#obviously these are kind of a concept first pass i just think she's cool

[avephelis]

mutant cass is the creature that lives in my brain

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt casey jones #cassandra jones #rottmnt cassandra jones #why she got so many tags #avepharts #mutant casey jones #ferret cass #basically i have just so many thoughts about mutated casey in my head its insane (will this be a full on au? maybe? WHO KNOWS! not me) #obviously these are kind of a concept first pass i just think she's cool #but yeah she's so. she's a ferret. she does the weasel war dance. do you understand me. #oh fun fact i actually have a tasmanian devil version too but i figured ferret made more logical sense (i do love the alt design though)

[snickerdoodlles]

Kim is my favorite character but Chay is the most special™️ boy in the universe :p that’s why I keep thinking of an AU where everything is mostly the same except that like in the Sandman there are anthropomorphic personifications of the fundamental concepts of the World (they are: Dream, Death, Destiny, Desire, Delirium, Despair and Destruction) and Chay is casually besties with Death, most people don’t know they even exist and the Mafia fam knows that there’s some kind of magic in the world but nothing more than that.

This comes out when they’re “casually” talking about some horrible thing that Korn did and Chay just looks at Kim and asks “if there was a way for him to die and have nobody be responsible for it, would you want him dead?” And he’s like “yeah, obviously” and Chay is like “okay! :D” and like two days later Korn just dies out of nowhere and nobody can prove it but everyone knows that Chay had something to do with it so Kim just asks and Chay just tells him he asked a friend to do him a favor and Kim is like “???” until Chay is like “yeah, that friend is literally the anthropomorphic personification of the concept of Death :D” everyone else is for some reason also there.

Chay doesn’t tell anyone this bc they would lose their shit if they knew but they met Death when they died accidentally when he was like 4 and when Death came to collect him, they just told her very politely that he couldn’t go with her bc that would made Porsche sad, she found him adorable and let him stay alive! They have been friends ever since.

Tankhun kind of knew that the personifications existed but never told anyone, he met Despair & Delirium when he was kidnapped :) to be fair he thought he was hallucinating.

I practically just told you my favorite daydream about those two 😂 tbf I thought you would find it interesting

-⏳💤💜

anon

anon I am kissing you on the forehead, this is DELIGHTFUL

Chay!!! as besties with Death!!!! Death a common friend to all but the deepest connection with CHAY. I love your day dream, I had in fact immediately pictured Korn's bloody ruthlessness being in part an effort to court Death for his own nefarious purposes, and Chay's like "oh? do you want to meet her then?" and Death arrives and gently tells Korn he's always had her attention, he never had to try to catch it, and Korn feels very smug about this until she holds out her hand and Korn realizes he's just dead and she means she knows everyone who passes through her lands eventually, he's not special.

(I hope!!! You do not mind me playing with your day dream! Yours is a beautiful idea, I hope I added and didn't impose 😂🙏)

but oh mannn, I'm right there with you in that Kim is my favorite but Chay is my most specialest boyTM, and I have a silly day dream for them too actually! I'm not sure if you've ever heard of the Wayward Children series by Seanan McGuire? it's a novella series centered around the concept of portal fantasy worlds, with a bunch of children who had gone to different alternate worlds and are now back on earth, trying to make a life after and several waiting/hoping to return to their worlds. I had actually first had a weird mashup of that series and bad buddy, but then kp came out and I fell down that rabbit hole and my brain shifted the day dream to accommodate Chay going to a different world where he'd gotten literal wings before he was returned to earth (reason typically being for Porsche). and something-somrthing happens, the exact reasons for this next bit change, but somehow he and the other boys are in danger, Chay's door opens again for him, and he drags all thr boys with him for safety and they all learn our boy is MagicTM. Kim is 😍 x100 obvs, he doesn't really care about the specifics he just cares about Chay lol. Porsche's reactions vary but usually around I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST A GAME WE PLAYED AS KIDS, and Kinn and Khun are just. Baffled. Mind blown. What the fuck is happening, this is very cool but still WHAT?!

#kinnporsche #idk how to tag this uhmmmm #kpts daydreams #HI FRIENDS if any of you want to add your own silly and extremely indulgent kp daydreams to this or my inbox #i would be DELIGHTED to hear about them!! #also im sorry for the reply delay anon i had a Very Busy week 💦

[chellyfishing]

Never meant to make a post like this but while in the shower I accidentally wrote an essay in my head about why I didn’t like Scott Pilgrim (2010) so might as well be a bit of a cunt about it for minute

Back when this movie first came out, the concept made me kind of uncomfortable, so I didn’t bother trying to seek it out, not then nor in the many years since. Make no mistake, though, when it came up as a movie night movie, I actually wanted to like it. So many people I know have positive feelings about it, so I thought, surely! Surely there is something here to love. Or at least like. Plus it’s Edgar Wright, and Hot Fuzz is one of the most perfect films ever made.

Nope! This film is not good and I did not like it! Let me explain why! There are two axes on which this film failed and I’m going to detail both.

