#with the exception of one twenty year old and then two adults. but it still weighs on me ig

[sarahreesbrennan]

Another Interesting Spoilery Evil Question

To directly answer the question before I start rambling, the Cobra’s body’s physical age is 24.

(You can stop reading here if you like. This gets very long!)

When Marius meets the Cobra (chapter 18 epigraph from Time of Iron) he correctly identifies him as Marius’s own age at the time - 18.

At the time of the book all the physical bodies’ ages are as follows.

Marius - 24

The Cobra - 24

Rahela - 24

Octavian - 24

(Pio and Nemeth, Octavian’s advisers, are in their early 40s and late 50s respectively - they’re Octavian’s dad’s people and that is part of why they are so stressed. Their king died young, Octavian became king in his teens and it has been an uneasy court ever since.)

Emer - 23

Key - 20

Lia - 19

Rae and Eric in our world were both 4 years younger than their bodies in this world (so they would both be 20 if the story hadn’t happened to them). For the moment we’ll leave aside Key, who had another life too, in a different way. (He was a little kid, but old enough to walk after his father, in the epigraph from Time of Iron in chapter 15.)

I do age shenanigans for two reasons.

—One is that age in fiction and reality is weird, and I wanted to portray that. If I had a crush on Mr Darcy when I was 7, is that okay? If I had a crush on Mr Darcy when aged 41, is that okay? Mr Darcy’s always in his late twenties: Elizabeth Bennet will never be older than 21, but she seemed so glamorous and all-knowing to me when I was a kid.

And if you walk into a story, when in their character development do you find them? Would we like Darcy when he’s sneering at Elizabeth at a ball? Who is it that we love and when?

Plenty of adult women fancied Edward Cullen, perpetually a teen (or was he? Fantasy and horror also open up the possibility of immortality - but in a way, all fictional characters are immortal. Holden Caulfield isn’t growing up any more than Edward Cullen is. And like fictional characters and immortals, the dead aren’t getting any older either—I think often of Anne Rice, author of the Vampire Chronicles, who wrote the doomed child vampire Claudia after losing her own daughter Michele as a child. Death, immortality, fiction and the overlap!) When I read or watched stories in which characters were in different/changed bodies they usually seemed younger - often their younger selves, or a younger/cuter body (Peggy Sue Got Married, Scarlet Heart). (Exceptions exist of course, e.g. Howl’s Moving Castle.) And I like magic losing something, costing you something, plus I’m a contrarian. So I wanted them older.

—The other is that LONG LIVE EVIL is a story about trauma, which often arrests your age in your mind. The period in which you were enduring the horrors is a blank in which you couldn’t develop normally, or in which you had plenty of experiences but few of them match with your peers’.

Cancer did it to me, which wasn’t horrendous as I was in my early 30s and that’s still adult, just meant a bit of ‘oh no I’m not this child’s mother, I’m too young - actually I’m a bit old to be this child’s mother now I think about it, but anyway I don’t claim her’ and the like. But I’ve seen it do the same for people with cancer I befriended or whom I mentor, and it’s a very different proposition if the lost years are 17-21.

It’s not just cancer, I’ve seen bereavement work that way on people, and apparently celebrity works on the mind like trauma and arrests you at the age you became famous in a lot of ways. It’s being taken out of the run of ordinary life, walking through your portal into strangeness.

But in the end most of us wind up with years that feel lost, I think, and playing catch-up is the only way forward.

And allegory remains allegory: if I’m writing a werewolf I’m taking about rage and body horror, sure, but I’m also talking about werewolves.

I was actually confused by this ask at first as I’d written a whole section where Eric says he’s going to die of a heart attack at 20 and Marius is exasperated as Eric is a little young to start lying about his age! But it must have fallen victim to my many cuts - stories transform! - and I can see why, because I don’t think Eric exactly thinks of himself as 20 anymore.

I had some struggles with the age stuff, it’s another layer of complication in a complicated story and there were worries raised that it was unnecessary and might make some characters less appealing but in the end I decided it was necessary to me and let the characters be unappealing, then.

I also enjoy the twisting, fluid ages because they cause conflict, and conflict is story.

Rae uses her new age (and thus doesn’t need to think of her absolutely horrible self worth) to count herself out as a romantic option in Key’s eyes.

She also thinks of the Emperor as in his mid-20s, as he is - after a time skip that happens in the original Time of Iron, years in which Key and Emer were Lia’s servants. She knows about those years, but she doesn’t put it together.

At Eric and Marius’s first meeting 6 years before the events of LONG LIVE EVIL, Eric also hasn’t been in the book that long. He was in a horrifically traumatic survival situation for a large part of the time he was inside, when he approached Marius to blackmail him. That is objectively a deranged thing to do, but Eric is thinking like a terrified 14 year old and also like a Huge Fan of Marius. aka the quintessential white knight, the Last Hope who is reserved and dignified and crucially, 24-28.

That would be the Marius Eric at the time knows when he approaches Marius in the flesh, Marius at 18 and coming off family trauma, friend trauma and quasi-romantic trauma himself. Marius actually DOES go into dissociative states and kill people, Eric was taking a huge risk with his own life that not a single person in the country would have taken. Marius is a Valerius, and they are killers. (The whole court, Marius included, thought Lady Katalin ((Rahela’s mother)) was being very daring by like, touching Marius’s hand when he was 17.)

Eric is acting wild partly because a) he is wild, b) he’s desperate but also crucially c) he’s thinking of Marius as someone that Marius isn’t yet and d) he’s not thinking of things from Marius’s POV, and doesn’t until the events of LONG LIVE EVIL. Their quasi friendship/quasi hostage situation (that the hostage had firmly decided was happening) couldn’t have happened without a perfect storm of weirdness, risks and lack of understanding what the hell was going on.

Marius would not have seen a 14 year old Eric (not a child to him exactly, but squire age rather than knight age) as a criminal threat in the same way as he saw the Cobra, his own age (18, which was definitely very adult, Marius thought at the time). Eric wouldn’t have failed to consider consequences or failed to consider Marius as person rather than character, if he’d actually been 18. But by the time anyone knew better, a status quo was established, and habit is second nature and a stronger nature than the first.

Eric’s plight is horrific initially. But at the same time, Eric is extremely intelligent (both intellectually and emotionally) and able to both cover and play catch-up to this new life, and he can advise Rae with the benefit of his experience - but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t screw up massively when he first came into the book, or that he doesn’t still have many things to work through.

Similarly, Emer is used to Rahela who is quasi older sister and quasi mistress, while Rae is now acting younger. And all of them are dealing with a gross system in which men are seen as in their youthful prime when women the same age are getting long in the tooth and can be traded in for teenagers - so even two people who are the same age aren’t treated as if they’re the same age, if they’re different genders. Age stuff is crunchy!

Also, while Emer thinks of Lia as having all the power due to class, Lia looks on someone who was her glamorous older stepsister’s age mate and went off to the big city years ago rather differently. But then, are adulthood and childhood different worlds? Is being in different social classes being in different worlds?

Can we reach the different universes of other people is something I’m always asking, I think.

THIS IS SO LONG. I AM SO SORRY.

[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

Rumination

Ruminate

(v.) To think about something deeply

After Edward left her, Bella Swan fell apart. Desperate to try and save his eldest daughter, Charlie brings his youngest daughter to Forks to see if she can bring her sister out of her depression.

Now, y/n must try to help her sister find her way back to the light while also trying to navigate her Junior year of high school in the odd town of Forks.

Chapter Fourteen: Preparations

now playing: Monsters by Hurricane Bells

Bella’s graduation day arrived. Charlie didn’t know why I wasn’t happy for her, and scolded me for not supporting my sister. The entire ceremony was spent, on my part, staring blankly at a wall.

Jessica gave her Valedictorian speech, everyone received their diplomas, and then went to party at the Cullens’ house. I went back to Sam and Emily’s house and did my best not to think about anything except the people in front of me.

When everyone filed in for dinner, there were three distinct absences.

“Where’s Jacob, Embry, and Quill?” I asked, dread prickling up my spine. Seth looked around, as if only now noticing they were gone, and the rest looked uneasy. Colin and Brady, the two newest additions to the pack, hastily turned their faces to their food to avoid answering me.

“They went to crash the graduation party,” Jared said at last, in between bites. I stared at him, but he kept his head down. I sighed, sitting down heavily at the table.

Cartoons played idly in the background, and no one moved to change it.

It was a while before anyone spoke again, but Emily was the one to break the silence.

“You should spend the day with Bella,” She said gently, “Spend time with her before…”

She trailed off, but anyone could hear the implied “before you can’t anymore.” I closed my eyes for a long moment before nodding.

“I will,” I said quietly, feeling defeated. No matter how badly I wanted my sister to stay alive, she was determined to become a vampire and stay with Edward forever.

Would I be able to see her, after her change? Bella told me that newborn vampires were the most bloodthirsty, far stronger than matured vampires and more willing to lean into their killdrive. If I could see her, would she still want to see me? For how long would we be able to see eachother? She would remain eternally frozen, always youthful and eighteen; her skin would remain smooth, her body never wrinkling or changing. How long would it be until I, her younger sister, would look like her mother? Her grandmother? Would I ever be able to explain why my sister was eternally youthful, if I ever married or had children? Would she come to Charlie’s, or Renee’s, or Phil’s funerals? She would stay the same age as when she was turned, and in twenty, or thirty, or forty years, when I was grown, with an adult body and signs of aging. I was always supposed to outlive her, as the youngest. We were supposed to grow old together, live beside each other so our children could play together and our husbands could be friends.

Quill came through the door, breaking me from my thoughts. He looked elated.

“Sam,” He panted, clearly having ran from the Cullens’ house back here, “The leeches want a meeting. The small girl, the one who can see the future, saw the vampires from Seattle coming down here for Bella.”

My heart seized, and I whipped my head up to stare at him. Quill’s eyes met mine, and he seemed to freeze. I supposed I wasn’t supposed to be here when he broke the news, then.

“Let me come.” It wasn’t a question, really, more a demand aimed at Sam. Jared and Paul opened their mouths, but I continued, “Bella will be there. I want to go, too. Neutral parties, right?”

“You two are anything but neutral,” Paul muttered, and I smacked his arm. I didn’t look away from Sam, though, because he did seem to think about it, just a bit.

I kept pressing, “If the vampires are going to be after Bella, I can help. I want to help, Sam, please. She’s my sister.”

Unwillingly, tears welled up in my eyes. And I hastily tried to blink them away, wiping at my cheeks and swallowing the lump in my throat. Sam closed his eyes, and the rest of the werewolves went still. I assumed they were talking telepathically, likely also with Jacob and Embry. I didn’t know where Leah and Seth were, but I assumed they were also being consulted. After a long moment, Paul clenched his jaw tightly and Jared winced, glancing sidelong at us.

“You will stay beside Paul at all times,” Sam said at last, “If you’re not beside him, then you’re beside Leah. The two of them will be making sure that you are safe.”

“If something goes wrong, Leah’s going to take you and run.” Paul said, his voice tense and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. I nodded quickly, thanking them.

I changed into thick denim jeans, pulling a hoodie over my shirt before shoving my feet into my boots. The wolves and I filed outside and into the forest, and I stepped back a good distance as they shifted. The sound was still horrible, the sound of bones breaking and muscle ripping to rearrange enough to make me a bit sick. Seth, in wolf form, appeared on my right side and nearly knocked me over as he rubbed past me. Leah, now on my left, kept me upright before crouching lowly and using her massive shoulder to lightly knock against my knee. Making an assumption, I crawled onto her back and situated myself to hold tightly to her neck. She made a huffing sound, slightly fond sounding, and stood back up. For a second, my distance from the ground was startling, and I gripped tighter to her fur. Paul walked over, his big nose pressing against the side of my head before moving down to nudge my arm harder into Leah’s fur.

“I don’t want to pull her hair,” I muttered, startling slightly as Leah’s chest rumbled in what almost sounded like a growling laugh. Paul nudged me again, and I held as tightly as I could. Satisfied, he again pressed his snout into the side of my head before moving away as the wolves started to run. I kept my body pressed tightly to Leah’s back, but the feeling of it was exhilarating, almost like flying.

When we came to a slow stop just outside a clearing, I could see cars and people standing around. None of the wolves made any moves to enter the clearing of trees, and I stayed quiet. Paul and Leah were close to the middle of the pack, both farther from the front than anyone else. I assumed it was because they were charged with ensuring my safety, and I was proved right when Sam and the others breached the wall of trees while the three of us stayed just behind them.

Carlisle took a step forward, his face friendly and his posture relaxed. He spoke to the pack kindly, his explanations pleasant as Edward, assuredly, told him what the pack was thinking. The newborns would be here to kill Bella in four days, he said, and my heart clenched.

Eventually, Paul and Leah moved into the clearing with me, and I watched as Jasper turned his back to us and began to explain the newborns to the Cullens and Bella. I listened intently as he spoke, and I wondered how he knew so much about newborn vampires and their fighting style. It sounded like more than just being one once, and I quietly asked Leah if she thought he had been part of a newborn army before. She dipped her head shallowly, and I took it for a nod.

Jasper eventually called Emmett forward, and I was stunned as they began to fight. I knew they were quick, but it was startling to actually see their speed on display. Paul, in particular, seemed rather intent as he watched Emmett fight.

“Tell Paul not to get any ideas about fighting Emmett,” I whispered again to Leah, “He thought Paul was cool, the last time.”

After a moment, Paul huffed and leaned over, nipping lightly at my jacket to tug on the sleeve. I was jostled a little bit before he helped correct my balance, and I snickered.

Alice fought Jasper, showcasing her ability to see the future. An uneasy ripple went through the pack as we watched them, and Edward looked smug as he murmured to Bella. My eyes stuck to my sister, grateful that she was still human. She was so beautiful, full of life as she was.

Bitterly, I wished Edward had never come back. Bella would be eternally hurt by it, but she would heal. She would remain human. My eyes refocused as Edward stepped up to fight Jasper, and I hoped he was knocked on his ass. They fought competitively, almost like Jacob, Quill, and Embry would. When I looked around at said wolves, their intent gazes were set on Edward and Jasper. Jacob especially seemed keen to watch how Edward fought, but Paul and Sam were equally as focused. The vampires made odd snarling sounds as they sparred, almost animalistic but with human vocals. It was disconcerting.

The rest of the vampires sparred against Jasper, and it was interesting to watch. They were beyond fast, and their familiarity with eachother seemed to help only Jasper as he went for their weaknesses. Oddly enough, he was more careful with Esme and Rosalie, slowing down and pulling his punches enough that they weren’t so hurt by them. When he went against Emmett again, though, he was just as vicious as before.

“The pack thinks it would be helpful to be familiar with each of our scents - so they don't make mistakes later. If we could hold very still, it will make it easier for them.” Edward announced, his tone flat. Carlisle agreed easily, and Sam led the way as the pack moved to sniff at the vampires. Leah hesitated for a moment before pushing closer to Paul they made their way over to the Cullens. Sam went from one vampire to the next, followed closely by Jared, then Paul, then Leah and I, then Quill, Seth, and Embry. Collin and Brady followed after some hesitation, and Jacob was last, having diverted from the path to so to Bella.

Emmett watched Paul as he sniffed around him, grinning. Paul moved on before making eye contact with me, his gaze flat as if to say, “See? I can be civil if they can.”

I snorted, shaking my head as Leah moved forward to sniff at him, too. Her hackles had since been raised, and I could almost feel her distaste as she had to familiarize herself with the way the Vampires smelled. They smelled like dust and ashes, if I remembered Paul describing them right.

“Running with werewolves, huh, Y/n?” He asked, raising his hand up for a high-five. Paul snapped his head back over to us, and Leah tensed as she shifted her weight away. Patting her side, I carefully returned Emmett’s high-five.

“Sort of,” I replied, “I’m not as fast as they are, so Leah had to carry me.”

The joke wasn’t all that good, but Emmett laughed easily. He was good natured, I figured, and it seemed to lessen the tension between the Cullens as he interacted with Leah and I kindly. Jacob went back to the forest to change back into his human form, and I was allowed to stand around by Bella while Paul and Leah hovered closely.

I just want to know what he plans to do with you for the fight,” Jacob told Bella as I got within earshot, and Bella looked incredulous.

“Do with me?” She demanded, her brows drawing together. Edward put a hand on her shoulder placating and explained, “You can’t stay in Forks, it would be too obvious.”

“What about Charlie?” She demanded again, then glancing at me and adding, “What about Y/n?”

“He’ll be with my dad,” Jacob supplied, “There’s a game, right? It’s Saturday. As for Y/n…”

He trailed off, and whatever thought he had made Paul snarl. Jacob held his hands up in surrender, winching slightly at whatever response he got in return.

“I was going to stay with Emily at the Reservation,” I answered Bella, but Edward shook his head. I slid my eyes towards him as he began to speak.

“No, you and Bella need to be far away from Forks. Both you and her scents are distinct, especially when I conjunction with mine and the wolves’.” He said, his voice so certain it sounded like facts. I suppose it was, as unhappy as it made me. “We need you two together to ensure you’re safe, and that neither of you go running for the other like with James.”

The name caught my attention, and I snapped my head back to Bella.

“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice painfully calm. She looked white as a ghost as she stuttered out nonsense. Turning back to Edward, I demanded harshly, “What the hell does that mean?”

He looked faux surprised, asking, “You didn’t know?”

“You know damn well I dont know, asshole—” O started, but he shook his head.

“No, actually, I wasn’t sure. You and Bella are equally as difficult for me to hear. Even Charlie’s thoughts are rather dim.” He explained, then added, “But I assumed Bella didn’t tell you. James, the tracker from last year, called Bella from your phone number and pretended that he had you hostage. He used an old recording of your voice, I believe. That’s how he caught Bella.”

I clenched my jaw, my nails biting into my palm as I clenched my fist. I turned an accusatory glare towards my sister, “You never thought to tell me that I was used to lure you into a trap?”

“You didn’t need to know—” she started, and I swore at her.

“Bullshit I didn’t,” I snapped, “That’s the whole reason this crazy bitch is after you now! Her crazy ass boyfriend used my voice to try and kill you, then got killed by Edward, and now she’s after you for revenge!”

Bella tried to speak again, but Jacob cut her off. To Edward, he asked, “We can disguise her scent, right? You can’t smell her around us.”

Edward tilted his head, “That’s right.”

They spoke a bit more, only bits of it verbal. I assumed that Edward was reading minds more than listening to them speak, and it was decided that Jacob would carry Bella around to mess up the trail. For the experiment, I wandered back to Paul and stood close to his chest. Briefly, he turned to press his head to mine before standing straight again.

“I wonder if we could plant Bella’s things in a tent or something, to draw the newborns into it.” I told him, “Maybe put her in clothes Jacob has worn or something, too, since you guys throw off the scent.”

Before he could respond, Bella and Jacob were back and talking to Edward. Leah shifted uneasily before Jacob jogged back towards us, explaining that Seth would be watching Bella while the fight lasted. Before that, though, they would have her walk through the forest to set a trap, then be whisked away to a safe spot. I would be kept with Emily on the Reservation, and one of the others would be assigned to watch us.

I wasn’t very fond of the plan, but it wasn’t up to me. Paul carried me back to the house, running slower than Leah had. Sleepily, I watched the passing scenery before Paul pulled to a stop, letting be walk back to the house while he and the rest of the pack dispersed to change back.

———

Ok guys!! Here’s chapter 14, I hope you enjoyed it!

Not much to say in my notes today, so thanks for reading!! Bye!

Taglist:

@anasbatzlo

@pillowjj

@pillowprincess4him

[fiddleleafedfig]

@wolfstarmicrofic | April 23:rd Teacher AU | Also inspired by this incredible post | 971 words

“It’s because I’m gay.”

Dora’s words had echoed in his head for the better duration of two years.

Two years.

Jesus Christ.

It sounds more clear now that there isn’t an ever pressing haze of alcohol clouding his brain. But alas, he frankly can’t afford to be an alcoholic anymore. He wasn’t even that good at it. A bottle of wine every evening and Remus just turned into a weepier version of his otherwise quite bleak self and watched old rom-coms on tv until he fell asleep on the couch.

But an English teacher’s salary isn’t hefty enough to really support a proper addiction and Remus hadn’t ever been the type of person to steal a car or break into someone’s house just to fuel his habit. With his luck he’d get caught right away anyway.

“This can’t come as a surprise, Rem, we never even had an active sexlife.”

Sure, fine, maybe they hadn’t. But they had been married for years; university best friends turned adult lovers and confidants turned married at twenty five and divorced at thirty three.

The divorce had at least been simple, easy, just like anything else about their relationship. One second she was there, dying her hair in the tub and staining it all bubblegum pink — the next she was moving out and downloading lesbian dating apps.

Remus munches salad from his little packed lunch. He should be planning his classes whilst having lunch — he refuses to, he’d rather sit here all bent-backed and pretend that the salad actually tastes better, that he isn’t regretting moving across the country to get away from it all. That his new life isn’t sinking his mood just like the old one did.

There’s a knock on his classroom door.

Remus looks up from his sad salad. “Come in?”

