though I probably should’ve refused considering the insane amount of overtime I was supposed to be doing anyway, Steve looked concerned, and I owed enough to him these past couple of weeks that I should be there when he needed me.

“Yeah. Sure.” I agreed, putting down my tools on the floor beside me.

Steve held up an open hand, and I took it, allowing him to pull me to my feet with minimal struggle. I grabbed the rag off the truck’s hood, wiping the grease from my arms before asking;

“So do you wanna do this in the car?”

——————————————————-

This was insane.

I had to be dreaming. I must’ve breathed in too many gas fumes back at the shop, and I was currently unconscious, because there was no way any of what Steve just told me was true.

“So let me get this straight...” I said; my voice still not managing not to drip with incredulousness as I sat in the middle of the backseat of Steve’s BMW, the chassis vibrating slightly as we tore down deep county roads.  

“You decided it was a good idea to go into some creepy old basement...” I began, my eyes immediately fixing on one Steve Harrington, who I honestly believed was some sort of realistic hallucination, because I still didn’t buy a second of his bullshit story.

“Because some kid who’s friends with Nancy’s brother told you there was some monster down there?” I continued; my attention switching to the kid in question sat in the passenger seat who I now knew was called Dustin; and played Dnd or something with Mike Wheeler.

“Not thought. There was. I trapped it down there.” Corrected... Dustin, spinning round in his seat to see me, and hold on; why did the twelve year old get to ride shotgun?

I spun my focus back to Steve, unwilling to have a debate on what was real and what was imaginary with a literal child.

“Okay. So you went down there, planning to do Christ knows what, but it had already escaped and left behind its skin...” I continued to repeat what I’d been told; a mixture of disgust and disbelief colouring my words, because if this was some kind of practical joke; it was gross and Steve was so dea—

“Yes; yes. I know; I thought it sounded crazy too.” Steve interrupted; his voice filled with chargrin, as if my disbelief was something he’d expected, but really didn’t have the patience to deal with; and maybe Steve wasn’t making this shit up.

“So now we’re going to ki—“ I continued; only to be interrupted by the kid.

“Ah, ah, ah...” He interjected; because this so called “baby demogorgon” had been his pet; and what kind of fucking idiot takes a look at a fucking demonic slug and thinks it’s cute?!

I sighed, restraint wearing thin, before continuing my train of thought before the kid had a chance at raising any more helpful observations.

“And we’re going to catch this thing with a nail bat and some pastrami; and how exactly was this plan meant to work?” I trailed off into a question, because although Steve wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, I’d at least expected something a little better than lure it in with lunch meat then hit it over the head with a baseball bat.

“It’s the best I could come up with on short notice...” Steve defended himself; sounding less than convinced on his “master plan”.

“Besides not all of us are the spawn of Sonny & Rico...” He began to make a cheap cop joke about my dad; only for the child mega mouth on legs to come flying in with another comment.

“Wait; you’re the Chief’s daughter?!” The kid exclaimed as if it wasn’t one of the most well known facts of the town.

“Yeah...” I replied, before quickly returning to the conversation at hand, because usually when people got worked up about my dad; it was for one of three reasons, and considering this was a twelve year old boy I was talking about; it probably wasn’t about being stood up at the movies.

“Wow; that’s wicked awesome. You know; I hadn’t even realised, but now that I think about it—“ The ki... Dustin began to ramble again,; and hero worship it was, but I really didn’t have time for this.

“That’s great, kid; but can we go back to the fact that there’s a baby monster who might possibly try to kill us!” Steve interrupted before I got the chance, ending up near yelling at the kid; and I was finally beginning to believe that this all wasn’t a hoax.

“Back to your plan...” I restarted; knowing now would be a good time to get this show back on the road before I had to break up a cage match between an annoyingly dumb brunette and an equally annoying child genius, who still wasn’t smart enough to follow basic horror movie logic.

“Harrington; this is half baked, even for you.” I stated matter-of-factly; Steve not at all deflated against my slight insult.

“I’m open to suggestions.” Steve admitted with a sigh, not knowing that was the exact opening I was waiting for.

“And I’m open for business...” I countered with a grin, leaning forward between the seats, because Steve Harrington may be a noble dunce when it comes to well thought through plans, but I was a Hopper; and if there was one thing a Hopper could do, it was battle strategy.

