#why you gotta bring up old stuff? [about barter]

[toughestfightcr]

TASK 004 : PLAYLIST ( S )

20 Percent Cooler - Ken Ashcorp

Top percentile, largest fraction Massive attraction, girl-on-girl action Stop that, I'm gonna need a redaction Drop that, you already got your reaction Me? I'm gonna keep on smiling You? You're gonna need restyling I got the quote back From the jeweler You're getting 20 percent cooler

Lights Out - Mindless Self Indulgence (Butch)

Punch your lights out Hit the pavement That's what I call entertainment Causin' problems makes you famous All the violence makes a statement

Destiny - Dan Bull (Utonium Siblings)

Now this is the law of the jungle As old and as true as the sky The wolf that shall keep it may prosper But the wolf that shall break it must die As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk The law runneth forward and back For the strength of the pack is the wolf And the strength of the wolf is the pack

Country Song - Seether

You think you have the best of intentions I cannot shake the taste of blood in my mouth I keep on thinking that it's All done and all over now You keep on thinking you can save me, save me My ship is sinking but it's all good and I can go down You've got me thinking that the party's all over

Get Up - All Good Things (Utonium Siblings)

You're not alone We're not afraid This is our moment It won't come again So lean on me And find your feet We will not accept defeat

@bubblybonnabell @blcsscmcd @littlewccd @dinahjuniper

Teeth - Lady Gaga

Got my addictions (my addictions) And I love to fix 'em (and I love to fix 'em) No one's perfect Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat) (Take a bite of me boy) show me your teeth I just need a little guidance

Strut - Adam Lambert (Cora, Dinah)

You've got something to say, Your hands are tied Open your mouth, open it wide Let the freedom begin Get on the floor, just let it drop Don't it feel good, don't it feel hot Feel the fire within

Glad You Came - The Wanted (Cora, Dinah)

Turn the lights out now Now I'll take you by the hand Hand you another drink Drink it if you can Can you spend a little time, Time is slipping away away from us so stay, Stay with me I can make, Make you glad you came

Shut Me Up - Mindless Self Indulgence (Butch)

I can't wait for you to fuck me up In a minute - minute In a fuckin' minute I can't wait for you to fuck me up

In a minute - minute In a second

I can't wait for you to shut me up And make me hip like badass I can't wait for you to shut me up Shut it up

Why Don’t You Get A Job? - The Offspring (Ace)

I won't pay, I won't pay ya, no way Why don't you get a job? Say no way, say no way, no way Why don't you get a job?

I guess all his money, well it isn't enough To keep her bill collectors at bay I guess all his money, well it isn't enough 'Cause that girl's got expensive taste

Danger Zone - Kenny Loggins

You'll never say hello to you Until you get it on the red line overload You'll never know what you can do Until you get it up as high as you can go

Out along the edges Always where I burn to be The further on the edge The hotter the intensity

Bad Influence - Pink

Alright sir Sure I'll have another one it's early Three olives, shake it up, I like it dirty Tequila for my friend it makes her flirty Trust me I'm the instigator of underwear Showing up here and there uh oh I'm always on a mission from the get go So what if it's only 1 o'clock in the afternoon? It's never too soon to send out all the invitations to the last night (of your life)

I’m Only Joking - KONGOS

I'm only joking I don't believe a thing I've said What are you smoking? I'm just’a fuckin’ with your head Only a crazy little thing I read

Given Up - Linkin Park

I've given up I'm sick of feeling Is there nothing you can say? Take this all away I'm suffocating Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me?

I’m A Dragon - Apashe

See, I'm never gonna suffer, put 'em on a sound wave All over the earth we can make the ground shake Ever since birth, it was run to the ground Just wanted to rap and make the crowd say We got information, information We're the realest out here, no imitation Been all around the world, no immigration And we getting in without an invitation

Original Prankster - The Offspring

You can do it! Until the break of dawn Life, Life, Cannot go by the letter Time, Time, Prozac can make it better Noise, Noise, any kind will do Can you feel it slip away, well it's all on you

Gives You Hell - All-American Rejects (Ace)

Now where's your picket fence love? And where's that shiny car? And did it ever get you far? You never seemed so tense love I've never seen you fall so hard Do you know where you are? And truth be told I miss you And truth be told I'm lying

Cuz I Can - Pink

So I'll cash my cheques and place my bets And hope I'll always win Even if I don't I'm fucked because I live a life of sin But it's alright I don't give a damn I don't play your rules I make my own Tonight I'll do what I want Cuz I can

You’re Going Down - Sick Puppies (The Rowdys)

Let's take a trip down memory lane (Do you remember me?) The words circling in my brain (And what you did to me) You can treat this like another all the same But don't cry like a bitch when you feel the pain

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

An' I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation Never said I wanted to improve my station An' I'm only doin' good when I'm havin' fun An' I don't have to please no one An' I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation Oh no, not me, oh no, not me

Break Stuff - Limp Bizkit

It's just one of those days When you don't wanna wake up Everything is fucked Everybody sucks You don't really know why But you wanna justify Rippin' someone's head off No human contact And if you interact Your life is on contract Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker It's just one of those days!

Just A Girl - No Doubt

Take this pink ribbon off my eyes I'm exposed and it's no big surprise Don't you think I know exactly where I stand? This world is forcing me to hold your hand 'Cause I'm just a girl, a little 'ol me Well don't let me out of your sight Oh I'm just a girl, all pretty and petite So don't let me have any rights

Stuff Is Messed Up - The Offspring

Now I don’t know, and it’s hard to explain But it seems like things are just kind of insane Because the world is crying But nobody’s listening So please leave a message on my cell phone

She Hates Me - Puddle Of Mudd (Ace)

She was queen for about an hour after that shit got sour she took all I ever had no sign of guilt no feeling of bad, no

Roundtable Rival - Lindsey Stirling (Utonium Siblings, The Rowdys)

[unrestedjade]

Baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for and that get increasingly queer-navel-gazing and self indulgent because the horrible space goblins have consumed my brain:

- Mobile ears, because if hearing is so well developed and important to them they should be able to aim those big stupid radar dishes. Also because then they can emote with them and that's cute. THE AESTHETIC IS PARAMOUNT.

- Since they canonically sharpen their teeth with chew sticks and sharpeners, their teeth must grow continuously. So I submit: subcultures that let certain teeth grow out as a fashion/political statement. Ferengi punks and anarchists with 5" tusks. Ferengi with all their teeth filed flat (mom and dad HATE it).

- Corollary to the above, most of their teeth are crooked. At the least, they don't share our fetish for straight teeth. What if their teeth are deciduous, and there's no point in trying to force them into perfect alignment, since they'll just fall out and get replaced? So like, sharks but their teeth can also grow longer with no limit. WHAT HAST EVOLUTION WROUGHT ON FERENGINAR :V

- Parents nagging their kids to sharpen their teeth "or they'll grow up into your brain and you'll die :)"

- Personal space? Don't know her.

Okay I need a cut because there's too many now. WHOLE SOCIETY OF GAY HOMOPHOBIC UNCLES AND AUNTS GO I HAVE A PROBLEM

- I can't remember who on here put forth the idea of them having retractable claws but Yes. :3

- Pushing back against the worst canon episode a bit but: relative ear size being the only obvious sexually dimorphic trait, and even that having enough of a gray area that the only way to be 100% sure you're talking to a male or female Ferengi is if you do a blood test. Unless they're intersex! *shrug emoji*

- This is why they're so fanatical about gender conformity and their Victorian "separate spheres" attitude to men and women's roles. Capitalist patriarchy is fragile! And as artificial to Ferengi as it ever was to Humans! (self-indulgenceeeee about gender shiiiiit)

- You know how with domesticated rabbits, the rabbit getting groomed and paid attention to is the boss? Yeah. Go ahead and paint your bestie's nails, just don't be surprised if she cops a little bit of an attitude with you from then on.

- Their fight/flight/freeze/fawn instincts skew heavily toward the last three, and what a lot of other species read as annoying sucking up is the Ferengi in question feeling anxious and unsafe. Especially if they don't feel integrated into the group. Even being at the bottom of the pecking order is better than not being in the flock at all.

- If they DO opt for fight, it's ugly and typically their last resort. Bites or scratches will get infected without intervention-- microbes that their immune system can handle could cause big trouble for aliens. You might wanna check for full or partial teeth that break off and get lodged in the wound, too.

- Too many of these are tooth related but I don't care. :B More teeth stuff: you know what else has teeth that grow constantly? Puffer fish. Likewise, Ferengi can chew up mollusk shells as easy as potato chips, and they need the minerals for their teeth. (Imagine grandpa Sisko offering Nog a crayfish for the first time and watching as he just...pops the whole damn thing in his mouth and crunches away...)

- Their staple foods seem to be grubs and other arthropods, high in protein and fat. I've unilaterally decided their cuisine also involves a lot of edible fungi, ferns, plant shoots and seeds. Gotta get those vitamins. Overall flavor profile leaning toward umami, vegetal, and fresh herbs, and pretty mild (or "delicate" if you wanna be snooty about it, which a Ferengi probably would let's be real).

- Not much sugary food. I'm basing this solely on Quark's aversion to root beer as "cloying". Which could definitely just be his personal preference, but most of the people I hear hating on root beer cite the actual sassafras/sarsaparilla flavor (saying it tastes like medicine) not the sweetness. Nog might be the weirdo outlier for being able to enjoy it.

- Their home planet isn't bright and sunny, so their eyes are better at discerning shades of gray in low light conditions, with relatively weak color vision. Which could explain why they dress Like That.

- Conversely, human music has a reputation for stinking on ice because a lot of it is juuuuust lightly dissonant or out of tune because we can't pick up flaws that small. Ferengi can, and it drives them up the *wall*.

- Music? So many different kinds. Traditionally, maybe lots of percussion and winds, and water as a common component of many instruments to alter pitch or tone. Polyphony out the ass. Some of the modern stuff is an impenetrable wall of sound if you're not a species with a lot of brain real estate devoted to processing sounds. Pick out one melody to follow at a time.

- Yes, back to teeth again I'm sorry. It's a sickness. At some point in their history, pre-chewing food was just something you did for your baby or great grandma as a matter of necessity. Possibly your baby gets an important boost to their immune system and gut biome from your spit. At some point takes on a more formal intimacy aspect and gradually drifted from something all adults and older kids do to something only women do. Your husband and older kids have perfectly functional teeth, but you love them, right? =_= (Think old memes about husbands being useless in the kitchen if little wifey isn't there to cook, but even more ridiculous. Ishka was right about everything but especially this. Thank you for making your family chew their own food, Ishka. Not all heroes wear capes. Or anything!)

- How did they get started on the whole men: clothed vs women: unclothed nonsense? My equally stupid idea: men just get cold easier. Those huge ears dissipate a ton of body heat. Cue Ferengi cliches like "jeez, we could be standing on the surface of the sun and my husband would put on another layer." At some point, again, this got codified and pushed to ridiculous extremes in the name of controlling women and keeping everyone in their assigned box, to the point that women just have to shiver if they really are too cold and men have to pass out from heat stroke if the alternative is going shirtless, because That Would Be Inappropriate.

- Marriages default to five years, but they're also the only avenue for women to have their own household or any stability. Plus their religion places no emphasis on purity save for pure adherence to the free market and the RoA. So, curveball to the rest of their patriarchal bullshit: female virginity isn't a concern in the least. Bring it up and they'll rightly side-eye you.

- Family law is absolutely bonkers and lawyers that specialize in it make BANK. I feel like custody would default to the father usually but oh wait, the maternal grandfather has a legal stake in this, too, and your next father-in-law is asking HOW many kids are you dragging into my daughter's house, etc etc. Growing up with a full sibling is way rarer than growing up with half or stepsiblings, since it usually takes both men and women two or three tries to find someone they vibe with. (Not love, unless you're super cringe.)

- A misogynistic society is a homophobic society. Imo those flavors of shittiness just come in pairs. Homosexual behaviors are fine within certain parameters (aka "always have sex with the boss") but not on your own terms. To add spice, bisexuality is their most common mode (because I'm bi and these are my hcs for my fics I'm not writing, so there), but capitalism demands fresh grist for the mill so you better get het-married and pop out some kids you lowly peons. You have a choice so make the proper one. :)

- Corollary to the above, that doesn't keep all kinds of illicit "we're just friends with quid-pro-quo benefits for realsies" affairs of every stripe and every gender from going on everywhere. Many Ferengi have a lightbulb moment somewhere in early adulthood when they figure out their dad's business partner or the "auntie" who visited their mom every month had a little more going on.

- Plus there's way more gender non-conformity and varying degrees of trans-ing than the powers that be have a handle on. Pel isn't unique, even if most would have to somehow make it out into space to be able to thrive.

Damn a lot of these are just my personal bugbears plus THE GILDED AGE BUT WITH HAIRLESS SPACE RODENTS ain't they

- Women can't earn profit, okay. But lending or "lending" things to each other isn't commerce, riiiiiiight? To be assigned female is to master navigating a vast, dizzying barter/gift economy. Smart boys and men leverage this, too, and there are splinter sects that view this as the purest expression of the Great Material Continuum.

- Of course plenty of women make profit anyway, and just do their bast to dodge the FCA. The tough thing about insisting on using latinum as currency is that cash can be so hard to track, you know?

- Because of the RoA, guys are discouraged from doing favors or giving gifts without setting clear expectation of getting some return on investment. This can twist into an expression of friendship (and of course women do it too), and the ledger will keep cycling between debit and credit among friends for decades. A common mistake aliens make is to tell them recompense isn't needed without explaining why, or return their favor or present with something that zeroes out the debt. The Ferengi will assume you want to break off the friendship. (I cribbed this from dim memories of an African studies course I took in 2007 and whose textbook I know I still have but I can't frigging find it...)

- Flirting, they do a lot of it for a lot of reasons. Roddenberry made it clear that they're just straight up pretty horny, but there's no reason it can't pull double duty for building alliances with other people, smoothing over feuds or disagreements, or cementing friendships. Ferengi who are ace and/or sex-repulsed are possibly viewed similar to the way we'd view someone who's "not a hugger/not big on touching" and if they flirt just don't get offended if it doesn't go any further; aro Ferengi don't garner much comment aside from an occasional "wow how badass, never falling in love with anyone."

- where to even start on making sense of the Blessed Exchequer??? Like seriously, what is this literal prosperity gospel insanity, I need to force myself to re-read Rand and like, some Milton Friedman for this shit. Help.

- fuck I'm probably going to actually do that, RIP me...

[foreficfandom]

The Arcana - Cooking For MC (Headcanons)

-- Asra -- 

Life as a street orphan makes cooks of us all. If he wasn’t a child desperately stealing fruit, he was a teenage magician earning coppers to buy scraps from the butcher and bartering for old, bruised squash. He quickly had to learn how to stretch his meager rations as far as he could, and cooking was the way to do it.