The door, covered in prints of Shakespeare plays and old illustrations of Of Mice and Men and other English class classics, opens to reveal the knocker.

Sirius has his hair in a bun today, black strands tied back and into a scrunchy that could rival the cheekiest of cheerleaders’. Other than that he is in his usual all black attire, all except his rainbow colored lanyard which holds his keys and the miniature periodic table keyring.

Sirius smiles. It’s all gray eyes that look like they’re sparkling under the hideous fluorescents and can make even the toughest lunch lady blush.

“Hi Remus, is this a bad time?”

Remus tries to swallow the tightness in his throat.

He can’t really deal with Sirius popping by like this, he’s done it quite frequently since Remus’ first week.

“No, not really,” he says, trying to keep his hands from fiddling and his eyes from darting around the room. “What can I help you with?”

Sirius shrugs, careless and relaxed. “I was just wondering if I could borrow your stapler. Seems like mine’s wandered off.”

Sirius drives a motorbike to school.

Remus saw him get off it in the parking lot not too long ago. It felt like the world stood still or maybe moved in slow motion when Sirius removed his helmet and shook his hair out, kitted out in leather. Then his neck got all hot, for some god forsaken reason, and he had to go splash cold water on his face before facing his students in the first period.

So many of Sirius’ supplies have gone missing in the short time where they have worked together.

“Erhm… Yeah, sure— absolutely,” Remus stumbles through sentences as he stands to go fetch the stapler in the supply closet. He turns the little key and quickly looks over the closet, a bit too aware that Sirius is coming closer; if he isn’t misinterpreting the scuff of boots on the floor.

He grabs the stapler, turns around. “Here.”

Sirius is right behind him, right in front of him now. Looking up at Remus with his easy smile and rows of lovely black lashes and… and… and pink lips.

“Thanks, I’ll give it back as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“Yeah…”

Sirius leaves. Remus has to go sit down, he’s feeling dizzy.

“Are you even attracted to me, Rem? I mean— it’s fine if you aren’t. Maybe I’m not your type or something.”

There was always something hidden in Dora’s words, at least in those words. Remus hadn’t come any closer to figuring them out, not even two years later.

He just sits in his darkening apartment, playing those words over and over whilst watching-but-not-really-watching tv. He should really go over to Sirius’ classroom tomorrow. You know, just to make sure he remembers to give the stapler back. And it has absolutely nothing to do with what Dora said those years ago, nothing at all.

In the following morning, Remus dresses in his good shirt and wrestles with his hair for a touch longer than usual. Why? Don’t worry about it.

He goes into work with a determination and anxiety churning in his belly.

He walks up to Sirius’ classroom, a print of Neil deGrasse Tyson on the door, and knocks.

Deep breath.

Sirius opens the door. Light eyes and smiling lips and an overall undeniably beautiful face.

Stapler, that’s what he’s there for.

“Will you go out with me?”

What?! No!

Remus was supposed to ask about the stapler!

Fuck!

Sirius just looks back up at him, glittering eyes and widening smile. He doesn’t say anything.

Remus tries to backpedal. “The stapler — I really need my stapler, that’s what I meant.”

Sirius just smiles. “So I just missed the point two second window of going out with you?”

There’s cotton in Remus’ ears, ringing in his brain. “No— I mean… Wait— Did you want to go out with me?”

Sirius’ smile looks like it’s almost too big for his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[livmightlive]

2 Adventures AU

I think it would be kind of interesting if the chain went on two adventures. What I mean by that is the first one would occur while most of the chain have only been through one or a few of their games. This could also be seen as a childhood friends au? The chain is pulled together when most of them are pretty young.

Time has just finished Majora’s Mask and is in full young teen angst, trauma, mode. He’s extremely mischievous and poorly adjusted. He’s only around 12 or 13 years old.

Wind has just been through the events of Wind Waker. He’s only 12 and is pretty shaken up but still pretty similar I’d say. Maybe even more hyper and desperate to prove himself.

Hyrule has just been through the events of Zelda 1. He’s quiet and jumpy. Dawn has gently been spending the past two years trying to help him adjust to a more social life but it’s been slow going. He’s extremely anxious to be around so many people. I’d say he’s around 14.

Four has only been through the events of Minish Cap so he’s not even Four yet. His age is canonically the most confusing to me but I really like the headcanons that he’s a young adult who has a baby face. In this he’d be a kid though, so maybe around 11?

Legend I can’t decide whether he’d have only been through A Link to the Past and the oracle games or if he’s been through Links Awakening by this point. I think it would be more interesting if he had just been through Link’s Awakening and is severely jaded. He’s 16. (If he had only been thru the oracle games he’d be 14 and a lot more light hearted)

Wild would have gone through the events of Botw being 17. He’d honestly just be pretty baseline with no crazy changes.

Twilight would have also just gone through Twilight Princess being 18. I think he’d be really hung up on Midna. 

Sky has also just completed Skyward Sword, I think he’d also be 18? Pretty similar to canon. 

Warriors was plucked halfway through his game and thrust into this adventure. He’s very stressed, worried he left his people behind when they needed him most. He becomes the group leader being the eldest at 20. 

They come together, pretty much a platoon of child soldiers, defeat the evil, say teary goodbyes, and return home. 

Years later they’re all shocked to be pulled into a second journey across time and get to reunite with their brothers. 

This time Time is his canon Lu age of being somewhere around his early to mid thirties being much more cool and collected than the actual child nightmare he was initially. He falls easily into a leadership role. He seems to have mended many of his mental wounds despite him being prone to grumpiness. This adventure after so many years of peace is pretty triggering though. 

Wind has gone through phantom hour glass and is freshly 15. He’s a little more mature now but very much so the same kid except now he’s like: “I see dead people”

Hyrule is a lot better socialized this time. He’s almost easy going and has a mischievous streak that the chain welcomes. It’s a fine change from the scared scrawny kid he was years ago. He still is exceedingly sweet and has a plethora of new talents to share. He also has crippling paranoid and a blood phobia. He’s around 18. 

Four, despite being the youngest the first mission, is now a young man being in his early twenties. He doesn’t talk much about his last adventure but he’s noticeably scatterbrained. Despite that, he can think outside the box like nobody else. It’s like he can think with the power of four people! He also goes by the name four now. 

Legend who has completed two more quests now is incredibly frustrated to have been yanked out of retirement/his wedding planning. Legend was able to manage a lot of healing over his last two journeys. He got engaged to the one and only Ravio who he was supposed to be working on wedding invitations with. He’s lighter now but still a grouch at times. He’s in his earlier twenties.

Wild has completed his mission from TotK and somehow his iPad can do EVEN MORE now. If lobbing bombs wasn’t enough last time, now he can crawl through walls. He is noticeably shaken in a way he wasn’t last time and has almost an unwilling clarity of the world around him. He’s 21 now. 

I so sorry but I don’t think Twilight would be much different. If anyone has thoughts pls lmk. He’s been able to move on from Midna and has thrown himself into shepherd work. I think he’d be courting Ilia and would be living a good country life while getting to brag about having tea with the princess. He’s fairly okay with being on another mission.

Okay this is totally just a headcanon but I picture Sky as that guy you knew in highschool who gets married really young and starts a family right after school. Sky is stressed after getting sent on another because he’s in the middle of building a kingdom and his wife, Sun, is pregnant. 

Poor Warriors. As mentioned the first journey happened for him when he was halfway through his war. Unlike many of the others, when he returned to his f ‘n c z timeline it was like no time had passed at all. For the second half of his war he met many new people and old friends. Mask (time) joined him, an older, almost grown version of Wind as his best friend and second in command, Ravio, Midna. When the war ends he’s saddened to say goodbye to dear friends once again. Warriors is whisked away to his second journey with the chain the moment his war ends. For him, it’s only been a year or less in some circumstances that he’s seen the chain. For most of them to had aged so much is jarring to him. The last time he saw them all it was him and a mostly non verbal group of children. Now it’s a group of almost all adults bar Wind, who was Warriors’ age last time he saw him. Most shocking of all is to see his baby brother all grown up and older than him. 

I haven’t put much further thought into the AU but I thought the dynamic of splitting the chain up by the amount of adventures they completed would be interesting. Most of the chain also had started their journeys as children so I thought it would be a fun dynamic for them to have all met younger. Poor Warriors though, leading 6 mentally ill teenagers and children was a huge task. And now they’re all either older than him or roughly the same age. I imagine they hit the pubs hard 😭

[a-yellow-van]

Wish You Were Here | Part 1

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground, what have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

20 years after the outbreak, you’re a stable, well established member in the community of Jackson, Wyoming. You have been for a long time now, the horrors, the brutality of survival buried deep inside, leaving place to the safe simplicity of routine. You didn’t think there’s anything that could disturb that, after all you’ve been through. That is, until you meet Joel Miller, and a drunken choice leads to…much more. Set in between Part I and Part II. Canon compliant (I'm breaking my own heart)

Series masterlist

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, eventual smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, joel is a good parent to ellie, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC for Part 1 : 4.5 k

Warnings for Part 1 : drinking, swearing, implied sexual content

New Year’s Eve 2034. Jackson’s tavern is packed to the brim, people in every corner of the room, almost shoulder to shoulder. It’s hot and humid inside; layers have been shed, revealing patches of sticky skin. A musky, sickly sweet smell assaults your nose : a mix of sweat, booze and dust, making you nostalgic for a time you never knew, before the world fell apart. The windows are fogged up, blocking out the view of snow falling peacefully, coating the street. You’ve rarely seen anything like it. Nearly every adult survivor in the community has seemingly decided to come out tonight, and the fact that Eugene has finally dipped into his batch of mead, home brewed by the barrel, is most certainly to blame. Maria, Jackson’s leader, doesn’t exactly approve, but she’s making an exception. Just for the holiday. You spot her at the back; she’s holding hands with Tommy, her husband, protectively watching over the crowd. Eugene’s feeling particularly generous this evening; he offers a hefty bottle to whoever asks, reminding each lucky recipient to “savour ‘cause she’s been fermenting since July!” You must have heard that sentence a good twenty five times since you got your own bottle, the words getting progressively less intelligible as Eugene indulges in his creation. You’re still not certain why he refers to his mead like it is a woman, and frankly, you’re afraid to find out. One thing’s for sure, the beverage is incredibly strong, has a horrid taste, burning your throat like acid with every drop. It’s questionably safe for consumption, but the occasions to get shitfaced in the midst of an apocalypse are quite limited, so you endure. Even Jackson’s most reclusive members agree with that notion. Including him. Joel Miller. He’s nursing a drink at a table near the bar, opposite to the one you’re sharing with your usual group. You wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but they’re fellow patrollers, close to you in age, so, naturally, you’ve grown familiar. 

“What are you looking at?” Max, the one you’ve known the longest, nudges you with their elbow.

Your gaze quickly snaps back to meet theirs. You realise you’ve been staring at the older man. Noticeably. You don’t quite know why. Maybe he intrigues you, all quiet and pensive in the middle of a rowdy celebration. His expression is hard to read, but there’s a hint of…sadness? You get a hold of yourself and brush off the thought. 

“Nothing,” you lie. Max cocks an eyebrow, a little grin forms on their lips, freckled cheeks dimple. 

“Uh-huh.” There’s a glint of malice in their green eyes. “You sure? No one particular caught your attention?” 

You don’t let their teasing get to you. “Nah. Just checking at Seth trying to hit on Leanne,” you reply without missing a beat, “for the millionth time.” This one isn’t a lie, as the scene really is unfolding a few metres away. You blink at Max, feigning innocence. They narrow their eyes, not buying it. 

“Man, when is he gonna get the hint?” Fred chips in, breaking the unspoken exchange between you and Max. She quickly peeks in the direction of the duo, a muscly arm propped on the back of her chair, long cornrows draped across the other shoulder. She scoffs, and takes a swig of her drink. “She looks like she’s seconds away from kicking him in the balls.”

“Don’t know how she hasn’t done that, like, years ago.” It’s Astrid’s turn to talk. She sighs, shaking her head, her wavy golden blonde hair rustling with the movement. 

“Maybe you should go beat him up for her, A,” Fred jokingly suggests. “Bet she’d like that.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” Astrid responds, seriously. “I’d have him in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.”

“Oh, yeah. And then you and Leanne would run off into the sunset,” Max adds, taking their attention off you, finally. They start screeching in a horrible, high-pitched voice. “Oh, Astrid! Oh, thank you! You saved me from the big, bad man! I lo-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Astrid cuts them off, cheeks reddening. 

“Hmm. I think they hit a little nerve there, A,” Fred continues, laughing, moving her arm to playfully put it around a flustered Astrid. She’s too easy, you think. It’s pretty endearing.  

“Who are you kidding,” you join in Astrid’s torment. “You can’t even say hi to Leanne without stuttering.” The woman gets even redder, the angry tint reaching her pale neck. Fred and Max giggle. “You’re such a teenager,” Max strikes. 

“Just fucking drink.” Astrid commands the three of you, pouring the group another round. 

“Fair enough,” Max says, before clinking glasses with Fred in front of them. Astrid finishes hers in one gulp, which makes her cough, while you sip slowly. The buzz is setting in. It’s nice. It eases the burden on your aching shoulders.

You let your companions carry the conversation as the night progresses, occasionally humming or laughing at a remark. You’re not exactly concentrating. You keep getting drawn back to Joel Miller, for some reason. He arrived in Jackson last summer, about six months ago. Him and a kid, a girl, around fourteen or fifteen. You assumed that was his daughter, but soon learned that you were wrong. People talk, especially in such a small community. Something about Joel smuggling her across the country for the fireflies? A failed operation, clearly. You heard the organisation disbanded since then. It was about time. You’re surprised they lasted that long in the first place. He’s Tommy’s older brother. There’s history there, you know some of it; Joel already had a bit of a reputation before ever passing through Jackson’s gates. He hasn’t done much to help it since then; he barely interacts with anyone besides Tommy and Ellie, the girl. He keeps to himself, brooding, silently observing, tough, cold, detached. That’s how Joel’s treated you on the few patrols you’ve had to go on together these past months. He usually works with Tommy, you usually work with Max, but Maria likes to switch around the schedule occasionally to test out different pairings. You and Joel have done a very efficient job, only speaking when absolutely necessary, technical terms only, mumbling salutations. However, on the last patrol, in early December, you made a great shot at a stalker, and you could have sworn Joel’s mouth twitched in approval. It was so short it might have been a product of your imagination, but then, after coming back to Jackson and bringing your horses to the stable, he mumbled your last name instead of his usual grunt goodbye. It’s fair to assume there’s mutual respect for each other’s skill there. Nothing else. So then, why does your gaze keep returning to his tousled, greying curls, scruffy beard, piercing brown eyes, and the scar on his left temple? Maybe it’s the alcohol. Yeah, that must be it-

Joel’s eyes suddenly lock with yours. Your heart skips a beat, making you choke on your drink. Shit. What the hell was that? Fred immediately interrupts the story she’s telling and you feel three pairs of eyes on you. You clear your throat, looking down at the table. 

“Sorry. Went down the wrong pipe,” you mutter. They keep staring. “Uh, Fred, what were you-”

And then, as if the universe takes pity on you, Mike, Jackson’s butcher, jovial fellow in his early sixties (but barely a wrinkle creasing his dark skin) claps loudly and calls out over the incessant chatter. 

“How about some music, huh?” A few supporters acclaim him. He pushes through the crowd, reaching the old console piano standing at the south wall, underneath a window. Around, some tables have been stored away, allowing some space for dancing. The instrument is in poor shape, the keys are yellowed, a pedal has fallen off. Mike sits on the worn piano bench. Most survivors in the tavern have momentarily lowered their volume, following the man’s moves. He tries a little riff. Not as bad as was expected, just slightly off tune. You know he’ll make it work. “Alright. Get ready to groove, everyone!” He plays the intro to Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry perfectly, earning cheers and applause. Chair legs scrape on the ground, glasses and bottles are snatched up as the crowd converge around Mike. 

“Woo! Come on!” Fred exclaims. She stands and takes Astrid’s arm, forcing her patrol partner up. Astrid resists, but just for the principle, a beaming smile on her face. The pair leaves, already bobbing their heads to the rhythm. Max takes another shot before shuffling away from the table on legs rendered wobbly by the booze. They hold their hand out to you, but you don’t take it yet. You dare look over at a certain someone again, who is grounded in his seat, indifferent to the change of mood. Max wiggles their fingers impatiently.

“I’ll, uh- I’ll join you later,” you say, averting their eyes. 

“Ugh. Fine. You suck,” they reply.

You raise your middle finger in response. They turn away abruptly, flashing the back of their frayed jean vest, the sleeves cut off by hand. Max catches up with Astrid and Joey, and you watch as they start dancing, snorting at how uncoordinated the three are. You’ve downed a good five drinks now. One more won’t do any harm, right? You fill up your glass with the last drops of mead from the current bottle. Warmth spreads through your veins, making your head throb in a pleasant way. Your eyelids are heavy, your surroundings blurred. Something is clear, though. You and Joel are amongst the very few survivors that aren’t taking part in the fun. Hell, even Maria’s letting her husband spin her around. 

And then it happens again. Joel meets your gaze. But this time, he holds it for a couple of seconds, before looking to the side and rubbing his chin. Almost like he’s doing it on purpose. You must be drunker than you thought, because that makes no fucking sense. And what your clouded brain makes you do next is even less logical. Slowly, you rise, and walk unsteadily to the now deserted bar, heading towards Joel. Your heart picks up its pace. This is so stupid . You sit down at one of the stools, just a few feet away from him. You lean over the counter, resting your head in your hand, staring straight ahead at the row of vintage bottles aligned on a shelf behind the bar. On the piano, Mike has moved on to I’m Still Standing by Elton John, his voice strong, smooth. You catch a glimpse of Joel in your peripheral. He’s tensed up ever so slightly, his back straightened. He’s aware of your presence. This is so stupid.

“Hey, Miller,” you hear yourself speak, still looking ahead, but loud enough he can hear you. 

He sighs. That’s something. He hasn’t gotten up and walked away, he hasn’t told you to get lost. He’s acknowledged you. It’s full of irritation, sure, but it gives you enough motivation to keep going. 

“Not a fan of the music?” You attempt a sultry tone and make yourself cringe. Great start. Joel grunts, takes a swig of mead and crosses a leg over the other, nonchalant. 

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly peg this as your scene,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the crowd. The booze has taken the reins, and you can’t hold your tongue. 

A full minute passes in silence. You’re about to give up. And then Joel talks, gruff, sarcastic, the inebriation accentuating the southern drawl in his voice. “Right. And like you’d know, of all people.”   

A sentence. Joel Miller just spoke a full sentence to you. You’re stunned.  

“Fair point,” you recover after a few seconds. “You just, uh, don’t really seem like the social type.” A pause. You feel Joel’s gaze burning the back of your neck. “No offence,” you add.

“None taken.” Joel downs the rest of his drink, exhales. “You’re not dancin’ either,” he observes. 

“Perceptive,”  you retort. You spin on your stool, now facing him. A corner of his mouth curves upwards almost imperceptibly. It goes back down immediately, but you caught it. And it gives you a boost of confidence. You’ve made the grumpy bastard smile, or, well, the closest to it he can probably manage. 

“Why not?” he questions. “Your friends looks like they’re havin’ fun.” He nods his chin over at Max, who’s gone up to the piano and is belting the lyrics to the song, stomping their feet, while Mike plays the melody. Two things : first, Joel knows who you hang out with, which means he’s not completely oblivious to who you are, and second, he’s making conversation with you. Astonishing. 

“Guess I’d rather be bothering you.” You shrug, trying to suppress a smile. “Thought you’d have cursed me out by now, if I’m honest.”

Joel scratches his forehead. “Dunno why I haven’t,” he mumbles. 

“Maybe you should.” Did you really just say that? Did you just try to flirt with him? And why did his gaze flicker to your lips?

He looks back up and narrows his eyes at you. “Nah. You don’t want that.” 

You don’t miss a beat. “Hey, I could take it.” You’re maintaining eye contact from your seat at the bar. “I’m tough.” Well, this is happening. Damn Eugene and his mead .

The ever-so-subtle smirk passes over Joel’s face for the second time. He shakes his head.  “Don’t wanna make you cry.” 

“Hm. How considerate,” you reply, unable to fight a little smile. Joel emits a short, low, rumbling sound. 

“Was that a laugh?” You ask, the smile growing larger. 

“Hm. No.” He goes right back to irritation. But still, he’s not pushing you away. So, in your drunken state, you decide to test the limits. You slip off the stool and take a step towards Joel. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. You take another step, and then another, until you reach his table. There’s no going back now. 

“Uhm, mind- mind if I sit?” 

“Are you really gonna leave if I say no?” He asks, rhetorically. He’s challenging you. You feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach drop. You pull the chair out and settle on it. You’re suddenly very conscious of your near proximity to Joel. The courage you had mere minutes ago is disappearing; you have to fuel it up. You grab an empty, upside-down glass sitting near two bottles of mead, one empty, one half full. Joel is acting quite coherent for a man who’s had that much. You tilt your head in request. 

Joel scoffs. “Go ahead.” 