“Take a left up on ninth.” I instructed; Steve taking the turning without argument , because he trusted my judgment when it came to this sort of shit.

If we were gonna take down this fucker; we were gonna need meat, lots and lots of meat.

[galfrommars]

Ever since I was young, life has been hard for me to adjust to. At the age of twelve, I had fallen ill to a disease known as meningitis, and it damaged my hearing. As a result, I became deaf. Sure, I had learned sign language and become part of a wonderful community, full of other people like me. Aside of that, my life at school had changed drastically. People were looking at me like I was some disabled little girl who needed twenty four hour assistance. They made me feel that my brain didn't work, when it was just my ears that failed me. I would always beg my dad to buy me hearing aids so I could be like everyone else again, but we could never afford them. As an adult, I still can't afford them. It doesn't matter how much I've matured since then, people are still mean. Almost nobody didn't want me work in their facility, since I'm a-- and I quote, "hazard." Dating has even been a headache and a half. As soon as I mention that I'm deaf, hearing people are instantly intimidated and give me sympathy. That was my mindset until this one guy came along. His name is Peter, but he says everyone calls him Bruno. It was kind of funny how we met. Not really funny when you think of what actually happened, but still...

Three Years Ago...

Bruno's POV

"Yeah. I know. I love you too, ma. Take care of yourself," I said, ending the phone conversation with my mother, and shoving my phone in my back pocket.  Eric nudged me, making me look at the smirk playing on his face. "Aww, Bru loves his mommy," he teased, in a childish voice, and I raised my eyebrow at him, "Don't act like she doesn't still kiss your boo boos." He laughed and we both got into our separate cars. I was jamming to Let Me Clear My Throat, while cruising through the traffic of LA. "Yeah! Rock to the rhythm of the funky rhyme. So I can get busy just one more time, to the beat and ya don't quit. It's dat ol' skool rap with dat new skool hit," I rapped, getting way into the music. I turned the volume down some, only to hear a series of cars honking. They weren't honking at me because I wasn't doing anything wrong. I looked to the left and I saw this woman crossing the street into oncoming traffic. She didn't seem to mind it though. What really got me was when an eighteen-wheeler was coming fast her way, and he was honking trying to get her attention. I hurriedly unbuckled my seat belt, and ran as fast as I could over to her, and swooped her out of the way just in the nick of time. We ran back to my car, and I helped her in, and I got back on the driver's side. I took a minute to catch my breath, and then I turned to look at her. She was quite pretty. "Are you okay," I asked her, but she didn't even look up. It had gotten pretty awkward after some minutes. She finally raised her head up, and looked at me. "What the hell," she said, in some sort of accent. She hit me with all the power she had, and I grabbed her hands. "What's wrong with you, woman? I literally just saved your life, and all you can do is hit me," I yelled, but she kept frowning and staring at my lips. 

Nadeen's POV 

I punched this guy in the shoulder as many times as I could before he took hold of my hands. He furrowed his eyebrows and started rambling on about something, and I looked at his lips to try and catch what he was saying. He was talking too fast, and I only caught saved your life....hit me. "Hey. I need you to slow down please. I'm deaf," I said, pointing to my ears and watching as his eyes softened. "Oh. I'm sorry," he said, smiling innocently. I cracked a smile too, knowing that he didn't take pity on me. "I was just saying that you could have thanked me for saving you from that truck," he said, a bit slower this time. I politely smiled and shook his hand that was still holding mine. "Wait. What do you mean saved my life," I asked to clarify. He just shook his head, and turned to face the road, and I kept my focus on his lips. They were small, but they were so adorable. "When you were walking across the street, there were a bunch of cars honking at you to tell you that a big truck was coming your way," he then said, and I nodded. "Well, if you would just drop me off

Present Day....

Nadeen's POV

Bruno and I had just gotten married and we were on our honeymoon. Later in our relationship, I learned that he was a famous singer. Even though I've been with him to the studio, and watched him practice, I would just love to hear him sing. To make me feel better, he's canceled numerous of practice sessions to learn his songs in sign language for me. Despite not being able to hear him, I'm just lucky that I can see him as he sings. There's this little vein on the side of his neck that appears when he's really getting into whatever he's singing. I fall more in love with him everyday. Currently, we were in our luxury suite, just cuddling up on the bed. He softly rubbed my arm to get my attention, and I turned to him and smiled. His brown eyes peered through mine as he sat up. I sat up with him and looked at him. "You know I love you right," he signed, and I couldn't help but blush. I nodded and signed, "I love you much more Bruno." He looked down sheepishly, and I watched as his cheeks turned a dark shade of red. "I got a gift for you," he said, and I grabbed his hands and kissed them. "You didn't have to get me anything," I said verbally. Being the stubborn person that he is, he instructed me to close my eyes, and I did. 