He’s come a long way from the one single pot he and Muriel would squat over while hiding away in the docks. Now, he and you happily enjoy a consistent diet of fresh groceries, sometimes he cooks and sometimes you do. 

All his cookery he learned in Vesuvia - pasta, lentils, chickpeas, tomatoes, cumin, basil, ocean seafood. The both of you don’t quite earn enough to splurge on the good cuts of beef, but you never have to worry about going hungry. 

And you don’t have to worry about bland, burnt food, either. Asra can reliably hold his own in the kitchen. He doesn’t exactly follow recipes, just tosses together stuff according to what feels right in his heart. A holdover from the days where he had to improvise all his food. 

There’s more holdovers; he hates tossing away uneaten food, or groceries that have gone bad. He’ll keep the chicken bones to make into a broth for tomorrow. He never peel potatoes or fruit ‘cause the skins contain valuable nutrients. He cringes at people who throw away the heads of fish. The leftover fat in the pan is made into gravy, or pastry frosting, or soap. Occasionally, he and you give away your leftovers to the urchins that hang around the neighborhood. 

When it’s his turn to cook, expect traditional Vesuvian cuisine like flatbreads, hummus, and vegetable soup. Herbs used in the shop are sometimes thrown into the dish, like thyme or myrtle leaves. Asra’s cooking regularly gets to grace your stomach, and it’s very lovely and nice uwu

-- Julian -- 

Everybody who knows Julian holds vehemently that he can’t cook worth a damn. He’s not gonna poison you, but it’s true that he can’t do more than toss various things into a pot and pray that it comes out edible. 

So when he’s forced to cook, everything ends up tasting like the same sort of bland, unspiced mush. And it’s almost always boiled, never roasted or fried. He just seems incapable of not burning anything, so he avoids pancooking ingredients if he can avoid it. And even his soups tend to have burnt residue at the bottom.

Not only that, but traditional Nevevion cuisine ... can be an acquired taste in itself. Like pickled herring covered with beet mayonnaise, cold aspic on toast, and really, really salty fish roe. He grew up eating actually good food cooked by his adopted family, but it’s unfortunately easy to turn a cabbage and potato recipe into nasty gross mush, especially under Julian’s hands. 

He knows he’s shit at cooking, but sometimes it can’t be avoided. Ready-made takeout isn’t always available in their world, so if someone needs to eat, they usually gotta cook. Cue boiled chicken and carrots a-la Julian. At least he added some salt, this time. He blames his Nevevion heritage for lacking an affinity for spices.

With shitty cooking skills come an ability to eat anything. Julian doesn’t turn down a dish if he’s hungry, even if it’s some bullshit. Except for spicy stuff - it’s like the only pain he doesn’t get off on. Just a little jalapeno in his rice will turn his entire face red and give him hiccups.

So say you don’t have time to cook dinner for the both of them tonight, he’d much rather the two of you go eat at an inn than force your divine tongue to be sullied by his dreadful meals. However, he can be taught to cook if you two can find the time, and will eventually get the hang of it. You and Julian in the kitchen, warm and cozy, teaching him how to make a good macaroni? Now that’s an afternoon date in the making.

-- Nadia -- 

Growing up royal meant Nadia never had to cook for herself. To some, it’d be very improper for someone of Nadia’s standing to ever cook, especially in the same kitchen as the servants. But in-between her piano lessons and fencing training and literacy/history/mathematic/public speaking tutoring, she also devoted some personal time in reading up on skills she wouldn’t have been taught - like gardening, jewelry craft, and also cooking and baking.

She had this stint of candy-making when she was a teen, after seeing sugarspun candies in the market that were shaped into different, multi-colored animals and flowers. She would sneak into the kitchen and, with the help of particular cook friend, make candied nuts, meringues, taffies, marzipan. And with the skills she learned making candies, she also learned how to bake and cook various things.

Rarely did she ever get to exercise her cooking skills beyond a mere pastime. She had no one to cook for, nor enough spare time. So very few people knew she bakes a mean butter cashew cake.

One day, she just kinda absentmindedly mentions that she knows how to cook a few things, so you insist she show you, which kinda takes her off-guard and she’s a little nervous, because it’s been a long time since she busted out the ol’ apron, and what if you don’t like what she makes??

She goes to the kitchens and almost bails out, even briefly entertains the thought of passing off the chef’s cooking for her own, but chases that thought from her mind. The palace servants gets to witness the Countess roll up her sleeves with a determined grunt and go ham on some pistachios. 

You wait patiently in the solar (as she instructed), and Nadia brings up a beautiful tray of brightly colored nut-flour sweets with tea. Nadia herself is a little worse for wear, with a dusty face and tangled hair. But she’s thrilled to see you enjoy her cakes. They taste wonderful, doubly so because of the love she put into them.        

-- Muriel -- 

He almost always cooks for himself, ever since his street urchin childhood, and his skills have only improved while living in the woods. He’s no longer scraping mussels off of dock beams to boil in a thin cauldron, he’s hunting 8-feet-tall elk and using every inch of the animal, from boiling the hooves for aspic, to making sausages out of the intestines (the antlers are powdered for their magical properties).

It’s rarer that he ever wants for something he can’t produce himself. He boils his own sea salt, curdles his own cheese, presses his own oil. The problem is that he doesn’t make an effort to make delicious-tasting food. Unlike Julian, who cooks like shit but still enjoys the finer things in life, Muriel has access to super fresh and good-quality ingredients but is ruled by his practicality.

Living in the woods is tough. If the harvest was bad and all Muriel has is last autumn’s rice harvest, then its porridge for the next month. There’s nothing for it; hunting is unreliable even in an expert’s hands, fishing only a tad less so, and a simple wet season or early frost can ruin a garden quicker than a plague. 

Muriel may have said he didn’t need your help around the hut, but your help truly did make a difference when it came to food security. An extra set of hands made for less time and lighter work. Your influence also shined through his cooking; now, he actually does care if something tastes good, because you were eating it with him. Muriel could survive just fine on perpetual pottages, but you deserved better.

Hence, roasts that are actually seasoned, bread with jam and butter, and salt not just for preserving purposes. 

Cooking stopped becoming just a means, but a creative outlet for Muriel. He wanted to treat you, and in turn it became something special for himself, too. 

-- Portia --

The Devorak siblings have one collective braincell, and Portia’s got dibs on it. So she’s got the cooking skills that seemed to have eluded Julian, and she’s very good; the best out of the six. 

As a hand-maiden, cooking isn’t part of her duties, but to even get hired she had to prove she could hold her own in the kitchen on par with royal cuisine. It’s beyond simply being able to replicate a recipe, she knows how to carve game into the right cuts, memorize the seasonal harvests, estimate temperatures by touch, and other complicated kitchen sciences. 

Portia spent her life traveling on ships, so she’s witness many a worldly cuisine and it’s influenced her skills. Nothing impresses a table more than introducing some ‘exotic�� spice and using it right. Her own personal favorites are from all corners of the land. Her dinner spread can consist of Hjalle shrimp pancakes, Galbradian green bean broth, Prakran flatbread, and lamb roasted in an underground oven like they do in Firent.  

Once she has the opportunity to cook (or bake) for you, be prepared for a storm. You’re never gonna have to want for good cuisine again, not if Portia has anything to say about it. Even the little things she makes, like her strawberry jam or workhouse-style bread, taste great. You ask her why she doesn’t pursue a career in cuisine, and she replies that cooking is an outlet for her, not a job. Plus, she’s far from a ‘truly skilled cook’, according to her. That honor’d go to Mazelinka. 

A lot of her budget she’ll happily relinquish to cooking, such as imported spices or the expensive cuts of game. She knows that the smallest difference in quality - such as in the salt, or vinegar, used - can make or break a dish. Her kitchen is always fully stocked with groceries and ingredients. One of her big splurges was investing in an icebox, and before she had you, a magician, in the picture, she was indeed buying ice to keep her meats fresh.

Whether its a wrapped lunch or weekend roast dinner, Portia will always want to spoil you in the best way she knows how; through your stomach. Your waistline might be less happy, but like heck Portia’d take pudge as a negative.

-- Lucio --

He’s been Count for over two decades, but before that he was a rough-and-tumble mercenary. And before that, he grew up in the infamous Scourge Lands, where etching out a living was always a matter that teetered on the brink of a knife.

He had to learn how to live tough. The Scourge Lands are no lush forest like Muriel’s backyard, it’s a flat tundra with limited vegetation and even lesser animals that aren’t more likely to kill you before you kill them. The entire clan’s been living off of bitter turnips for weeks, but finally a family of boars are scouted. Now you just have to take down a bear-sized boar while circling around five others who all want to gore you. 

Even cooking can be a struggle. Life as a mercenary meant trying to strike fires on cold, damp wood in a freezing drizzle, and keeping it lit long enough to roast the skinny fish you managed to spear. It meant knowing which plants were edible and which caused three nights of stomach pains, and also being willing to resort to digging up grubs when you’re really on the brink of starvation.

So does he know how to cook? Yeah, he can roast meat over a fire and know when its safe from pathogens, but other than that he’s lost. He was so happy to finally have cooks and servants to serve him entire banquets. Never did he learn (nor want to learn) how to bake bread, or fry potatoes, nevermind suckling pig or creme brulee. 

If come a time where you and Lucio are away from the precious palace kitchens, he’ll rely on his wallet to buy the two of you a nice meal. If the two of you are lost in the wilderness, don’t worry, Lucio to the rescue and you can trust him to forage something, and grill it on a hot rock. No salt, though. Not even water to wash it down, if you’re really unlucky.

Still, it’s kinda a surprise to eat Lucio’s emergency field cooking, because it’s not awful. The best anyone can do in the circumstance, even. Make sure to tell him that, he’s always fishing for compliments. 

[skullrock]

the partners, chapter two - Steve x Reader

chapter two: there is a light that never goes out

series summary: you and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. you get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins. [friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff] 

chapter summary: You and Steve grow closer; you and Steve are called in to investigate a death

warnings: swearing, panic attacks, mention of death

word count: 3.3k

a/n: things are heating up boys!! next chapter will really kick off the cop stuff. if you haven’t seen it, here’s the Spotify playlist that goes with the series, and you can catch up here. enjoy!

---------

The rest of the week rolls by without many incidents. By the time Friday comes, you’re beaming with excitement.

“We’re still on, right?” You ask him Friday morning, bouncing on your toes.

“Y/N, for the fifteenth time, yes,” he laughs. “I’m not bailing.”

He kind of wishes he could – he hasn’t been able to sleep. He can’t stop worrying. What if this is a mistake? What if you get hurt? What if this all backfires? He can’t let you know this, though, and he’s been grinning through the week.

“Great, do you know where I live?”

“Three streets away from me, Oak Street, the big white house.”

You tilt your head. “How did you—”

“You’re the only person in town with a Walter Mondale sticker on their bumper,” he replies. “I saw your car in your driveway.”

Steve had moved out of his parent’s house about one week after securing the position at the station. His parents had graciously gotten him an “apartment,” which was in fact a nice house in a good spot in town. They paid his rent as a form of gratitude that he was “getting his life together”. He hated that idea, truly, but was happy to be able to live on his own, only worrying about groceries. He was a lot happier now that he was on his own – specifically that he was not living with his father. He did see his mother though, and pretty often, because she would bring him a lunch every few days.

“Creep,” you say, smiling. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”

“Y/N, we have an eight hour shift ahead of us.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you all day and then tonight.”

---------

Steve pulls up around 6:30, and he’s sweating bullets. He honks once, then waits. He finds himself checking himself out in the rearview mirror, and then quickly jerks his head away. It must be some kind of knee-jerk reaction, Steve thinks, picking up a girl feels like a date.

You come out of your house and lock the door, then bolt down the steps to his car. He can feel the energy radiating off of you.

“Hi,” you say as you slip inside.

“You look nice when you’re not wearing a uniform,” he jokes.

“Funny. I was going to say the same about you.” You buckle up and he sets off for Mike’s house.

“Now that you’re hanging out with my friends, am I going to hang out with yours?” he asks.

You deflate slightly. “Well, that’s the thing,” you say quietly, examining your nails. “I um. I don’t really… have any?”

He looks over at you, forehead creasing at your body language. “You don’t have any friends? That’s gotta be bullshit.”

“I did,” you explain. “But then I went to college and I lost touch with people from high school. And then I came back and I lost touch with people from college. So, I really don’t…” you sigh heavily. “Hang out with people.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. If I knew –“

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault or anything. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” You smile and lightly punch his arm. “Since I managed to crawl into your life.”

“Well, you’ll really like the kids,” he says. “Let me give you the rundown.”

He begins to explain all six of them. Dustin Henderson, his best friend, has a bit of a lisp and some disease that “makes him like Gumbo? Gumby? Whatever.” Mike Wheeler, party leader, bit of a drama queen, loyal friend. Lucas Sinclair, funny one of the bunch, dating Max, the redhead, is emotionally mature despite his comedic exterior. Max Mayfield, redhead extraordinaire, metaphorically adopted sister of Steve, super intelligent and strong. Will Byers, “you already know him,” kind and quiet, has been through a lot, deserves the world. Then there’s El.

“El is… different.”

“How?”

“Well…,” he sighs. “She… comes from a bad home. She was… she comes from a bad home. They did bad things to her.”

“Oh.”

“But she’s really great. I’m trying to teach her how to read before she and Will go back to Maine for school. She’s dating Mike, they get along pretty well. She’s really smart, just behind since she never got to go to school.”

You nod. “They all sound like phenomenal kids.”

“They are,” he replies thoughtfully. “Sometimes they’re a pain in the ass, but they’re my pain in the ass.”

You pull into the same large house on Maple Street that you had a few days before and hop out. You’re feeling a bit antsy – so is Steve.

“Wait,” you say. “Doesn’t Nancy live here?”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but we’re cool. We still talk to each other. And she’s probably out with Jonathan anyway.” He clears his throat, and you reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’m okay,” he laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

The kids remember you from the other day, and your friendship with Steve helps convince them that you’re a good person. You get along together immediately, laughing and joking like you’re all old friends. Steve beams and Dustin nudges him, making Steve shove him.

“We’re watching The Goonies tonight,” Lucas says, producing the VHS.

“What’s a goonie?” El asks.

“It’s like, a silly person,” Steve explains. “Like Mike.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “We can’t start yet, Robin isn’t here.”

You nearly choke on the soda you were drinking. “Robin? Robin Buckley?”

As if on cue, the door to the basement opens and Robin comes down. You jump up and shout her name. She looks at you, confused for a brief moment, then smiles widely and bounds over to you.

“Oh my God!” you both shout as you embrace. You try to ask each other questions, but they all come out at the same time, making you both laugh.

“Are you going to tell us how you both know each other?” Steve asks, brows drawn together, but smiling, nonetheless.