You pour yourself a seventh drink, knowing perfectly well that it is an absolutely terrible idea. You down most of it in one gulp, wincing, before putting the glass back down with a thud. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Joel asks, the nickname dripping with irony. Still, your stomach does another flip. “Can’t hold your liquor?” He mocks. He leans back in his chair, legs open, right hand on his knee, left hand palm down on the table. Your gaze travels from his face, down his neck, to his broad chest where the small unbuttoned portion of his flannel reveals a few dark hairs. What the hell are you doing? Your eyes snap back up

“Fuck off,” you mutter under your breath. Joel looks pleased with himself. You finish your drink, looking straight at him, taunting.

“What was that?” he asks, even though he heard you perfectly. His smug smirk is assured now. You don’t answer. Joel fills up his glass. You take it as a sign that he intends to see this interaction through. Fine by you. You search the depths of your sluggish brain to find something witty to say.

“So, Miller. What’s with the accent?” This is the best you can come up with. The words are slurred. 

He scoffs again. “Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he says, pointedly adding your last name. He’s playing you.

“Ah, come on, cowboy ” you continue, impressed by your own audacity, “Where you from?” 

Tommy has mentioned this to you before. Definitely somewhere south, but you can’t recall in your current state. And you want to hear Joel say it. 

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he doesn’t stop smirking. “Texas. Austin.” He takes a sip. “You?” 

Texas. Right. Makes sense. In a way, you feel proud to have gotten this minimal piece of information out of him. You didn’t think you’d ever witness Joel Miller opening up to you, not even a tiny crack. But here you are.  

“Washington. Seattle.” You copy the structure of his answer; Joel nods, casual. “Uh, you’re a long way from home,” you add.

“Yup.” He doesn’t elaborate. Takes yet another sip. “Seattle, huh?” His gaze pierces through you, eyebrows knitted in reflection. “Born and raised?”

“Yeah…” You’re not certain what he’s getting at. 

“There’s a QZ, right?” A pause. “D’you end up in it?” he questions. 

The words are like a slap in the face, sobering you up a little. You don’t want to think of that right now. Not at all. You look down, fidgeting with your empty glass. 

“Hmm,” you confirm. 

“Damn. Heard things got pretty bad up there,” Joel says. You wish he’d just shut up. You don’t like this turn the conversation took. 

“Yeah, well, I left, so.” The sentence comes out harsher than you had planned. Joel understands the message; he raises his hands up in defence.  

“Got it. Sorry I asked.” The guy doesn’t look one bit apologetic. It frustrates you, and yet…You’re enjoying this little game. 

“Yeah, watch it, Miller,” you warn, but your tone has gone back to being playful. Joel relaxes in his seat. He rests an elbow on his denim-encased thigh, shifting his weight. 

You proceed. “So what’d you do? In Texas?”

“Hm. Contractor.” He really is a man of few words. His past occupation suits him like a glove.

“Fitting.” You give him an unimpressed pout; he stays unbothered. 

“Yeah, yeah. What’d you do, then?” He asks. 

It makes you chuckle. “Uh, middle school student. 6th grade sucked ass.”

Joel takes a second to register. Something quickly washes over his face, an emotion you can’t quite discern, before vanishing. You’re too drunk to analyse it. 

“Huh. I would have guessed elementary,” he states. 

“Aw. Don’t flatter me,” you reply, dryly. 

“I’m not. Just sayin’ you don’t seem like you’ve learned much past fourth grade,” Joel says with a shit-eating grin. 

Wow. You’re speechless. And then you burst out laughing. And, miraculously, Joel starts chuckling with you, the corner of his eyes crinkling. The sound is hearty, surprisingly warm. It’s the kind of laughter that you would try your hardest to hear as often as possible. That could make you all fuzzy inside, if you’d let it. And just like that, the tension that had been building between the two of you breaks. It’s comfortable, you’re at ease. The moment stretches out; you feel a strange connection with Joel, and you wonder if it’s mutual, or if you’re going completely insane. It’s probably the second option. You manage to utter a few profanities, between two breaths. Joel watches, amused, waiting for you to calm down. 

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” you concede, a smile lingering on your lips. 

Joel’s expression has softened. He looks younger, somehow, like a few years of constant stress have been erased just by talking with you. 

“I may not be the brightest, but at least I can take a joke.” 

“You’re not wrong there.” Joel fills your glass with the remnants of the mead, while you push a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to conceal a blush. “You deserve it,” he explains, “if you can take another round.” 

“You keep underestimating me.” You raise your glass up in the air. 

Joel imitates you. “No hard feelings?” He suggests. 

“Deal.” You clink Joel’s glass with your own, and tilt your head back to swallow the foul liquid as quickly as you can, your gut churning in protest. You groan.  

“Think my estimation was correct, actually,” Joel quips. You look over at him. Besides a slight glaze over his eyes, he appears unaffected by the alcohol.

“How are you doing this?” You ask, baffled.

He shrugs. “You’ll get there eventually.” 

“And by there, you mean kidney disease?” You naively bat your eyelashes at him. 

“I’ve survived worse,” he remarks. It’s lighthearted, but it hides a bleak truth you know all too well. You ignore it. 

“Yeah. It shows.” You tease, giving him a scrutinising up-and-down.

“Hm. Funny. You didn’t seem to mind it that much when you were starin’ earlier.”

Jesus Christ.

Game over. Joel wins, one million to zero. You want to bash your head against the table, or run very far away, preferably out of Wyoming. And get torn apart by clickers. Instead, you stay right where you are, mouth agape, cartoonish. Fucking idiot. Are you twelve?

“That’s not- I- I- wasn’t-” 

Joel is delighted by your reaction. 

You wisely decide to shut up and quit stuttering. As if on cue, Mike hits the iconic intro to Don’t Stop Me Now. Max starts singing dramatically, in an offensively bad Freddie Mercury impression. Some survivors join in, not a single one on key, resulting in a cacophony. You take it as an opportunity to get out of the situation. You scramble off the chair and start walking away, stumbling and catching yourself on a nearby table. 

“Where you goin’? We weren’t done.” Joel calls after you. You turn around. 

“Me? Oh just stretching my legs.” You start stepping side to side and swaying your shoulders, following the rhythm. “Showing some love to the artists.” You shoot two fingers at him, moving your arms to the music. Joel shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re terrible.”

“Well then why don’t come here and try to do better!” You shout back, doing a ridiculous twirl as the sheer quantity of mead you ingested finally hits you. The room spins, transforming into blobs of colour. So, you close your eyes, and you flail around carelessly, your mind too foggy to worry. The tempo of the song increases. 

I'm burning through the sky, yeah! Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit-

Suddenly, there’s a presence next to you. You crack your eyes open, checking on who’s intruding. Joel is standing about three feet away from you, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets. His left heel is tapping the beat. 

“S’a good song,” he mumbles. 

Joel Miller, nervous to dance with you? Anything truly is possible tonight. You approach him, not interrupting your dance. He stays put. You two are away from the crowd, and it feels like you’re alone in the tavern with him, like no one can see you. 

I'm travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man outta you!

As Max puts all of his might into the chorus, you get closer to Joel, because he lets you, close enough that you could reach out and take his hands if you wanted to. And you do, but they’re hidden in his pockets. So you keep dancing, wiggling your hips, jumping up and down. Joel still isn’t budging, but you feel his gaze on you, eyeing your bare arms, the tattoo right under your left clavicle, and going lower down your chest…You take a step towards the man. 

“Who’s staring now?” You hadn’t planned to say that out loud, but it’s too late. You take another step, now inches from Joel’s  chest, which is rising and falling faster than before. His lips are parted, his eyes intense. It’s now or never. Fuck it.   

Your right hand moves up to rest on Joel’s shoulder, causing him to tense up. His expression goes stern, serious, like he’s fighting an internal conflict, debating whether he should pull away. Yet, he remains still. So your left hand goes to his other shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. He holds your gaze, then inhales like he’s about to say something.

A clunking noise interrupts him, shattering the moment. Your arms fall back to your sides and you glance over Joel’s shoulder, searching for the source of the disturbance. You find it easily. Astrid is standing near the table your group had claimed before, her hair thrown in a ponytail, face glistening with sweat, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up. Her water gourd lays on the ground, its content spilled. Her eyes are wide with surprise, jumping between you and Joel. Her mouth contorts in a silent, one worded question. 

That’s bad. That is very bad.  

Joel notices the shift in your attitude and whips his head around, as a snickering Astrid jogs up to the crowd, merging into it again, certainly to tell Fred about what she just stumbled upon. Joel turns back and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers:

“Outside. Now.” 

His breath tickles your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Something stirs in your lower abdomen; a longing, a desire that demands to be dealt with, urgently. 

Joel snatches his coat from the back of the chair he sat in, before striding towards the exit. You follow behind, docile, not bothering to retrieve your own jacket. Once you’re out of the tavern, the freezing wind barely even pinches your skin. You’re too preoccupied with another feeling that’s dangerously rising up inside. You need his touch. And you get what you want. Joel grabs your forearm, and drags you to the alleyway at the side of the building, lit up by a single, flickering street lamp. In a second, your back is pressed against the logs, Joel’s face taking up your entire field of vision. He’s seething with anger. His pointed finger digs into your sternum. 

“You- you- ” he growls. You look back at him like a deer in headlights.

And then he kisses you. Hard. His lips crash onto yours and you let out a startled yelp, jerking your head to the side. Joel stares, anticipating your reaction. You don’t let him wait for long before you kiss back. His hands glide down to your waist, gripping it, while yours go to the nape of his neck. You pull each other in and a burning heat spreads between your bodies. Time seems to slow down as you part your lips to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue in. He tastes bittersweet like the mead. Your heart races. An ache forms where your thighs meet.

Just as suddenly as he came in, Joel shoves you away roughly. Your head bounces on the tavern’s facade. He storms out of the alley without another word, leaving you alone in the cold, panting, riled up, confused. 

What the fuck just happened?

Next chapter

To read on AO3

[you-hate-time-travel]

idk if anyone asked this before. sci fi au troll facts =:333 like xenobiology wise, grins

and are there caraps and leprechauns too? (i dont remember if u mentioned that either but just curious. i would love to hear yer rambles,,,smiles)

HIIIIIII HIIIIII OH MY GOD HELLOOOOOOOOOOO THIS IS THE PERFECT QUESTION HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(WARNING: Parasites, Weird bug babies, Culling mention, talk of blood and blood-drinking.)

Trolls:

> Fuchsia is actually a mutation just like cherry red! This has been hypothesized by one or two people in-universe, resulting in swift culling.

> Trolls have three stages:

Wriggler, the little caterpillar thingies,

Juvenile, what most of the trolls we see in canon are,

and the Adult stage.

They pupate between each stage! Troll wrigglers get really, REALLY big before they pupate. They emerge as little kiddy trolls, equivalent in body and mind to a four-year-old human. The adult pupation happens at around 18-21 years old, and is considered the legal age of adulthood!

The trolls pupate in the caverns and then fight their way out to find a lusus.

> Trolls actually retain those pincers they have in wrigglerhood - That's what their fangs are! After their adult molt, they start to slowly turn orange. Chahut Maenad's "fangs" have prematurely turned very orange. Like how some people get gray hairs in their twenties.

> Rainbow drinkers, i.e. trolls reanimated by a hemophagous parasite, adapt these pincers to make wounds to drink blood from easily. The troll can still digest at least some sustenance other than troll blood, though the blood is what keeps the reanimating worm alive. These days, you can keep the worm satiated with blood-imitating drinks/sludges/smoothies that give them the nutrients they need.

> They have five digits on their hands and feet, just like us, Except that they have two thumbs, one on each side of their hand.

For the second question...

YES!!!!!

Carapacian exiles arrived over 60 years ago on Earth, also known as Terra in non-Earth languages, and a relatively short time ago the Incipisphere Wars were ended for good.

Leprechauns are a very freshly contacted species, with very few living outside their homeworld. A fair few people have never even heard of them.

As an extra, Consorts!!! They are four sophonts from the same planet, and were contacted around 30 years ago.

(And a very special shoutout to the blog Xenobiologist For Hire, and especially XFH's Rainbow Drinker post.)

[mimisempai]

You're the only light in my blurry world 1/10

Summary

After a serious motorcycle accident several years ago, Aziraphale is unable to recognize the faces of people he loves, let alone those he doesn't know. 

But when he met Crowley for the first time, he's able to see his beautiful face with absolute clarity.

Though, because of the way he keeps looking at him, Crowley thinks Aziraphale doesn't like him.

Notes

Once again, I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm doing it anyway, and with conviction.

Masterpost for this fic : here

Crowley scratched the back of his head and sighed. 

He had that strange feeling again that he had had for several weeks. 

He felt watched.

"Crowley!"

He looked up at the person who had just called out to him and saw that it was Muriel, one of his new friends.

"Do you have to work later? We'd like to have dinner together so you can get to know us."

Crowley put his brush on the easel and replied with a smile, "Works for me!"

"Great."

Muriel walked away to a small group of people outside the hall door, and as soon as Muriel were gone, Crowley had the same strange feeling.

Ever since the day he'd arrived at the art class for adults, he'd felt someone watching him. The thing was, he knew who it was, but he hadn't dared bring it up yet. He was still new here and didn't want to draw more attention to himself. At least not that much.

After graduating as an astrophysicist and working several temporary jobs, Crowley had finally been hired on a permanent basis at the city's planetarium and was happy to finally settle down.

After adjusting to his new situation, he began looking for an art class, wanting to fulfill his second dream after studying stars and planets, to learn how to draw and paint.

After his father left her for another woman, it was his mother who raised him, sacrificing everything for Crowley's studies. Obviously, the family budget didn't allow for extras like an art class, and Crowley had waited patiently.

Three weeks ago he had discovered that there was an evening art class not far from his home and had applied. So far he'd enjoyed it. The art teacher knew how to make his class interesting and the group consisted of pretty nice people.

Except for...

**********

"Even though it's the middle of the year, I'm happy to welcome a new member to the class."

Crowley stepped into the middle of the group of about twenty people, all seated in front of easels, and approached the art teacher, who continued, "Anthony Crowley, you may introduce yourself, okay?"

Crowley turned to the small group and said with a friendly smile, "Hello everyone, my name is Anthony Crowley, but I prefer to be called Crowley. I started working at the planetarium a few weeks ago where I give lectures and teach classes for 8-15 year olds. I-"

He was rudely interrupted by a crash and turned his head to where the noise had come from to see that an easel had been knocked over as one of the class members had just gotten up. The first thing that struck Crowley was the slightly old-fashioned way the guy was dressed, especially the curly blond hair that formed a kind of halo around his head. 

As the other members of the class chuckled slightly, the clumsy fellow who had dropped his easel stammered, "Ah... uh... sorry, I'm sorry."

Instead of sitting down, however, he remained standing, glaring at Crowley, who wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

Probably another lunatic.

"So, Crowley, what can you tell us about yourself?"

Crowley snapped out of his thoughts and forgot about the clumsy guy as he replied, "It's a small group, everyone will know me soon enough."

The professor laughed and replied, "You're not wrong," then pointed to an empty seat two rows in front of the odd guy. 

As Crowley sat down, his seatmate asked, "Wow, your hair color is just gorgeous. Do you dye it yourself?"

Crowley smiled and shook his head before answering, "No, it's a friend who dyes my hair."

"Oh, could you give me their number?"

"I'll give you the address of her hair salon."

The person in front of him turned around and asked, "Why are you taking these classes?"

"I've always wanted to draw."

"That's cool!"

Then they turned to the one who had asked Crowley about his hair and smirked as they said, "Don't tell me you want the same hair color as Crowley?"

"Hell no!"

"I'm relieved because it wouldn't suit you at all. My little blonde darling."

"Hey!"

However, during the happy conversation, Crowley had a strange feeling.

Like he was being watched.

He turned to see the guy who'd dropped his easel staring at him again, then looking away as soon as their eyes met.

**********

The stares had not stopped since it happened three weeks ago.

As he joined his new friends, Crowley couldn't help but look back.

Eric, seeing this, put his hand on his arm and asked, "Hey, what are you looking at?"

Crowley shook his head and replied, "Nothing, I just remembered something weird." He then shook his head and continued, "So, what were you talking about?"

Muriel looked sad and replied, "It breaks my heart to know you weren't listening.

Crowley laughed and replied, "Sorry, sorry."

Still, he could feel the stare and it was beginning to annoy him a lot.

"Crowley?"

Crowley replied to his new friends, "Look, I have to do something, so I'll meet you at the restaurant, okay?"

"Ah? Okay, let's go then!"

"See ya!"

Aziraphale, packing his things into his bag, didn't see Crowley coming toward him and was startled when he called out, "Hey, mate! What's the matter, you got a problem with me?"

Aziraphale, more than a little surprised, stammered, "C-Crowley?"

The red-haired man replied in annoyance, "What? You've been watching me since I arrived in this class, but we don't know each other, do we?"

Aziraphale blushed slightly, said nothing and lowered his head, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I..."

He looked up again and felt the other man's expression soften, but Crowley insisted in a more inquisitive tone, "So, there's a problem? You got something against me?"

Aziraphale shook his head quickly and replied, "No, no! Really nothing!"

"Then if it's nothing, stop looking at me like that! It makes me super uncomfortable."

Aziraphale didn't have time to react because Crowley had turned on his heel and was walking away toward the art classroom door.

Now alone, Aziraphale muttered, "I guess he hates me, and I can't even tell him why I was looking at him..."

*********

"James! I'm here!"

Aziraphale arrived in front of his lover, who tossed him a motorcycle helmet, which he grabbed.

James planted a light kiss on his lips before saying, "Put it on."

Then, after putting on his own helmet, he climbed on the motorcycle and said to Aziraphale, "Climb behind me and hold me tight."

Aziraphale, with butterflies in his stomach as he always did when he was with his lover, climbed on the bike, pressed himself against James' broad back, and wrapped his arms around his waist.

He asked, "Where are we going today?

His lover put his hands on Aziraphale's and playfully replied, "You'll know when we get there."

Aziraphale remembered the wind as the motorcycle accelerated, the sun on his face, his chest against his lover's back.

After that, all he could remember was hearing his name called out in James' voice.

A pool of blood beneath his hand.

The hard asphalt on his cheek.

And then, as his eyes closed, his last memory was the panicked face of his lover.

**********

Aziraphale sighed as he left the art classroom.

"If I had known it would be the last time I saw his face..."

The first thing he remembered when he regained consciousness after the accident three years ago was his mother's voice.

**********

"Mom?"

Then he'd felt his mother's arms wrap around his shoulders and hug him as she cried against him.

When his mother stepped back, he finally opened his eyes after a few moments and asked, "It's weird...why is everything I see blurry?"

His mother stroked his cheek and replied, "That's normal, you were hit on the head and unconscious for three days. But you'll be fine now."

She got up to call the nurse.

"Mom, wait! What about James?"

He didn't see his mother's expression as she approached the bed. She started to speak, but tiredness was the strongest, so Aziraphale couldn't fight it and closed his eyes.

**********

Aziraphale shook his head and said to himself, "There's no point in dwelling on the past."

Suddenly, the ringing of his cell phone brought him out of his thoughts for good.

He took his phone out of his pocket and saw that he had a text message from someone whose number he didn't know.

He slid his thumb across the screen, and as Aziraphale read the text, his heart leapt.

Hi Zira!

Long time no see!

I hope you haven't forgotten me!

I'm sorry about what happened. 

Are you free? I'd like to have dinner with you.

James..

Received 7:00 p.m.

Aziraphale began typing a reply.

No, I'm busy right now.

Then he deleted, retyped, and finally decided not to reply. Before putting his phone back in his pocket, he looked at James' message again.

You haven't forgotten me, I hope!

Aziraphale muttered, "How could I?"

Then, seeing the front of his bookshop in the distance, he breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been an emotional evening between the Crowley discussion and his ex contacting him after three years of silence, so he was looking forward to being home soon.

He murmured, "First thing I need is a drink."

Feeling that there were only unfriendly faces around him, Aziraphale did not really ease up until he walked through the door of his haven of peace.

As soon as he closed the front door behind him, he put his things in a corner. Then he went into the back room of the bookshop, poured himself a glass of sherry and turned on the gramophone before sinking into his old armchair.

After a sip, enjoying the burn of the alcohol in his throat, he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

Aziraphale tried to remember James' face, but in the end, another face appeared.

Crowley's, of course.

He ran his hand over his face, cursing his karma.

An ex-lover who seemed to want to reconnect, but whose face he couldn't remember, and for whom his heart no longer beat.

An angry potential love interest who was the only face he recognized and who made him feel things he hadn't felt in a long time.

He took another sip.

"I'm doomed."

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here 

[camaro-and-smokes]

It's Always Been You

💙❄️ Here's my @harringroveholidayexchange fic I wrote for @freezef4wn ❄️💙

Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, Max Mayfield Warnings: No Warnings Tags: No Upside Down, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, POV Alternating, Gay Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Feelings Realization, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Billy & Max Have a Good Relationship, Past Mungrove hinted, Past buckleway hinted, the Byers never moved to California, Getting Together, First Kiss Words: 13,557

Summary: Billy’s presence had become comforting. Having someone to talk to who was here seemingly from their own will, even if not entirely, made Steve feel less lonely. At least he wouldn’t leave. Even if they agreed to disagree on many things, Billy found Steve’s lousy jokes funny and was sharp as hell. Steve just had started then pay attention to things he’d never had before. When the light at the bar hit Billy’s hair just the right way, it created a bright halo around his head. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned widely, his tongue stuck between his teeth, the way his laugher rang loud and bright…

And in this special purgatory Steve had spent the last few months.