Bruno's POV

I remember Nadeen telling me how much she wanted hearing aids, because she wanted to hear the sounds around her again. I went to one of the audiologists. Since I did not bring her in for a fitting, I bought a universal pair, and she does not know it. He even installed the battery and everything. All I wanted was for her to be happy. She was still facing me, with her eyes closed. I carefully took them out of the box, and placed one on either ear, and turned them on. I smiled widely, and just waited for the magic to begin. Her eyes fluttered open, and they stared at me. "You got me earrings," she signed, and I shook my head. "Something better," I said, and she gasped. My heart was pounding against my chest. Did she actually hear me? "Bru- wait! Is that my voice," she asked, a smile beginning to show on her face. "Can you hear me," I asked, and her eyes filled with tears. "Peter. What did yo," she cut herself off, and took one of the hearing aids out and stared at it in her hand. "I love you so much," she signed, engulfing me in a bear hug, and I hugged back. She suddenly pulled away and I smiled at her. "Would you sing to me, please?" I blushed. "My voice isn't anything special," I said, and she playfully hit my arm. "That's not what Twitter says. Now sing," she giggled, poking my belly. I cleared my throat and sang Just The Way You Are to her, and when I finished, she just cried even more. "You're so beautiful Bruno. Don't ever change." From that point, she made me sing to her everyday. I'm more than glad that I was the one to make her wish come true.

[myhauntedsalem]

Dingess Tunnel

Hidden deep within the coal filled Appalachian Mountains of Southern West Virginia rests a forgotten land that is older than time itself. Its valleys are deep, its waters polluted and its terrain is as rough as the rugged men and women who have occupied these centuries old plats for thousands of years.

The region is known as “Bloody Mingo” and for decades the area has been regarded as one of the most murderous areas in all of American history.

The haunted mountains of this territory have been the stage of blood baths too numerous to number, including those of the famed Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, Matewan Massacre and the Battle of Blair Mountain. Even the county’s sheriff was murdered this past spring, while eating lunch in his vehicle.

Tucked away in a dark corner of this remote area is an even greater anomaly – a town, whose primary entrance is a deserted one lane train tunnel nearly 4/5 of a mile long.

The story of this town’s unique entrance dates back nearly a century and a half ago, back to an era when coal mining in West Virginia was first becoming profitable.

For generations, the people of what is now Mingo County, West Virginia, had lived quiet and peaceable lives, enjoying the fruits of the land, living secluded within the tall and unforgiving mountains surrounding them.

All of this changed, however, with the industrial revolution, as the demand for coal soared to record highs.

Soon outside capital began flowing into “Bloody Mingo” and within a decade railroads had linked the previously isolated communities of southern West Virginia to the outside world.

The most notorious of these new railways was Norfolk & Western’s line between Lenore and Wayne County – a railroad that split through the hazardous and lawless region known as “Twelve Pole Creek.”

At the heart of Twelve Pole Creek, railroad workers forged a 3,300 foot long railroad tunnel just south of the community of Dingess.

As new mines began to open, destitute families poured into Mingo County in search of labor in the coal mines. Among the population of workers were large numbers of both African-Americans and Chinese emigrants.

Despising outsiders, and particularly the thought of dark skinned people moving into what had long been viewed as a region exclusively all their own, residents of Dingess, West Virginia, are said to have hid along the hillsides just outside of the tunnel’s entrance, shooting any dark skinned travelers riding aboard the train.

Though no official numbers were ever kept, it has been estimated that hundreds of black and Chinese workers were killed at the entrance and exits of this tunnel.

Norfolk & Western soon afterward abandonment the Twelve Pole line. Within months two forces of workmen began removing the tracks, ties, and accessory facilities.

Soon, silence soon reigned in the rugged mountains overlooking the area. Gone were the whistles of locomotives and the rumble of cars. Nothing but long, winding bed of cinders, a few decayed ties, several steel bridges remained.