Scott is a terrible protagonist. I kind of don’t really care that his friends occasionally make fun of him or call him a loser when he never changes. Protagonists are allowed to be shitty people, but this is not making that concept work. He just sucks man, and the whole thing revolves around him being cool because he has the best jumps or whatever.

Ramona is barely a character. Why does she like Scott? Why does she want to be with him? I have no idea! I don’t know anything about her except she’s played by a very beautiful actress I would also want to date! She has basically no agency. She’s just getting passed around like a football depending on who’s winning the game at the time or whatever. (Also, the idea that this woman is reduced to her sexual—or not even—history being analyzed and interrogated in service of men is just. Still very uncomfortable to me on the face of it.)

Really, none of the characters feel like characters, which again, is potentially fine, because you can easily have a story where the characters are a bit flat because it’s really about moving your little dolls around in service of a plot. But the problem is that the plot IS the characters! It’s about this guy and this relationship and I do not care about either!

And that brings me to the other axis, which I think is where this all comes from: this is a bad story for a film adaptation. People need to realize that not all media are created equal and sometimes things don’t need to be films. There are too many characters, too many things happening here, which leads to everything being shaved down into little nubs we go through one after the next and then it ends. It’s too much to cram into a couple of hours.

Anyway, I’ll anchor this by saying the good things: the actors are doing their best. Whatever character comes across is mostly through acting choices. It looks good. Edgar Wright is obviously a good director. And because of this film, more people know about Metric. “Black Sheep” is in fact an S tier song of theirs, tho no offense to Brie Larson, the Emily Haines version is superior.

#deep thoughts

[haro-whumps]

Whumptober Day 7: Silent Panic Attack

Morja did not… care… for medical facilities. In general they were not an ideal place for a diathesimos to be. The fact that he might need medical attention was a personal failing, on his part, but he did feel ever so slightly resentful that Cobi would even insist that he needed it after such a minor injury—

No, he couldn’t think like that. Where had the thought even come from? Cobi was his superior, obviously Morja needed to obey. Just, he’d had worse wounds that had never needed—Cobi was right and Morja was wrong. He should stop thinking about it, clearly all it was doing was getting him worked up.

Maybe the injury was worse than he thought. Maybe he’d gotten concussed with the black eye, and he just didn’t realize it. Maybe that’s where all these errant thoughts were coming from.

Sarai entered the room and Morja did not flinch, but felt a faint horror at the fact that he almost had. He knew better! He was better than that, better than this. Sarai was talking to him, he should be listening.

“–ty black eye, so he wanted me to check on it. Your vision feeling okay?”

Morja nodded and swallowed, not trusting himself to speak. She was washing her hands. Drying them, pulling on gloves. He willed his heart to stop its pace, to slow, slow down, even slightly, but he could feel his pulse in his ears and with each throb of his new bruise.

“Gonna touch it.”

Morja held himself deliberately still, body tense, iron grip on his own breathing which threatened to turn loud and ugly and fast, spiral out of control. If he let himself slip for even a moment, he would spiral entirely and utterly out of control. He couldn’t. He knew better, he was better. Her fingers on his face felt distant, almost tingly. His whole face, actually, felt tingly. Numbish. He willed his heart to stop. His breathing to stay normal.

“Follow this with your eyes,” she ordered, her tone mercifully firm and impartial. It gave Morja something to cling to, as his body seemed to betray him, his thoughts errant and wrong. He made himself watch the tongue depressor she lifted, and moved first from side to side, then up and down, then in a slow circle. He clung to it like a drowning man, the order, the motion, the fact that he was obeying, he obeyed, he could obey. The hair near his temples felt like it was being yanked, like it was pulled into a too-tight ponytail. His lungs squeezed like he was suffocating, but he continued to breathe deliberately, slowly.

God knew what would happen to him if he allowed himself to crack in front of a doctor.

The doctor was Sarai. He knew her. She was kind to him, she’d always been kind to him, she wouldn’t—he wasn’t in New Athens anymore. Things were different here. He knew that. He was sweating. He felt cold. She was examining him, tilting his head gently, and it was the only movement he could allow himself. He couldn’t disobey her.

“Hey, Morja,” the glove was cool on his cheek, but he couldn’t move even to lean into it. If he tried to move he’d crack, and if he cracked right now he’d shatter all over her floor, “your eye looks fine. You good, honey?”

“I—” briefly, almost, the concept of asking for rest passed his mind, ‘I just need to sleep it off’ so common a phrase here he’d nearly parroted it, “—am fine, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Yeah alright. Go sleep this one off, okay?” See? There was that phrase again. “You seem in good health but take it easy the rest of today.”

“Yes’m,” he got out. He didn’t know how he managed to force his tongue to shape so many words. He could only pray they would be enough.

“Hey,” she said, stepping back and stripping off her gloves, Morja feeling his fingers begin to tremble. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, okay? Everyone gets black eyes, and Cobi fusses each time. No one’s looking down on you.”