“We were in band together!” Robin exclaims. “I thought you died or something, you never called!”

“I lost your number when I moved to Indianapolis,” you explain, squeezing her hand. “But I’m back now. I’ve been back for a few months. I work with Steve, at the station.”

Robin snaps her head over to him and glares, making him sink in his seat.

“None of us knew,” Max pipes up. “That Steve works with someone, I mean.”

Robin closes her eyes and shakes her head. She looks back at Steve with a we need to talk kind of look, then turns back to you. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

As the night goes on, you grow more and more comfortable with everyone. You sit and talk to Robin while the rest of the gang plays Monopoly. You could mirror the movie to how the kids act – it’s like they are the Goonies. You watch as they all bicker, Max shoving Lucas over stupid jokes, and El grabbing onto Mike, leaning into him. You watch as Will and Dustin barter with each other, and as Steve calls them all out for “cheating,” which is code for “I really suck at this game and need to explain why I’m losing.”

Your eyes focus on Steve while he explains something to El. It makes your chest swell. It feels like the only thing you can focus on his Steve. How bright his eyes are while talking to his friends, how his brows flit together then part as he laughs. And his laugh. It’s the only thing you can hear, and the sound rings in your ears. He looks up at you and smiles, then goes back to looking at the game board. You snap out of your trance.

“Oh, ew.” It’s supposed to be said in your head, but you say it out loud.

“What?” Robin asks. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” you say after a moment. “Yeah, sorry. I just got a little, uh, sidetracked. So, um, are you planning on going to school anywhere?”

Soon enough, it’s one in the morning, and the kids are getting tired. You are, too, and you yawn loudly.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead,” Steve says, holding out his hands to help you off the couch. You take them, swallowing the electricity in your stomach.

“You should come by more often!” Dustin grins.

“Yeah, we need more girls around,” Max says, and you smile back at her.

“You’re welcome in the party anytime,” Mike declares, and the others agree.

You could almost cry at how nice they are. “You guys will never know how… how much…” you sniffle. “How much this night has meant for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, rubbing your back. “Time to go, buddy.”

“You guys are the best!” you say through tears, and Steve shushes you gently, guiding you upstairs.

“Steve!” Dustin shouts, and bounds up behind him. Steve rolls his eyes and tells you to head out to the car.

“You better bring her around again.” Dustin squeezes his arm and Steve rolls his eyes once more.

“We mean it!” Will says. “She’s cool.”

“You guys don’t even like me this much,” Steve huffs, to which Robin replies, “Yes, because you’re a dingus. Y/N is cool.”

“Goodnight!” Steve groans, continuing upstairs.

He unlocks the car and you both get in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes shining, “for taking me out.”

“Of course,” he hums. “Next time it can just be us, without kids and Robin.”

Your stomach flips and you ignore it again. “I’d really like to.”

You both make conversation as you head down the darkened streets. You think the town at night is beautiful and serene. Steve thinks it’s eerie and threatening. He really didn’t like going out at night much anymore, and he typically had to talk himself up if he was leaving somewhere past 9 pm. You notice the change in his energy, how he is suddenly gripping the steering wheel a bit too tight.

You begin to ask him if he’s alright, but a deer scampers across the road. It’s not very close, and maybe required just a slight brake, but Steve throws his arm out to pin you to your seat and slams on the brakes. The car slides to a halt and you slam back against the seat; thankfully Steve threw his arm over you, or you’d probably have a severe case of whiplash.

When the car stills, you look over at him, eyes wide and heart skipping. He looks like he aged 50 years in ten seconds. His eyes are huge, jaw clenched tightly. A crease on his forehead. His body is stiff and he is leaning forward, almost like he’s about to fight. He looks, quite honestly, like death.

“Steve,” you breathe. “Are you okay?”

Steve throws the car into park. He squeezes his eyes shut and blinks a few times, eventually relaxing in his seat. Although his body is relaxed, you can hear how his breathing is a quick staccato, not slow. He runs a hand through his hair once, twice, three times. It sounds like he’s drowning, and his eyes are filled with tears when he looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m sorry – I thought –“

His eyes can’t focus. They run around in his head, back at the road, to you, to the steering wheel, to his hands, to the road again.

You realize he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “Look at me, Steve.”

He faces you, but his eyes are still moving rapidly, and his breathing is becoming quicker. You see him swallow hard.

“You’re safe,” you say, reaching out and taking a hand. “It was just a deer. You’re safe. I’m here.”

He nods stiffly. “No – I know that – I just thought….” I just thought it was a Demogorgon. No big deal. He clamps his eyes shut again and you see tears fall.

“Steve, look at me. Focus on me, okay?”

He nods lightly and does, and you see his pupils focus in on you.

“Breathe with me, alright? In and out.” You exaggerate your breathing, deeply in through the nose and out through the mouth. He tries to keep up and pace himself, but it takes a few tries.

“You’re doing great,” you say quietly, and squeeze his hand. “Can you pull the car over for me?”

He does as you ask, eyes scanning the road ahead. His bat is in the trunk (he figured he should hide it before you see it), and he considers getting out to grab it. You pull him back to reality.

“Look at me.” His eyes meet yours again. “I’m going to teach you something, okay? It’s based on your senses. Can you tell me five things you hear?”

He blinks. “I hear the engine… I hear your breathing… I hear the radio… I hear my breathing… I hear my heart beating.”

You nod. “Okay, good. Four things you can see?”

“Uh….” His eyes flick back to the road and you gently pull his head back to look at you.

“I’ll focus on the road, okay? Just tell me four things you see in the car.”

“I see you… I see my hands… I see the steering wheel… I see the light from the stereo.”

“Three things you smell?”

“My cologne, your perfume, gasoline.”

“Two things you can feel?”

“Your skin and the seat under me.”

You smile. “This one’s tough. One thing you can taste.”

Steve pauses. “Coca-Cola?”

“Perfect,” you say, squeezing his hand again. “Do you feel better?”

He does; he’s not fully grounded, but he’s feeling better than he did a few minutes ago. He can breathe normally again, and his body is a bit more relaxed. He nods and you let his hand go.

“You’re okay,” you repeat. “You’re safe.”

“I’m okay,” he breathes. He reaches up and wipes his eyes, laughing slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.” You don’t really know what just happened, but you know whatever he’s going through must be tough. “Your feelings are valid. It’s okay to feel that way, Steve.”

Steve sighs heavily, and after a few minutes, he puts the car in drive.

“Don’t take me home,” you request. “I can walk.”

“What? No way. I’m taking you to your house.”

“Steve,” you say. “Sometimes you need to take care of yourself before you take care of others. I can walk, dude, it’s only 15 minutes, max.”

He wants to refute your claim. He wants to believe he’s strong enough to just take you home and forget about it all, but all he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep until the afternoon. He just wants to forget. So he pulls into his driveway and shuts the car off. He sits there for a few moments before finally saying, “I’m sorry I ruined tonight.”

“Steve.” You can’t help but to laugh. “I haven’t been this happy in so long. I don’t care – I don’t mind that you got… spooked. And we don’t ever have to talk about it again. I don’t care what happens as long as I’m with you.”

The corners of his mouth perk up. “Oh no, Y/N. Don’t fall in love with me.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him, smiling. That’s the Steve you knew.

You reach into the center console, finding an old receipt and a pen.

“Here,” you say, scribbling. “Here’s my number.” You shove the receipt towards him, and he takes it.

Steve writes his number on the bottom of the receipt and rips it off. “And here’s mine. You better call me when you get home. Like, the minute you go through the door.”

“I promise.”

You both get out of the car.

“I really did have fun,” you say. “I hope I see you soon.”

He nods. Part of you wishes he would say it back, but you understand. As you’re walking off, he calls after you.

“Y/N!”

“Yeah?”

He licks his lips. “Thank you.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and salute, continuing off into the night.

---------

You awake Monday morning at 1 am to your phone ringing. You quickly sit up in bed and grab it.

“Hello?”

“Y/N.” It’s Steve. “I need your help.”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you look at your clock. “Are you okay?”

“I….” He huffs. “I’m trying to make danishes for everyone at the station? But everything I do is wrong, and there’s flour everywhere—”

“It’s one in the god damn morning!” You exclaim. “We have work in seven hours.”

“Yeah,” he says, like you’re the idiot. “Why do you think I’m making them now?”

You close your eyes. You want to be annoyed, but it’s honestly hilarious. “Okay, Steve. I’ll be there in a few.”

You arrive and knock on the door, and you’re greeted by Steve. He is covered in flour, and he looks nearly as stressed as he was Friday night.

You gawk at him. “What—”

“Just – come in,” he insists, grabbing you and pulling you inside.

Steve has a really nice house. Or apartment, or whatever he wants to call it. He takes you through the living room, then dining room, and into the kitchen, where there is even more flour. It looks like a bomb went off.

“So,” he starts, pacing around the kitchen, creating tracks in the flour-covered floor. “I’m trying to make these, right? And it says to put flour and butter into a blender. And so I did. And like, it’s fine, it’s going great, but then I guess I added too much flour, and now it’s everywhere. And this fucking dough is supposed to chill for 6 hours and we have work in 7.”

“Where is your recipe?”

He hands you a sheet of paper and you scan over it.

“Steve,” you groan. “Are you even following this?” You look up at him. “How did you even manage to mix the yeast and water correctly?”

He leans on the counter and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t think I did.”

You burst into laughter. You can hardly keep yourself upright. Your ribs and jaw hurt, but you can’t stop. Steve seems annoyed at first, but then starts laughing with you.

“No matter what, you couldn’t have these done in the morning,” you say, wiping your eyes. “Why did you think this was a good idea?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just wanted to be nice, and I couldn’t sleep.”

You both resolve to cleaning up and starting again. You would make the dough and let it chill, and then continue making them that night.

You watch from afar, giving Steve tips and reading the directions out for him. He’s not super helpless when someone is directing him. When it comes time to fold the dough, though, he’s doing it wrong.

“No,” you say, jumping up and coming behind him. “You fold like this.”

You take his hand and help him get the technique right. After a few moments, your cheeks start to burn, and you feel that same chest-swelling feeling that you had at Mike’s house. You slow your movements and Steve follows, until you completely stop. He turns back to look at you, and you notice how close you are to him.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Steve drops the spatula he was using and hurries off into the living room, looking paler than usual.

“Hello?” you hear him ask. There’s a long pause before he says, “Do you want Y/N to come too?” Another pause. “Okay. We’ll be right there.”

He comes back into view and looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Who was it?” you ask, heart beating fast.

“It was the Chief. There’s a dead body at Rimborn Steelworks.”

--------

tags (message if you want to join!): @harrington-ofhawkins​ @wolfish-willow​ @gothackedalready​

[imagineredwood]

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3    Part 4

Pairing: EZ Reyes x Camila (OC)

Warnings: None

Word count: 3.2k

 “So, two cafés con leche to go?”

Camila nodded as the barista read her back her order and pulled her card out from her purse.

“Will that be all?”

“Can I get some extra sugar packets?”

The girl reached over and dropped 4 packets into her hand along with her receipt.

“It will be about 5 minutes.”

“No problem. I’ll go talk to Mr. Salvatore while I wait.”

The barista smiled and nodded as Camila walked away, heading over towards the bookstore part of the shop and to Mr. Salvatore who sat at the front desk as usual. He looked up from his calendar when he heard her approaching, his warm smile showing up as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Still here, sweetheart? It’s already break time.”

She smiled as she looked at the old man, leaning down to rest her elbows on the desk.

“I’m just ordering some coffee to take with me. I’m gonna meet someone for lunch.”

“Ezekiel.”

Mr. Salvatore gave a knowing smile as she laughed and shook her head.

“Not today. His dad. I bought him a coffee.”

“You and Ezekiel though. Any more dates?”

Camila shook her head and followed it with a shrug.

“Not any set up so far. We did talk about dinner though so maybe soon.”

Her boss smiled as he listened to her talk, the lightness in her voice as she tried to conceal a smile. He remembered when he was her age and dating, getting to know new people and exploring adult life.

“So, no wedding yet.”

Camila threw her head back with a hearty laugh, Mr. Salvatore joining in eventually. They both laughed for a moment before Mr. Salvatore began to cough violently, doubling over and trying desperately to catch his breath. Camila’s laughing ceased immediately and she quickly walked around the front desk to place a hand on his back, leaning down to look at him.

“Mr. Salvatore? You ok?”

The older man continued to cough for a couple of seconds more before he was able to get it under control, standing back up straight and taking deep breaths. Camila watched him, seeing how red his face had become in his struggle. She wrapped an arm around him and helped him take a seat, her dark eyebrows knitted in concern as she kept an eye on him.

After catching his breath, he nodded, reaching over to pat her hand in reassurance.

“I’m fine, my dear. Just a little coughing attack. I get them sometimes.”

Camila nodded, unconvinced. She knew he had heart problems, and the cough reminded her of her Abuelo’s before he had passed. Complications of left sided heart failure. She decided to let it go though and simply rubbed a hand along his bony back.

“I’m fine, honestly. Go enjoy your break.”

Just as he finished talking, the barista called out Camila’s name, Mr. Salvatore pushing her away softly with a smile.

“Go. Tell Felipe I said hello.”

Camila nodded with reluctance and a fleeting glance, walking away from Mr. Salvatore and back over to the counter of the café grabbing her coffees. She walked up to the door and gave her boss one last look before pushing the door open with her back and walking outside. As soon as she made it out, her hair whipped around her face, getting caught in her lip gloss as the wind blew. It was a welcome change from the blistering heat these last couple of days and she smiled to herself as she walked down the sidewalk, heading towards the carniceria. 

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

“I’ll bring some tomatoes next time I swing by.”

Felipe nodded and took another sip of his nearly gone coffee. He’d loved the tomatoes Camila had dropped off for him last time, juicy and firm, a freshness that he hadn’t tasted in a long time. They’d established somewhat of a bartering system it would seem since they’d gotten to know each other. He would give her the pieces of meat that were left over after butchering everything up that wouldn’t sell, and she brought him fruits and vegetables from her garden. Neither of them would accept money from the other and in time this was just a routine they had fallen into.

Today’s meeting had been random and unplanned, Camila deciding out of the blue to buy coffees and spend her lunch break there with Felipe. She had about 10 minutes left of her break before she had to head back to the bookstore when the front door of the Carniceria opened, interrupting their conversation. She had her back to the door and figured that Felipe was going to have to get up to tend to the customer. The look in his eyes as he looked at whoever had entered said something was up though and she turned around to get a look. She didn’t recognize the man, never having recalled seeing him before. It was clear that Felipe did though and with as good as Camila was at reading people, she could tell the man wasn’t someone Felipe was happy to see. Felipe’s jaw was tight and tense, and he stood up slowly.

“What can I get for you?”

“Not sure yet. Just getting a look at what you have.”