For decades the skeletal remains of Norfolk & Western’s failed railway line stood as a silent testimony to the region’s ghostly ways.

In the early 1960’s, however, the resourceful men of the mountains commandeered the former railroad line and built upon its beds a road for motorists to travel upon.

Unfortunately, residents of this impoverished region failed to secure funding from the state’s legislature to improve the tunnel and bridges, thus today – over half a century later – residents of this community are forced to drive atop countless one lane train bridges and a nearly mile long one lane tunnel.

To the residents of this community, such a drive is just another part of their daily routine, however, for visitors unfamiliar with the thought of driving through a one lane tunnel with a fifty ton coal truck at the other end, such an experience can be a rush, to say the least.

One writer said the following of his experience driving through the Dingess Tunnel:

“Locals state that proper usage is to turn lights on, indicating that you are entering the tunnel. Drivers from the other end know not to enter if lights are on. We saw an 18 wheeler tanker go through while there, but it is a tight fit. Water drips from the top and one can barely see as it takes a while for eyes to adjust. Locals state that the roadway was dirt up until a couple of years ago and had deep holes in it. Now it is paved, but no lighting.”

For years, the tunnel has had a reputation of being haunted by the souls of those who perished in at least one of the train crashes…and possibly those who perished as a result of the high level of violence! The apparition of a man has been seen hanging at one end of the tunnel, and at least one person claims to have gotten a photo of a little girl standing in the tunnel. Visitors have also reported experiencing various sounds, both heard audibly to the naked ear, as well as EVP evidence, including a voice saying “Hi” and the sound of organ music.

[mrcoltkaneko]

the things which are not seen are eternal (RoD)

a/n: This is an idea that’s been floating around in my head for a while, and I had a bit written down, before I did major overhaul and just rewrote this one on the fly (oops). Fair warning, this is angsty as hell, and IDK, I am just a ball of angst right now even reading this myself (lmao). Constrcutive criticism is always welcome, and I’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts!

pairings: Colt x MC angst

summary: So when he says we’ll stay here forever she believes him, wholly; entangled in his holey sheets and fingertips, they are Eighteen and Twenty for eternity. 

rating: R, brief mentions of sex

content warning: mentions of parent death, sex, drinking

length: 1438 words

tags: (first off, I’d really like to thank y’all for wanting to be tagged in my works. ;_; like seriously, I’ve never pinned myself as a “good” writer, so again, eternally grateful for all of you!) @lovehugsandcandy @brightpinkpeppercorn @omgjasminesimone @liamzigmichael4ever @desiree-0816

Seven months

He is a remote memory, a far-off fling at this point that she almost decides against calling his name. He’s been demoted to an icebreaker trivia tidbit nowadays; one of her trusty truths in a game of Two Truths and a Lie, an interesting fact that almost always gets the conversation rolling. She’s told the story of him long enough that it was just that; a story, weaved in with nostalgia and an artificial wistfulness for that past. But something overtakes her – perhaps it’s the nostalgia (or maybe the whiskey) – and so she calls his name.

She is drunk, and she suspects he is too. When she falls into his arms, it’s like jumping into cold water– the shock lasts for a nanosecond, before her body acclimates to the liquid. And when she comes up to take a breath, it’s far too cold. His lips, his hands, his skin are the only solution to her shivers, toxic in the best possible way.

Take me home?

His apartment is small, and his bed is even smaller, but they end up on top anyways, pillows and comforter on the floor. With hands running down her waist, mouth on her neck, fingers between her thighs, he knows how to turn her into his time machine. And right as he finds her spot (his spot), they’re back six years, Eighteen and Twenty, wild without abandon, rebellious to a fault, addicted to each other’s touch.

So when he says we’ll stay here forever she believes him, wholly; entangled in his holey sheets and fingertips, they are Eighteen and Twenty for eternity.