Morja didn’t have the mental capacity to try and puzzle her words into making sense. He just got up, praying he’d guessed right, that this was a discharge, a dismissal, and silently departed the room. She didn’t stop him, and Morja made himself move very slowly, very deliberately, keeping his pace even and measured like he was taught, until he was all the way back to the little quiet space they’d given him as “his” and finally allowed himself to shatter.

A lil fanfic for @newbornwhumperfly today ;)

#whumptober2022 #no.7 #silent panic attack #morja #sarai #cobi #fear of doctors #black eye #panic attacks #whumptober #whump #writing #mine

[auncyen]

the scene I wrote this morning, because I like it, but actually while this is a scene I like in concept, I am not actually sure if it will make it to final draft. I hope but you know it could easily get axed.

Very minor spoilers for Cat & Trickster, mostly alluding to what the plan for making the bank come down is. Also a warning that this does discuss grown men creeping on Ann. Nothing actually happening (the only two characters in scene are Ann and Mika), but Ann thinking about it.

-

The last time Ann had worn her hair down had been as a first year. Kamoshida had complimented her on how “mature” she looked for her age. She’d been told that before, but that time, with all the nice-but-vaguely-creepy compliments Kamoshida had already given her, had made Ann realize that men told her she looked “mature for her age” way more than women did, and that they might be interested in her supposed maturity for reasons she did not actually feel ready for yet. She’d immediately started trying to figure out how to phrase an online search for looks that were pretty, but more “girlish” than “ladylike”, and that wouldn’t make it too obvious Shiho’s coach freaked her out. She’d decided to use searches with the word “cute”. She’d decided on pigtails, since she could always say she wanted her hair up and out of the way.

Obviously, pigtails hadn’t actually worked to deter Kamoshida. When he said she looked mature it had just been to flatter her and make her lower her guard, or give himself an excuse for lusting after a student, or both. But Ann felt like pigtails got fewer passes made at her by random guys, so she’d kept wearing her hair that way and gotten attached to the style.

For this mission, though, she was supposed to look like she was trying to be seductive. That meant the pigtails had to go. After carefully pulling each hairtie out and brushing her hair back over her shoulders, Ann stared at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, trying to think of what else she should do. She still looked too much like a high schooler, obviously because she was one, but like…what the hell were creeps even seeing when they said she looked mature? Should she try a sexy pose, like this? Or like that? Or—

“What. Are you. Doing,” Mika said, and Ann nearly jumped out of her skin, forcing a laugh as she whirled to face her unamused coworker.

“Hi, Mika! Actually, I’m really glad you’re here, I could use some advice,” she babbled. Whether Mika would actually give helpful advice was very questionable, but Ann didn’t doubt for a second that if Mika were in her shoes, she’d know exactly how to nail ‘trying to be seductive but not in danger of actually seducing anyone’. Since Ann couldn’t explain why she was trying to go for that, she’d have to go for the next best thing. “I thought I should try experimenting with new looks, something more mature—you did say pigtails made me look like a little girl. And that last shot you did with Vague was so cool and sexy. I was kind of hoping to capture that kind of energy.” And whatever advice Mika gave for that, Ann would take…and then maybe try to tone down 50%.

“And that’s why you were thrusting out your chest?”

Man. Ann had really been hoping Mika hadn’t seen that. Or would forget it in favor of flattery. “Ha. Ha ha. You got me. Should’ve known that wouldn’t work, right?”

Mika folded her arms. “Is this actually for modeling? You’re not trying to impress some new boyfriend, are you?”

Ann hesitated, because that was actually the perfect way to bring up that she specifically wanted to go for ‘seductive’, except this was Mika and Mika already got mad that she didn’t take modeling seriously enough. Then again, it kind of sounded like Mika had already assumed she wasn’t taking modeling seriously. “Whyyyy would you think it’s for a boyfriend?”

“You’re tensed up. You barely put any thought into your shoots, so why would you get this wound up over trying a new look? Unless it’s for some boytoy.”

Well, since she couldn’t exactly explain she was going to be trying to seduce a mafia boss without actually seduce him— “Okay, okay, you got me again,” Ann said, sitting down. In the next minute Mika could easily blow her off as a ‘girl playing dress-up’ again, so she had to make her case now. “But it could help with my modeling too, right? It’s just, I think he might not take me seriously enough. He’s, um, older than me—in college—and um, in business—a business major—so he’s really mature, you know? And I don’t want him just writing me off as too childish.” She did. She wanted, absolutely, for Kaneshiro and his goons to write her off as a child that didn’t interest them personally. But they had to think she was trying.

Mika’s face had twisted up like she’d accidentally picked out a sour candy. When she spoke, her tone was acidic. “You want my advice?”

Here came the reaming. Mika was pissed off. Ann shrugged. “Of course.” Might as well get it over with so she could go back to stressing over her half-baked plan—

“Dump him.”

Ann blinked. Mika was definitely mad, but that wasn’t the lashing out she’d expected, and she accidentally let a real laugh slip out. “Um. No? Are you upset I have a boyfriend?” It was funny considering how fictional the boyfriend was.