She eyed the man as well, him not really paying much attention to Felipe as he looked at her with a soft smile. Felipe reached out and placed a hand on Camila’s shoulder softly, guiding her towards the door of the shop. He felt bad seeing the confused look in her eyes, but he didn’t want her in there with him. EZ had said he wanted to keep her separate from the drama of their life and as always, Felipe was prepared to help his youngest son with whatever he could. He didn’t want Camila to feel like he was kicking her out, but he didn’t want her there either. Besides, he knew she was a smart girl and figured she would understand.

“You gotta get going mija, get back to work.”

Camila checked her watch, still having a bit of time left but she could feel the tension in the air and trusted Felipe, giving him a nod.

“Ok Felipe.”

She leaned up, pressing her lips to his cheek, whispering softly for only him to hear.

“Call me at the store in a little bit.”

Felipe didn’t respond but she knew he’d heard her by the slight squeeze he gave her side. Pulling away, she grabbed her bag and turned towards the door, about to leave. She was nearly there when the man spoke to her

“Hi. Camila, right?”

Camila paused, knowing for a fact that she hadn’t even met much let spoken to this man to tell him her name. She smiled anyway and gave a nod, looking over his features to memorize them.

“And you are? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Kevin. Family friend of the Reyes’.”

Camila nodded and gave her most convincing smile. She didn’t know this man but family or not, something about him rubbed her the wrong way and she was keeping her guard up. With one last look at Felipe she pushed the door open and headed back to the bookstore to finish off the rest of her shift and wait for Felipe’s call.

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

It was nearly 15 minutes later, and Felipe had yet to call her, Camila standing at the front desk by the phone. She felt that Felipe could handle himself if need, but she didn’t feel any less worrisome at the thought of leaving him there with someone he clearly didn’t trust much. She had just turned away from the desk and was starting to head to dusk the shelves when the bell to the front door dinged, EZ walking through with Angel. They both smiled as they saw her, walking towards her as she met them halfway.

“Hola.”

EZ motioned to the duster that Camila was holding.

“We didn’t interrupt you, did we?”

Camila shook her head, brushing away the piece of hair that fell in front of her eye.

“Nope. I was just gonna go dusk real quick.”

Camila hesitated as she was about to begin speaking, not wanting to make it seem that she was overstepping her boundaries. After a moment, she decided against asking about Felipe and the man, sure that she was just over thinking. With a smile and a shrug, she placed the duster down and motioned to the store.

“Did you guys come for books or?...”

“EZ wanted to come see you. I just tagged along.”

EZ tossed his shoulder into Angel’s roughly, a nervous laugh coming from him as Angel just stood there, head high and a proud smile on his face from his baby brother’s embarrassment. The three of them laughed quietly and Angel started to head towards the café, motioning to both her and EZ.

“You kids behave.”

EZ rolled his eyes as Angel walked away, smiling down at Camila.

“Sorry about him.”

With a shake of her head, Camila gave a half smile.

“I don’t mind him. That’s what big brothers are for right?”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe you can have him.”

There was a slight moment of silence, Camila picking up the duster once more and motioning for EZ to follow her.

They talked about random stuff, EZ helping Camila to dust by lifting books from the shelf so she could get under them. It didn’t take her long to finish up and they both went back to the front of the store to see Angel sitting at one of the tables up front sipping at a coffee, two more cups in a holder in front of him. He looked up as he saw them coming and patted the table. Camila smiled then winced.

“I’d love to sit and chill with you guys, but I already took my break.”

Angel looked around with an arched eyebrow, motioning to the nearly empty store.

“This place is like a ghost town right now. You’ll be good.”

EZ nodded and smirked as he looked over at his brother.

“And if anyone says anything, you can just tell them that you were teaching Angel how to read.”

The older brother gave a mocking laugh, reaching over to punch EZ in the chest. Camila shook her head but still engaged in the laughter feeling like she was back at home, horsing around with her family. Taking a seat, next to EZ of course, Camila grabbed one of the coffees and took in a deep breath of the aroma.

“This is literally my third cup of the day. I had one this morning before I came to work then I had another on my lunch break with your dad. Now this one.”

Both the Reyes brothers looked at Camila in surprise.

“You were hanging out with Pops?”

She nodded and leaned back in her chair, giving them both a playful smile.

“Yeah, why? You think I only hang with you two? Felipe even showed me how the meat slicer thing works.”

Angel looked down at his coffee with raised eyebrows, cocking his head to the side.

“Well damn. Nothing says friendship like showing you how to use the new meat slicer.” 

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

Camila ran her fingers through the front of her hair once more, ruffling it up to give it some more body. She smoothed her hands down the front of her blush pink blouse, looking down at the beige heels with gold trimming that matched her khakis in the mirror and wondering if they were too much. Looking over at the clock she felt the butterflies take off in her stomach once again.

6:24 PM

She had six minutes to get it together before EZ arrived. It was their first time going out to dinner together and the last thing she wanted was to make him wait on her. She grabbed her purse and headed to the living room, knowing that if she stayed in her room any longer, she would end up changing something else about her outfit for the thousandth time. She took a seat on her couch, taking a couple of deep breaths to steady her nerves. Sure, she had been on dates before, to the bowling alley or maybe to a sports bar. She’d never been on a date like this though. A date where the person taking her had made reservations nearly a week in advance just to get in. She’d tried to convince EZ otherwise, that they didn’t need to go anywhere fancy or high end, that she’d be happy to go anywhere. EZ had then said that was the exact reason why he was taking her somewhere nice, because she didn’t ask for much even when she deserved it. That had brought a decent bashful smile to her face and she’d relented, telling him she’d be willing to go wherever he wanted to take her.

Now here she was, minutes away from him getting to her house and she realized just how excited she was. Happy that she had met someone that was so nice and caring, someone that was polite and helpful. Someone that she felt she could trust. Camila had always been told that she was an excellent judge of character and she hoped that rang true this time as well. Shutting off the tv, she could hear the distant rumbling of his Harley and it was then that she realized.

“Shit! I can’t ride a bike in fucking heels.”

Her collected composure shattered once again and before long, she could hear his bike in her driveway. She wobbled back and forth, torn between what she should do and next thing she knew, EZ was ringing her doorbell. She walked up and unlocked the door, pulling it open to see EZ standing there, all smiles in an olive-green Henley shirt, no kutte. His eyes locked on her and he looked over her face, over her outfit and suddenly she felt self-conscious shying away from his gaze a bit.

“I knew it was too much. Let me go change real quick and I’ll be right back, I swear it will take me like two seconds, just- “

“You look perfect.”

His words cut off her rambling and a bashful smile slowly made its way across her lips.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. You look beautiful.”

Camila pointed down at her shoes with a wince.

“These aren’t gonna work though, are they? I figured maybe I could go in my car this time?”

EZ nodded, giving a soft laugh.

“Yeah that’s probably best.”

Camila grabbed her car keys and her purse, walking out of the house with EZ. She walked up to the driver’s side door and looked over to see EZ already looking back at her with a smirk.

“Yeah, those shoes are way too nice to ride in. Don’t want one falling off.”

“God that would suck.”

EZ agreed with a laugh.

“I’ll ride in front, lead the way.” 

Camila nodded happily, climbing into her car as EZ started up his bike.

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

“And that’s the story of the third time Angel almost burnt our house down.”

Camila dabbed at the corner of her eye with her knuckle, trying to wipe away the tears from her laughter without messing up her mascara. Her and EZ’s laughs settled down some and soon enough they were just walking down the sidewalk towards the parking lot in silence. EZ looked over at her for a moment before he held his arm out to her. Camila wrapped her left arm loosely around his bicep, a demure smile on her face as she did. EZ looked away and focused his gaze forward, a smile coming to his face as well just from seeing hers. The date had gone perfectly, no awkwardness or issues. EZ was rusty after his time in prison, that was no secret, but with Camila he felt comfortable. She made him feel normal and happy, and after the things that he had been through in his life, happiness was truly all he wanted.

“I had a lot of fun tonight, Ezekiel.”

Looking back over at her, he squeezed his arm around hers for a moment, his eyes holding that same almost childish wonderment as hers.

“So did I, Cam. Can I call you that? Is that cool?”

Camila hesitated for a moment, no one having ever called her that before. She smiled anyway and nodded, liking that it would be her nickname just between them.

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

They fell quiet again and before long they were at their row in the parking lot, his bike parked right beside her Jeep. Both were reluctant to pull away from each other but did anyway, EZ’s hands coming down to slip into his pockets while Camila’s held her purse in front of her.  

“Thanks for taking me out EZ. Everything was beautiful. The food, the lights, the dessert,”

“You.”

EZ filled in as she trailed off and he gave a smirk as he made her blush for the tenth time that night. Slowly but surely, he was starting to feel like he was getting his game back. He reached forward and swiped his thumb across her chin where some of her lipstick had transferred, his fingertip lingering on her skin for a second before he pulled away, clearing his throat. She looked down at her shoes for a moment and then looked back up, a G Wagon pulling into the parking lot and parking in the row across where you were.

“Maybe we could do this again?”

He looked back over at you and smiled, nodding.

“Only if you ride with me next time.”

Camila agreed, pointing down at her heels.

“I’ll bust out the Cortez’s next time.”

“That will definitely be better.”

They both looked over to their left, a blonde woman getting out of the Mercedes, and going into the backseat, getting a baby out from his car seat.  Camila looked back at EZ, the strangers not really calling her attention anymore. EZ on the other hand still had his eyes glued to the woman and baby, an unreadable look in his eyes before he quickly pushed his attention back to Camila. He wasn’t looking for long, not even enough to be considered staring, but Camila could still tell there was something he was drawn to and in her head, she conjured up that maybe after losing his mom, he liked to see mothers with their children. Maybe he wondered if the woman needed help. Maybe he thought the baby was cute. Or maybe he just found her attractive. The latter thought wasn’t very comforting though, especially not while they were on a date. EZ gave Camila a smile and she returned it, nodding over towards the woman who was now making her way towards the restaurant entrance.

“Who’s that?”

EZ shook his head, looking down for a moment before he looked back up and pushed a smile.

“Don’t know. Cute kid though.”

Camila nodded in agreement and felt her discomfort settle. First date and she was already feeling the caress of jealousy. Relaxing, now knowing that he wasn’t checking out another woman on their date, she took a step back and unlocked her car, pulling the door open.

“I’ll see you around, Ezekiel.”

EZ felt warm as she said his name, her accent coming through, the syllables sliding off her tongue like honey and almost immediately he forgot about Emily. Camila got in and turned over the engine, EZ climbing onto his bike and fastening his helmet as she backed out of the parking space and drove off with a wave, leaving EZ to drive off with a head full of thoughts.

[grandthorkiday]

Mob AU “Playthings” Part 21

[Link to mob!au anon’s “Playthings" fic tag]

[Start at Part 1]*

(*Note: Link is editable for other parts, just change the number. For mobile users, tag is “playthings part1”)

“I still don’t understand,” Tony says through a bite of salad. They finally decided to bring food to these meetings. “I don’t get why Gast has six different…,” he snaps his fingers searching for an appropriate word choice.

“Department heads,” Val suggests over her cheeseburger.

Thor made an excited noise, unable to speak through his own food. When he finally swallowed, shaking his head, he said, “Think of them as levels.” He scrambled to his backpack and pulled out a large pad of paper and a pen. He flipped through the pages and found a blank one and began to make a large pyramid with six layers. “Think of it like a feudal society. You got your serfs and basic townsfolk,” he used the pen to point to the bottom two levels. “They have a representative but Gast never knows their day to day. He knows how much money he made and spent on them. Your next two are your knights and vessal lords. Minor players but now he knows more. They get privileges may know actually see the Grandmaster from time to time. But they still have their reps. Top two are basically your nobility and they represent themselves. There’s really Game of Thrones style of backstabbing going on, but Gast loves it. He sometimes incites disagreements just to start a feud.”

“That sounds chaotic and dangerous.”

“That’s why he has the penthouse crews. Peacekeepers and enforcers.”

“Crews? There’s more than one?” Bruce asked.

“He’s got more than one penthouse. But they all answer to Mario.” He wiped his chin. “Technically speaking, I’m part of one of the penthouse crews.”

They all stared at him, unsure how to proceed with the next question. Questions about his brother since the incident with Odin were usually met aggressive if evasive responses or the interview being shut down completely. Finally, Natasha asked, “Is Loki as well?”

Thor didn’t blink at the question, thankfully. “Yes and no. Loki’s really good at gathering intel and he can act if pressed, so Grandmaster likes to use him more for political purposes. You gotta be strong to be part of a crew, though.”

“Were you forced?”

“It’s not like I could really say no.” Thor laughed as though it was obvious.

“Thor,” Val nervously looked around at the others at the table, “you do know that when uhm Loki spoke to us, he told us you killed someone. A cop.”

Again the blonde didn’t seem surprised. “Okay.”

“You can be charged.”

“Are you going to charge me?”

Tony blew out a sigh. “Not up to me.”

[read more cut]

“Is that the only person you’ve…dealt with for Gast?” Natasha tried to be delicate with the question.

Thor said nothing, looking away from all of them. “What happens if you charge me?”

“Well, you’d be arrested for one. We could leverage a deal with you to testify against Gast-”

He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“You’re going this far! Why not go all the way?!”

Thor again shook his head. “I can’t do that to Loki.”

“I know he’s your younger brother, and we want to protect him too, but you can’t do that if you-”

“He’s more than my younger brother now,” Thor gave their general direction a cocky if apologetic smile.

“Thor,” Val reached out to his hand. She was pleased when it was yanked away. “What that bastard forces you guys to do, that can-”

“He only forced us one time. All the other times, without him present, have been us consenting to one another.”

The ADAs and detectives stared at him in confusion and unease. “We know about Loki’s support groups, from when he was younger. We know he had a uhm crush on you.” Bruce explained.

“He wasn’t the only one. But mine was more a lust. When Grandmaster forced us that first time, he showed Loki my internet history too. I tried to tell you, that one time you brought my Dad. I had all these porn sites, fuck it was disgusting. About brothers. And I would follow any person who looked just a bit like Loki. I’d had that crush since I was sixteen. Once I turned eighteen, I tried desperately to get rid of it, grow out of it. Loki was younger than me and he was actually doing a better job in that department! Those support groups…if I had known….well, Grandmaster would have just found those too.”

Val didn’t retract her hand nor did she recoil at his words, though she could see Natasha doing that in the seat across from her. Tony seemed nonplussed, though he had a look of sympathy. Bruce seemed about ready to punch something, but she knew it wasn’t directed at Thor. Most likely it was directed at Gast or even Odin.

“Y'know, when I imagined sleeping with Loki for the first time, I thought it something special. I thought it would be while we’re on vacation or when the apartment we rented was empty of roommates. I didn’t imagine….I couldn’t relax enough to do it. And Gast kept saying these awful things. Loki pleaded for something to help me. I think he hoped for weed or something. But we got that. Loki had done it before, I hadn’t. Fuck, it was so fucking weird…”

“You said Loki was blue,” Tony said, almost to himself.