Six weeks

They are both liars though. He lies about eternity, and she lies about the ring. She is six weeks away when she reveals her deceit to him, in her bed, with her Egyptian cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. They are both stubborn fighters, and he sneers when he sees the expensive metal band and shiny lump of rock, offended and perturbed. He wants to leave, take away their eternity, forget about being Eighteen and Twenty. You hate silver, and all the while she still thinks he’s told her the worse lie, but he says that forever can’t exist with us if you’re getting ma –

She screams before he can say the word, because if he doesn’t say it, it isn’t real, and they can last, right in the crevices, snuck in between the letters of the word. Cardinal sin be damned. She screams and he leaves her bed, her room, her home, but her bed was never the time machine. He’d slept fretfully on her extravagant bed. He’d leave her imported coffee untouched. Her designer night creams and makeup always received a scoff.

The second time she screams that day is when the call comes from the station. Her father is dead, just six weeks away from her big day, and she can’t remember calling him but she must have, because his leather-clad arms surround her soon enough, and he chants:

You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay

It’s hours before she utters anything other than sobs, and when she does, she asks, does it ever stop hurting?

The pause is deafening, and it speaks louder than anything he could’ve said. When he talks again, it is a whisper:

You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay

Four days

Four days before, he surprises her with a motorcycle ride down the Atlantic coast. They make small talk, like acquaintances, and she asks him about Mona and Ximena and Toby, and he asks her about Riya and Darius. In the daylight and the great outdoors, his torso and back feel like a stranger’s, but she holds on, observing the celeste waves claw at the sand.

At sunset, he buys her three fish tacos from a food truck by the beach, and they eat quietly, having run out of things to talk about an hour ago. She wishes she was back in his twin, pretending that the sun wasn’t setting and that four days wasn’t only 96 hours, 5760 minutes, 345600 seconds away but she knows it’s inevitable, and this is supposed to be goodbye, forever.

Tell me these aren’t the best tacos you’ve had, ever.

And she wants to tell him that they are, despite only being six dollars and 87 cents, but she thinks that would offend him, so she keeps her lips zipped and nods her head.

When night bleeds into the sky, they lie on the sand dunes and he points out the constellations he finds, both real and original. And she searches for their eternity in the twinkling stars, hoping for a sign that she should leave with him, extend their time.

She doesn’t see one.

Twelve hours

She’s always had a weak stomach. Clutching the toilet seat, she heaves, retching, but an hour and a half in front of the bowl, she had nothing left to give. She gets up, slowly, fumbling for the thermometer, half-hoping she is truly ill – but the reader beeps ninety-eight degrees and she is perfectly normal and healthy.

She thinks of the aisle, the white dress, the veil, and a small current of nausea overtakes her.

They had promised each other they wouldn’t see each other anymore, but she texts him a white lie, and he is on her doorstep, a can of soup and a DVD in hand.

Chicken noodle soup and an action movie, the patented cure for any illness.

She smiles, and before they can reach her bed, they are one, lips on lips, palms on backs. I am Eighteen and he is Twenty, she imagines, and his offerings are left by the door, her ring on the nightstand.

He enters her, and she is ready, wanton with his scent, and her mind enters a haze, thoughts crude and instinctual. All she can gasp is his name, and when he finishes, he does it inside of her, and then she floats back down, down, down the pull of gravity stronger than the force of her lust.

You don’t have to go through with it. Just say the word. We can leave –

Her senses return to her, her mind blowing away the mist. Forever doesn’t exist, she thinks. Eternity is a lie.

Zero months, zero weeks, zero days, zero hours, zero minutes

“Do you, Ellie Wheeler, take Daniel Moore, to be your husband, to have and hold –“

We’ll stay here forever.

“ – from this day forward, for better or for worse –“

You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay

“ – for richer or for poorer –“

Tell me these aren’t the best tacos you’ve had, ever.

“ – in sickness and in health – “

Chicken noodle soup and an action movie, the patented cure for any illness.

“ – to love and to cherish, until death do us part?”

You’re my driver forever.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Patchouli and smoke, leather and lips. That’s what he tastes like, and she’d burn for him if she had the chance. His hands, roughened by his steady grip on the bike handles, traces her outer thighs, the curve of her stomach, the dip of her breasts. This is it, she thinks, and she drowns in him, willingly, unyieldingly, until Dan was a distant planet in space, and all she could see was him, him, and him, bright and fiery stars all around her body. He is like rum and danger and caramels. He is all of her sins, rolled up into a neat little gift, all wrong and deadly– yet here she is, a jezebel flushed as red as Hester Prynne’s bright red ‘A’.

“You don’t have to go through with it. Just say the word. We can leave all of this behind.”

She swallows. “No. I – I can’t.”