Read on AO3 >>

::::::::::

The snow fell in lazy flakes outside Family Video, each one a tiny reminder of the winter that had gripped Hawkins early this year. Steve leaned against the counter, drumming his fingers on the scratched Formica surface, tracking the descent of one particularly large snowflake with his gaze.

The bell above the door chimed, jolting Steve from his reverie. Mrs. Thompson, a blonde, well-shaped woman, walked in. Like she always did on a Friday.

And like every time, Steve plastered on his most charming smile. “Mrs. T, come in to get your weekly rom-com fix?”

Mrs. Thompson chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, you know me too well, Steve. But I think I’ll shake things up this time. Got anything new?”

“Well, let’s see what we can find for you. Action? Romance? How about a little of both?”

Steve had repeated those words way too many times to his own liking. For years, even. At twenty-three, he was still stuck in this stupid job and this stupid town where everything seemed to stay all the same.

After graduating, he had applied to colleges, but none of them had accepted him. So, he’d kept this job, thinking it was just temporary. Thinking something better would come up, maybe a job in Indianapolis or Chicago. But it never had happened, he never really went looking, and here he was, still in Hawkins and at the same dead-end job.

All his friends had moved away to study and the only ones left were the kids who also were now old enough to graduate next year. Then everyone would be gone, and he’d still be here, in this town, alone.

Well, except for Billy. Yeah, him. They’d turned from rivals to…acquaintances over an incident.

+++

Steve had seen Billy with the brunette many, many times. She was gorgeous, of course. It was always the gorgeous ones who attracted each other. And the way she and Billy seemed to be glued from the hip year after year made Steve sure they’d get married and have two kids, a picket fence, and a golden retriever.

But then Steve went to the men’s bathroom at Hideaway one Saturday night. He heard the very distinct noises of an intimate encounter from one stall and decided to be quick about his business.

Now, in a bar bathroom, there are two rules; you don’t try to get a peek at what others are packing, and if you hear noises of two consenting adults, you make your own visit quick and let them finish.

So, Steve had been concentrated on his own business and was already hopeful of being able to slip out before the couple would come out.

But just as he turned around to leave, the stall door opened—and the couple turned out to be Billy’s brunette with another woman . Which was a surprise. Though fair, Steve had made a conclusion based on hearing only the orgasm of a woman and not thought of the possibility of that being caused by another one.

When he returned to the bar, he saw them sit down at the booth where Billy was waiting. And it seemed that Billy was totally unfazed. Poor bastard didn’t probably even know.

Steve knew it really was none of his business, but witnessing a guy being cheated first hand made him feel uneasy. If someone had seen Nancy cheating when they’d gone out, he would’ve wanted to be told about it.

Which was why, when he later noticed the women had left, he picked up his beer and walked over to Billy's table. “Hey. Um…I, uh, I saw something earlier and you might want to hear about it.”

Billy cocked his head as he looked up. “What?”

“I saw your gal earlier, in the men’s bathroom.”

Billy snorted. “She’s not my gal.”

Steve looked at him, puzzled. “Huh?”

“Yeah. I assume you saw her in there with…” His voice lowered. “A girl?”

Okay, so Billy knew. Which made Steve’s insides twist even more. He nodded.

Billy took a pull from his cigarette. “Yeah. She’s not my gal.”

“Oh…OH.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Hmm. Right. Because I, uh, I…I always thought…you’re always glued from the hip. Seemed normal to assume that.”

Billy’s smile faltered just for a second before returning to his face. “Well, it’s not good to assume things.”

“Ah…yeah, you’re right. Of course. Sorry,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I’ll go nurse my embarrassment to the bar and leave you alone.”

“Well, the seat is free now since they left.”

The invitation surprised Steve. Billy’s calm demeanor overall surprised him. They hadn’t really even talked after high school and Steve had been happy about it, since Billy had always been as loud and crass as ever.

“But by no means go back and sit at the bar alone if you prefer that,” Billy continued after a moment, a smile tucking the corner of his mouth. “Since it seems to be so hard to decide.”

“Uh, no, I…I’ll stay,” Steve said, feeling stupid. He must’ve frozen from surprise.

The worn leather seat creaked as he sat across from Billy. He didn’t really know what to talk about with him. Cars? Steve knew shit about cars. Movies? Billy came by Family Video almost weekly to rent a movie or two for him and Max. Max . He knew Max. A little.

“So…I heard that Max is applying to college.”

Billy nodded and took a sip from his beer. “Yup. She’s planning on getting out of this town.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Steve said quietly. “She’s got a good chance at scholarships, I guess?”

“Yeah. Though I’m playing it safe. Been saving a little to make sure she can make it.”

Steve’s brows shot up. “You’re helping with her tuitions?”

“If it comes to that, yeah.” Billy raised his eyes from his glass to look at Steve. “Did you assume that I’d stick around in his hellhole just because it’s such a fine place to live in?”

“Uh…” was all Steve could get out of his mouth. He felt mortified for having a foot in his mouth like this. Apparently finding out that Billy wasn’t a total asshole anymore and was generous to that extent had sprained his brain.

Billy chuckled and took another pull of his smoke. “Yeah, turns out there actually is more to me at twenty-two than there was at eighteen. I was surprised too.”

Steve squeezed his eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I’m being such a dick right now.” He looked at Billy. “Can we start over?” He reached his hand over the table. “Hi, I’m Steve Harrington.”

Billy chuckled as he took Steve’s hand and shook it. “Hargrove. Billy.”

+ + +

That night, Steve had stayed at the table for a few more hours. They’d ordered more beer and just talked. Steve had learned that the reason Billy hadn’t taken off to California, like he’d always loudly announced to everyone at school, was that his dad had split to flee tax fraud charges—which was the very same reason that had brought the family to Hawkins in the first place. So, when Max and Susan had been left to their own devices, Billy had let his grip loosen from fulfilling his own dream, at least for a while, gotten a job, and stayed to help them. To help Max .

It seemed that Billy had changed for the better. Even if he wasn’t about to marry the brunette, whose name was Heather, he had a lot of good things going for him in this hellhole .

At least Billy was here by his own choice.

From that onward, whenever they ran into each other, they exchanged a few words. Sat at the same table at the bar, sometimes played some pool—Billy always won.

They weren’t exactly friends, but yeah, they knew of each other.

Steve was drawn back from his reverie, Mrs. Thompson nudging his arm.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You went all glassy-eyed there for a minute. Thought you’d faint on me.”

“Uh, right. No, I’m fi—I’m fine.” He ran a hand over his face. “Just a bit tired today. That’s all.” He looked at the shelf of films again, returning to his role as the helpful video store clerk. “How about ‘Romancing the Stone’? Adventure, romance, and Michael Douglas looking ruggedly handsome. Can’t go wrong there.”

Mrs. Thompson giggled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh, you! I’m not sure if my husband would approve.”

“Well, this is for you and not for him, am I right?”

Mrs. Thompson giggled again, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, then nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright, I’ll rang you up on it then.”

As the bell chimed when Mrs. Thompson walked out with her film and silence settled over the store, Steve’s smile faded. He looked back at the window, watching the snow continue its relentless fall. In the reflection, he saw someone who was trapped, yearning for something he couldn’t quite name.

With a sigh, he picked up stack of tapes, put them on the small trolley and walked to the shelves. There were always more movies to organize, more customers to small talk with.

And maybe a chance that Billy might walk through that door and change everything.

Yeah.

Billy, who always came in on Fridays around five pm to pick up a movie for Max and El and one for himself. Billy, whose weekly five-minute visit to Family Video Steve always waited like the moon to rise…

Steve wasn’t sure at which point exactly he’d started to think more of Billy. He’d known for a while now that his interest wasn’t limited to just girls, so the realization itself wasn’t a total surprise. That it was Billy, then again, was.

Billy’s presence had become comforting. Having someone to talk to who was here seemingly from their own will, even if not entirely, made him feel less lonely. At least he wouldn’t leave. Even if they agreed to disagree on many things, and Steve still couldn’t fathom why Billy was so infatuated with his friend Eddie’s band Corroded Coffin. But Billy also found Steve’s lousy jokes funny and was sharp as hell.

He’d just started then pay attention to things he’d never had before. When the light at the bar hit Billy’s hair just the right way, it created a bright halo around his head. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned widely, his tongue stuck between his teeth, the way his laugher rang loud and bright…

And in this special purgatory Steve had spent the last few months.

The door bell chimed again and Steve turned, expecting another customer, but found himself face-to-face with Robin. Her hair was dusted with snow, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Hey!” Steve said, setting the tapes down and walked to her, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Didn’t know you were in town!”

“In other words,” Robin said, “you didn’t think I’d come home for Thanksgiving?”

“I didn’t say that,” Steve replied with sheepish a smile.

“Of course I’m home for thanksgiving! Wouldn’t miss the chance to see you on the side.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not entirely forgettable,” Steve chuckled.

“Saw you recommended Mrs. Thompson ‘Romancing the Stone’, Casanova,” she quipped, sidling up to the counter. “You know, there are other movies in this store.”

Steve clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me! I’ll have you know ‘Romancing the Stone’ is a cinematic masterpiece.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure Mrs. Thompson’s appreciation for cinema is what’s got you pushing it so hard,” Robin retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I have you know that I’ve actually given up on that kind of behavior.”

“Oh? You just think of someone special nowadays?”

Steve fidgeted with the hem of his vest. “Maybe.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Who?” Then she scrunched her nose. “Don’t say it’s one of your hookups. You know what happens with them.”

“Nope, no a hookup. At all. I kind of…know of…know them.”

Robin tilted her head. “Them?”

Steve knew it would turn into a full-blown interrogation until he finally revealed who he was thinking of. Might as well tell her now. “Billy Hargrove,” he sighed, deflated.

The name hung in the air between them, and Steve felt a mix of relief and terror wash over him. He watched Robin’s face carefully, searching for any sign of judgment or disgust.

When she didn’t reply, Steve asked, “Everything alright?”

“Um…yeah. I’m just…why him?”

“Well, we’ve been talking here and there and…you know how it goes.”

Her gaze softened. “You start noticing things and thinking it might actually be nice to know more about them?”

Steve nodded.

“Is he a nice person? I remember him as not much so.”

“He’s saving to help Max get through college.”

Robin looked gobsmacked. “Oh, wow.”

Smile tucked the corner of Steve’s mouth. “That’s what I said.”

“Well, you know how you can find out if they feel the same? You talk to them.”

Steve sighed, leaning against the counter. “He isn’t gay.” He paused. “I think. Besides, I don’t want to ruin our perfectly well-functioning knowing of each other. He’s one of the few good things about this town.”

Steve would’ve wanted to talk more, but the bell above the door chimed, and his heart leapt into his throat. Billy strode in, his hair and shoulders dusted with snow, his eyes scanning the store.

Steve’s palms instantly went clammy, and he straightened up, trying to appear nonchalant. He tried to act cool, fumbling with a stack of returns on the counter as he noticed Robin had vanished from his side as if into thin air. Thanks for the support, Robin.

“Hey, Harrington!” Billy called out, his voice filling the quiet store. “Got any recommendations for a snowy evening?”

Steve’s mind raced, searching for a witty response. “Depends,” he managed, proud that his voice didn’t betray the butterflies in his stomach. “Are we talking ‘National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation ’ kind of night, or more ‘The Shining’ situation?”

Billy laughed, the sound warming Steve from the inside out. Steve couldn’t hold back a smile of his own.

“Man, you really do have a movie for every occasion, don’t you?”

Steve shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “It’s a gift, I suppose.”

As Billy browsed the shelves, Steve’s eyes traced the familiar lines of his profile, the way his jacket clung to his shoulders. He forced himself to look away and busied himself with reorganizing the counter.

“So, how’s the garage?” Steve asked, desperate to keep the conversation flowing.

Billy shrugged, picking up a VHS case, reading the description on the back cover. “Same old, same old. You know how it is. Cars break down, we fix ‘em. Day in, day out.”

“Yeah, rinse and repeat,” Steve murmured, a familiar ache settling in his chest. “I know exactly how it is.”

As Billy turned to leave a moment later, ‘Commando’ for him and ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ for Max tucked under his arm, Steve’s gaze followed him, lingering on the way some of his curls escaped from his messy bun. The bell above the door chimed, a bittersweet sound that seemed to echo Steve’s internal struggle.

“See you around, Harrington,” Billy called over his shoulder, flashing that crooked smile that never failed to make Steve’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, see you,” Steve replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched Billy’s retreating figure through the store window, a familiar longing settling deep in his bones. The urge to call out, to say something—anything—more meaningful than their usual banter clawed at his throat, but the words remained stubbornly lodged there.

As Billy disappeared past the windows, Steve let out a heavy sigh. Robin appeared at the other side of the counter, wrapping her unbelievably long scarf around her neck.

“You left me alone with him!” Steve seethed.

“Well, I couldn’t be sure I could’ve kept myself from saying something.”

“Hey, as if it would go over well if I said anything,” Steve retorted. “‘Oh, hey Billy, by the way, I know we chat here and there. Surprise! I’m into you. Wanna grab a beer?’”

“Well, what if it worked? What if he said ‘Sure, let’s get that beer’?” she asked, shaking her head. “Sometimes I think you’re more afraid of things working out than falling apart.”

Steve turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, this time actually offended.

“Maybe you’ve become so used to being an uncommitted guy that the idea of actually putting yourself out there terrifies you.”

Her words hit Steve like a punch to the gut, and he opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, realizing she was right.

He knew he’d become that guy who was good enough for having fun with, but not worth pursuing seriously for. It had become easy, not needing to even think of a future together anymore.

He had become easy.

It disgusted him. He didn’t want to be like that. He wanted to take care of someone and to be cared for. To build a future. But the thought of rejection and destroying a perfectly functional knowing of each other was downright terrifying.

+++

The acrid smell of motor oil and the rhythmic clanking of tools filled the air as Billy slid out from under the rusty Chevy he’d been working on. He wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag, eyeing the car’s undercarriage with a mixture of pride and frustration.

“Hey, Hargrove!” called out Mr. Wilkinson, the garage’s owner. “Mrs. Anderson’s here for her oil change. Think you can handle it?”

Billy nodded, pushing a stray curl away from his face. “No problem, boss. I’ll get right on it.”

When he walked through the door to the waiting area, he saw Mrs. Anderson waiting there. He felt a familiar tightness in his chest. She had been his high school English teacher, and he felt a twinge of embarrassment remembering his younger self’s antics in her class.

“Well, if it isn’t Billy Hargrove,” Mrs. Anderson said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “I hardly recognized you without the attitude.”

Billy forced a smile. “Good to see you, Mrs. A. Oil change, was it?”

She gave Billy the keys, and as he sauntered to the car and drove it in, he found himself grateful for a little small talk and doing the same mechanical work he’d done a thousand times before; hoist the car up, drain the oil, lower the car back down, change the filters, fill the oil, send the client on their way.

It all was a far cry from what he’d been at school, lashing out at anyone who got too close.

“You know, Billy,” Mrs. Anderson said as he returned and gave the keys back to her, “I always knew you had potential. It’s good to see you’ve found your footing.”

Billy felt a warmth spread through his chest, mingled with a twinge of regret. “Thanks, Mrs. A. I appreciate that.”

He returned to the car he had been working on earlier, but his mind was elsewhere. The repeating sounds of work and engines running badly and then well a moment later after fixing the issues echoed the hollow feeling in his chest. The same scenery, the same faces, the same damn routine every since day.

While Mr. Wilkinson had told Billy he was the perfect candidate to take over the garage when he’d retire in a few years’ time and had also begun to train him for the job, it only eased his mood a little. Sure, now he had future prospects, something solid waiting for him in a few years’ time that also guaranteed Max getting her college education for sure.

But it didn’t change the fact that his own life missed something more. Someone. Steve.

God, Steve.

Even after all these years, just thinking about him made Billy’s heart race. He could picture Steve’s easy smile, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the dark eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets.

“Earth to Billy,” a voice called, snapping him out of his reverie. It was Joe, his coworker, waving a wrench at him. “You gonna finish with that rust bucket or just stare into space all day?”

Billy forced a laugh. “Just zoned out for a second.”

But as he walked back under the hoisted car, Billy’s mind wandered again. What would it be like to actually connect with Steve? To tell him how he felt?

“You’re dreaming, Hargrove”, he muttered to himself. Steve’s straight, and even if he wasn’t…this is Hawkins.

Even so, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder. What if there was a chance for something more?

Billy stared at the chassis, trying to dislodge the thoughts. They’d grown closer since the incident in late August, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that had taken root in his heart; that something was finally happening between them. Something that might make him feel alive in this dead-end town.

The sudden sound of footsteps pulled Billy from his reverie. He tensed, his fingers tightening around the wrench in his hand. The footsteps were hesitant, unfamiliar. Not the confident stride of his boss or the casual gait of a regular customer.

A throat cleared awkwardly behind him. “Uh, excuse me?”

Billy’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice. Slowly, he turned to look at the direction of the voice, his eyes widening as they landed on the figure standing by the car.

Harrington stood there, looking as handsome as ever, even in a stupid turtleneck and jeans. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, probably from taking off his woolen hat. His eyes darted around the garage before settling on Billy.

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice a mix of relief and uncertainty. “I think…something’s broken in my car. It keeps this squealing noise and the lights keep flickering from time to time. I was hoping if you could…” His words trailed off. “I’m not sure if it’s serious or not,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the outside.

Billy’s heart raced as he struggled to maintain his composure. He nodded, trying to appear nonchalant despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him. “Yeah, sure. Maybe the alternator belt is finished. When do the lights flicker?”

As Steve began to explain, Billy found himself captivated by the way Steve’s lips moved, the slight furrow of his brow as he described the car’s symptoms. Billy forced himself to focus on the words, not the speaker, even as his mind screamed at him to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between them.

Instead, he listened silently, nodding at appropriate intervals, all the while wondering if Steve could hear the thundering of his heart in the quiet of the garage.

He wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag, his mind racing as he searched for the right words. “Yeah, I think it’s the belt,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “I can take a look to make sure.”

Steve nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Billy replied, clearing his throat, desperate to fill the silence. “Uhm, can you drive it in?”

When the car was inside, he opened the hood and looked for the culprit as the engine was running idle.

Steve leaned against a nearby workbench, his posture casual, but the fidgeting of his fingers betraying a hint of nervousness.

Billy couldn’t come up with anything to say, so he leaned further into the motor than was necessary. He already knew what was wrong, but his cheeks were so warm that he knew they were beet red and he just couldn’t get up and face Steve, not yet. Might as well check everything that ever needed checking.

“Yeah, alternator belt is worn, it has to be replaced,” Billy said when he finally felt sure enough to lean back up.

“Oh, okay,” Steve said, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “How long it takes to fix it?”

“It just needs to be replaced. But we don’t have one that fits your car here right now. We don’t serve European cars that often so I have to order it from Chicago. We can have it here by tomorrow afternoon.”

Steve looked mortified. “Do I have to leave it here for the time being?”

Billy shook his head. “No, if you don’t mind the off chance that it snaps off while driving. But if you drive carefully, you should be just fine for a few more days. Bring it in the day after tomorrow.”

Steve nodded, still evading Billy’s eyes, his cheeks flushed.

A sudden thought hit Billy. What if Steve…What. If?

“Yeah, uh, I’ll bring it in then. I’ll ask a ride back from Dustin. He can pay back a little for the driving lessons that way,” Steve said as he took the keys from Billy.

Their hands brushed slightly together at the exchange, and both of them stopped for a moment, making the air between them charged.

Then Steve moved his hand and turned to get into the car, breaking the moment.

Billy opened the garage door for Steve to reverse out. He followed the BMW with his gaze until it turned the corner and vanished between buildings.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself as he pressed the button to close the door.

He got back to work on the Chevy and walked under it to continue where he left off. But he couldn’t shake the electricity that had gone through him when their hands had touched and the way Steve had seemed nervous. Had there been a flicker of something more? Or was he just dreaming?

Billy sighed, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and leaving a streak of grease. He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. Steve was straight, probably uninterested, and completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing in his heart.

+++

The fluorescent lights of Family Video cast an eerie glow over the faded movie posters lining the walls. Steve sighed, drumming his fingers on the worn counter as he watched the clock tick by with agonizing slowness.

Another day, another shift in this dead-end job.

“Excuse me, do you have any new releases?” a middle-aged woman approached, interrupting his brooding.

Steve plastered on his best customer service smile. “Sure thing. What are you looking for?”

As he guided her through the new releases section and then rang her up, Steve’s mind wandered. Is this really all there is? Recommending movies to people living vicariously through a screen while my own life passes me by?

“Thanks for your help,” the woman said, jolting Steve back to reality.