“He looked like a fae creature when I was high. Blue skin, red eyes. I thought he was so beautiful. But I was so fucking high I didn’t prepare him completely….he bled. Just a little but still. Gast loved it. Loki kept saying he was fine but I never wanted to hurt him again. I never touched the stuff after that. But after the first time, we were free to do whatever we wanted with one another. We both knew now. And it’s nice, to be touched by someone who….actually loves you.”

“I can understand that,” she said, hoping she could convey how much she felt for him. “But you have to realize, this relationship you two have, it isn’t healthy.”

Thor stared at her hand and didn’t reply.

“You guys have been abused for ten years, I can understand wanting to feel loved. To be with someone who understands what you have been through, completely. And I’m sure you two love one another, but you both deserve to have a normal healthy relationship.”

“I love him so much.” Thor said quietly. “He’s my everything. I call him my moonlight y'know, because even when I don’t see him shine, I know’s he’s there. And he calls me his sun…”

“That’s very sweet. But after this…all this…don’t you want him to move on? And you too? Imagine it, three years from now, Gast is rotting in a cell and you two with partners who can help you heal from this.”

Thor’s eyes were watering as he smiled. “We’ll still be together. We promised. We promised one another. Until death do us part and even after that.”

“Come one, kid,” Tony said. “It isn’t like you married him!”

Thor laughed, tears rolling down his face.

~2013~

“Same last name! That makes things easy! Very unusual with a name like that,” the county clerk giggled conversationally as she typed on in their information.

“It’s very common from where are families are originally from,” Loki explained, leaning his lead on Thor’s shoulder. He was smiling broadly, the first time in a long time. A genuine smile that made him look so beautiful. But then again, to Thor he was always beautiful.

“How long is this going to take?” He asked, trying not to sound too much like they were in a hurry. When the clerk stared at him in confusion he replied, “We already booked our honeymoon.”

“Oh!” She winked. “I’m almost done. Where are you going to go?”

“Paris!” It wasn’t a lie. Gast had business in Paris in two weeks and they were going to go with him.

“Smart thing you guys are saving a fortune by doing everything here and not having a huge to do! Some couples blew their entire savings once the law passed.”

Thor didn’t respond. He nervously fidgeted, hoping that their ‘babysitters’ were still circling the block wondering which building they had gone into. He wasn’t sure how Gast would react to what they were doing, but he wouldn’t put it past him to be angry. Or punish them. But he didn’t care.

“Alright, now you sign here and you sign here,” the clerk announced passing them a pen. “And just like that, it is my honor to pronounce you two married! You may now kiss the groom!”

Loki had barely finished signing before Thor gathered him and kissed him deeply. The county clerk’s office clapped and cheered! There was one old man who booed, but he was shushed.

“Have fun in Paris!” the woman called as they left. He thanked her, but his eyes were only for his husband.

“Oh my god!” The brunette said as they walked outside. “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming this?”

“No. We’re…married.” He felt so happy and yet so terrified. “Do you want to wear your ring?”

“Yes! Can I wear it on my left hand?” He had given Loki his ring nine months ago, but had only let him wear it on occasionally or in the evenings alone in their room and only ever on his right hand. The Grandmaster got jealous and any time the ring was worn two or three days consecutively, he began to ask questions, making wild accusations about anyone and everyone in the penthouse crew. While the older brother was more than happy to watch the mobster decimate his entire crew over petty percieved ‘rivals’, he was didn’t want Loki endangered in the process.

He took out a small tin container that once contained mints from his pocket. It now carried about forty dollars and two small gold and silver bands he had stolen from one of Gast’s hotel jewelry stores. He placed the smallest and most intricate on Loki’s finger and kissed his new husband’s forehead. “You hungry, babe?”

Loki wiped his eye as he placed the other ring on Thor’s finger. “Yeah, please honey.”

There was a small cafe a few blocks away. They were out of New York City and in a small rural county of the state. They had pleaded, begged, and bartered for this time away from the city. Gast, a devoted urbanite, had agreed on the condition they bring several 'escorts’ and return within the week. Thor was already ready to agree to go back after they had accomplished what they came to do, but he didn’t want to tell that to Loki just yet. He didn’t want to dampen the mood.

Once in the small restaurant, Thor ordered them both a glass of wine, as well as a sandwich and a piece of cake to share. He only had the forty left after all, discounting the credit card he had taken from one of the thugs when they weren’t looking. He had used it a few times for small things like more pencils and movies, but he knew it was going to be shut off soon. He didn’t want it to be now. Loki didn’t seem to care. He looked like the sandwich was the best thing he had eaten in his whole life. And when the cake came, he playfully made a comment about 'their wedding cake’. Thor beamed ear to ear.

It was round the time they were asking for a round of waters before they left that Mario and his crew found them.

“You two have a lot of fucking nerve losing us like that!” He growled as he leaned over their table. “What you two do with the two hours? You fucking squeal, you brats?!”

“We went looking at shops,” Thor said simply, sipping his drink safe in the knowledge that they were in public and the older man couldn’t do anything to them in public.

“You went looking at shops?” Mario looked at him skeptically.

“Our Mom used to go to small niche towns like this and spend hours going through shops.” Loki explained, looking very authoritative in that moment. “We missed that. And we didn’t want you breaking something or causing a scene, like you are now.”

The thug glanced over his shoulder at the patrons staring at him. Unlike New York and the establishments Mario usually frequented, these people would not look away or hesitate to call the police. He turned back and glared at them, but said nothing.

“If you feel uncomfortable with what happened,” Thor couldn’t help but enjoy sounding like he had more power in this situation, “Loki and I will agree to leave this evening back to New York.”

Mario looked shocked at that. “You…. you serious?”

“And we won’t even mention you lost us,” Loki smiled mischievously at him.

He could tell the thug was having a hard time believing it. “Give me your cell.”

“What?”

“Give me your cell. You won’t believe us unless I do this.”

Nervously, the older man fished his cell from his pocket and passed it Thor. The waitress skirted by him and dropped off the two younger men’s waters before retreating, staring all the while as she did.

Thor thumbed through the contacts of the cell phone, making a passing comment about using more security on the device. He reached out to Loki’s hand, who gently squeezed his showing his support and understanding. He found the number and clicked 'call’.

There was a out three long rings, Thor smiling like an idiot all the while. Finally, on the fourth one, the familiar voice answered, “Yes?”

“Hi Daddy,” he said brightly and sweetly into the phone. Loki looked ready to burst out into laughter or tears of satisfaction and Mario looked just dumbfounded and rooted in place.

Gast’s voice immediately switched from business to his playful purr, “Hey Sparkles! What are you doing calling me, I thought you wanted a vacation?”

“I’m bored,” he whined, dramatically pouting for effect. The brunette mimicked him as he nodded to other man. “And so is Loki.”

“Thought you wanted to go to enjoy some peace and quiet?”

“We did. Now we’re bored. Is it okay if we come home tonight?”

“Of course, sweetheart! Of course! You come home tonight and we’ll go to a nice late dinner, have a few drinks, and then I’m going to have you two on your backs and begging for my cock. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful, Daddy!”

“Pass me to Mario please.”

Thor did just that grinning ear to ear after that. While Mario nervously prepared their journey home, recounting their time in the small town sans the two hours they had gone missing, the couple ordered another piece of cake and glass of wine. Today, they had beaten the odds and survived.

[prestigioustiger-blog]

Healing: Chapter 1

Chris

The phone call asking me to come to the hospital was unexpected. I hadn't forgotten about Josh, of course, but I was losing hope. Anytime I tried to check up on him, they told me his progression was a private matter and his parents had asked for it to be kept that way. I hadn't seen him, hadn't heard from him... He might as well have been dead, from the lack of communication we had.

And now, about ten months after the incident, I get a random call summoning me to the hospital? Yeah, why would I question that?

At the door, I'm greated by a smiling nurse. His red hair and hazel eyes give him a trustworthy aura.

"Hello, I'm Nurse David, you can call me Jamie! You're Chris, right?"

"Uh... Yeah."

"Great! Josh wants to see you, he's very eager."

"The doctor told me he had started to turn into one of those damn things," I snap, cutting right to the chase. "Is he okay? What did he mean by 'started'?!"

"Dr. Reynolds was able to stop the process. He... Looks different. A little. But he's harmless."

"Is he going to try to eat me? Because those fuckers on the mountain tried to eat me." I question, a bit aggressively, as I basically talk over the short, young nurse. I needed him to be- and sound one-hundred percent sure. I was never going anywhere near one of those... wendigos... again.

"He won't try to eat you," Jamison promised seriously this time, although a smile flickered on his face and shared the secret that he found my panic slightly humorous. Typical. No one understands trauma until they've lived through it. "He really just wants to see you, I'm sure. I'm certain the Doctor has told you about what an anxious state he's been in... We've been doing everything we can, but he's just not connecting, y'know?"

"I guess..." I mumble and adjust my glasses. We go deep into the hospital, at the very center of the building, there's an elevator. I can't tell if we're going up or down and I didn't watch when Jamie pressed the button, but I'm certain we're going to Josh. That's why they brought me here, right? So we must be.

This floor looks more like a prison than a hospital. The doors are heavy and require card recognition. It's cold and...unwelcoming. I hear distant arguing, I hope it's doctors and not patients arguing amongst themselves. I would hate to have to be here. When we were in the hospital, our rooms weren't this cold and they were filled with balloons and get well cards, even visitors at most hours.

Something tells me that the patients on this floor don't get that sort of treatment.

Jamie opens a door with his card and motions for me to follow. Reluctantly, I oblige and walk through the door. He closes that one and opens a second door, this one looks even heavier.

"What? Are you guys worried about Josh running away from you or something?"

Jamie sighs. "Partially, sometimes patients that are not yet mentally stable do try to run away. It's also a security measure, that way our most vulnerable can't be easily reached by someone with bad intentions." He explained, causing me to tense just a little.

Through the next door is Josh, sitting knees-bent on the floor despite the sofa only a few feet from him. He's shaking, I can see it from here.

His back is to me, and he seems to have gotten smaller. Thinner. I suppose that's partially the wendigo in him. When he turns back to me, his eyes are wide. He would look like a deer caught in headlights if new features didn't overwhelm the comparison. His cheeks have sunken in a bit and he has a nasty looking scar on the left side of his face. His ears are pointed, his pupils seem to have narrowed whilst his eyes look brighter. His hair is messy and a lot longer than I recall. I'll bet he has split ends, needs it cut very badly.

"Ch-Chris?" He whispers, twitching a little bit. The nurse behind me gasps and drops his clipboard and Josh jumps at the sudden noise, scrambling across the floor to hide on the other side of the sofa. He moved almost like an animal, his hands on the floor, then the couch, stumbling to get where he wants to be quickly.

I promtly turn to scold the seemingly careless medical professional behind me. "What the fuck, man?! Don't they teach you not to be so clumsy around sensitive patients!?"

"I-I'm sorry! It's just, the entire time he's been here he hadn't said one word! His voice- I was surprised!" Jamie stutters out apologies before I put my hand up, silently telling him to shut his mouth.

I begin to walk towards Josh, very slow. He doesn't look like himself, I can tell he's scared. I would be scared, too. If I had been locked up like this with no one I knew, I would be scared.

He whimpers from behind the sofa, so I stop for a moment. I don't want to trigger him by continuing to walk. He might feel intimidated, or threatened. Afterall, I suppose he's part monster, now. I'm no scientist, I don't know how this shit works. But I do know that when someone whimpers when you walk closer, they're scared of you.

"Hey, hey, hey... Buddy, it's me? You remember me? It's Chris, Josh. You said you wanted to see me?"

He was silent for a few moments, then I could hear soft sniffles. I began to approach again.

I got around the sofa where I could see him, and then sat down. I sat criss-cross on the floor and simply looked at him, remaining cautious. I couldn't have him running away from me...

It's only now that I'm this close do I get the memories. Josh hurt us. Josh did bad things. But Josh didn't know just how bad everything he did was, just like Josh doesn't know just how badly I want to strangle/hug him right now. He can't comprehend it. He can't comprehend... a lot of stuff. It's like I told Mike, he's sick. He's very, very sick.

"C'mon, buddy. You know me." I remind him, trying to keep a cherry tone.

He looks up to make eye contact with me. "B...udd...yyyyy?" He whispers very, very lowly. It seems almost like a question. He needs reassurance.

"Yeah," I nod, making my agreement as clear as I can with him. "Buddy," I repeat.

All at once, his sobs become loud. He throws himself at me, and for a moment I consider moving away, but I decide against it. He'll never earn my trust back if I'm not willing to give him any at all. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, whining unintelligible nonsense and very dramatical slipping further onto the floor. Eventually, he settles with his head in my lap, covering his face as he cries his eyes out. Occasionally I can make out an 'I'm sorry' or an 'I missed you', but, for the most part, it's just gibberish. Once I could have sworn I heard something like 'I'm so awful', and I took a deep breath.

Josh was never like this, never just put his sobs on display for anyone, but it was clear he needed comfort. I obliged, gently playing with his hair and trying my best to calm the slightly unfamiliar boy in front of me down.

"Hey, hey, Josh, sh..." I whispered. It was a bit odd, I admit, trying to soothe my twenty year old (ex)best friend as he sobbed helplessly. Although, it wasn't an entirely foreign situation. "You have to calm down, buddy, I can't understand you..."

His sobs died down, and with that, there came quiet hiccups and sniffles. Within a couple minutes, he tried to speak to me again.

"S-so sorry, Chris, didn't mean to- wouldn't have- didn't mean to- never hurt- no, no, nononononono never ever hurt-"

"Hey, pal? Relax. I'm not- I can't be angry with you." I admit. It's true. I was trying, I was going to come in here and lecture him and tell him that he would be lucky if I ever looked at him again, but I just can't. Not when he's so helpless, not when he only wanted to see me...

Not when he needs me this bad.

"Not?" He asked, for the first time, uncovering his eyes. His sparkly green eyes stood out against his now pale skin. He used to be sunkissed, tan, but after all this... He looks like you could put a black and white filter over him and hardly tell the difference. He's sickly, almost grey.

"No, Josh. Not mad at you." I promised. "But you gotta stop crying, alright? You'll make me cry..." I bartered. Although, at this point, I might cry anyway. He's been alone... No doubt he's been in pain, helplessly guilty, and alone. I don't want him to be alone anymore.

He tensed, looking up at me and grabbing my face, causing my joints to tighten. I was still cautious, he was still partially a wendigo. "Don't wanna...no, don't wanna make Chris cry..."

He was speaking so painfully slowly, like his jaw was hard to move. I suppose he hasn't been speaking much lately, so it hasn't gotten much use...