“You don’t have anything here anymore. It’s all a fucking lie. Your friends, your job, your apartment, your fiancé. Tell me you don’t miss LA.” He takes a breath. “Tell me you don’t miss me.”

She glances around her apartment. He is right, as always, but not right enough. Their eternity is too short, but she can’t tell him that. It’s torture, uttering the words, but she says them anyways. “I don’t miss you, Colt.” She twists the silver band around her finger, a sorry reminder of her transgressions. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of his face. It’s inscrutable, but she feels his pain, radiating.

“Fine. I’ll leave.”

And he does.

[shastelly]

Cozy - March Klance Prompts from MonthlyKlance - Day 17

Anyone order farmboy Lance?

Day 17 – Cozy

 Keith and Cosmo were driving down the long lane that lead back to the McClain family farm. Sure, Cosmo could have teleported them in, but sometimes Keith actually liked to drive.  He'd picked up an old motorcycle and had a special side car made for Cosmo.  He wasn't sure how much longer the space wolf was going to fit in it, so they had to use it while they could.  Pidge had already asked if she could buy it off of him when Cosmo outgrew it.

 The bike sped along the dirt road kicking up a trail of dust behind them.  Keith grinned as he stepped on the gas, it was going to be fun sliding a bit around the curves, not too much though.  The last time he'd slid at too steep of an angle for Cosmo the wolf had blinked them both out and the bike had wrecked.

 The summer sun was beating down and it must have been ninety degrees outside, but with the wind whipping around him, he didn't even feel it.  He'd taken off the helmet when they reached the lane and his hair was whipping around in the wind.  It all felt so good and relaxing.  He needed this vacation.  His work with the Blades was great and he really felt that he was doing good, but it was stressful at times and he still saw a lot of the bad out in the universe. He needed some time to recharge.

 One either side of the lane rows and rows of plants stretched out bright green.  Just past those fields, at the end of the lane was the big two-story white farm house, complete with picket fence around the front yard.  There were flowers blooming in beds and a huge garden at the side of the house. Beyond the house was an old wooden barn and two metal sheds.  A hay elevator was set up into the hayloft of the wooden barn, an empty wagon sat next to it. Behind the wooden barn stretched pasture and Kaltendecker and her cow buddies were out in the field.  It looked like there were several calves as well. Keith didn't know thing one about baby cows, but they looked cute.  Beside the pasture were the hayfields.  Keith could see two tractors out in the field.  One tractor had a large contraption behind it and as he watched it dropped a huge stack of hay out onto the ground behind it.  The other tractor had a smaller contraption and small rectangular bales of hay were spitting out of it and back to a wagon that was hooked behind it.  Two people were on the wagon picking up and stacking the bales.  Even from this distance Keith was sure one of them was Lance. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt and a straw hat of some kind.  

 Keith smiled and watched them for a little while before parking the bike next to a silver van by the house.  There was a red sports car, a beat-up old truck, and a sedan parked nearby as well. As he was getting off the bike, he heard a voice from the house.

 "Keith!"  Veronica waved from the house.  "Hey, glad you could make it!"  She stepped out of the house wearing a t-shirt that said, "My girlfriend can kick your boyfriend’s ass".  

 "Axca get you that?"  He asked laughing.

 "Maybe." she grinned.  

 "Why aren't you out in the field?" Keith wondered.  She looked dusty and her hair was pulled back and sweaty.

 "Oh, Luis, Papi, Nadia and I just finished unloading a wagon.  We just needed a lemonade break and some air conditioning."  She waved toward the house.   "Lisa is inside with the new baby, or rather she's getting a nap and Mami has little Laura.  Rachel is making stacks, Slyvio is driving the baler and Lance and Marco are on the wagon. They'll be back in a bit with another load.  You might as well come in and get some lemonade."

 "Slyvio is driving?"  Keith turned and shaded his eyes to look at the tractor in question.  "He's gotten tall."

 "Yeah, and he's not doing too bad with the driving either.  I think he's only knocked Lance off the wagon twice." She laughed as Keith frowned. "Don't worry, Keith, a little fall from a hay wagon isn't going to stop Lance."

 "Yeah. I guess not."  Keith shrugged and pretended he hadn't been concerned, but Veronica had spotted the quick frown and tension.  The idea of Lance getting hurt still freaked him out, a lot.