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” Mika said. “Either he’s not interested and you’re wasting your time, or if you’re actually dating, and he’s—“ She let out a frustrated huff. “You are childish. You don’t take modeling seriously, you binge on sweets, you don’t put any thought into your words sometimes, and you love cutesy nonsense. If he’s telling you he loves you while telling you you have to be mature for him, he doesn’t actually love you. Probably loves your body, though. Stop being an idiot and dump him.”

“…Oh,” Ann said in surprise. Mika was giving real advice, just… Ann had accidentally convinced her the fictional boyfriend was a manipulative jerk, probably because trying to translate “scary mafia boss” into plausible boyfriend material had been doomed from the start. “Um.” What in the world was she supposed to say now? She was kind of stuck on the thought that she’d actually made Mika worried for her.

The older model seemed just as awkward, giving her a second glance before turning away pointedly to fuss with the accessories on a different table. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you should have figured it out sooner.”

“No, um, thanks,” Ann said, smoothing out her skirt as she stood. “I really appreciate your honesty. And your concern.” She’d have to update Mika about a totally fictional breakup in a few days. Hopefully she’d sell that better than the whole ‘boyfriend’ deal.

Mika let out a small ‘hmph’. “It’s nothing. We do a lot of shoots together, and I won’t tolerate you making me look bad because you’re distracted by some dirtbag.”

Ann smiled. “Of course. Have a good night, Mika.”

While she hadn’t gotten any usable advice, Mika’s unexpected words managed to calm the butterflies in Ann’s stomach for a little while, until she was on the train back home. Then she started worrying all over again about what would happen if Kaneshiro didn’t see her as a potential customer. When her phone vibrated, she dove for it, eager for a distraction…and a distraction she got, as the brief message, and who’d sent it, had her instantly wonder what was going on.

RA: Meet me in Shibuya.

#ann takamaki #mika #persona 5 #cat and trickster

[crackingthetbrpile]

Devil World (Gordon Eklund, 1979)

1/5 stars (1/5 for entertainment, 0/5 for teasing me with a more interesting concept at the very end)

If you’re curious whether you should give Devil World a chance, I’ll ease your worries now: go ahead and skip this one. There’s nothing here that you can’t find done better in either another tie-in novel, or a TOS episode.

Eklund obviously wanted to try something here, but it’s just as obvious that he has no idea what he’s doing when it comes to the characters. Kirk is somehow a frightening captain, for example, despite any evidence to the contrary from The Original Series. Considering Eklund’s later comments regarding the freedom allowed to the Star Trek Adventures writers, I’m surprised this book is so unimpressive. The plot doesn’t seem to go anywhere up until the last twenty pages, but by that point Eklund had sapped all of my good will and I no longer cared.

The worst part about this novel is definitely the original characters Eklund created - namely Gilla Dupree and Albert Schang. The best I can describe Dupree is to compare her to the character of Willie Scott from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. She’s a songstress whose emotions change on a dime, and is really only in the way in any given scene. Somehow Kirk is in love with her after only a few days, as is the way with the more awful tie-in novels. All I can remember is writing the word “Barf” next to his first declaration of love for her. Schang is just a lazy and klutzy officer who annoyed me every time he was on the page, eventually “redeeming” himself in the least believable ending I could picture for his character.

Books left: 870

While I detested a lot of this book, I am a firm believer in that there is always a nugget of something worthwhile in these novels. I’ve included my favorite bits from Devil World beneath the “read more” for brevity’s sake.

- Eklund knows a lot about Jainism, and he’s determined to tell you all about it. Does he know a lot of accurate info about this belief system? Debatable, but I did enjoy the opportunity to learn more about it, even if I had to constantly fact-check what the characters said. Dupree sours this one, because she practices Jainism and is kind of terrible at it.

- Jacob Kell’s paintings are a fascinating bit of characterization, and I wish Eklund had done more than passively reference them. The focus on his need to hold onto the art he created after his traumatic experience speaks to the real Kell’s desires for solitude, even if this character bit is dropped by the end of the novel because Eklund got bored.

- The description of the underbelly of the Danon village. So cool, and the reveal that the entire planet is just one huge computer?! I wished that we could’ve spent the whole novel exploring the maze of hallways and wires beneath the planet’s surface, but Eklund didn’t think it deserved more than a passing mention in the last twenty pages.

#star trek #tos #star trek novels #devil world #gordon eklund #star trek adventures #i will not be reading a non-ST eklund book #you can't make me #he's not good at this

[nellie-elizabeth]

Westworld: The Auguries (4x01)

Man, I don't remember season three of this show at all. I just remember being kind of confused by it and not caring enough to figure out what was happening. In other words, a great place to be as we're starting off a new season! Ha.

Cons:

I mean, there's just so much dramatic framing, so much artistry put into the construction of the plot, but things are so convoluted that the impact is often lost. So like, for example, the whole opening scene with William. Is William dead? Is this a copy? I think so, but I literally have lost track. Also Christina - is she Dolores, in any way? Or is this an entirely different consciousness? We have so many people walking around with the same faces that I literally get confused about who knows what, who's human, who's a construct, and what the lines between those things actually are. I know this is my own fault, I know I could pay closer attention, but I don't care very much, and therein lies my problem.