“No problem. Enjoy your movie night,” he replied automatically, already feeling the familiar restlessness creeping back in.

The bell above the door chimed, and Dustin, Mike, and Lucas strolled in, laughing and shoving each other playfully.

Dustin walked to the counter and tilted his head, squinting. “You’re brooding again. Tell me it isn’t the you-know-who.”

Steve shook his head, trying to dispel the melancholy thoughts. “Just thinking that next year this time, you’re all somewhere else. And I’ll still be here.”

“You know, that’s entirely your own choice,” Dustin said. “You could leave anytime you want.”

“I guess,” Steve replied. Dustin was the last person he wanted to infect with his misery, so he changed the subject. “Die Hard is coming out on VHS just before Christmas.”

“It doesn’t make it a Christmas film!” Lucas shouted from somewhere between aisles.

“It literally takes place on Christmas,” Dustin shouted back. “How much more Christmas can a film get?”

Steve listened to the familiar bickering between the teenagers with a twinge of envy. To be that carefree again, with the entire world ahead of you…

Focus on the positives , he told himself. At least you have a job. At least you have a roof over your head. But the pep talk rang hollow, doing little to ease the gnawing sense of being stuck.

As his shift finally ended and Sarah, the new girl, took over, Steve grabbed his jacket and headed out into the chilly evening air.

On impulse, he decided to go to Hideaway for a beer or two. It was Saturday, and he didn’t have a shift tomorrow—and besides, he’d just sit in front of the TV the whole evening and fall asleep on the worn couch and then wake up at two am to an aching back.

And especially he didn’t hope that Billy was also at the bar. Nu-uh.

The familiar creak of the Hideaway door announced his arrival, and the warm, smoky atmosphere of the bar enveloped him. Dim lights cast long shadows across the worn wooden floor, and the low hum of conversation mingled with the soft strains of classic rock from the jukebox.

Steve’s eyes scanned the room, his heart rate picking up when he spotted Billy in a booth at the back of the bar. His shoulders were hunched over a beer, his long hair tied back in its usual messy bun.

Steeling himself, Steve approached. “Hey, man,” he said, sitting across from Billy. “How’s it going?”

Billy raised his gaze, his piercing blue eyes meeting Steve’s. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight. How’s the car?”

“Yeah, I, uh…the car’s fine. Thanks for that.” Steve signaled the bartender for a drink. “So, what’s your excuse for being here? You got nothing else to do on a Saturday night?”

“Nah. Could’ve gone to Indianapolis. But didn’t. You could do that too.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Wouldn’t want to spend money on a hotel though. Couldn’t make it home after a binge in a bar. Here I can walk home if it comes to that.”

“I thought you still lived in that mansion in Loch Nora. With the beemer and all.”

“Nope. Wanted to get away from that empty house. I guess my folks are selling it, moving to Chicago full time.”

Billy nodded and lighted a smoke. He offered one to Steve, but Steve just shook his head.

After a while of silence, Steve continued. “Yeah, they’re leaving and I’ll still be stuck here.”

Billy nodded, taking a swig of his beer. “Hawkins’s got a way of making you feel trapped, doesn’t it? Like you’re stuck in quicksand, and the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.”

Steve felt a surge of connection, realizing Billy understood exactly how he felt. “Exactly. It’s like…I had all these dreams, you know? Things I wanted to do, places I wanted to see. But now I’m here, working at the video store, and it’s like time’s just…stopped.”

Billy leaned in, his voice low. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I look around the garage and wonder if this is all there is. If I’ll be changing oil and fixing transmissions for the rest of my life.”

“What would you do?” Steve asked, genuinely curious. “If you could do anything, go anywhere?”

Billy’s eyes lit up, a rare genuine smile spreading across his face. “I used to dream about California. But now…I’ve always wanted to restore classic cars. Not just fix them, but really bring them back to life, you know? There’s this shop in Chicago that specializes in it. Sometimes I dream about apprenticing there.”

Steve nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. “That sounds amazing. You’d probably be great at that.”

His heart skipped a beat as Billy’s smile lingered, the warmth of their conversation settling around them like a comfortable blanket. He found himself studying Billy’s face, noticing the long lashes that spread like a shadow over his cheeks as he looked down at his beer, the slight stubble along his jawline catching the dim bar light.

“What?” Billy asked, his grin fading to a look of confusion.

Steve quickly averted his gaze, heat rising to his cheeks. “Nothing, just…thinking.”

But his mind was racing. When had Billy become more yo him than just the bully from high school? When had his presence started to make his palms sweat and pulse quicken?

Billy shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the tabletop. “So, uh, you want another beer?”

“Sure,” Steve replied, grateful for the distraction.

As Billy made his way to the bar, Steve couldn’t help but watch him go. The way Billy moved, confident yet somehow guarded, stirred something in Steve he wasn’t sure how to handle.

“Get it together,” Steve muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s Billy, for crying out loud.”

But that was precisely the problem.

Billy returned, setting a fresh beer in front of Steve. Their fingers brushed as Steve reached for the glass, sending a spark through Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve managed, his voice slightly strained.

Billy nodded, settling back into his seat. He seemed to avoid eye contact, his gaze darting around the bar. “No problem. So, uh, you’ve been seeing anyone lately?”

The question caught Steve off guard. “Me? No, not really. You know how it is in this town.”

Billy’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Yeah, tell me about it. Slim pickings, right?”

Steve laughed, but it felt hollow. How could he explain that the only person he was interested in was sitting right across from him? That the thought of admitting his feelings—of potentially losing their perfectly functional knowing of each other—was paralyzing?

“Right,” Steve agreed, taking a long swig of his beer. “Slim pickings.”

+ + +

Billy felt warmth flowing over him. For the first time, he was talking with Steve about something else than the weather or movies. It felt comforting. Maybe there was something between them. Something more than just… knowing of each other. He’d hoped for it for so long. Hell, he’d settle just for a friendship, if nothing else. Which was probably as good as they’d ever get. Steve being straight and all.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the bar, people loudly greeting someone, and he turned to look. His heart leapt at the sight of the familiar long dark hair—Eddie.

“Holy shit, it’s really him,” Billy said, a grin spreading across his face.

“Who?” Steve asked, frowning, as he turned to look.

“Eddie!” Billy got up. “I’m gonna go say hi.”

Billy walked to Eddie. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, getting Eddie’s attention.

Eddie’s eyes lit up, that mischievous spark Billy remembered so well dancing in them. “Billy! Man, it’s good to see you!”

They embraced, Billy’s chest tightening with genuine joy. “Welcome back, you crazy bastard. How long’s it been?”

“Too damn long,” Eddie laughed. “LA wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Figured I’d come home, see what trouble I can stir up here.”

+++

As they caught up, Steve watched from the table, his stomach churning. Seeing Eddie’s arm slung easily around Billy’s shoulders sent a jolt of jealousy through him.

So, they used to be friends. No big deal.

But it felt like a big deal. Steve’s eyes lingered on Billy’s animated face, the way he laughed at something Eddie said. A familiar ache bloomed in Steve’s chest, one he’d been trying to ignore for months.

Billy got Eddie a beer and lead them to the booth where Steve was waiting.

Steve plastered on a smile, willing himself to make space in the booth. “Eddie, man, welcome back,” he said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt.

Eddie’s grin was easy, genuine. “Steve! Good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know,” Steve shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Same old Hawkins. Nothing new.”

“You still work at the video store?” Eddie asked as he sat next to Steve.

“Yeah, still sorting tapes for a living.”

“Hey, that’s a respectable job. Unless like a guitarist who turns out to be only good for serving drinks to the real rockstars.”

As Eddie launched into a story about his time in LA, Steve found his gaze drawn to Billy. The way Billy’s eyes sparkled as he listened, the curl of his lips as he smiled—it was like a punch to the gut.

They look way too comfortable with each other. What if they were…

He shook his head, trying to focus on Eddie’s words. It’s nothing, it doesn’t matter , Steve told himself firmly. Friends. That’s all.

But as Billy’s laughter echoed at the booth, Steve couldn’t quite make himself believe it.

Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating.

+++

Billy’s brow furrowed as he observed the shift in Steve’s demeanor. The nervous energy from earlier had transformed into something more guarded, almost defensive.

Steve’s gaze darted between him and Eddie, a flicker of something—uncertainty? Jealousy?—in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” Billy asked Steve softly, confusion and concern mingling in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Eddie’s arrival had disrupted more than just their conversation.

Steve nodded stiffly, his earlier warmth replaced by a forced smile. “Yeah, fine. I should probably get going, actually. Thanks for the beers, Billy.”

As Steve got up to leave, Billy felt a pang of disappointment. What had just happened? The connection he’d felt just moments ago seemed to slip away, leaving him with more questions than answers.

As Steve made his way towards the door, Billy shouted after him, making Steve turn to look at him. “We’re going to grab something to eat tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us,” Billy offered, hoping to ease the tension.

Eddie looked at Billy for a moment, surprised. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, a conflicted expression crossing his face. “Oh, I…I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he stammered.

Billy felt a twinge in his chest, torn between his friendship with Eddie and his desire to connect with Steve. He watched as Steve’s gaze darted between them, a mix of confusion and something that looked almost like hurt in his eyes.

“It’s no intrusion, man,” Eddie chimed in, oblivious to the undercurrents. “The more the merrier, right?”

Billy nodded, trying to catch Steve’s eye. “Absolutely. What do you say?”

Steve’s internal struggle was evident in the way he hesitated, his facade cracking to reveal the uncertainty beneath. “I…I should probably get going. Thanks for the offer, though,” he said, his voice strained as he turned and left the bar.

After Steve was gone and Billy sat back to the couch, Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay, man?”

Billy nodded absently, his eyes still fixed on the door. “Yeah, ’s fine,” he mumbled, though his chest felt tight with disappointment.

+++

The string of lights tangled in Steve’s fingers as he stretched to reach the far corner of the ceiling. His arms ached from the repetitive motion, but his mind barely registered the discomfort.

Instead, it replayed the scenes from the last few weeks since Eddie’s return over and over like a broken record.

Billy’s easy laugh. Eddie’s hand on Billy’s shoulder. The easy banter between the two. Billy laughing at Eddie’s stupid jokes. Eddie grinning widely every time Billy jabbed at him. The way they seemed to suddenly do everything together.

It was infuriating.

“Shit,” he muttered as a bulb slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor of the store. He sighed, descending the ladder with careful steps.

What did it mean? The question gnawed at him, refusing to be silenced. Were they really…? No, he couldn’t let himself go down that path.

As he bent to retrieve the fallen bulb, Steve caught sight of his reflection in the store’s front window. The furrow etched between his brows made him look older, more careworn. He barely recognized himself.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, shaking his head as if he could physically dislodge the doubts clouding his mind. But Billy’s face lingered, his eyes seeming to see right through him.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “You’re reading too much into things,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the empty store.

But even as he spoke the words, they rang hollow.

The bell above the door jingled, breaking Steve’s reverie. He turned to see Robin bustling in, her arms laden with a cardboard box overflowing with glittering ornaments.

“Well, don’t you look festive,” she quipped, eyeing Steve’s lackluster expression. “Did Santa put coal in your stocking already?”

Steve couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Hey, I’m working on it. Rome wasn’t decorated in a day, you know.”

“Clearly,” she retorted, setting the box down with a theatrical huff. “Good thing I’m here to rescue your Christmas and not Kevin—who apparently got sick on a Saturday morning. Again. What a surprise. Hand me those tinsel garlands, Scrooge.”

“I was just about to ask, how come you’re here? Your lectures ended already for this year.”

“Yup,” she said, popping the p. “Thought that I’d might as well come home early and to check on you, how you’re doing without my help. Poorly, I see.”

As they worked side by side, draping tinsel and hanging baubles, Steve felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Robin’s presence was a welcome distraction, her sarcastic comments and playful jabs pulling him out of his own head.

“So,” she ventured. “Any luck with Hargrove yet?”

Steve paused, a red ornament dangling from his finger. “No,” he replied quietly.

Robin’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Steve’s face. “Out with it.”

Steve sighed, fiddling with a strand of lights. “It’s nothing, really. I just…I don’t know. Things have been weird lately. With Billy, I mean.”

Robin’s expression softened, the sarcasm fading from her voice. “Weird how?”

As Steve stumbled through an explanation, he couldn’t help but notice the way Robin listened, her usual quips giving way to genuine concern. It struck him then how lucky he was to have her as a friend. He ended his explanation with, “Eddie came back.”

Robin looked at Steve expectantly. “The rockstar-Eddie? So?”

“Well, they’re close and…Billy’s been spending a lot of time with him.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Weren’t they glued to the hip already back in high school?”

“I guess,” Steve muttered, fiddling with the garland he was holding. “But it could’ve been because, you know…”

“So, you’re still not doing anything about it? Just brooding alone instead of, you know, asking like a normal person?”

Steve’s stomach twisted. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Sure you can,” Robin cut him off, her voice softening. “Look, I know it’s scary. But if you don’t ask, the answer is always no.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve muttered.

Robin pondered for a while. “Hey, isn’t the traditional Byers-Hopper Christmas Dinner again on next Saturday?”

Steve glanced at her. “Yeah. What of it?” His eyes widened. “You think they’ve invited Billy?”

“Well, Max is always there, isn’t she? Is it such a stretch that he might be tagging along?”

“He’ll probably come with Eddie, anyway. It wouldn’t work.”

“What then if he comes with Eddie? You don’t know for certain they’re together, right?”

“Well, it isn’t the kind of thing you advertise in this town now, is it?” Steve retorted.

Robin stared at him for a moment. “Yeah, as if I didn’t know, dumbass.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t have to say the words, not immediately. Just…get him a present and give it to him. Let him know you’ve been thinking of him.”

Steve nodded. It actually wasn’t a bad idea. “But I don’t know what he likes.”

Robin hummed and pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Well, what a guy who works with cars likes?”

“Uh, cars?”

“U-huh. And what particular car?”

“…His own?”

“Bingo!”

Steve pondered the idea for a moment. “Huh. Okay. I can work with that, I guess.”

+ + +

Billy’s mind whirled as he drove through the snow-covered streets of Hawkins and towards Family Video to rent a few films with Max. His chest felt tight, constricted by pent-up longing and fear.

He hadn’t seen Steve for a while and it was bothering him. Which was why they were on their way to the store, renting a film for Max as a prize from good grades as the excuse. And Max herself as a shield.

He probably doesn’t even like guys, he repeated his age-old reasoning like a broken record.

As they parked in front of the store, its neon sign bright in the gray afternoon light, Billy took a deep breath, steeling himself.

The bell above the door jingled as Max stepped inside in front of him, the familiar scent of popcorn and musty carpet washing over them. His eyes scanned the aisles, heart racing as he searched for a glimpse of dark hair.

“You gonna stand there all day, or are we actually renting something?” Max’s voice cut through his thoughts, startling him.

Billy blinked, realizing he’d been frozen in the doorway. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he grumbled, following her inside. With each step, he felt a mix of anticipation and dread building in his chest, unsure if he was more afraid of seeing Steve than not seeing him at all.

“What’s with you, anyway?” Max asked as she scanned through the new releases shelf. “You didn’t call me shitbird even once while we were driving here.”

Billy chuckled. “Yeah, sorry, shitbird. Happy?”

Max snorted. “So what’s it gonna be today? Another shirtless hero?” she teased, elbowing Billy in the ribs as they meandered down the aisle.

Billy scoffed, but a faint blush crept up his neck. “Shut up, Max. I’m not the one who cried during ‘The Officer and A Gentleman’ last week.”

“Hey, that was a beautiful story!” Max retorted, her voice rising in mock indignation. “Besides, I seem to recall someone getting misty-eyed during—”

“Alright, alright,” Billy cut her off, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “Let’s just pick something and get out of here.”

After picking up ‘National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation’ they made their way to the counter, and Billy’s heart leapt into his throat. Steve had appeared behind the counter, his hair slightly tousled as he organized the tapes on the counter.

Billy froze, his palms suddenly sweaty. The sight of Steve, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights, made his knees weak. He struggled to maintain his composure, forcing himself to breathe normally.

“Earth to Billy,” Max whispered, nudging him. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Billy swallowed hard, his eyes still fixed on Steve. “’m fine,” he muttered, willing his racing heart to slow down. His legs felt like lead as he approached the counter. Steve looked up, his eyes meeting Billy’s, and a flicker of…something—Billy couldn’t exactly tell what—passed over his face.

“Oh, you went with a classic!” Steve said, taking the tape from Max. “Go easy on popcorn with this. It’s guaranteed to make your stomach hurt just from laughing.”

“So…how’s work been?” Billy asked, desperately searching for something to say.

“Same old, same old,” Steve replied with a shrug, his casual demeanor both alluring and frustrating to Billy.

“Haven’t seen you around for a bit.”

The polite smile on Steve’s face faltered as he rang up the film. “Yeah, been busy.”

“U-huh? Well, just so you know…” Billy started and paused. “Hideaway isn’t quite the same without you.”

Steve gave the tape to Max and looked at Billy—actually blushing. “Is that so?” he asked quietly.

Billy nodded, not sure his voice would carry.

Steve smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe I’ll stop by.”

Max interrupted them. “Hey, are we going or what?” she shouted from the door.

“Uh, yeah.” He glanced at Steve before walking away. “See you.”

Max was waiting by the door, her eyebrows raised curiously. As they sat in the truck Billy drove in the winters—he’d learned not to take the Camaro on the icy roads—she looked at Billy. “What the actual hell was that?”

Billy started the car and put it in reverse. “It’s called none of your business, shitbird.”

As he backed the truck out from the spot, making the car swirl slightly on the ice despite it having winter tires, she kept grinning. “Oh, this is so, so good!”

Billy felt his cheeks burning as he stepped on the gas and the car lurched ahead. “You know shit!”

“You’re crushing on him! Even a blind person can see that.”

“Shut up, Max. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please,” Max scoffed. “I could practically see the hearts in your eyes from across the store. You’ve got it bad.”

“I said drop it,” Billy growled, but there was no real heat behind his words.

“You know, you could just ask him out,” she said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Billy’s mind immediately supplied a dozen worst-case scenarios, each more mortifying than the last. “You don’t get it,” he sighed. “It’s complicated.”

After he’d dropped Max off at her trailer, Billy drove to his own and slumped onto his bed, the springs creaking under his weight. He ran a hand through his hair, loosening it from its bun. Max’s words echoed in his mind: What’s the worst that could happen?

He sighed, staring at the ceiling. “So many things,” he muttered to the empty room.

Rolling onto his side, Billy caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes stared back, filled with a mixture of longing and fear. How hard can it be to talk to someone you already know?

But Steve wasn’t just someone. He was the culmination of years of hidden feelings, of stolen glances in high school hallways, of dreams Billy had barely allowed himself to acknowledge.

What if the reason he hadn’t come to the Hideaway lately because he had found someon…?

Billy couldn’t finish the thought. The possibility of losing even the fantasy of a relationship with Steve was paralyzing.

+ + +

The neon Budweiser sign cast a soft red glow across Billy’s face as he hunched over the bar, nursing his fourth whiskey of the night. Familiar sounds of the Hideaway washed over him—raucous laughter from the pool tables, the clink of glasses, classic rock crackling through ancient speakers.

Billy’s gaze drifted to Eddie behind the bar, his long dark curls falling over his face as he mixed a rare cocktail.

Eddie glanced at him and gestured to Billy’s nearly empty glass. “Another?”

Billy nodded, pushing it forward. As Eddie poured, Billy leaned in closer. The whiskey had loosened something inside him, melting away his usual walls.

“Can I tell you something?” Billy’s voice came out rougher than he intended. His hands trembled slightly as he wrapped them around the fresh drink.

Eddie’s eyes met his, curiosity and concern mingling in their depths. “Of course, man. What’s on your mind?”

Billy took a deep breath, the words he’d kept locked away bubbling up inside him. His heart raced as he searched Eddie’s face, wondering if the concern on it would turn into judgment. He decided to just go for it.

“It’s Steve,” Billy began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s driving me nuts.”

As the confession left his lips, Billy felt a weight lift from his chest. But another emotion quickly took its place—fear. What if Eddie thought he was pathetic? What if word got back to Steve? Billy’s thoughts raced as he awaited Eddie’s response, the din of the bar fading away until all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained open and understanding. He leaned in closer, matching Billy’s hushed tone. “You’re still thinking about him, after all this time?”

Billy’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Yeah.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I thought there was something finally happening, but…I don’t know anymore. We got closer over the autumn, but now he’s become distant suddenly.”

Eddie nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Billy’s face. “Yeah, haven’t seen him lately either. You know what happened?”

“He’s been like that since Thanksgiving.”

“Oh,” Eddie said after a while, stretching the word. Then his brows raised. “So, why don’t you go and talk with him? It seems quite obvious what’s going on,” he said softly.

“What do you think is going on?”

Eddie smiled a sad smile. “He’s jealous, man. Of you.”

“Pfft,” Billy scoffed. “As if.”

“No as-ifs,” Eddie said, rubbing his forehead with his hand, frustrated. “Jesus. You’ve pined over him for years and he’s finally warming up to you, only to go incommunicado suddenly when I turn up. Just—please. Talk to the man.”