 He went inside and was greeted warmly by the family waiting.  

 "It's nice to see you."  Lance's dad smiled.

 "Keith."  Luis nodded.

 "Keith, hold Laura for a moment, would you dear?"  

 And Keith found himself with his arms full of baby, while Lance's mom got him a glass of lemonade.  He smiled down at the sleeping little face, her skin was as dark as her father, but her hair was a little lighter, more like her mom's.  She looked so sweet that he was completely shocked when she opened her eyes and screeched at him.

 "Um…help?"  Keith looked up with slightly panicked eyes and Luis rescued him, by sweeping the baby into his arms and swinging around with her.

 "It's okay Keith.  She's a little cranky and doesn't like to be still."  Luis explained laughter dancing in his eyes.

 "Pick me up, Tio Keith, I won't scream."  Nadia tugged at his sleeve and he smiled as he lifted her up onto his shoulder and she squealed happily.

 "I thought you said you wouldn't scream?" He teased.

 "Happy screams don't count."  She explained.

 About an hour later he heard the tractor pulling into the barnyard.  He and everyone but Lance's mom, Lisa and Laura made their way outside, and Cosmo, the big traitor laid in the living room and refused to go back into the heat.  Lance was sitting on top of a wagonload of hay that was at least twelve feet from the wagon bed up in the air.  Marco had taken over the tractor and Slyvio was sitting on the big wheel-well next to him.

 "Keith!"  Lance waved from his perch.

 Keith waved back.  

 Marco stopped and Lance shimmied down the front of the bales and hopped down from the wagon.  He disappeared for a moment and the popped back up waving at Marco, who pulled the tractor and baler away leaving the wagon behind.

 "Come help me push?"  Lance asked and Keith walked over to the empty wagon.  Lance had picked up the wagon tongue and was using it to steer as he tried to push it and get it moving.

 "Where?"  Keith asked unsure what he was doing.

 "Just step up to the wagon and push till it gets rolling, then help if it slows or anything.  It's just hard to get them started, then it will roll pretty good, just don't go too fast, it's been years since I ran one of these into the barn, but I don't want to repeat."  Lance laughed.  Keith nodded and pushed.  It did take some effort to get it started, but it was easy after that.  Lance parked it next to the barn, letting the tongue down to stop it from moving.

 "Lance, your turn in the hay-mow!"  Veronica yelled.  She was already unhooking the full wagon from a four-wheeler she'd used to pull it up next to the elevator.  Nadia had scampered up to the top of the hay bales like a little monkey and sat there smiling.  Marco had climbed down from the tractor.

 "I gotta go!  I have class tonight!"  He waved to everyone and Lance groaned.

 Luis laughed as he climbed onto the tractor.  "You haven't had a turn yet, take Keith."

 "Sure, take Keith."  Lance grumbled.  "Hey Keith, did you want to get super sweaty and exhausted on your vacation?"

 Keith laughed and possibly blushed, it was hard to tell in the sun, "Tell me what to do and I can help."

 "Well first, do you like that shirt?  Cause it make get a hole or something."  Lance raised an eyebrow and pointed to a couple of holes in his own t-shirt.  "Second, never mind, I'm not letting you do this in short sleeves.  I'll get you a shirt and gloves to wear."  

 "Okay."  Keith shrugged.  "Why long sleeves?  It's hot."  He wondered.

 Lance chuckled darkly, "You think this is hot, just wait until we get up in the hay-mow, it's downright cozy.  The long sleeves are so your arms don't get too scratched up."  He pulled his sleeves up to reveal several red marks on his wrists and a few up his arm.  "They aren't armor, but they help."

 Lance returned shortly with a long-sleeved red shirt and a pair of soft leather gloves.

 "I have gloves."  Keith objected.

 "And if you want to have pieces of hay shoved under your nails until they bleed, please feel free to wear them."  Lance snarked.

 "Fine."  Keith muttered changing gloves and following Lance up the wooden stairs of the old barn. The metal roof let some light in around the edges and old light fixtures dimly lit the interior.  

 Lance flipped a switch and a rattling sound came from above them as a conveyer began spinning.  Lance climbed up a stack of bales against a wall and stuck his head out the window where the elevator came in.  He waved and then climbed back down.  