We've got Christina who is working as a writer for NPCs in video games, and finds out that the people she's writing for might somehow really exist. Cool premise. I didn't appreciate the super cheesy "gosh, I'm just writing about simple things like love, and girls who want to break free and go on adventures" vibe, though. It was a little too trite for my taste, and the time we spent with this character was a lot of repetition in what I felt could have been addressed more quickly.

Some exposition issues in this first episode as well, people spending a tad too much time saying "it's been this long since the war" and explaining the worldbuilding to me. It's been several years since season three, and I know they needed to catch the audience up, but I felt it could have been done more gracefully.

Pros:

Obviously this show is gorgeous, you can see the budget it how it's shot and the effects and everything. It's always a treat just to look at the screen when Westworld is on.

The second I saw Teddy at the end of the episode, or at least someone who looks like Teddy, I got super pumped. I always loved all the drama with him and Dolores, a good romantic tragedy... it ties in with what Christina is saying she wants to write (romance) with what her bosses are making her write (tragedy). Could be interesting!

Also, the idea of a writer inadvertently subjecting real consciousness to the whims of storytelling conventions is not original to Westworld, but it is a storytelling trope I've always liked. There's just so much you can do with it! The idea of NPCs being written for video games and then actually existing in some form of consciousness is really just another version of the Westworld concept we see in the first season of this show, right? But now it's this recursive, ever-narrowing spiral of complexity. In this world, with this sort of technological advancement, who and what can we classify as an individual consciousness, and what rights do they have? If this show can manage to address these things in an interesting way, I might come around on this season and get properly interested in this show again for the first time since maybe the first season.

I love Aaron Paul, so seeing him here is always nice. I didn't really know what to make of Caleb as a character all last season, but here I think he's got a stronger established vibe. He's got a wife and a kid, but his PTSD is haunting him and leaving him to pass on his fears to his child. Of course, his paranoia is proved to be legitimate, and by the end of the episode he's going off with Maeve to try and track down the people who mean him and his family harm.

Speaking of Maeve, it's super wonderful to see her again! We see flashbacks as she deals with her own trauma, and then we see William has sent hosts after her to kill her. You can't take her down that easily! A lot of the Maeve material was setup this week, so I'm excited to see where it goes from here.

And that's where we'll stop. Sure, there are things I don't remember or understand from previous seasons, and sure, I'm not going to bother to look them up because who cares! Still, I'm willing to see where the journey takes us next.

7.5/10

#review #westworld #westworld review

[scuttling]

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

[libraryofloveletters]

Ok blurb concept, reader is Eddies sister who works as a kindergarten teacher (just like bundle of beautiful sunshine) but Eddie said Buck isn’t allowed to date her like at all. And they just are secretly dating and Eddie goes to Bucks apartment for a surprise bro night but Buck and Y/N going at it on the couch and Eddie just walks in and... yeah... sorry if that’s hells specific!

-A💕

Sisters & Misters 

Evan Buckley x Diaz!Reader, Eddie Diaz x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Fem!reader, kissing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs and sex toys, sibling disagreements, arguments, tears, one or two swear words

Category: Angst/fluff

Word Count: 6.2k

Author’s note: this is a longggg one, anyway enjoy! this one’s for you A <3

----

Her heels click on the concrete floors as she enters the station. 

“Edmundo?!” her voice carries through the entire station. 

All eyes were on the man sitting at the table. His head perks up at the sound of her voice, eyes going wide. “Oh fuck. Buck, stall her, I’ll explain later.” Eddie pushes the chair back and walks towards the bunks, leaving his best friend to deal with the woman looking for him. Buck’s eyes flicker between the room and then the stairs, surely Eddie had a good reason for his sudden disappearance. 

Jogging down the stairs, he comes face to face with a woman. He took a moment to admire her, a simple black top tucked into a skirt with a floral pattern. A pair of black heels tying the look together. To say she was breathtakingly beautiful would be an understatement. 

“Eddie's in the shower. Can I help you?” Buck asks the woman who was now looking him up and down. 

“You are?” 

“Evan Buckley, call me Buck” a smile on his face. 

“Is my brother really in the shower or is he hiding from me?” the amusement audible in her voice.

“If I tell you the truth, what are you gonna do?” 

“Depends. Why did he have Abuela pick up Chris from school ?”

“I- uh, I don’t have the answer to that.” 

The woman hums, Buck glances back at the kitchen. “Is he up there?” she asks him and before Buck can answer, she pushes past him and makes her way upstairs. 

“You can’t be up here- never mind” Buck doesn’t bother chasing after her when he sees her approaching her brother. Eddie shot Buck a glare, Buck mouths a ‘sorry’ before taking a seat on the couch.