“Just like that? Where? I can’t tell him that here! Not with dozens of people witnessing it. What if he starts shouting profanities? Calling me names?”

Eddie pondered for a moment. “Do the Byers still organize that Christmas dinner thing?”

“I guess.” Billy furrowed his brow. “You’re suggesting I should do it there?”

“Steve’s still friends with Dustin, right? I can tell Dustin to ask Steve to come. All you need to do is get yourself there somehow.”

“I could ask Max if she’s going,” Billy mused.

“Or if not,” Eddie said with a grin, “you can always just crash the party.”

+ + +

The wind whipped snow against Steve’s face as he pushed through the heavy wooden door of the Hideaway a few nights later. Warmth and the familiar scent of stale beer enveloped them, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, scanning the familiar faces until he spotted Eddie behind the bar. He made his way over, collapsing onto a worn barstool.

“Rough day?” Eddie asked, already reaching for a bottle.

Steve managed a wry smile. “You could say that. Hit me.”

As Eddie poured, Steve’s mind wandered to Billy—and Eddie. The grab of jealousy around his throat tightened. “So…how’s it going with Billy?” he asked, acting nonchalant.

“Hanging out, listening to music, shooting shit. Why?” Eddie replied, wiping a glass with a towel.

There was something in the way Eddie said the words that made Steve’s stomach churn. He emptied his glass in one swig. “Nothing I guess.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he kept on with wiping the glass.

Steve was sure Eddie knew what he was talking about. He tapped the counter with his fingers. “Another one.”

After Eddie had poured the amber liquid into his glass, Steve kept looking at him. “Weren’t you supposed to be headlining stadiums by now?” he asked.

“What can I say?” Eddie smirked. “The bright lights of Hawkins were just too alluring to resist.”

Steve let out a rueful laugh. “Right.”

Eddie suddenly poured himself a drink, too. “Not really supposed to do this, but hell, it’s a slow night, anyway. One doesn’t hurt.” He raised his glass. “To Hawkins?”

Steve hesitated for a moment before clinking his beer against Eddie’s shot glass. “Not that it deserves it, but hey.”

As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, Steve loosened up, but never really got to the point that he felt fully comfortable with Eddie. Between serving other clients, while Eddie had talked in abundance about his life in LA—a far cry from the superstardom everyone thought it had been—he had revealed nothing deeper from his and Billy’s relationship.

It was eating Steve alive. Which meant he maybe took a few drinks too much over the evening.

When he asked for yet another drink, Eddie placed a pint of water in front of him. “This first.”

Steve furrowed his brow as he stared at the glass. “You getting all worried about me now?” he slurred.

“Someone’s gotta look after you.”

Eddie went to serve other customers and Steve dutifully sipped the water, feeling his head clearing a bit.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t a bad guy. Maybe he was better for Billy than he would ever be. He was always whining about being stuck, while it admittedly might’ve been a bit of his own making, and now he was moping over losing a guy he never even knew that well.

When Eddie came back, he smiled at the empty water glass in front of Steve. “I can pour you one beer. But then I’ll close your tap.”

“Fair.”

Eddie poured the beer, and after placing it in front of Steve, he leaned his elbows on the counter, lowering his voice. “You okay, man? You seem…I don’t know, like something’s eating you.”

Steve’s eyes snapped back to Eddie’s face, a flicker of panic churning in his stomach. “’m fine,” he said, a little too quickly. “Just…thinking. About stuff.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Eddie prompted gently.

Steve sighed, tracing patterns in the condensation on his glass. “’s complicated. There’s someone…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

A smile tucked the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Someone? You holding out on your bartender? Who’s the lucky lady?”

Steve’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away. “It’s not…I mean, there isn’t…” he stuttered, then took another long drink of his beer. He glanced towards the door, though not sure if it was to get up and run or just to make sure Billy wouldn’t walk in.

Eddie kept looking at him, not pushing him into talking.

Steve couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I think…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “…I’m in love with Billy.”

It felt as if the words had punched the air out of the bar—though Steve wasn’t entirely sure if it was just how he felt.

“How long?” Eddie asked simply, his expression neutral.

Steve shrugged, his fingers fidgeting with the napkin on the side of his glass. “For a while. Since autumn. I guess.”

“Have you told him?” Eddie asked gently.

Steve’s head snapped up. “God, no. I can’t…He’d never…It’s Billy, for Christ’s sake,” Steve said, as if that explained everything. In his mind, it did. “He’s straight. And even if he wasn’t, why would he want me?” The doubt that had been gnawing at Steve for a long time spilled out in a rush. “I’m just…me. Pathetic loser, stuck in this dead-end town, working a job I hate. He deserves better.”

Eddie’s eyes softened with understanding. “Steve, man, you’re selling yourself short. He cares about you.”

Steve stared at Eddie for a moment, not quite believing his words. “Oh, come on, you’re shitting me.” When Eddie’s gaze remained serious, it hit Steve. “Oh shit. You’re serious?”

Eddie’s smile was sad, and Steve wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yeah, he does.”

Steve shot up from his chair. “I gotta go tell him…”

“Whoa there, Romeo!” Eddie said as he rushed out from behind the bar and guided Steve back to lean on the bar. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

Steve blinked, surprised to find the room swaying slightly. “I’m fine, I can drive,” he protested weakly, fumbling for his keys.

Eddie’s hand closed over Steve’s, prying the keys out of it gently but firmly. “Not a chance, man. Come on, I’m not working alone tonight. I’ll clock out early and take you home.”

Steve wanted to argue, but the words felt thick in his mouth. He allowed Eddie to guide him off the barstool, his legs wobbling beneath him.

Eddie steadied him, throwing Steve’s arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

The cool night air hit Steve’s face as they stumbled out of the Hideaway. Eddie maneuvered him into the passenger seat of his beat-up truck, the metal band stickers on the dashboard blurring in Steve’s vision.

“Eddie,” Steve mumbled as they drove, streetlights flashing by. “What if…what if I mess everything up?”

Eddie’s eyes stayed on the road, but his voice was gentle. “You won’t, man. Just…talk to him when you’re sober, okay? Be honest.”

Steve’s head lolled against the window, the glass cool against his flushed skin. “Yeah…okay,” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy.

+ + +

The morning sun stabbed through Steve’s eyelids like a thousand tiny daggers. He groaned, rolling over in his bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, pulling the pillow from under his head and over his face to block the sunlight.

He stayed like that for a moment until the headache became unbearable. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he looked around the room—and realized he was in his own bed.

Good, at least he’d made it home. He had no recollection of leaving the bar, though. Had he driven home or walked? No idea.

“Christ…” he sat up slowly, wincing at the hammering in his skull. The world immediately started swaying, and he had to close his eyes.

His head was killing him. It was bad enough that he had drank this much. And that since it was a weekday—was it? Or not?—he probably had a shift in the afternoon.

“Fucking idiot,” he chided himself as he carefully got up and found the wall to support him on his slow shuffle towards the bathroom.

He splashed cold water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. It reflected his disheveled appearance, pale face with dark circles under his eyes. He turned on the shower and took off his jeans. At least he’d managed to get his shirt and shoes off when coming home. Which was probably an achievement as itself, considering.

Under the warm stream of water, he tried to remember what had happened last night. He remembered going into the bar with the intention of trying to coax information out of Eddie about his and Billy’s relationship. Great idea but incredibly bad execution—he had no recollection whatsoever about what he’d learned, or if he’d learned anything.

So, basically, he was back in square one.

He probably had no choice but to go with Robin’s plan; get the miniature model of the Camaro and give it to Billy at Christmas.

+++

Billy’s reflection stared back at him, a mix of anticipation and dread swirling in his eyes. He adjusted the collar of his red shirt for the tenth time, the curl over his right eye—again.

He hadn’t been this nervous about anything relating to things of the heart for a long time. Not since…well, when he’d asked Eddie to stay—and Eddie had chosen LA over him.

He lit a smoke. He’d tried to go without today, but this was too much. His hands needed something to do.

“So, hey, Steve,” he practiced, wincing at the awkward tremor in his voice. “No, too casual,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Steve, I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

His heart raced as he imagined Steve’s eyes fixed on him, waiting for the words he’d held back for so long. He took a pull from his smoke, squaring his shoulders and jumping a little to loosen himself.

“You can do this,” he told his reflection, trying to channel the confidence he usually wore like armor. But as he gazed at himself, he saw past the tough exterior all the way inside to the soft center. “Don’t screw this up,” he whispered.

He looked at the small box that was waiting on the bedside table. He’d spend hours on trying to think of something Steve would’ve liked and even tried to gouge some ideas out of Max. She hadn’t really been helpful, just had kept teasing him about his crush. But at least she had promised to keep it to herself for now.

He just hoped Steve would like the gift he’d come up with. And the reason why.

With one last glance in the mirror, he grabbed the present, his new thick leather jacket and keys, heading out into the snowy night.

Max pulled the door of the truck open and hopped in. “How in the hell is it this cold in here? Even mom’s car has a heater.”

“Hey! It’s not the warmest, but gets the job done,” Billy said. “Don’t remember you complaining whenever you needed a lift to Lucas’ place,” he said with a lilt.

Max glared at him before she noticed the present in the nook between the dashboard and the windshield. She reached out to take it. “What’s this?”

Billy slapped her hand away. “You weren’t any help picking it, so you’ll learn when everyone else does.” He paused. “Unless Steve thinks it sucks,” he added quietly.

Max glanced at him. “Hey, I’m sure Steve likes it, whatever it is.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. He’s great. Like, seriously great.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Warm light glowed from every single window of the Byers-Hopper’s house. Christmas music drifted through the door as they approached, snow crunching underneath their boots.

Max rang the doorbell and glanced at Billy. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Just be yourself.”

Joyce opened the door. “Hi Max! And Billy! My goodness, I haven’t seen you in ages. Come on in!”

The party was in full swing, the living room packed with familiar faces. Garlands and twinkling lights adorned every surface, casting a festive glow over the gathering.

Max vanished somewhere in the house with El, and Billy was left alone in the doorway to the living room. He scanned the room, searching for a sign of Steve. His heart sank as he realized he wasn’t there.

Would he turn up? Steve was friends with the curly haired nerd who was also Lucas’ friend. It would make sense that he’d be invited as well. Maybe he just hadn’t yet arrived.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice calling out to him. “Hey, tough guy!”

Eddie appeared through the crowd, his trademark grin in place as he pushed a red plastic cup into Billy’s hand.

“Thanks,” Billy said, lifting the cup to his nose and sniffing cautiously. “What’s in this?”

Eddie’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Just a little Christmas magic. Trust me, you look like you could use it.”

Billy took a sip, the warmth of whiskey spreading through his chest. He eyed Eddie suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You’re here for a reason and it ain’t the eggnog.”

Billy’s brow furrowed as he processed Eddie’s words, knowing well this was all Eddie’s idea. “I…I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, his carefully constructed confidence crumbling.

Eddie just shook his head, his smile softening. “Sure you don’t.”

+ + +

Steve’s fingers tightened around the gift-wrapped box as he stood on the Byers-Hopper’s snow-dusted front door with Robin, their breaths forming small clouds in the frigid air. The muffled sounds of laughter and music drifted through the closed door, each note amplifying the nervous energy coursing through his body.

“You know, if you squeeze that present any harder, you might just turn it into a diamond,” Robin quipped, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Steve let out a shaky laugh. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Only to someone who knows you,” Robin replied, nudging him with her elbow. “Relax. It’s just Billy.”

Just Billy.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Right. Just Billy. The guy I’m about to confess my feelings to. No big deal,” he muttered, his attempt at sarcasm falling flat.

Robin’s expression softened. “Hey, you’ve got this. And if it all goes south, I’ve got a pint of Rocky Road with your name on it back home.”

Steve managed a weak smile. “Thanks.”

With one last encouraging nod from Robin, Steve reached out and rang the doorbell. The chimes barely faded before the door swung open, bathing them in warm light and the scent of cinnamon and pine.

After leaving their coats in the hall, they stepped into the living room—and Steve’s senses were immediately overwhelmed.

The room had been transformed into a winter wonderland; twinkling lights cast a soft glow over the sea of familiar faces, and in the corner stood a towering Christmas tree, its ornaments glinting like stars.

Steve’s eyes, however, were drawn to a single point across the room. There, leaning against the far wall with a drink in hand, stood Billy. His hair was open, cascading over his shoulders as a wavy waterfall, the trademark curl hanging over his eye.

And then there was…Eddie.

Billy was laughing at something he had said, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made Steve’s heart skip a beat.

The two of them looked so at ease, so comfortable in each other’s presence.

Steve hesitated, then turned away and sauntered towards the kitchen, stopping to lean to the railing of the second floor staircase.

Max’s voice carried over from upstairs. “…Billy’s been talking about him non-stop. I really hope they hit it off so that I wouldn’t have to listen to it anymore.”

A giggle of two girls followed.

Steve froze. His heart, which had been racing with anticipation, now felt like it was plummeting into his stomach.

“They really deserve to be happy,” another girl’s voice—it was probably El—chimed in.

Steve glanced back at Billy, who was laughing at something Eddie had said, his eyes bright and carefree.

I’m such an idiot, Steve thought, his chest constricting. The room suddenly felt too small, too crowded. He needed air.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he pushed past Robin and towards the backdoor and the backyard.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Robin asked.

“I need air,” he said as he pushed the door open.

The cold night air hit him like a slap to the face as he walked into the backyard. Steve gripped the railing, his breath coming out in visible puffs. The wrapped gift in his hand felt like a lead weight, a reminder of his misplaced hopes.

What was I even thinking, he thought, staring out into the darkness.

His fingers traced the edges of the gift, remembering the care he’d taken in assembling it. Now, it seemed like a foolish gesture. He leaned heavily against the railing, the cold seeping into his bones, matching the chill that had settled in his heart.

+ + +

Billy’s eyes widened when he noticed the odd girl whom with Steve always hanged out with—Robin, if he remembered right—walking towards him with a determined expression and pointing at him with his finger. Without batting an eye, she invaded his space and pushed the finger on his chest, making him lean into the wall.

“You. Have made. My life. A misery.”

His brows furrowed, annoyance flaring inside him. “Excuse me?” He was sure his tone should’ve made her back up, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on her.

If any, it made her feistier.

She grabbed his arm and pushed him in front of her into the kitchen that was empty at the moment. “I have been listening to him talk about you over and over again for the last few months. I don’t know what happened then, but something changed.” She pointed towards the back door. “Finish it. Today.”

Billy’s jaw clenched, his tough facade cracking slightly. “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap,” Robin hissed, her eyes flashing. “He told me about your gal. Takes a beard to know one.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “I still don’t…”

“I know Heather.” The determination on her face faltered. “We were best friends.”

Billy’s mouth hung open. Heather had told him about her first love. Who had been her best friend.

He was utterly lost for words at the revelation, and Robin must’ve realized it since her face softened. “Don’t walk away because you’re scared,” she whispered.

Billy’s shoulders slumped. “What if…”

Robin smiled. “There’s no what-ifs, trust me.” She nodded towards the backdoor. “He’s in there.”

Billy hesitated, his eyes darting towards the door.

Robin gave him a push. “Go.”

+ + +

Billy stepped out into the frigid night, the sudden chill biting through his thin shirt. His breath clouded in front of him as he scanned the backyard, fairy lights twinkling softly against the darkness. Then he saw him—Steve, leaning against the terrace railing, his shoulders hunched against the cold.

Billy’s heart clenched at the sight of Steve’s dejected posture. He approached cautiously. “Hey,” he called softly, his voice barely audible above the muffled sounds of the party inside.

Steve turned at the sound, his eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, hope flickered across his face before being quickly masked by caution. “Hey, Hargrove,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “What are you doing out here?”

Billy stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh…I noticed you were missing from the party.”

Steve’s laugh was hollow. “Yeah, well…needed some air, I guess.”

They stood facing each other, the tension between them almost tangible. Billy’s mind raced, searching for the right words. He’d imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, he felt paralyzed.

“Listen, Steve,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I—”

“It’s fine,” Steve interrupted, his expression guarded. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

Billy frowned, confusion replacing his nervousness. “Get what?”

Steve looked away, his grip tightening on the porch railing. “You and…I overheard Max talking with someone earlier. About…about someone you’re interested in. Eddie. It’s no biggie. Your secret is safe with me.”

Billy’s heart skipped a beat. At the same time, he made a note of having a talk with Max later. “Uh…” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I think you’ve…misunderstood.”

Steve’s eyes snapped back to Billy. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Billy took a deep breath, steeling himself. The cold air nipped at his exposed chest, but he barely noticed. All he could focus on was Steve, standing there, looking both vulnerable and guarded.

“We’re just friends with Eddie.” He looked down at his feet. “Ever since he chose stardom and fame. If you get my drift.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his lips parting in surprise. “Oh.” he breathed, disbelief clear in his voice.

Billy nodded, feeling the bittersweet pang of the past. “Yeah, oh.”

“So, uh,” Steve began, clearing his throat. “This guy she was talking about…”

A small smile tucked the corner of Billy’s mouth. “Not Eddie.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Right.”

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. The tension between them was palpable, crackling like electricity in the air.

Steve’s words cut through it. “I actually have something for you.”

Billy’s heart skipped a beat. “You do?”

Steve nodded, hesitating for a moment before taking the small present that was sitting on the railing next to him and holding it out to Billy.

Billy took it and turned it around. “What is it?”

“Open it and you’ll see.”

Billy unwrapped the box and opened the lid to see a miniature model of a Camaro, an exact replica of his prized possession. The details were perfect, right down to the blue color.

“You seem to be inseparable from that car, so I thought…” Steve said, his voice soft and slightly uncertain. “It’s a stupid toy, I know, but…”

Billy stared at the car, a lump forming in his throat. His eyes widened as he studied it, drinking in every intricate detail of the model. The familiar curves of the body, the tiny white text in the wheels, even the tiny license plate—it was all there.

“Steve, this is…” Billy’s voice trailed off, thick with emotion. He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting Steve’s gaze. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”

A warmth bloomed in Billy’s chest, spreading through him like wildfire. Could this mean what he thought it meant? The care and attention Steve had put into this gift—it had to be more than just friendship, right? A glimmer of hope sparked within him, making his heart race.

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve said softly, a shy smile playing at his lips.

Billy cleared his throat, suddenly remembering his own gift. “I, uh…I have something for you too.” He reached into his pocket, fumbling slightly as he pulled out a small object wrapped in tissue paper. He held it out to Steve. “Merry Christmas.”

Steve took the gift and unwrapped it to reveal an intricately carved Zippo lighter. For a moment, he looked confused.

Billy saw the surprised look on Steve’s face. “I know you don’t smoke. It’s, uh…I was thinking that, uh,…if you had a lighter, then…then you could always give me light when I needed it.”

Steve looked up, his dark eyes questioning. Billy felt his resolve wavering under that intense gaze, and he looked down at his feet.

“I’ve been holding onto this for a long time,” Billy said, his words coming out in a rush. “Since high school, actually. I…I’ve, uh, had a crush on you.” His hands were shaking now, and he held the box of the miniature model with his both hands to hide it. “I never thought I had a chance, but after the my gal thing…I don’t know. Something changed.”

He finally dared to look at Steve’s face, bracing himself for rejection. Instead, he saw a mix of emotions flashing across Steve’s features—surprise, confusion, and something else Billy couldn’t quite identify.

+++

Steve was silent for a long moment, processing Billy’s words. His heart was racing, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He’d never imagined Billy harboring these feelings for him, especially not this long. The revelation sent a jolt through him.

“I…” he started, his voice thick with emotion. “Since Eddie came back, I thought you two were…” His eyes met Billy’s, filled with a newfound intensity. “You’re right. Something changed back then. But I was scared, you know? Scared of ruining…whatever we had, scared of what you’d say.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Billy’s blue gaze met Steve’s dark eyes, and in that moment, the tension that had simmered beneath the surface suddenly crystallized into something tangible, something undeniable.

+++

Billy’s heart thundered in his chest, his tough exterior crumbling in the face of this newfound vulnerability. He saw his own longing reflected in Steve’s eyes, and it took his breath away. “Steve,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I never thought…I mean, I hoped, but…”

Steve nodded, understanding flooding his features. “I know,” he murmured, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Me too.”

The world around them seemed to fade away, the falling snow and the chill in the air forgotten. Billy found himself drawn forward, as if pulled by an invisible thread. He moved slowly, giving Steve every opportunity to back away, but he stood his ground, gaze never wavering.

Billy’s hand trembled slightly as he reached up to cup Steve’s cheek. The warmth of his skin against Billy’s palm sent a shiver down his spine. He leaned in, pausing just a breath away from Steve’s lips. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his heart in his throat.

Steve’s response was to close the distance between them, pressing his lips gently against Billy’s. The kiss was tender, almost hesitant at first, but quickly deepened as the pent-up emotion poured out. Billy’s fingers tangled in Steve’s dark hair, pulling him closer, while Steve’s arms wrapped around Billy’s waist, anchoring them together.