 "Okay, they're starting.  We just need to stack the bales here.  They'll drop down off the conveyor here, see where it kicks them off?"  Keith nodded there was some sort of metal thing up where Lance pointed.  "Make sure it doesn't fall on your head."  Lance smirked and then watched as the first bale dropped from the elevator onto the conveyor and then plopped with a heavy thunk onto the floor.  He grabbed it and lifted it by the strings and carried it over to the stack, slotting it neatly into place.  

 Keith watched as the next one fell.  He quickly moved to pick it up and was a little shocked by the weight.  It was well over a hundred pounds.  Still he could lift that without issue.  He moved over to the stack and place the bale.

 "Oops, sorry, need to change direction on each layer or it will just fall over." Lance corrected.  

 Keith adjusted his bale as Lance brought another over and he heard his next bale fall. He hurried over to grab it and just was out of the way as the next one fell.  He huffed as Lance laughed and managed to get this one in the right place.

 Some hundred or so bales later, Keith was panting.  It was like a furnace up there, the heat collected under the metal roof and it had to have been over a hundred and ten degrees.  His hair was soaked, sweat dripped in his eyes, his shirt was soaked, even his pants were soaked with sweat.  On top of that the dust from the dried grass stuck to him everywhere. He felt like he was coated in it. It was in a word gross.

 "This is cozy?"  Keith huffed.

 Lance grinned at him.  His face darkened from the dirt and just as sweat soaked and filthy as Keith.  He climbed down and grabbed a water jug, pushing it at Keith.

 "Drink. I'll see where we are at with the next load."  Lance laughed at Keith's groan as he made his way down the steps.

 Keith swigged the water.  He was sure it wasn't completely clean, the jug had been sitting up here after all, but the ice-cold water tasted divine in his dry throat and he drank almost all of it. Only stopping when a guilty thought that Lance might want some too passed through his brain.

 "Okay, good news and bad."  Lance shouted as he pounded up the stairs.  

 "Good first."  Keith requested.

 "Only one more load."  Lance gave him the finger guns.

 "Bad news." Keith sighed.

 "It's already here."  Lance took a quick swig from the jug as the first bale appeared and Keith groaned.

 The second load went faster, and Keith was glad to see he seemed to be getting the hang of it.  When Lance turned off the conveyor, Keith was shocked by the stillness.

 "Mom says be sure to get cleaned up before dinner!"  Veronica yelled.  "It'll probably be awhile for the shower!"  She laughed.  "There are like six people in front of you in line."

 Lance sighed and sat back on a bale, drinking some of the water.

 "Isn't that gone?"  Keith frowned, worried he'd drank too much earlier.

 "Nah, more of it melted."  Lance passed him the jug as he peeled off his shirt.  

 Keith found himself missing his mouth as Lance's defined abs appeared in front of his face, glistening with sweat.

 "In your mouth is better,” Lance chuckled.

 "Yeah, guess I'm tired."  Keith managed to get the next mouthful down as Lance used his shirt to wipe his face.

 "You okay?"  Lance questioned.

 "Sure. Fine."  Keith managed to squeak.

 Lance sat next to him so that his bare shoulder touched Keith.  He turned and smiled slowly.  The Altean marks on his face were nearly glowing in the dim barn.

 "Thanks for helping."  Lance smiled as his eyes met Keith's.

 "No problem."  Keith found he couldn't look away.  "You okay?"

 "Sure."  Lance answered easily.

 "You okay if I kiss you?"  Keith asked breathlessly.

 "I'm like gross and sweaty,” Lance frowned.

 "Sweaty yes, gross no."  Keith murmured a hand reaching to brush Lance's sweaty bangs from his face.

 "Oh."  Lance's face got even redder than it had been from the heat.

 "So, okay?" Keith asked again.

 "Um, yeah, okay."  Lance blinked as Keith pressed their lips together, his hand gently cupping Lance's chin.

 Keith leaned into the kiss, his other arm reaching around Lance and pulling him closer. Their bodies were sticky with sweat and heat and the contact almost burned.  Lance leaned into Keith and they overbalanced falling backwards onto the hay bale.  Keith rolled slightly propped up on an elbow and pressed Lance into the hay deepening the kiss.  Eventually Keith had to stop to breath.

 "So cozy?"  Keith smiled.

  "Yeah, cozy."  Lance reached up and pulled Keith back down into another kiss.