"Then let's not cry, hm? That's a nice couch you were hiding behind, y'know. What else do you have in here?"

With that, a dorky, but somewhat distorted smile spread across his face. He jumped up, grabbing my hand and beginning to show me around his 'room' with a hint of enthusiasm.

With slow, pained, but excited words, he showed me his cot and the table and chair he had, he showed me the slot that he gets food from, he showed me the chair with restraints that he has to be in when he gets his medication, he even showed me the coloring books he had ripped up and the stress toy he was supposed to use when he felt like he could 'bubble over'.

All the while I couldn't stop thinking. Why? Why does he have to be here? Sure, he's excited to show me, but it's not a home. He has a right to be uncomfortable and he certainly seems to be. I plan on bringing this up with the doctor.

For a brief moment, a thought enters my mind. His parents obviously gave up, as he's not being treated inside their house. I have an apartment now. I could probably give him medication, and he's apparently more comfortable with me. Why doesn't he just come stay at my apartment?

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

December 15, Christmas Caryl

@freefromthecocoon sent me a prompt asking me to write a Christmas Caryl based on The Gift of the Magi short story. Here’s my humble attempt (also on 9L)

The Gift of Us

Carol had wracked her brain for days trying to decide on the perfect present for Daryl. She really wanted to make this Christmas—their first together as a couple—special, but with the world given over to the dead, her options had drastically diminished: weapons (a necessity, but not an exceptional gift), clothes (giving him shirts or pants or shoes that had once belonged to someone else didn’t feel special, no matter how much they needed attire), food (stale, canned, jarred, or a fave made with paltry substitutions hardly seemed worthy), something for his motocycle (Aaron had assured her he had everything Daryl could need for the bike), and good loving (well…that was already a given).

For the time being, they had walls, relative safety, a home, gardens, weapons, and food, all the things that mattered now, and she desperately wanted to give him something that would last, something he’d appreciate, a gift to convey just how much she cared about him.

From the en suite bathroom where she stood brushing her teeth, she stared at his side of the bed. His nightstand, stark compared to hers, held a lamp and a box of bullets that matched the gun inside the drawer. His pillow, undisturbed for nights now with his absence, remained fluffed but askew. The duffle he’d recently started using—“Don’t need a closet,” he’d explained in that gruff voice of his when he’d set it on the floor near the bed. “Got nuthin’ to fill it with. And…just in case we gotta leave quickly…”—held his few possessions: some clothes, a sheathed knife, extra bullets, a few tools. He’d lay his angel-wing vest over the bag like a gothic sentinel when he wasn’t wearing it, but its absence only deepened the longing in her chest for him. The room held other traces of him—a lighter and motorcycle gloves on the dresser, a pair of shoes next to it, and a pack of energy drinks she couldn’t stand the taste of sitting in the corner—and an overwhelming sense of emptiness engulfed her.

She missed him. He’d left nearly a week ago with Tara and Rick to scavenge, and though she expected their return any day now, Christmas, according to the calendar the Alexandrians had kept, was only two days away.

Rick had promised Michonne, just as Daryl had promised her, that they’d return in time to celebrate. She only hoped they hadn’t run into any trouble that would prevent them from keeping their word.

Carol finished brushing her teeth and stopped at the threshold of the room again, scanning it for ideas once more.

And then it hit her.

She’d need materials, several hours of free time, and a few lessons from Margaret over at the Kingdom.

Tomorrow, she determined. She’d trek over there, ask Margaret for help, and, if lucky, complete the project early enough to return home. She’d rather lose sleep than have Daryl arrive home, on Christmas Eve no less, without her there.

Snuggling down into her lonely bed, she smiled contentedly to herself, relieved to have finally settled on a gift both unique and meaningful.

Now if she could only pull it off…

******

Avoiding an overhanging branch as he traipsed through the frozen forest, Daryl blustered a sigh, wondering yet again what he could give to Carol for Christmas. Over the years, he’d brought her treats and trinkets from the runs and hunting trips he’d led: a few shirts in her favorite shade of red; a lamp for her cell when she’d mentioned the prison felt cloyingly dark; a pair of earring studs when she’d realized one of hers had fallen out of her ear somewhere along the way; warm, fuzzy socks when it got cold. But this gift needed to exceed any of those trifles; he wanted it to communicate how much Carol had come to mean to him.

He’d considered the usual (clothes, jewelry or accessories, chocolate, or books or puzzles, her favorite pastimes) but nothing struck him as significant enough.

What would relay to her how she’d helped him grow into a person, a man who’d learned how to love and let others love him? What could he possibly give her to let her know how gratitude filled him when he recalled her dragging him back from his destructive path after he’d failed to bring Sophia back to her?

He’d watched her grow, too. From a quietly brave woman to a revered leader, experienced in strategy and with weapons, and light years beyond any of their family and friends in the art of war.

And then it hit him. A gift to illustrate how far she’d come and sentimental enough to portray his love for her.

He’d just need to stop at the Hilltop before returning to Alexandria.

“Should be home by tomorrow,” he threw over his shoulder at Tara and Rick as they followed in his tracks.

He quickened his pace, his footsteps lighter now that, not only would he be back with Carol tomorrow, but he’d have the perfect gift to give her on Christmas.

 *****

“It’ll cost you that knife.”

Carol’s hand flew to her hip, the focus of Margaret’s pointing, and wrapped her hand around the hilt. She drew her brows together. “My knife? The Kingdom has plenty of weapons. What do you need this one for?” She asked amiably, but she didn’t like the sound of someone asking for her weapon. Besides, she’d had her knife since the prison. Using it felt like second nature, and she’d be loathe to give it up. “I thought you’d be willing to help me…” ”I am,” the woman, not much older than Carol, assured. “But seems we’re running low on weapons lately. And now that the communities are bartering and bargaining with each other, it’s kinda the rule. I can help you—and I will. Today, since that’s what you want.—but it’ll cost you the knife. Been needin’ something I can hold on to when I’m out there running and fighting. It’s easy to lose your weapon. Suppose that’s why you got a knife with a knuckle guard. Seems that’d suit me just fine.”

Carol eyed Margaret cautiously, furiously debating in her heart whether to give up the knife that had nearly become a part of her or simply walk away. There were others Carol could ask to assist her with her gift for Daryl, but she’d seen Margaret’s supplies and handiwork firsthand, and no one would do a better job. She couldn’t mess this up. Not over a knife. Not when she could just as easily use or claim one of Alexandria’s many knives as her own.

Daryl—and his Christmas present—meant more to her than any hunk of metal.

“Deal,” she conceded, removing the knife and its worn-out sheath from her belt loop.

Margaret turned the weapon over in her hand, then gripped it for good measure. “It’s perfect,” she noted.

Carol nodded regretfully, her mind now focused on Daryl’s gift. “So…how long do you think it’ll take to complete the project?”

“Oh, we’ll be done in a few hours,” Margaret assured her. “Now, let’s go pick out the right color.”

 *****

It hadn’t taken much to get Rick and Tara to agree to stop at the Hilltop. They wanted to check in on Maggie (he did, too) and see what, if anything, the community could spare for trade.

Daryl spent time with the woman he saw as a sister—she thrived here as the leader, and the Hilltop seemed just as healthy—before he excused himself and headed toward the line of huts against the compound’s wall.

“Hey there,” Boyd, a teenager Daryl remembered from his brief stay at the community, greeted as he approached.

“Hey,” Daryl returned, his eyes quickly roaming the three-sided shack they used for blacksmithing and hide-tanning. “Your dad around? I could use his help with somethin’.”

“Whaddya have in mind?”

Daryl spun to see Trevor, the tall, lean Southerner in his 40’s who knew more about hides and tanning than any man he’d ever met.

“Got somethin’ I was hopin’ you’d help me make. Today if possible.” Daryl described exactly what he had in mind.

“Sure will be nice,” Trevor stated. “But…it’ll take some time.”

“I’ll stay as long as it takes,” Daryl assured. “Think we can finish it today?”

“I already got the materials, but…you know I got a schedule to keep, what with the trade items for the Kingdom due soon and the snow comin’ off and on.”

“I could help you?” Daryl suggested, praying Trevor wouldn’t take him up on the offer. He much preferred the woods and hunting over a kiln and pelt work. Besides, he wanted to make it home to Carol, the sooner the better. And definitely before Christmas tomorrow like he’d promised her.

The man chuckled. “I know you ain’t any good with that stuff. You lived here for a short time, remember?”

Daryl’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Yeah, I know. Well…what can I do?”

Trevor considered it for a moment, then said, “Tell you what...I’ll help you—guaranteed we’ll get it done today—if you trade me for your vest.”

Daryl’s brows knit together. “My vest?”

“Yeah. That thing’s a rare beaut, what with those angel wings and braided panels on the sides.” Trevor leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Works like a magnet on the ladies, too. I seen ‘em checkin’ it out.”

Daryl reared back slightly. “The vest?”

“Or you,” Trevor smirked. “But since I ain’t you, I’ll try the vest.”

He’d never known the vest to help him with the ladies before, and he’d had it since long before the turn. As much as his crossbow, it was almost a part of him. He hated the idea of seeing it—yet again—on someone else and thought it a steep price for what he was asking.

Still, the gift he’d have for Carol would be well worth it if she liked it half as much as he thought she might.

“Alright,” he conceded ruefully, shedding the beloved vest like a second skin. “Let’s get started. I wanna get home as soon as possible.”

 *****

Carol carefully withdrew Daryl’s gift from her knapsack and laid it on the bed. It looked perfect, the color an identical match, the handiwork exquisite, the details refined. Not a curve or stitch out of place, it would replace the old set nicely.

And she could hardly wait to present it to him.

She’d returned after nightfall to an empty house but had no doubt Daryl would make it back by tomorrow like he’d promised, as long as nothing untoward had occurred out on the road.

With one last satisfied look at the gift, she folded it up and tucked it into the small Christmas bag she’d finagled from the stash Carl had found. Downstairs, she snipped a piece of string from the kitchen catch-all drawer and tied the handles together, then set the gift on the coffee table.  

Carol hummed as she heated up a pot of lentil soup (the only kind left in the pantry), wondering where Daryl was right now. Several miles out? Approaching the gate? Walking up the street? Had they run into any trouble? Were any of them hurt? Even now, after months on end without enemies tearing at their compound, innumerable dangers abounded. Wounds and starvation, random enemies and thirst, nature and mistakes…just a few of the pitfalls that could befall them. They both worried when without the other.

She knew he and Rick would have kept track of the days, and Tara likely kept them in line with her sass and wit. Carol smiled at the thought, stirring the pot one last time before turning off the stove.

She heard the front door rattle, then Daryl’s voice reached her. “Carol?”

“In here,” she exclaimed as she rushed to the front of the house.

Daryl barely had time to close the door before Carol threw herself into his arms. She radiated warmth in contrast to the biting cold outside that had seeped into his clothes and his bones. “Hey,” he murmured against her hair, wrapping his arms snugly around her.

“Hi.”

Her breath teased his ear, and he nuzzled into her embrace, gently kissing her neck.

She felt like home: safe, warm, welcoming. Unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Each time he left or she set out somewhere, his arms—his heart—felt bereft. But coming home to her, reuniting with her after an absence, made up for all the lonely days, frigid nights, and dastardly deeds he had to endure to get back to her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’re all good,” he answered as he withdrew to give her the once-over. “How ‘bout here?”

“Status quo.” She looked up at him, this man she loved. His bright eyes stared heatedly at her, his cheeks pink from the cold. He looked tired but no worse for the wear of having been gone for nearly a week. “You made it back for Christmas.”

“Promised you I would,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss her.

Even now, after months of being with her, allowed to kiss her, hold her, touch her, love her, she made his blood boil, his heart race, and he didn’t know how this hell of a world granted him the treasure of loving Carol.

His lips, like the rest of him, were cold, but firm as she welcomed him home, and she sunk into his embrace, pressed herself against the solid wall of his chest. Unlike those who’d come before, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, the muscles of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart sent a thrill through her instead of a ripple of fear. She doubted she’d ever get used to the haven of his embrace.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she pronounced as he pulled away.

He chuckled, the pink in his cheeks deepening slightly, and he kissed her forehead. “To me,” he corrected. “But let me shower this week off’a me and we can get back to the merry-making.” He winked at her.

“Then hurry it up,” she encouraged, lightly pushing in the direction of the stairs. “Merry isn’t all I’d like to be making.”

“Impatient, aren’t ya?” he teased over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m patient,” she punned. “Been waiting for a week now. I’m tired of being patient.”

She heard him chortle as he headed up the stairs, and a smile spread across her face at their banter, her heart light and happy.

She turned the soup back on to simmer, keeping it warm for them, and toasted some of the bread they’d bartered from the Kingdom. She couldn’t make him a feast after his trek, but she could have a warm meal ready.

Fifteen minutes later, Daryl’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he came into the room, looking clean and refreshed, his hair wet. He’d donned black sweat pants, a long sleeve, dark blue shirt, and a clean pair of socks.

“Somethin’ smells good,” he complimented, turning toward the stove and peeking into the pot in order to hide the gift he’d brought down with him.

“I think that’s you,” Carol stated, running her hand across his back as she moved around him to grab bowls from the cabinet.

He turned as she moved, heading toward the living room, but stopped abruptly when he saw a small gift already sitting on the coffee table. Unsure who else would’ve brought Carol a present—she deserved them all, but times what they were, he hadn’t expected anyone else to go out of their way—he did a one-eighty and stood watching her.

Unaware of her audience, Carol set the bowls on the counter, withdrew spoons from the drawer, and began ladling soup into the bowls. “I made dinner.” She looked over her shoulder, unsure where Daryl had gone, and did a double-take when she saw him standing watching her, one hand behind his back.

She stood up, facing him. “What?”

He cleared his throat and slowly stepped toward her. “I…got you somethin’.” He withdrew the gift from behind him as he neared her, watching her face for her response.

Carol’s eyes slid over the gently-wrapped present, the simple tan cloth giving away a two-inch thick, one-foot long shape, before sliding up to Daryl.

“Merry Christmas,” he declared.

Her face broke out into a smile that reached her eyes, and his heart sped up. “You didn’t have to… I can’t believe you did this.”

Pleased by her genuine joy, he held the gift out to her, and she reverently took it, sliding down into one of the dining room chairs. He sat in the chair next to her, and they half-turned toward one another.

Carol gently pulled the strings of twine until the bow untied, slid it off the package, then unrolled the cloth from a sanded pine box. Her eyes, a question mark, flicked to his, but he remained silent, waiting for her to open the box.

She snapped open the latch and lifted the lid to find a knife sheath, tan in color, with a belt attachment. Carol picked the sheath up to get a better look at the brand on the long, blade-end.

A Cherokee rose.

Daryl watched emotions play across Carol’s face. Surprise, curiosity, awe, then…sadness as she noticed the rose?