As they kissed, Billy’s mind raced. How many nights had he lain awake, alone in his trailer, imagining this very moment? How many times had he watched Steve from afar, certain that his feelings would never be returned?

Now, with Steve’s body pressed against his own, those doubts seemed ridiculous.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting. Billy rested his forehead against Steve’s, unwilling to let go. The cold winter air swirled around them, highlighting the heat building between their bodies.

Steve’s fingers brushed Billy’s back gently. “What do we do now?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

The distant sound of laughter from inside the house filtered into the backyard, reminding them of the world beyond this moment.

Billy took a deep breath, reality slowly seeping back in. “I guess…we should go back,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to go somewhere with Steve. Alone with Steve.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” Steve said with a soft smile. “Let’s get our coats and go somewhere, just the two of us. We have so much catching up to do. Right?”

A wide smile spread across Billy’s face. “You read my mind.” He marveled at the way Steve blushed at his words. “You know,” he said, his voice low, “I always thought I’d leave this place first chance I got.”

Steve nodded, his fingers still drawing circles on Billy’s back. “And now?”

“I’m starting to think that it was the right choice to stay this long.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice barely audible, “me too.”

[bambiiboop]

What about a reader x joel fic where reader is insecure of her body but joel doesn't care what her body looks like cause he loves her, and shows her how much he loves her with loads of fluff and maybe smut?

CWs: body image issues / insecurity / mild hints of internalised fatphobia / fatphobic language & insinuation

Notes: I went down the fluff route for this one, Anon, I hope that's okay.

It's not that you don't like how you look. In fact, you've spent a lot of time over the years actively fighting the impulse not to.

You've always been bigger. Curvy. Hell, as an adult, you have no problem labelling yourself as fat, because it's not a dirty word. Sure, there are people who would use it as a slur, but you've long since come to the conclusion that that's their problem, not yours.

You've fought tooth and nail to be comfortable in your own skin, in a world that valued your complete opposite.

It seems like nowadays, most people are on the slim side. That, or they're walls of solid muscle from hard labour. Being stocky is an asset; it means you can survive.

Unfortunately, the tendency towards bitchiness that runs in some people didn't get the memo that the world ended almost twenty two years ago.

You're not blind to the looks some of the people in town give you. The sly suggestion that putting you on kitchen duty was a terrible idea, surely you must be sneaking extra.

You know it's bullshit, know that the words are just hateful remarks from people who have never once lived in your skin - either through luck of genetics, or simply from being young enough to have been born into a world on the constant precipice of hunger.

Still. Sometimes the words sting. Remind you of middle school. Of self imposed small portions and your mother's worried expression as you refused cakes, refused sweet teas, refused anything bigger than a fist sized helping, until your aunt had pointed out all of the happy, beautiful women with your body type on the internet, on TV, in magazines and on Broadway.

It had been the start of a long journey of self acceptance, of riotous body positivity, of wearing t-shirts with slogans proclaiming fat positivity, of punching a boy who called you a slur in the balls and getting suspended for a week. That same aunt had taken you to see a musical while you were suspended, had bought you a journal to write in.

You like to think you're a strong person. You've lived through that, lived through the literal fucking apocalypse. But you're only human, and sometimes words sting.

Leave you standing in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom, poking and jiggling at yourself with a critical eye that you know is distinctly un-feminist, so unlike you.

Your gaze is critical as you inspect stretch marks. On a good day, those are your stripes. You make jokes about being a zebra whenever Joel touches them, never remotely critical himself.

Joel. He was... something else. He'd come into town with his adopted daughter, remained cold and closed off to almost everyone except her and his brother for months, until he'd seen you make Ellie laugh. Until he'd heard her ask you how to make cookies, heard you promise to show her.

Then he'd started, slowly, to come out of his shell. To spend more time with you. Brought you flowers. Now you lived together, with Ellie just down the hallway, because there was no way in hell a sixteen year old was going to live by herself, even in Jackson.

You're confident in yourself enough to know that you're well matched, but when you get like this? Sometimes it's easy to think differently. To worry that maybe he might prefer someone younger, with a more traditionally, socially accepted standard of beauty.

You're just getting lost in that spiral when Joel comes in from the shower, already dressed for the day in jeans, flannel shirt, and jacket over the top.

"What're you doing, darlin'? You'll catch a cold."

He snags a spare shirt from the edge of the bed, comes to wrap it around you. He's broad as hell, so you can wear his shirts without feeling self conscious. Not that you ever would, anyway, stealing his clothes is your favourite pastime.

"Honestly?" You've always prided yourself on being truthful with him. "I'm feeling kind of crappy."

You let him wrap the shirt around you, put your arms into the sleeves and exhale at the scent of him still lingering in the fabric.

"You think you're getting sick?" His hand moves to your forehead, and in spite of yourself, you smile.

"No, it's not that, it's just..." You sigh. "You don't mind how I look, right?"

Joel stares at you as if you've just spoken a foreign language, grown a second head, and told him you're giving up baking, all in one go.

"Of course I don't mind. What's that even s'posed to mean, do I mind?"

"Because I'm fat, Joel. Because there aren't exactly many women who look like me in town, and people talk, and -"

"Don't call yourself fat." Joel means well, and god he loves you, but he's still got that mindset that older people have where fat is a dirty word, even though you've explained the concept of reclaiming a slur to him.

"I mean. You can. But don't... say it to put yourself down."

The fact that he's listened to your rambles about body positivity makes you feel better.

"People still talk..."

"Fuck 'em. Let them talk. See if I give a shit." He says gruffly, wraps his arms around you then squeezes gently. "Don't care that there aren't many girls who look like you. Makes you special."

Another hug, before his hands rub over your stretch marks, over the softness of your tummy, of your thighs.

"You're perfect as you are. Absolutely perfect. I don't want you to change. I love how you're confident in yourself, and I wouldn't change a damn thing. Ellie needs that sort of role model."

You offer him a watery smile. How is it that someone so stoic can be so sweet when he wants to?

"C'mon. Push those bad thoughts away, lets get you dressed before you freeze. Didn't you promise Ellie a baking day?"

You smile again, lean in to kiss him lightly on the cheek before you glance once more at your reflection; the shadow of your earlier mood gone when you look at yourself, wrapped in Joel's arms, safe and loved and perfect, just as you are.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Red Bridge-Chapter 3

Michael gets caught sneaking into his room early in the morning. His mother has questions to his whereabouts and with whom.

"Seeking to absolve himself after Tommy’s imposed quarantine, Michael attempts to make a deal with the revered Chang family. Though he initially struggles to navigate a culture foreign to him, he thrives with support from Brilliant’s younger sister, Mei. As they work together to build a bridge between their two families, they find themselves falling into the river of love."

*Co created with @zablife

________________________________________________

Michael closed the door gently behind him. It was now 5 a.m. and he felt as if he was sneaking into his room after a good date. He didn’t quite know why. He is an adult after all. He didn’t need to answer to anyone, except if the deal went sideways because someone thought they’d slept together and the deal fell through. He’d be further blamed and pulled more away from his family.

Her invitation had been about the presentation, nothing more and nothing less.

Her intellect certainly kept him busy. She was unlike any woman he’d met before. Sure, his mum and Ada were incredibly smart but Mei, she was fiercely intelligent, highly curious and bold.

It had been a lot of work truthfully. She’d dissected and pierced together everything he’d presented. He’d been pleasantly surprised by her instance that they merge their reports together. Of course she’d said it was just for time and efficiency's sake. He hoped she had other intent behind it, wanting to know him personally.

A harsh bright light flicked on humming through the room. Michael squinted trying to make out the form waiting to interrogate him. It was a woman from the make of the shoes, his mum. Shit.

“Where on earth have you been, sneaking in like a kid who had his hand in a cookie jar from the looks of you.” His eyes now fully adjusted to his mothers horrified expression. This had gotten worse.

“ Michael, who were you with?” She stood and crossed the room examining him. For what he wasn’t sure. Probably trying to see if he’d been sexed. She learned to smell him. He gently pushed her off, clearly offended. He adjusted his shirt like a small child whose mother had been trying to fix their appearance in front of their peers. He was twenty five years old. A man.

“Nothing happened mum. Mei had an idea to help with the presentation. We were working, that's all. ” He said annoyed. He hadn’t meant for it to come out as harshly as I did. He was exhausted from lack of sleep, worrying about the deal and his future with the company.

“But you wanted it to?” A small smile turned upwards on his mothers face. She knew. Michael rolled his eyes. He had and it annoyed him that it didn’t.

“We were working on the report, nothing more mum.” He slammed the thickened file down on his bed. He needed a bath and a hot shave not a mothers interrogation, even if she seemed more excited then she could have figured out that her son was sweet on one of their potential business partners.

I’ve been waiting for hours for Michael to go over the presentation. A lot if riding on this. I want you to..NO…I need you to be successful. Put this whole thing about stocks and crashes behind us.” She had placed her hands on the side of his shoulders and squeezed. She looked at him so lovingly it was making him ill. The person he’d least wanted to hurt with his foolish decision had been her. She'd lost money too because of him.

“I know mum. That’s why I’m running on fumes and no rest. I’m really trying to get this deal for the Shelby company limited and redeem myself.” He sighed when she pulled back.

“Michael, I know you were telling the truth when you got back.Besides, I’m still not thrilled with your cousin since he was the reason I had a noose around my neck. I saw more things then I spoke about, including a glance behind the veil on who Tommy Shelby actually is.” He’d been taken aback by his mothers comment. She was usually quiet about her displeasure with the great Thomas Shelby since he had helped the family acquire wealth. It was nice to see that his mother wasn’t always in full support of his cousin as he’d previously thought.

“So, do you feel confident that we'll succeed in this business venture with her family? Others have failed Michael.” The stress in his mum’s voice weighed on his chest like a great lead weight.

He shook his head. “I know we’ll succeed. Apparently Mei and her family have never helped anyone before. She said she wants us to succeed.” He truly believed her when she’d told him that. She was too blunt to be a good liar, he hoped at least.

“Why? Why would she want US specifically to succeed?” Her eyes narrowed but a coy smile played on her lips. She was pleased. He honestly didn’t know the answer.

“She’s very attentive with you Michael. Tommy overheard Change say that Mei was too interested in you and he wanted to know why. Watch out for her brother.” She shook her finger at him and tweaked his nose. She was happy to hear about his late night venture.

“Mum, I’m not seven anymore.” He batted at her hand and looked at his suit laid out on his bed. He hadn’t done it so she must have. Nerves and love were an interesting combination in a woman.

He digested the news about Mei seeming interested in him. He’d known she was being overly attentive. She was beautiful and rich. She didn’t need someone like Michael when he knew she must have suitors at her door day and night.

He didn't need Chang against them. Mei said he was the head of the family right, the birth heir to the Chang fortune. He needed Brilliant Chang to trust him.

“Hello, Michael.” Polly fingers snapped near his face trying to draw his attention back at the ticking clock. Every minute he spent spaced out or talking he was wasting on getting ready and impressing her family.

“Mei said breakfast and tea will take two hours on its own before we can even begin to speak and present anything.” He called from around his shoulder as he walked into the bathroom and started the bath. He was aware she’d stepped into the doorframe before her shadow fell on him. He knew she wouldn’t let this go. She was intrigued.

“What else did Mei say?” He ignored her question. His head was buzzing with his own thoughts and concerns. He didn’t need hers piled on top right now.

“Did you get some advice so this meeting will go as we planned? Yes or no?” She pestered him, clearly growing irritated at his tasks being more important than her need for security right now.

“Yes, she invited me over to help me learn how to present this so we'd be successful tomorrow as I said before, she heard me going over everything to her plants in the garden and wanted to offer advice. That's all. We’ve gone over this mum!“ He hated sounding rude with her. He really needed to get ready.

Her perfectly arched brow was raised. She hadn’t been impressed with the tone.

“No Michael, That's not all. Not one woman goes to that much trouble or man if it was just about a business deal.” Her eyes gleamed with womanly delight. They both knew Mei liked him.

“Fine, I’ll let that go, but really quickly tell me. What's her place like?” His mum asked leaning into him. She sounded genuinely curious.

“ I bet it's bold and colorful like their clothing and businesses. Unlike these dreary little white prisons. The only things herethat have any color are the blankets. They don’t like to entertain business partners do they?” He’d thought that himself when he’d come into the room last night to place his things. He almost mentioned that they never have people spend the night. He kept it to himself. His mother didn't need more dots to connect. She was smart enough on her own.

“It is Very rich in color and fabrics. She has a set of love birds in a golden bamboo cage. Get this. These birds need each other to sleep and survive but they have these God awful shrieking calls.” He tried imitating one. He and his mother were in stitches almost in tears by the time he was done.

“Like a married couple.” She laughed. She seemed satisfied with his answer, at least for now. He knew on the ride home she’d pester him like a small child with more questions.

“That's what I said! She wasn't as amused when that had come out of my mouth though.” He chuckled. Polly grinned watching her son's expression soften.

“What?” He asked. He knew all his mum’s little looks by now. She seemed pleased.

“Hmmm.” His eyes rolled to his mother. She was looking past him and into something deeper. It unnerved him when she did this.

“What…” He was exasperated now. His voice was deep from lack of sleep.

“She likes you Michael. Good job.” He rolled his eyes affectionately at her. He extended his hands and shook them indicating that she needed to step out so he could bathe in privacy.

“Mum, go get ready. The deal isn’t finalized yet. We won't know until tomorrow.” With that his mother turned to exit leaving him in peace. He had to hurry now.

Before the door closed she popped her head back in, earning his full irritation now.

“Good job Michael.” She said and closed the door behind her retreating figure.

“Mum, get out.” He grumbled and locked it. Now he had thirty minutes to get ready, fantastic. ______________________________________________

[yuhi-san]

The fact that vash doesn’t age and will outlive anyone, including any possible love interest, is something that shapes him and the way he interacts with others. Its tragic. Knowing that even if no violent death comes for them, he will watch them get old, remain the same himself and outlive them.

But while writing my fanfic, I thought but what was before that? Like in stampede, vash came to live on ship three when he was still a young child.

They knew absolutely nothing about independent plants. They had no idea about tesla, no access to any records. All they knew was what vash could tell them. (that he was born less than two years ago and apparently went from newborn to young child in that time. That he had a brother but unlike said brother he couldn’t create anything.)

And that’s the thing. They knew vash looked, ate, bleed, hurt and generally appeared far more human than plantlike except for the fact that he grew so fast. It did slow down some because in 5 years on ship three he went from young child to young teen. Still maturing faster than a human would.

At some point he would have become an adult. But at what point did they realize he was not only physically fully matured but did not age further? Like talking as someone who was regularly mistaken to be in my late teens until at least my mid to late twenties, how long did it take for anyone, vash included, to realize his body didn’t age anymore? I don’t think they really had any reason to expect vash life span to be that much longer than a humans. They had nothing to go on when it came to figuring out what his deal was and neither did vash really.

In fact, what was before that turning point when they realized vash was no longer changing?

He grew from a newborn to a young child in less than two years. From a young child to a teen in roughly five years. Asides from his plant healing ability, vash was painfully human in most ways but matured so much faster. Did luida, brad and the others worry about what that meant for vash? Did they wonder if it meant that he would die young, maybe just after 20 years or so? Like a cat that is fully grown and all by two years, in contrast to a human baby, but will likely not make it past 20. Were they worried that vash rapid maturing would also mean rapid aging, rapid dying, like a human live condensed into a forth or so? Was there a time when they realized vash wasn’t rapidly aging anymore but at some point the relief about that must have turned into a new kind of concern. If vash stopped aging completely, for how long would that be the case? How long would he live if nothing cut his life short. What would it mean for his mind and soul?

Yes vash is an independent plant rather than a human but one of the things that sets him apart from his dependent sisters is in fact his mind. That he has a sense of self, more conscious, complete thoughts and feelings as an individual. Vash is mentally very human, especially because he clings to said humanity a lot (in contrast to knives).

But humans and their mind aren’t really made for immortality or such an extended lifespan. And plants normally don’t have the same sense of self and awareness and interpersonal connection. So as the bridge between plants and humans, where does that leave vash with this?

[savnofilter]

Taking Them Trick or Treating vs. Passing Out Candy HCs

-> h. sero, h. shinso, s. aizawa

Hanta Sero | Hitoshi Shinso | Shota Aizawa x [GN]Reader

CONTENT WARNING(S): college au—aizawa a professor, the other two are college students. sfw, trick or treating, established relationships.

COUNT: 1017 words.

I/B: His Spidey-Senses by me.

READ MORE: masterlist [students & adults masterlist].

A/N: i thought this was a fitting part two for the other fic i posted!! this was so much more fun than i thought i was going to have lol. again, my pc is fucking up so no fun text colors buts it's not that serious... anyways, enjoy! thank you, anon!

Sero chose… to go trick or treating! 🍭

since about the later teen years, Sero has always been one to hand out candy, but this year he wanted to be the one receiving the candy!

which it's funny, he literally chose this on his own volition and it’s you who’s being dragged out to go trick or treating.

this young twenty-something year old was so excited about y’all matching that he wanted to show out on Halloween night lmao.

+ if y’all went out partying on any of the prior nights, just know he was stuck by your hip the whole time (and even did a demonstration of ykw).

Sero literally makes a whole spectacle about it like the thought is hilarious.

bro is swinging from building to building with you in his arms when you get tired of walking, he keeps the mask on the whole time just so the kids around him still feel the excitement of “Spiderman” making a guest appearance in their neighborhood. :’)

please the amount of times you or the older people accompanying the other kids out have made you take pictures of Sero and them was too many times to count LOL.

At a certain point some grumpy person is like, “why is yo big funky ass doin’ all of this fo" and he doesn’t give a FUCK.

To which Sero is like, “my Spidey senses are telling me it’s passed your bedtime, geriatic” meanwhile the person questioning him is like 40 years old.

you hate to admit that you actually had fun doing this foolishness with him and it is one of the memorable nights for you.

would you do it again next year? absolutely not.

+ except, Sero always had a way of persuading you….

BONUS: Sero became a trending topic on social media with even news stations covering it. this latent function ended up being more beneficial than you ever thought it would be.

Shinso chose… to go trick or treating! 🍭

this was barely his decision.

Shinso had already known about your adoration for Halloween but this was one of the first years of you two being together that you dragged him out on your shenanigans.

normally, you dress up and go along your merry way, with of course him reminding you to let him know if anything happens to call him. but this year, you wanted to do something different.

you wanted to do a couples costume.

the first idea was to do something like Squid Games, which he wasn’t opposed to. he could keep his face covered, spare his dignity, y'know?

then you changed your mind and wanted something more cute like Jack Skellington and Sally, which okay he doesn’t mind. he didn't want to say it out loud but you guys would look hot as them.

but the last and bright idea you went with was… salt and pepper?

yeah.

salt and pepper.

Shinso nearly passed out from it making no sense at all.

the worst part knowing he had no choice in the matter because once you made up your mind, that’s what y’all going with LMAO.

He’s like “why the fuck did you go with that idea?? Shit makes no sense.”

And you’re like, “sense when I have ever made sense with shit like this??? Be serious.”

let’s be real, y’all go together well because y’all both be so very unserious.

so when it’s Halloween night and y’all are out trick or treating, he has no choice but to keep his head held high and calls out to each door with a monotone, “trick or treat 😐".

he secretly had fun that night but you better not make him say it out loud.

Aizawa chose… to pass out candy! 🎭

Aizawa doesn’t really give a fuck about holidays, like he does not care at all.

he’s the type of man who only does stuff if his s/o or someone he generally cares about loves it, but other than that if it was up to him he would not be entertaining this.

it's not like he hates holidays or like has some vendetta against them from traumatic experiences, mans just doesn’t gaf.

BUTTTTTT he will show out in the most driest way known to man just to support you lmao.

He’ll be like, “what? I thought this is what you wanted?” in his makeshift Halloween costume made with tissue paper around his forehead and waist as a ‘mummy’ as if his hero costume doesn’t already have those components?))?)#*(%)4

I hate to break the 4th wall here, but now I’m starting to debate whether he’d do some ghetto goofy costume or be one of those types to have a super good looking and creepy costume and jumpscares kids as they try to reach for the bowl.

FUCK IT, he decides to do both. this year and the next.

safe to say, you gave him a new tradition??? like visiting his house really is a trick or treat but this time it's in the area of if he will put in the effort or not depending on the year.

at a certain point this man is committed to stealing the show???

all you gotta do is come back to replace the candy lol.

not what you were expecting but it works out?

BONUS: you help with the fake-out sometimes by pranking the kids and reassuring them that the “statue” doesn’t move. it's even better when the parents get scared too.

    all rights reserved © do NOT steal, alter or copy this work.

[fictionadventurer]

Started up the reread of The Last Battle, and was immediately baffled by the structure. I'm just sitting there like, "Did Lewis completely forget how to tell a story children will enjoy?" The other Narnia books all start with a child's point of view. Mostly of children from our world--familiar, understandable, likable. The one exception is The Horse and His Boy being from the point of view of a Narnian character, but even he's a recognizable fairy tale archetype--the mistreated orphan with mysterious origins who's about to be dragged into adventure. The Last Battle starts with a talking ape being horrible to a talking donkey, neither of whom is very likable. They read more like an adult's satire of other adults than as compelling characters for the start of a children's story. And starting with the villains is a very odd structural choice. It'd be like starting Prince Caspian from Miraz's point of view, or The Magician's Nephew from Jadis' point of view.