He can hear bits of the conversation. She’s yelling at him for having Abuela pick up Christopher when she specifically told him that she would do it. Eddie tries to reason with her but she doesn’t listen to him. Buck watches the two of them and smiles to himself. The Diaz siblings remind him a lot of him and Maddie when they were younger- even up to now, they still bickered like children. Her hand stretched out, seeming like she was waiting for Eddie to give her something. He then reaches into his pocket, fishing his keys out and giving them to her. A smile on her face, she kisses his cheek and turns towards the stairs. 

“Nice to meet you Buck” smiling at the man on the couch, she makes her way down the stairs. 

Buck mumbles a bye when he can feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “What was that about?” Buck leans back on the couch, looking at his friend. Eddie sighs and shakes his head, sitting on the couch beside Buck. 

“That was my sister, y/n” 

“I gathered that much” 

“She’s off work today and said she’d pick up Chris from school but she had to take her car into the shop. She was running late and I called Abuela to pick up Chris. I didn’t exactly tell her about the change in plans so she was kind of shocked when she showed up and saw Abuela there with Chris.” 

Buck chucked, “what does she do ?” 

“She’s a kindergarten teacher. She works at the school down the street from my place- Chris’s old school” 

“Hm that’s cool but why did she take your keys ?” 

“Oh, yeah. Her car is still in the shop. She took my truck so I'm gonna need a ride home tonight” he gives his friend a small smile. Buck laughs and nods, “yeah, I got you” 

--- 

Eddie and Buck were on the way to Eddie’s house. The two men stopped for pizza per request of Christoper. After Eddie’s sister left the station, she picked up Chris and went back to Eddie’s place. 

Eddie walked in first, Buck followed him in. “Buddy! I’m home!” Eddie calls for Chris, he glances at you laying on the couch. You didn’t realize that Eddie hasn't come home alone so your attention was still on the tv. Eddie leaves Buck in the living room and walks to Christopher’s room. 

Buck puts the box of pizza on the coffee table, that’s when you realized he was there. Pulling your legs back towards your side of the couch, you sit up. 

“Hey” you smile at the man now sitting on the other side of the couch. 

“Hi” he returns the smile. 

“How was work ?” you ask as you get up off the couch 

“It was fine, just a regular day.” His eyes follow you as you walk into the kitchen. You had discarded the heels and changed from your top and skirt, now in a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, you seemed more relaxed. 

“Do you want a beer ?” calling for him, he shouts back a yes. Buck makes his way to the kitchen, you hand him a bottle and turn to the drawers. “Where’s the opener?” mumbling to yourself and tumbling through the drawer. 

Buck taps your shoulder, handing you an open bottle. Your brows furrowed, had he found the opener ? Buck picks up the other bottle and twists the cap off, you hum and mumble a thanks before hopping up on the counter. Eddie’s now in the living room with Chris, he tells him that he’d be right back with a plate.

Eddie opens the cupboard next to you, he glances at you. “Are those my clothes ?” 

“Mhm hm” taking a sip of your beer, your eyes were on Buck. He smiles at you and takes a seat at the kitchen table. 

“You went in my room ?” 

“I did. Is that an issue ? Do you have something to hide ?” 

“Obviously not” Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Drugs ?” your question earns a smack to the arm from your brother. “Oh my god, sex toys?” you gasp, you know Eddie would shout at you for that one. 

“Y/n! Shut up! Chris is right there” 

“You didn’t say no.. but good for you” Eddie groans in annoyance, Buck on the other hand, chokes on his beer when you congratulate your brother on his alleged sex toy. Eddie shoots you a glare and goes to the living room to help Chris with the pizza. 

“So, you” turning your attention to Buck, “do you have siblings ?” 

“Yeah, a sister. Maddie.” 

“Oh yeah, Ed’s told me about her. She’s the one dating um- what’s his name ?” 

“Chimney ?”

“Yeah! That’s it!” Buck smiles at you. Eddie returns to tell you that the pizza is going to get cold if you don’t eat it soon. You and Buck pause your conversation and go to eat. The rest of the evening was spent with the 3 guys, Christoper tells you about all the times he and Buck hung out. Eddie and Buck also tell you about the first time they met, how Buck was jealous - he claims he wasn’t- and how they pulled a grenade out of a man. 

“Alright buddy. Time for bed” Eddie turns to Chris who is now groaning. “Ten more minutes dad” he looks at his father, his best pout on his face. Eddie smiles at his son, ruffling his hair before kissing the top of his head. “Come on, you’ve got school in the morning. Buck’ll come back another day and hang out.” Eddie reasons with him, Chris looks at Buck. 

“Promise you’ll come over this weekend ?” 

“Yeah, of course” he smiles at Chris. Chris gives Buck a hug and then comes over to you and gives you one too. “Sleep well kiddo” kissing his cheek, you smile at the little boy as he goes to meet his father in his room. 

Once again, it’s just you and Buck in the living room. Breaking the silence, you speak up first. “You’re good with him” 

“It’s not hard. He’s a great kid” 

“Can I-” “Are you-” the sentences cut each other off. “You first” you smile at him, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Letting a sigh, he glances towards the hallway. “Can I get your number ?” 