His heart fell. For so long, he’d imagined the Cherokee rose as their…thing. A symbol of hope, it’d become a marker of them, their relationship. From Sophia and that grave he still thanked the Powers That Be was empty, to a blackened forest and the memory of all that white-petaled flower represented to him. To them, he’d thought. But now tears filled her eyes, and…well…he felt at a loss.

He watched her eyes slide up to the lighter brand, more of a drawing than an impression in the leather, and she held the sheath closer to her face. Recognition dawned as she took in the monochrome rainbow, and she grasped the sheath to her chest in both hands, squeezing her eyes shut.

To the best of her knowledge, Daryl didn’t do leatherwork. He’d gone out of his way to make this. And the added details of the Cherokee rose and the rainbow…her heart broke at the time and effort he must’ve spent to make such a wonderful gift. And she couldn’t even use it.

Daryl sat, riveted to the chair and so confused he was afraid to breathe. He thought for sure she’d like it. Personalized and safer than that old raggedy one she had now with the seams falling apart, he knew it’d keep her safe and her knife handy. He hadn’t meant to hurt her with the symbols…only to keep Sophia and him with her, close to her. A sort of…talisman of protection.

He swallowed hard, believing he’d made a colossal mistake. “Carol…I…I’m sorry. I just…”

“It’s gorgeous.”

Her voice came softly, filled with wonder, and he sat in silence once again.

She stared at him, his body tense with uncertainty, and she realized what he must be thinking. “I love it,” she whispered, her voice still filled with tears. She looked at the sheath once again. “The Cherokee rose…us. And the rainbow…Sophia. So you’ll both always be with me. Protecting me.”

Daryl felt relief sweep into his body. She didn’t hate it, understood it just as much as he’d wanted and hoped.

“It’s…amazing. I love it. But…”

But…? His heart fell again, afraid of what she’d say.

“Daryl, I…I don’t have my knife anymore.”

Of the many scenarios that had quickly crossed his mind, that wasn’t one of them. He shook his head, clearing away cobwebs. “Whaddya mean you don’t have your knife?”

Carol set the sheath back in the box and, without a word, got up, retrieved the gift bag from the coffee table, and set it in front of him. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

Her words, though stained with tears, sounded genuine, but Daryl still gave her a quizzical look as she wiped tears from her face.

“Open your present,” she entreated.

None of this made sense, but Daryl dutifully untied the twine from the bag and removed a handful of neatly-folded, flaxen-colored material. He raised his eyebrows as he unfolded it to reveal angel wings. Wings that looked exactly like the ones on the vest he’d just traded.

Just before he’d left, Carol had told him exactly what she thought of that vest. “Those wings are starting to fray,” she’d said as he’d thrown it on.

“They’ll be alright,” he assured himself more than her. “Cain’t exactly go to the store and get another. Or the tailor and get ‘em repaired.”

“No…but I can’t imagine you without them. You’ve always been there to swoop in and bring me back to safety.”

He’d met her gaze. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Just seems like any time I was too far gone or on the brink, you’d come in and bring me back to myself…and you. Like my own personal angel.”

He’d leaned to kiss her then. “Ain’t no angel.” Another kiss. “But I’ll be back soon, and I’ll take you to heaven.”

She giggled as he kissed her again. “See you soon,” he’d promised, then he’d headed out the door to go meet Rick and Tara.

Now, he stared at the details of the wings, the arches of the tops, the layers of feather-work, the long, swooping plumes that would’ve covered most of his back. An exact replica of the wings that adorned the vest he’d given up to ‘buy’ her sheath.

“It’s only part of the gift,” Carol explained. “I’ll remove the old ones and affix these.” She saw his reserved hesitation. “If you want…?”

Daryl gently laid them out on the table, admiring the handiwork, the details, the thought she’d put into this. And hated the words he spoke next.

“I don’t have my vest anymore.” Before the shock on her face wore off and she could ask, he said, “I bartered the vest for the sheath. Wanted to give you somethin’ nice for Christmas. It’s our first…ya know, together.” He took her hand in his. “And I know that sheath you got is comin’ apart. Afraid you’re gonna accidentally get stabbed. And I’d like to keep you around for a good, long while.”

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Oh, Daryl. I traded my knife for the wings. I wanted your gift to be special, too. I know how much you love that vest—and I do, too. I just want my angel around.”

With her free hand, she pushed the hair away from his face and laced her fingers through his now-dry locks.

“What a pair we are, huh?” Daryl scoffed, stunned that they’d both bartered away the exact items the other had gotten a gift for.

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “I guess so. But this is still the best Christmas ever.”

He quirked his head. “How so?”

“You gave up your most prized possession for me. I gave up mine for you. And the gifts we got one another? Here? At the end of the world?” She raised her tone with each question, indicating how ridiculous it should’ve sounded. Instead, it made perfect sense: the two of them, together, giving up all they had for one another. “Look how much love we have.”

He nodded, conceding her point. “’Spose so.” Then, his expression turning playful, he leaned toward her. “And there’s more where that came from.”

“That’s right…you promised me a trip to heaven.”

“Ummhmm,” he murmured against her lips, and proceeded to take her there with touches as soft as rose petals and angel wings.

[coldtomyflash]

What is your take on Barry and Joe's relationship before the Flash powers? We know Joe loves him, but the issue of Barry's father's innocence looks like it had been a sore spot between them for a while. Do you think Joe resented any of his efforts to find the real killer (he made a comment about Barry making people think he raised a weirdo or something in the first episode)? He's also called Barry son, but he doesn't seem at the same level as Iris or Wally, like losing them would be worse.

Oh man I forgot I never responded to this. This ask is actually what spawned me thinking about Barry’s characterization / narrative arc recently.

Man, their relationship is complicated, IMO. And I’ve gotta preface this with saying: I love Joe West. He’s one of my favorite characters on the show. He’s one of my favorite characters to write. People say I make him a sort of villain in some of my fics but if I do, it’s not from a place of dislike but from a place of recognizing that Joe West is a goddamn realist who’ll do anything for his kids but damn if he isn’t also just human.

So that being said... YES. I think there was resentment and exhaustion from both sides for a long time. I’ll lay out my headcanons on this, with some tangential canon evidence.

First off, you’ve got Joe bringing home his daughter’s bff who is now traumatized. Probably a knee-jerk decision but he sees that kid on the crime scene and he knows him, knows this family, and he doesn’t know what else to do because he’s seen a lot of shit, and he’s tired, and he’s a single dad and shit’s piling up but this? Things like this aren’t supposed to happen. Not in his neighborhood with people he knows and a kid he’s probably had over for supper more than once. Not with Dr. Allen and his wife.

He knows that’s not how the world works, and that evil doesn’t stop at an invisible line between his home and anywhere else in the world, but even for him, this case was rough.

So he takes in this traumatized kid, and he does his goddamn level best to be patient with him. He gets that the kid is going through hell. He gets that he needs to process, and that denial is a natural part of grief and loss. So if he’s in denial about what happened, and made up a story that makes it easier for him to cope, Joe’s gonna accept that and just help him out. Accept that Barry’s going to do things like run to Iron Heights and scare him half to death because he misses his dad and he’s still in denial and he’s just a kid. He lost his mom and his dad that night, just in a different way, and Joe gets it. 

So he gives Barry a talking to and establishes firm boundaries but he starts to allow the kid visitation access to his dad because maybe it’ll help him come to terms with things. His dad can’t hurt him from prison, after all. Joe knows how dangerous manipulation can be, but he keeps an eye on their visits and it seems okay. He hates Henry Allen for putting him, Barry, all of them through this, for being such a damn snake in the grass, but he accepts that Barry needs to see this man if he’s going to move on, and is going to keep running away if Joe doesn’t let him do this.

He makes concessions. He tries. He raises Barry like he’s his own, and loves him like he’s his own.

But years are starting to pass and Barry’s not really processing it any better than he was at 11. He’s still holding to the fabricated story about lightning that he made up, and people are starting to look at him weird when he talks about things. The kid’s been bullied enough and lost so many friends after what happened, got branded in a way that ain’t fair, and he’s kept a stiff upper lip through so much of it, as much as a kid can. 

But after those first few psych visits in the first months which Joe let go by the wayside because Barry was adjusting to life in his home and back at school, if sullen and angrier than he used to be, Joe’s starting to wonder if they should’ve kept it up. Barry’s getting in fights at school and defending his father still and has a trigger temper.

So Joe sends him back to a psychologist. And then another. And probably another. The social worker on Barry’s case thinks Joe is doing great, but Barry hates every counsellor and therapist he sees and starts to clam up and hide things more again. He actually leaves town under false pretences and pretends he’s on a school trip for his AP science class when he’s actually tracking down a lead on an ‘impossible’ thing. Joe doesn’t even know it was all a lie until he gets a call from the school, and then of course it’s a matter of panicking and finding Barry and finding out what the hell he was doing leaving down and why.

Barry agrees to stop his behavior. He stops talking about his dad being innocent, agrees to stop doing crazy things and just altogether stops talking about his dad aside from his monthly visit. He barters for an end to the psychologists if he can keep his behavior up, and Joe agrees.

Barry learns to hide more, especially hiding his anger behind smiles. It works so well he sometimes forgets just how much anger he ever had, and his moods vacillate between sullen and chipper, but it’s an ‘improvement.’

Joe finds a scrapbook under his bed one day and it’s full of newspaper clippings and ‘evidence’ for things related to his father’s case and to other strange and unexplainable occurrences. Thankfully, no bus tickets tucked between the pages, so Joe debates even bringing it up -- he was just cleaning Barry’s room because it stunk, he wasn’t actively trying to snoop -- but eventually has to when Barry has one of his moods.

They really have it out. Iris hates seeing them like this. Barry tries to run away again but Iris stops him at the bus station, in tears, and Barry feels like an ass. She shouldn’t have to be the peacekeeper between them. He caves first, then, and Joe tears up when they hug and make up. Joe feels like such an ass, but he’s drowning and doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how else to help this traumatized kid.

Barry’s grades are top notch. He uses them as leverage for Joe to let him leave town to track down a lead properly. Joe knows he’s still going after that stuff, and he hates it a little, but Barry’s a good kid. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, barely has any friends. He gets Barry a flip phone and makes him check in almost hourly, but he lets him go to Opal City for the weekend, and a few months later, all the way to Coast City. No way he’s letting his kid go to Gotham or Bludhaven though.

He’s got another issue at home, which is that Iris is pointing out how damn unfair it is that Barry gets to go on adventures alone and he gets her a cellphone to even the pot but he knows it’s not enough. He’s told her under no uncertain terms that she’s not allowed to become a cop, and Barry’s talking about maybe being a CSI one day. It’s a playing field he can’t level. He loves Barry but he’d never ever forgive himself if anything happened to Iris. Barry has always been a stubborn little brat who pushed himself outside the orbit that Joe could protect him in, and suffered more before he came into Joe’s house than Joe suspects he’ll ever suffer again (Joe would be wrong about that, but he can’t yet imagine how). He can still protect Iris, so he comes to terms with the fact he treats them differently, and waits for them to as well.

He starts to call Barry ‘son’ long before he even realizes he’s doing it. He has been for years, by this point. Barry’s never called him ‘dad’ or anything close to it, but when he realizes he’s calling Barry ‘son’, he notices the way it makes the kid’s heart swell, so he keeps doing it, and neither of them ever comment on it.

Barry goes off to college with a ton of scholarships and a bit of leftover cash from his father’s house. Criminals don’t lose everything, even in jail. Henry, via some lawyers, sold the old place and had a lot to pay in taxes and legal fees, but what he didn’t lose went to taking care of Barry and putting away a nest egg for his college fees.

Joe almost wonders, sometimes, if Barry could be right about him. Not about his crazy vision of a man in lightning, but of the fact that Henry wasn’t the one who killed Nora. But there was no one else, no other evidence, and no motive for anyone besides Henry. It was an open-shut case, and he has to believe in the hard truths of reality. It he let himself think like Barry, he’d never make a half-decent cop, let alone have made detective as young as he did.

Barry’s sunshine smile is brighter all the time, and so is Iris’s. It wasn’t all bad. Mostly good. Mostly family dinners and fun games nights and taking the kids out to a movie, having a son to teach how to shave and how to drive and how to throw a football. It was mostly good, even if it was hard, sometimes.

But it’s still exhausting when Barry’s spending his college weekends traipsing across the country to track down Big Foot instead of coming home for a family meal. It’s still tiresome to hear him talk, more candid again and Joe’s trying not to crush that, about this blog that he started and how he’s meeting people ‘online’ who think like he does. He doesn’t approve, especially not of people validating Barry’s very warped perception of reality, and has to be the asshole who reminds him he’ll never make it into the force as a CSI if he keeps on with shit like that.

Barry doesn’t stop, but he does get quieter about it. Joe notices he’s filled out that scrapbook about his dad’s case a lot more when he visits his college dorm. He doesn’t comment. Barry moved out so fast, as soon as he started college, whereas Iris was happy to save money and avoid the dorms. She took a year off to work and figure out what she wanted, to enjoy life and do a bit of travelling now that she was old enough that Joe would let her, and found her own legs and path in a different way. He couldn’t be prouder. He worries, but knows he doesn’t have to worry with her, not in the same way.

Barry eventually graduates, does the grad school work required to be a CSI, and does it all fast, really. He’s on the fast track for sure, completely dedicated. Joe knows his motives. They piss him off. Being a CSI should be about helping people, not just helping his father. And Barry says that, he does, but Joe’s seen his murder scrapbook and that stubborn, fervent look he gets in his eye whenever Henry Allen comes up in conversation. Joe’s taken to trying to stamp it out again, not because he wants to see Barry hurt, but because he doesn’t. Barry can’t talk and think like that in a police precinct. He’ll be eaten alive, and he’s already gonna be the youngest one there and an outcast just because.

And maybe... maybe Joe resents it, a bit. How the man who murdered his mother still gets to have the role and title of ‘dad’ for Barry despite everything, and how Joe’s raised him now for longer than Henry did, really, and doesn’t get that. He thinks it’s petty of himself. As a parent, as someone who sees himself as Barry’s dad, he won’t ever let it interfere with doing what’s best for Barry. He loves that kid more than life itself. But as a person... it smarts. And he’s tired of it, eleven years later. He wonders what he did wrong, that Barry’s view of events became so entrenched. He wonders what he could have differently. Should he have been firmer, harsher? Pushed the therapy more? Kept him away from Henry more staunchly?

It’s not worth thinking about, really. His murder scrapbook has become a murder board hiding behind papers in his lab. Yes, ‘his’, because he doesn’t play nice with the other CSIs. Joe had to snort when he noticed. Barry had his smiles down pat but that sullen resentful attitude was still there and it wasn’t long before the tension caused him to look for a new workspace. The Captain was already exhausted by the kid, and Joe was catching heat for it, something creating tension between him and Barry too. He was damn good at his job but not the most reliable and not the easiest to share a space with. 