Even after a heroic character comes on the page, he's not a child. He's a twenty-five-year-old man. A king we don't know much about save that he was once in the wars, became buddies with a unicorn, and likes going to his hunting lodge to get away from the palace. Which is a decent-enough character sketch to be starting with, but after one moment of action, the story settles into long-winded philosophical and religious debates where the hero himself is pretty close to being taken in by all but the most outrageous claims of the villains.

Then this all leads to the moment where the Narnian character thinks back on the child heroes from the other books as great legendary figures--heroes miraculously brought from another world--and cries out for their help. Which is a fantastic moment. Now, our world is the wondrous fantasy land, and these ordinary professors and children are legends a king stands in awe of. And when the king appears to them, they react in awe, and it's like we're getting the ghost story from the point of view of the ghost. It's a great moment from two different directions, and it makes me understand what Lewis was going for when he structured the book like this.

But I'm still not sure it was worth it. There could have been other ways to convey the same information and facilitate the same reveals without starting that way. It could have started with a sketch of Tirian, where we learn that Aslan hasn't been seen in a long time, and understanding of him is dying out a bit. We could see Tirian's excitement over the idea that Aslan has returned, his confusion that Aslan isn't acting like Aslan--and then get the villain point of view where the narrator tells us what's actually going on, much like Lewis did in books like The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. And even if it would have wrecked the amazing moment of seeing our world from Tirian's point of view, it could have been fun to start with the Professor gathering up all the seven Friends of Narnia, and having a nice nostalgic wrapping-up-the-series dinner party scene before they're all dragged into another adventure.

I'm not one to say that books for children have to have only child protagonists or be structured in certain ways. Kids are smart and can handle lots of different types of books. But even as an adult, this storytelling structure is a struggle. I'm sure Lewis had his own artistic vision and this structure is probably accomplishing things that I'm not seeing. But I can't help wishing it'd been structured differently.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Saw some straight-up inexperienced takes on children’s right to consent in the youth liberation tags.

“Children and adults are on the same level and kids can consent! I’m a minor and I can consent! Don’t infantilize me!”

I’m an educator who’s worked with both kids and adults, and I have a near-photographic memory which allows me to remember my early childhood years at a depth most people can’t. I know what I’m talking about, AND I still relate to kids because I remember in exquisite, painful detail what it was like to be one.

It’s not that kids CAN’T consent. Obviously kids can consent or refuse to consent to a lot of things, like saying “yes I want ice cream” or “no I don’t want a hug” or “yes I want the soles of my feet scratched for an hour straight and don’t you dare stop” (I was a weird kid). Any verbal child, with the exception of children who use echolalia to communicate, can give accurate verbal consent (“accurate” in this case meaning that when they say “yes,” it means “yes,” and that they don’t just say “yes” to everything). It stands to reason that they can technically say yes or no to life-altering things such as medical procedures, religions, jobs, or sexual activity… so the issue is not whether or not they are able to consent; the issue is whether or not they have enough lived experience, emotional development, and knowledge to make an informed decision to be responsibly allowed to consent to certain things which are high-risk.

Pedophilia is wrong — not because I think children are always innocent or “dumb blobs” — but because of the inherent developmental power imbalance between a child and an adult. Children are experiencing everything for the first time; adults have already experienced these things many times over and have the responsibility of teaching children what they know without putting them in danger. One does not allow a person who only has a driver’s license to pilot a rocket ship. Why? Because they will crash and kill themselves. Allowing a minor to have sex with an adult is like letting me fly a NASA shuttlecraft with no training.

But if I theoretically were to get trained by NASA for many years, I could perhaps avoid the whole passing out from the G-force routine, and successfully pilot that shuttlecraft. In the same way, children must learn to make small decisions over the course of their lives, until their brain has reached an ample stage of development to safely make decisions about situations which could potentially get them seriously hurt, traumatized, or killed. Abstract thinking, the last stage, takes a long time to fully develop: from the ages of 8 to 25, and even longer in some cases. Obviously bumping the age of consent to age 25 would be excessive because by the time someone is 25, they would have enough lived experience to make an informed decision, whether or not their prefrontal cortex is completely developed or not. This is why in the US, the age of consent ranges from 16–18 years of age; it is close enough to full brain development to keep people safe, and not too far along to maximize freedom of the individual. Laws aren’t perfect and some laws are stupid; but having an age of consent is more than reasonable.

Even though the abstract thinking stage ranges from eight to twenty-five, an eight-year-old and a twenty-five-year-old are NOT on the same level, even if the eight-hear-old is more experienced in one or two areas. Remember, someone who is eight has just begun to develop abstract thinking (or they may not have even started yet); someone who is twenty-five has already been developing abstract thinking for years. Should someone who just started learning chess who cannot beat a computer on easy mode be allowed by a league to compete against someone who’s played in that league for years in a national tournament? No, because that would be demoralizing for the inexperienced player, and unentertaining for the person in the league (unless they’re a bully). There is an inherent power imbalance.

Children need help to navigate complex emotions and situations because everything is new to them, and their brain is not sufficiently developed to handle emotions in a healthy way without guidance and support; this support decreases slightly every year a child is alive if parenting and teaching is consistent in their lives. Children who do not get good adult support often end up traumatized. Children rely on adults; not because of “ageism,” but because it is practical for their physical and emotional health.

This is also the reason why parents often make decisions for children and make them do things they do not want to do. Of course, many children would much rather play than go to the dentist because the dentist is scary and it hurts; but considering that not going to the dentist could result in tooth decay, even if a child does not want to go, a parent should still “force” their child to go to the dentist because the trauma of medical neglect should be avoided at all costs. So a parent should explain to their child that the dentist is there to help them be healthy and happy, to help ease a child’s fear. Most dental and medical procedures ensure that a child will have as much freedom as possible throughout their lives, by preventing them from contracting medical conditions which could potentially inhibit their freedom to do things now, or later in life. Now involuntary intersex surgery for the sake of making a child appear “normal” is another issue entirely, since this deals with a child’s identity. Unless the procedure is done to avoid a life-or-death situation or physical pain, it should not be done at all.

Another thing which absolutely should not be forced on a child is religion. If a child does not fully understand what a Jehovah’s Witness baptism entails, or if they do not know whether or not they will change their mind later due to a lack of experience and foresight, then they should not be presented with the “one-way ticket” option of baptism and effectual “marriage” to a god. This is because a child may not have the experience to recognize the Jehovah’s Witnesses as a predatory organization, especially if their parents have raised them in the cult. If they know that not serving Jehovah — according to their belief system — will get them killed in Armageddon, and that Armageddon could come at any time, including tomorrow, their decision to get baptized, which is a lifelong commitment, will be more motivated by fear than by a genuine desire to serve that god. A parent should not be allowed to punish their child in any way for refusing their religion, and religions should have age restrictions for those rituals which cannot be backed out of without penalty, once performed. This does not mean that children should not be allowed to explore different religions and choose for themselves; it only means that they should be allowed to do so with minimal risk to their mind or body, should they change their mind.

Jobs are something else which a parent should not be allowed to force or encourage a child to get, because play is essential for brain development and specifically for developing creativity. Work is often regarded as the opposite of play due to its exhausting and typically unpleasant nature, so working below a certain age will stunt a child’s growth and make it so they can do less in the long run. Now, if a child has a genuine passion they wish to pursue which most other children do not have, they should, within reason, be allowed to pursue it and potentially make money from it. However, the business side of things should be handled by the parents or another trustworthy adult, until the child is at a stage of development where they capable of handling finances, so that they may focus exclusively on their passion and furthering their education in other areas. However, the money the child earns from their work should not go to the parents; it should go to the child, potentially being placed in a savings account for their future.

In conclusion — I hate to use the “seatbelt or straight jacket analogy” abshsbshsjsjks — children are horribly disenfranchised, yes; but lowering the age of consent is not going to help them become less disenfranchised, compared to many other more feasible and less reckless rules which should be put in place by the law. Adults should be more restricted with what they can do with their children; legal restrictions should not necessarily be removed from what children can do, as many of these laws are reasonable from a scientific perspective.

What these self-proclaimed “xeno-satanists” are proposing can easily be classified as systemic child neglect (Also, side note: xeno-satanism is such a cool-sounding name and I was extremely disappointed to find out they wanted to abolish the age of consent, instead of, like, astral projecting to worship Satan on other planets. Ick. Also, it should be noted that many of these xeno-satanists are minors themselves, at the receiving end of pedophilic relationships and should not be harassed for being abused. Common sense. Don’t add gasoline to the already very hot fire.)

[deconstructthesoup]

All right, okay, poll's done, I've given myself permission to ramble about my ideas for a next-gen season of the Unsleeping City and there is no going back!

So, the story would theoretically take place about fourteen years after the end of UC2 (which would, yes, make it slightly harder to write as it'd be set in the actual future of our world, but I've never once made anything easy on myself), making our cast a combination of teens inspired to take on the world and young adults desperately attempting to keep them under control. I'm not sure who the antagonist would be (though, finding out that there's literally a warlock subclass called "Ghost in the Machine" where your patron is a full-blown rogue AI has definitely given me some ideas), but I do know about the characters:

Langston Brown is now sixteen years old---though, with the combined factors of his parents being in their early seventies and him quite literally being a spirit that's meant to safeguard the past, he's very much an "old soul" kinda guy who doesn't keep up with the trends and marches to the beat of his own drum (I'm imagining Riz meets Gunnie in terms of aesthetics and personality). He is aware of the magic of the Unsleeping City, but he's kind of just accepted it as something that's normal and that he doesn't really need to be that involved in... that is, until his draconic powers start manifesting, and Kingston and Liz finally give him the talk. Langston is, of course, very thrown for a loop about being an incredibly important part of the Unsleeping City, especially since he's fairly introverted and humble, but it soon becomes clear that he's going to have to accept his abilities to save New York. Obviously, Langston's a Draconic Bloodline sorcerer, and though he'd look human most of the time, it'd make sense for him to at least mechanically be a dragonborn.

Alejandra "Al" Matsui has been raised in the Gramercy Occult Society her whole life, but rather than become a wizard like her mom---or a paladin like her dad---she's learned more from J.J. and is incredibly interested in mixing science with magic, becoming an Alchemist artificer. She's inherited her dad's love of helping people, and her primary motivation is to use her knowledge of alchemy to become a magical doctor---kind of in the same vein as Kingston, except she's very much of the mindset that everything can be solved with science, magic, or a combo of the two. Al tends to put herself under a lot of pressure, and the fact that she has big ideas and fully intends to execute them all means that she's more than a little overwhelmed at all times... not that she'd show it.

Catherine "Cat" Lee, on the other hand, is completely carefree, energetic, and an absolute ray of sunshine. Being an indestructible aasimar and the daughter of not one but two First Fists, she knows how to handle herself in a fight, and having La Grande Gata basically be her guardian angel since birth means that she walks around NYC with almost no fear at all. Cat's a cheerleader and a total social butterfly, but her boundless enthusiasm and badassery makes her think that she can automatically handle anything entirely on her own, and she's still learning that being physically indestructible doesn't mean that she doesn't have limits. But she's got her best buds Langston and Al, and she's absolutely positive that together, they can not only take on New York, but the entire world. As for class, I initially had her down as a Sun Soul Monk, but after watching the final UC2 Adventuring Party and hearing Emily say that Cat would probably do something different than her parents, I think she'd absolutely be an Oath of Glory paladin---with a couple levels of Divine Soul sorcerer thrown in there for good measure, of course.

Coming from the exact opposite vibes of Cat, Jessica Lisowski is now twenty-eight, working part-time at the Met and part-time at Gramercy, and is the most tired, burnt-out, and cynical she's ever been. Against Iga's advice, she's been keeping her mundane and magical lives as separate from each other as possible, and the stress of maintaining a strict double life has caused her to lose a lot of the childlike wonder she used to have for magic, now just seeing it as something that helps her get through the day at best and an actual danger at worst. It definitely doesn't help the fact that both her mother and her brother have their whole magic-and-reality thing balanced out pretty well, and the only thing keeping Jessica from cutting herself off from the magic entirely is the lasting friendships she's made at Gramercy---including her friendship with Al, who she's been helping out and mentoring since Al was old enough to cast her first cantrip. And to stay in line with the "closed off from everyone around her" vibes, Jessica is a School of Abjuration wizard. Debated School of Illusion, but I think it fits.

Adding another experienced-adult-type to the party, we've got Matt Kugrich---grandson of Rat Jesus, nephew of Wally Claus, and freelancing vampire hunter. Inspired by his dad's own efforts in taking down the more corrupt vampires running amok in New York, Matt's been giving him a hand... though, he's mostly been working through the Dream Team, and David may or may not exactly know what his son is up to. Since we don't really know a lot about him in canon, I like to think that he's got a little bit of a smartass vibe to him, but he's also very down-to-earth, relaxed, and a go-with-the-energy kinda dude. For class, the idea of Matt being a Swarmkeeper ranger with Urban being his favored terrain, vampires being his favored enemy, and his swarm being entirely composed out of rats in honor of Kugrash came almost immediately---and if we're going with the whole "vampire slayer" thing, I think it'd make sense for him to also be a Soulknife rogue. (As funny as the idea of Murph just playing an older version of Cody for this hypothetical next-gen season is, Kugrash has grandkids, and I think they deserve the spotlight. I'd say that Delia probably has some UC ties, too.)

And rounding out the roster with the only OC in the bunch, we have Riley Conlan-Park---a young faerie who was found wandering around the Fairyland amusement park as a little kid with zero memory of who they were or where they came from, and after several months of trying to figure out who the hell this kid was, they were subsequently adopted by Pete and Maddie. When the story starts, they're fifteen years old---though they've been out of high school for a few years due to skipping several grades---and have decided that their life passion is a solid mixture of DJing for underground parties and digging up dirt on companies like Gladiator through the power of hacking. Riley has a lot of confidence, both earned and unearned, and they prefer to just let loose and be the crazy, irresponsible one rather than stop and actually let themselves think deeper about their past and all their underlying issues that they've worked very hard to keep shoved down---and they're pretty sure they can live like that forever. Of course, all that poking around in the dark web will awaken something in the Unsleeping City, and it doesn't take long before Riley makes a connection with something... other in their trips through the backrooms. Mechanically, they're an Eladrin who relies on the Umbral Arcana to make themselves look human, and class-wise, they're a College of Creation bard and a Ghost in the Machine warlock.

And, uh... that's what I got, now I gotta go to sleep.

[faroreskiss]

The Power of Understanding / Part 2 (v2)

Read on Ao3

Rewritten v2 posted on: 2023/09/10

Cheat Sheet

Chapters: Pilot, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Summary: You have been with the Chain for a while now, as their "scholar" and translator. You know everything about them, because you are from our world. But do they know the truth about how you can understand everyone? Loosely based on the same reader in my NSFW fic, which is a very loose prequel to this one, and a work in progress. More background info to come, if I feel like it :D Isekai reader, but she doesn't know about the Linked Universe. Warnings: None. SFW. Maybe Teen? Points of interest: This is your thing if you are into the mystery of chain being able to talk to each other. I am an actual trained linguist IRL, hence this HAD to be written! Some fluffy Twilight x Reader content in this chapter.

So, what was happening to you today? You just couldn't stop thinking about Twilight for some reason. You even carried your work over the stables, having to inhale the smell of horseshit around you. 

But he was just... there. Not like he has been far away lately. You’ve literally been stuck with him (and the rest of the chain) for around two years. Your ‘situationship’ with Wild was still there, and the rest of the chain was aware of it, you were guessing.  You both weren’t exactly super subtle about it, hand holding and such and sometimes a small kiss here and there, but you were never explicit with it either. Nobody questioned anything, everybody had their… quirks, you guessed. 

Did they think you were just in a relationship, you wondered sometimes. Were they even familiar with the word, situationship? Gods, what would they think of the involvement of you, Zelda and Link at the same time, if they knew? Technically, everybody had their room in the house in Hateno, but, well... Ah, you really missed Zelda too, and her delicate fingers on… You took a breath and then sighed. You were getting distracted.

Anyway, nobody owes anyone explanations in the Chain that you learned. That was the agreement of the Links, in which you were indirectly included. If they don't want to tell, you don't force them.

Except, you pretty much knew everything. Well, you weren't really familiar with any game where all the Links were together except maybe some fanfiction where they met in the afterlife, but Wild didn't "exist" back then, from your perspective.

Now, Time was out with the others, getting some business done in Castle Town. Wild also joined him to get some ingredients for the recipes he learned from Malon.

Back to Twilight... You were watching his strong arms, brushing the horse gently. He definitely had a tall stature compared to the other Links. The Links you are in contact with are ranging from their mid to late twenties, maybe early thirties (except Wind, though he was still almost a 16/17 -year-old teenager). So, most of them were fully adults.

"Hey, I can feel ya starin', ya know, Trivia Queen,” he said with his Ordona drawl that occasionally made an appearance, sighing, while still brushing his Epona.

Right. That was your nickname. When you first arrived, you kept spouting things about them that you supposedly should not "know" about, which made the Links (except Wild, he was used to it) extremely suspicious. Over time, they got used to it, especially after finding out about your "job" at Wild's world, as a historian, linguistics scholar. So they left it at that.

The other rule was that you were not supposed to discuss one Link with another, unless you are sure you are not revealing any secrets.

...which was a rule that was established right after you revealed that Twilight is Wolfie, to Wild. Seems like the Old Man already knew (you and Wild joined the chain pretty much as the latest additions), and it was his idea to come up with it. And it was kind of unfair because Wild said he already knew Wolfie from his initial adventure! Hah, good riddance. It did end up being revealed to everyone anyway, after his near death experience.

Fair to say, you were the persona non-grata for a while. And that nickname was not Trivia Queen, but it was Trivia-something else for a while (Thanks, Vet).

"Mhm," you idly replied.

Twilight raised an eyebrow, catching you lost in thought while the stables filled with the scent of horse dung. "Hey," he called out again, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Lost in your own world again?"

You sighed, blushing slightly, and tried to shake off the daydream of you and him in a big bear hug. "Yeah, just got a bit distracted," you admitted, turning your attention back to the ranch's budget paperwork. "These numbers can be quite mesmerizing, you know."

The rancher chuckled, his eyes warm as he continued brushing his Epona. "If you say so," he replied playfully. "But I have to admit, you manage to make even the most mundane tasks seem fascinating."

You couldn't help but smile at his compliment, feeling your heart flutter slightly. "Thanks, Link. You know how to make a 'trivia queen' blush," you teased back, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted.

His grin widened, and he leaned against the stable door, looking at you with that undeniable twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, really? Well, consider it a skill I've honed over time," he said, winking playfully.

You playfully rolled your eyes, trying to hide the butterflies in your stomach. "I suppose I'll have to keep my guard up around you, then," you replied, feigning a serious tone.

Twilight chuckled, and for a moment, the two of you locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between you.

"You wish you could," he winked.

There was an unspoken awareness that, despite the friendly banter, there were lines he would not cross. You respected his relationship with Wild, and he respected your history with him. And of course, the fact that everybody's existence is but a flicker...

Yes... Who knows how long you will still be here anyway? Even the stuff with Wild and Flora is as dangerous as it is. You can literally disappear and get back to your own world, leaving them behind.

This was the thing that was stopping you from the other type of "feelings" you could catch. You never spoke about this with Wild or Flora. To be fair, not like there was any time to. You… literally had the most intense moment of intimacy one night, and less than 24 hours after that, you and Link were taken in via the portal and met with 8 other Links. Poor guy even hesitated to sleep with you in the same bedroll, literally the night after. 

 And since the adventures with the Chain started, there was this weird gloom between you two sometimes (both missing Zelda), but the respect you have for each other never disappeared. That was another unspoken agreement.

The moment you want to speak about this awkward issue of you having a heart big enough for love for other people, the reality of your existence would be bare.

Anybody can disappear, forever, anytime.

Time's return broke the moment, and you both quickly resumed your tasks, acting as if nothing significant had transpired. "So, what were you two chatting about?" Time inquired with a sly grin.

"Just discussing the ranch's budget," you replied casually, keeping things vague.

The Old Man raised an eyebrow but seemed to take your word for it. "Alright then, just remember we've got some preparations to make before the next portal appears," he said, his eyes flickering with a knowing but serious glint. It wasn't the first time he witnessed something like this.

You nodded, grateful for the diversion. "Of course, I'll get back to work."

As the day went on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Twilight, his presence always managing to captivate you. Though you were the "translation magic" of the group, your understanding of him went beyond language. It was a connection that had been forged through shared experiences and unspoken feelings of the last couple of years, despite the initial incidents you had.

And as you continued to work alongside the Chain, you held onto the hope that, in the midst of all the chaos and adventure, there might be a chance for your paths to intertwine in a more profound way. For now, you would cherish the friendly banter and the secret glances, knowing that no matter how many worlds you traveled, Twilight would be a part of your heart's journey, for now.