“Oh I actually have a boyfriend” 

“Oh you’re- oh god. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were dating-” “Buck, I'm kidding.” biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a laugh, Buck visibly relaxes. He hands the phone to you, letting you put your number in his phone. 

When Eddie returns from Christoper’s room, he stops and watches you and Buck on the couch. Buck’s arm draped over the back on the couch, his hand on your shoulder. You were leaning into Buck’s side, your arm on his thigh, propping yourself up. To a stranger, the two of you would pass as a couple. 

Eddie wasn’t pleased at all. 

“Buck, it’s pretty late, isn't it?” He asks, stepping further into the living room. Buck raises a brow, Eddie seemed to be in a hurry to get him out of there. You on the other hand, knew exactly what your brother was playing at. It was pretty late and both he and Eddie had a shift the next morning but Eddie had his own reason for wanting Buck to go. 

“You know what?” you sit up, “I'll watch Chris tomorrow and I'll swing by the station to see you” you tell Eddie, but that last part about swinging by the station was directed to Buck. 

“Carla’s coming tomorrow” Eddie gives you a look, he also knew what you were playing at. 

“Give her the day off. It’s Saturday and I'd love to spend the day with my nephew.” giving you brother a look, he knew you weren't going to back down so he gave in. 

“Yeah, um- I'll get going” Buck stands, he looks back at you on the couch and smiles. “See you tomorrow” once again, a statement said to Eddie but directed to someone else- you. 

When Buck stepped out, Eddie turned to you. “I know what you’re thinking” he says, a confused expression on your face. “And what am I thinking?” 

“You like him.” Eddie sits beside you. 

“Mhm hm” 

“Y/n, don’t.” 

“Eddie, I'm not a baby anymore. You don’t have a say in who I date.” 

“First of all, I'm your brother, I will always have a say. Buck- he’s my friend but he doesn’t exactly have the greatest track record with women. I don’t want you to get hurt, so just don’t. Okay ?” he pleads, you nod. 

“Okay.” you smile at your brother, he leans down and kisses the top of your head. 

Of course, you just tell him what he wants to hear and deep down, he knows that too. When you want something, you always get it, one way or another. 

Buck wouldn’t be the exception. 

---- 

Eddie sees Buck in the locker room when he arrives at work, he heads straight in so he’d have a chance to talk to Buck before work. “Hey man” Eddie smiles at his friend when he walks in. “Hey Eds, what’s up?” Buck returns the smile when he shut his locker door. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Eddie shoves his bag in his locker, his back now pressed up against the lockers. Buck was almost 90% sure he knew where this conversation was going but he hummed, waiting for Eddie to say something. 

“You and y/n seemed comfortable on the couch last night” 

“What ?” Buck laughed, he was just sitting beside her. What the hell was Eddie going on about? 

“The arm on the back of the couch, her leaning on you” he says, like that was so obvious. 

“Dude, my arm was just resting there. I sit beside you like that” he gives him a ‘are you serious’ look. 

“Hm” Eddie turns back to his locker, Buck’s face twists into a confused look. 

“Hm? What was that ‘hm’ about?” he asks the man across from him. 

“Nothing” Eddie mumbles, Buck knows Eddie better than he thinks. That ‘hm’ wasn't nothing, it obviously meant something. 

“Eddie, c’mon man. What is it?” 

“You want the truth ?” Eddie shifts to face his friend. 

Buck nods, “always.” Eddie lets out a sigh before he speaks. “She’s my little sister, man and you’re my best friend, you know that” he reaches out, his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “You don’t make the best choices when it comes to relationships and when you do, they tend to leave.” Eddie’s words sunk into the deepest parts of Buck’s heart, he was right- but god did the words hurt. 

“Y/n, she’s young- naive. She doesn't know what she wants and I just don’t want to see her hurt you, and I definitely don’t need you to hurt her either.” 

“Eddie, just say it.” Buck’s head tilts slightly, a small sigh slips past his lips. 

“If you know what’s good for you- both of you, you’ll stay away from her. I won’t allow you to date her.” Eddie tells him, Buck can’t help but laugh. Eddie’s brows furrow, a scowl present on his face. 

“What ?”

“You ‘won’t allow it’? She’s not 12.” he chucked, “I think she’s more than capable of making her own choices.” 

“No, she isn’t but she’s still my sister- and it’ll always be my job to protect her, even if that means protecting her from you.”  

“Are you kidding me ? Protect her from me? Eddie, do you hear yourself ? You act like you’re going to hurt her.” he huffed. 

“One way or another, it’s gonna end with her being hurt and honestly no one-” Eddie cuts his sentence short.

“No one what?” 

“No one is good enough for her, not even you.” and with that, Eddie walks out of the locker room. Buck can’t believe the words that just left his mouth- that last line running through his mind over and over again. 

“Not even you.”