The Captain gave in and Barry rewarded with him with one of those blinding smiles and Joe threw his hands in the air in defeat. He wasn’t the only one to cave to Barry, at least. The kid got to retrofit a filing storage room with a leaky ceiling into a new lab. It was an old lab really, just no one had used it in over 10 years. But he moved all the boxes to the basement and helped the girls down there organize them and cleaned it out and made it his own.

And yeah, they still had arguments. Barry ran off to goddamn Starling City on one of his ‘impossible’ stories and damn if the kid didn’t lie his way on to an investigation. Joe was ready to kill him for that. The Captain was liable to suspend him. He didn’t, but it was a near miss. For such a good kid, Barry sure had a problem with authority.

But then he got struck by a bolt of lightning and everything changed.

Joe’s whole world stopped. His kid, his son--

He was already grieving Chyre, his partner, when he got the news. His partner and his son in one night-- was there really no God? Not one who loved Joe West, he was suddenly certain.

Hope felt painful. So much was suddenly put in perspective. He knew he loved Barry as a song but this, losing a child...

Except he wasn’t dead.

He didn’t trust Harrison Wells for a second, the man who caused this, but he let the man take his son because it felt like the only option and Joe spent months grieving what happened. He knew he shouldn’t blame himself but he was supposed to protect his kids. Protect that kid-- the stubborn little fool who always needed it so much more than he’d ever admit. The one Joe let get away with so much more because he’d suffered enough to earn it, and it couldn’t be worse than what he’d already--

Losing nine months was bad. Barry waking up and acting as if nothing had happened was a blessing and a curse. He didn’t understand how much had changed, or what Iris and Joe had been through, the long hours, the despair and exhaustion. He was right as rain and bright and whole and Joe prayed again for the first time in 40 weeks, to give thanks.

But he felt responsible, too. A renewed sense that he had to protect Barry, both from the world, the impossible that came in the form of lightning strikes, and from himself. His own delusions about this father, still cropping up, maybe more than ever.

Except.

Except then he saw his son chase off after a tornado in a streak of lightning and the world literally tilted on its axis.

And it took an argument, about powers, about Joe’s role in Barry’s life, and some apologies and hugs on both sides, in their own way, but Joe came around to realizing that... 

That the only mistake he’d really made was not believing Barry for all those years before now. It keeps him up at night. There’s nothing he can do about it now, but the world isn’t simple and it maybe never was. And now there’s nothing left to do but try his damn best to protect his kid who’s a superhero, to keep his other kid safe and as far as this mess as possible, and to stop the man who killed Barry’s mother. He owes his son that much, alongside all the unconditional love he has for him.

And their relationship improves dramatically, once they’re on the same page. Barry’s resentment for him, which he knew was there all those years, between the psych visits and the running away and the way Joe always had to be the bad guy... it falls away. Just melts, like it was never there. All it took was telling Barry he believed him. And that smarts, stings a little, really, but he lets it go, too. His son the superhero, who still needs him anyway. That’s gotta be enough.

[acindra]

This One's For Believing, If Only For It's Sake

Pairing: Geoff/Jack/Jeremy

Words: 2185

Summary: Geoff, Jack, and Jeremy are on vacation. Nagging, fishing, and some self discovery ensues.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

A/N: You should probably read I'm Not a Betting Man, But This Is A Sure Thing, but if you don't- Geoff is a demon, Jack is a thaumaturge, and Jeremy is a human who can change his hair color at will. Or so he thinks.

Jeremy was warm.

Very warm, but not uncomfortably so.

He knew he had planned to get up at a reasonable time to go exploring, but he was just so very warm, snug in the bed.

As he struggled to convince his body to move he realized his hand was caught under something- or more specifically, someone.

From the soft snoring beside him, he could tell it was probably Jack.

Opening his eyes, he watched Jack’s breathing fondly, before trying to wiggle his hand out from under him without waking him up.

Jack rolled closer and onto his side, effectively pinning Jeremy’s arm in place.

Jeremy groaned internally, unsure how he’d get his arm back.

Jack blinked lethargically at Jeremy before smiling and scooting closer still. “Morning.” he told him, nuzzling the side of Jeremy’s head. “Stay.” he requested, in what he would swear was not a whine.

“I wanna go exploring, Jack.”

Jack grumbled under his breath, worming his arms around Jeremy’s body so he could cling to him.

“Jaaaack.” Jeremy protested, wiggling in his grasp, but Jack just clung tighter.

They had both almost fallen asleep again when Geoff opened the door with a loud bang. “Wake up you fucks, I made breakfast!” he announced.

They both groaned at the loud noise that was Geoff.

Jeremy sat up, tugging his arm out from under Jack who burrowed deeper into Jeremy’s side.

Geoff came over and kissed Jeremy soundly on the lips, tugging on his arm so he’d get out of bed.

Jeremy slid his legs off the bed, but Jack still held him tight around his middle.

“Staaay.” he beseeched again.

“But food.” Jeremy protested. “Sorry, Jack.” he said, prying his hands off.

“Betrayal.” Jack said, dramatically, but moved to get out of bed all the same.

In the kitchen, Jeremy snagged a cupcake, one of the batch called Smoke Surprise Michael had given them for their vacation, from the counter and popped it into his mouth. He blew out a puff of smoke and it formed into a shark that wiggled around in the air for a few seconds before dissipating.

“Hey! You’re ruining your appetite.” Geoff complained.

“Aw, Geoff, I’ll always have room for your wonderful cooking.” Jeremy reassured him.

“You fucking better.” he grumbled.

-

Jeremy was lacing up his shoes when a bottle of water was brandished at his face. He blinked as he registered what it was and looked up questioningly at Jack who was carrying an additional water bottle.

“If you’re going to go out take water with you. It’s hot out and I don’t want you to die of dehydration.”

“I’m not going to go that far.” Jeremy protested.

Jack gave him a stern look. “Jeremy. Take the water. And take this one out to Geoff. Put on sunscreen, too. Geoff has it.”

Jeremy sighed. “Yes, mom.” He took the water bottles.

“I don’t want you getting skin cancer. I don’t think I can heal that.” Jack admitted.

“Aw, Jack.” He kissed him softly. “I promise I will take care of myself.”

“Good. Come back in one piece, please.”

“I will.” He smooched Jack again before heading out. “The serial killers have to catch me before they can chop me up!” he called after him.

Jeremy headed down the path to the lake dock where Geoff had a portable chair, a cooler full of beer, and a fishing pole.

If asked, he would claim he was fishing.

Jeremy knew that in reality he was using this as an excuse to drink and nap all day.

Upon reaching Geoff’s chair he quickly realized he was, in fact, asleep.

Jeremy smiled, reaching for the sunscreen on top of the cooler.

Geoff’s tail curled around his wrist suddenly. “Let me do that.” Geoff murmured, sitting up a little.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Jeremy replied, obliging when Geoff motioned for him to give him his arm.

“Was just resting my eyes.” Geoff unscrewed the lid of the sunscreen and applying some to Jeremy’s arm, lingering on his bicep.

“Jack told me to bring you water.” He said placing the bottles on top of the cooler.

“Jack worries too much. I’m not going to die of dehydration out here. It’s barely warm compared to hell.”

They switched arms.

“Just humor him, please?”

Geoff made a noncommittal noise. “I can’t even get sunburned but I put the damn sunscreen on, didn’t I? Let me do your neck.”

“We appreciate when you play human with us.” Jeremy said, kneeling down in front of Geoff.

“In return you could ‘play’ with me.” Geoff said lasciviously. “I like it when you’re on your knees.”

Jeremy looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Can I take a rain check for when I get back?”

Geoff sighed. “Fine. I was getting some important fishing done anyways.” He finished applying the sunscreen with a pat. “All done.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy said, getting back up. He made to leave but Geoff’s tail caught him again.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Jeremy leaned over and kissed him deeply.

Geoff pulled away with a lazy grin. “I meant your water bottle, but I like the way you think.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “I knew that.” he protested, good naturedly. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

Geoff gave him a swat on the ass. “Save it for later, big boy.” he said with a wink.

-

Jeremy was ankle deep in a stream looking for cool rocks.

Someone cleared their throat above him and he startled backwards, almost losing his balance.

“Holy shit you gave me a heart attack!” he gasped, a hand over his heart.

The lady who had checked them into the cabin was standing a few feet away on the shore, her arms crossed over her chest and an unimpressed expression on her face. She looked just as out of place as she had when they had been checked in, decked out in an excessively frilly pink dress with ribbons everywhere and bright pink hair. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry, am I not supposed to be in the river?” Jeremy asked, moving to get out.

“What? No. I don’t care about that.” She said, swiping at the air like she was destroying the words in front of her. “Your aura is all over the fucking place and you’ve been tramping all over the place like a fucking elephant, who taught you to walk with the land because they need to get something checked.”

“Uh. What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. I think you have the wrong person.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t think I do. I can literally smell it on you. You reek of old magic.”

Jeremy put his hands up in appeasement. “Listen, lady. I’m just a human. The only magic I can do is change my hair color and I’m pretty sure that’s just a fluke. Now I’m gonna go ba-” he started shuffling away from her.

“Oh no you don’t.” She said, pinning him with a glare. “Are you telling me you don’t even know you’re sidhe?”

“Because I’m male. Er. He?” Jeremy agreed, slowly.

She facepalmed. “Fae. You’re fae.”

“I’m pretty sure if I was a fairy that would have come up sometime in the twenty four years I’ve been alive.”

The look she gave him could kill a lesser man.

“Look, lady, you seem nice. A little unhinged, but nice.”

“My name is Kdin.” she gritted out.

“Kdin?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“Ok! Ok, Kdin. I just want you to know my boyfriends both know I’m out here and would probably miss me a lot if I went missing. So I’m gonna go back to them now and we can forget this ever happened and I won’t call the police on you, ok?”

Kdin snorted. “Are you allergic to iron?”

“What?”

“Iron.”

“I… don’t know? This isn’t minecraft. I don’t come into contact with iron all that often.”

“You look like you work out. Dumbbells are made of iron. Ever get allergic reactions when you use them?”

Jeremy slowly nodded. “I had to buy rubber coated ones.”

“Do you ever feel the need to count things spilled in front of you?”

“You gotta make sure you pick everything up.”

“Do you particularly like milk and honey?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re a fae. Even if you didn’t have any of that, I can see the magic on you.”

“Why don’t I have wings then, huh?”

Kdin gestured around her. “Does it look like I have wings, either?”

“Well, the ribbons kinda make you look like you do, but no. How do I know you’re actually a fae, then?”

“You’re dating a demon and a witch. It’s a bit too late to be questioning magic, isn’t it?”

“Fair enough. What do you want with me? Is this a territorial thing?”

“No. I just wanted to know what the hell you thought you were doing with so much erratic magic.”

“So, what, now you’ve got to kill me or something?”

Kdin visibly deflated. “I could teach you some sigils and stuff. I guess.” Suddenly there was a gleam in her eyes that made Jeremy want to back away from her even more. “Actually, I think this could be rather… fun.”

-

Jeremy was washing the windows of the vacant cabins next to theirs when Jack rounded the corner.

“There you a-what are you doing?”

Jeremy turned and grinned at him. “Oh, hey Jack! Kdin says I’m a fae and that this will help me hone my magic.” Jack’s eye twitched as he fought between wanting to watch Jeremy using his muscles and calling out what was clearly a prank.

“Yeah,” Jeremy went on, “She’s like the Mr. Miyagi of the fae.” He made ‘wax on, wax off motions.

“There is no Mr. Miyagi of the fae.” Jack told him. “And if there were, it would not be her.” he said pointing at Kdin who had been watching from the nearby dock. “This is clearly a prank. And why didn’t you do anything about this?” Jack yelled at Geoff, who was still ‘fishing’ off said dock.

“Don’t yell!” Geoff yelled back. “You’re scaring away the fish!”

Kdin rolled her eyes. “There’s not even fish in this lake, you fucking idiot!”

“Well not if you keep yelling!” Geoff protested, flipping her off.

Jeremy frowned. “Does this mean I can’t collect and barter souls.”

Kdin shrugged. “I mean you can if you want to.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Jack commanded. “No one in this relationship is allowed to collect souls.”

Geoff started laughing.

“No. Jeremy you are not allowed to collect or barter anything from any humans and you,” he pointed at Geoff, though Geoff was still looking out at the lake and couldn’t see him, “Are not going to be a bad influence on him or so help me I will bind you to the middle of the laundry room.”

Geoff ignored him, still laughing.

“And if you help him I’ll make you do the laundry while you’re in there.” Jack threatened.

Jeremy dropped the sponge he was using into a nearby bucket and hopped off the stool he was standing on. “I guess that explains why she wanted me to take off my shirt.” he muttered.

“If you got it, flaunt it!” Kdin interjected, wholly unrepentant.

Jack glared at her but turned to hug Jeremy. “I’m so glad you know what you are now. And that this isn’t some horrible rare illness or a curse.”

Jeremy hugged him back tightly, thinking back to the week Jack had spent trying to figure out the magic surrounding him only to come up with nothing but that it wasn’t currently harmful. “Anyways, what were you looking for me for?” he asked into Jack’s shoulder.

Jack pulled away. “Oh I made dinner and figured out how to operate the tv. I figured we could watch some netflix after dinner.”

“And chill?” Geoff added, suddenly interested.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Jeremy agreed.

“Well, since I am no longer needed,” Kdin said, brushing imaginary dust off her skirts, “I’ll just go fuck off, shall I?” She came to collect the bucket and wandered off back towards the office cabin.

“It was nice to meet you! Thanks for teaching me the sigils and stuff!” Jeremy called after her.

Jack looked concerned. “We should research them before you use them so we can make sure they’re legit. And now that we know what kind of magic you have we can find a way to harness it.”

“Yeah one of them looked particularly like a dick so that’s probably not real.” Jeremy agreed.

Geoff took the opportunity to sidle up to them both and wrap an arm around each of them. “What’s this about dicks? Are we- are we sucking dicks? Cuz I can get behind that. Or behind one of you.” He said, winking at Jack.

Jack gave a long suffering sigh as Geoff lowered his hands to grope at their asses.

Jeremy grinned at them, the feeling of knowing who- what he was settling around him like a blanket.

A/N:  The joke with 'sidhe' is it's pronounced 'shee'

[toughestfightcr]

TASK 001 - Archetypes

the activist : ready to fight people on equality ; stands up for the people’s rights ; stands strongly against corruption and hate.

the crimson : someone who gets easily upset (mad) and aggressive ; overly violent.

the hoyden : a tomboy ; they are often bold and carefree.

the plutomaniac : a passion or craving for wealth ; obsessed with money; reluctant to part with money, desperate to earn it.

[toughestfightcr]

Barter’s wardrobe

[toughestfightcr]

Tag Drop [2/2]