Buck decides that he’d do what was asked of him for once and stay away from you. A crush wasn’t worth ruining his friendship with Eddie over. His phone buzzes in his pocket, pulling it out, he checks who it is. Speak of the devil herself. 

To Buck: Hey, you free tonight ? 

From Buck: Listen I don’t think I should talk to you. It's not you, it's me. 

To Buck: Bullshit

To Buck: It’s neither of us. It’s Eddie and his lack of ability to keep his mouth shut. 

From Buck: He's my friend and your brother. I don’t want to cause problems for us or between the two of you. 

To Buck: Buck, that’s very sweet of you but I'm an adult. I make my own choices even if Eddie isn't happy with them and if he isn't, well that’s just too bad for him. 

From Buck: I understand 

To Buck: So lemme ask again, are you free tonight ? 

From Buck: Yeah, is 7 okay ? 

To Buck: 7 is perfect, I'll see you then 

---- 

A few months has passed, you and Buck are happily in a relationship. Most days together were spent outside of LA, sometimes you’d go to the beach or venture into the little parks or hideaways you’d pass when you’re on the freeway. 

That man meant the world to you but it didn’t feel right sneaking around behind your brother’s back but of course you knew that you couldn’t tell him. 

Today was a normal day for you and Buck, an afternoon spent at some farmer’s market you had wanted to go to and Buck had the day off so he joined you. He was driving back into the city when he looked over at you. 

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” he asks, his hand on your thigh. Your hand rested on top of his, your thumb gently rubbing back and forth. A small hum slips past your lips, Buck takes the noise as a yes and heads back to his place. 

The moment you arrived at his place, you were up the stairs and dropped yourself on his bed. You had been here enough to know where everything was. Buck’s footsteps were loud, his shoes hitting the steps as he made his way up. There was some shuffling and then he dropped onto the bed with you. 

“Hey” he smiles, shifting back onto the pillows.

His back is resting against his pillow that was resting against the headboard of the bed. You on the other hand, were laid face down onto the mattress, you mumbled something when he said hi that he didn’t quite catch. 

“Come here” his leg nudged your shoulder and that’s when you lifted your head to see him against the pillows. Pushing yourself up, you moved over to Buck. Your head on his chest, hair sprawled across his shirt. His arm was wrapped around your body, holding you close to him almost if he let you then you wouldn't be there anymore. The shoulder of your top had fallen from your shoulder when you moved, Buck’s fingers replacing the warmth it provided, adding a different version of warmth. His fingers traced small patterns against your skin, your arm draped over his torso. 

“You know I love you” he whispers, looking down at you. A smile on his face when you look up at your lover, a smile on your face too. “I know, I love you too” 

Buck leans down, his forehead almost touching yours. You met his gaze, watching as his eyes slowly flickered from your eyes down to your lips and then back up again. Leaning in closer, as your lips meet, Buck gently pulls you closer, his hand cupping your cheek and his thumb rubbing affectionately against your jaw. His other hand rested on your waist, you were leaning up, it was uncomfortable for you to keep leaning like that so you shifted yourself onto his lap. Hands coming up to his shoulders, moving to the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Buck pulled away first, his lips moving from yours to your cheek and down towards your neck. A small hum slips past your lips as Buck’s lips reach the little spot at the base of your neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, his body now pressed against yours. Once more, kisses are being pressed around your skin, up to your jaw and back down to your collarbone. You lean back slightly, Buck’s arms holding you from falling back. 

That’s when you see him. Wide eyed and arms folded. 

Your body stiffens up, sitting up straight. Buck doesn't seem to notice the change in your position, he's made his way down to your chest. 

“Buck?” 

“Hm?” 

“Is that Eddie behind me ?” 

The mention of Eddie caused Buck to pull away. He glances over your shoulder to see Eddie standing by the top of the staircase. “Uh- yeah” he mumbled, loosening his hold on you. Getting up off Buck’s lap, you turn to Eddie. 

“How long have you been there?” 

“Long enough to realize that you two aren't just friends” 

“Why are you even here?” you question him again 

“Came to see if Buck wanted to watch the game but clearly, he has other plans - like sleeping with my sister even after I told him not too” his voice raises, he starts walking towards the bed. Your hand pushes against Eddie’s chest, pushing him away from Buck’s bed. 

“What are you gonna do ? Beat him up for kissing me ? I’m a grown up Eddie. Stay out of my business.” 

“Your business ? You’re sleeping with my friend!” 

“Your friend, also happens to be my boyfriend you ass!” you smack your hand against his chest. The anger visible on Eddie’s face and the confusion visible on Buck’s face, the undeniable tension building by the second. 

“Go,” you look at Eddie, pushing him back towards the stairs. “Get out” 

“What ?” 

“Get out.” 

“This isn’t your place, don’t tell me what to do-” “it’s as much her place as it is mine and if she wants you to leave, then you should.” Buck pipes up for the first time during that whole conversation. He gets up off the bed, his arm over your shoulder, holding you close to him. 

Eddie couldn't believe the audacity of the two of you. 

His sister and his best friend. The two people he thought would listen to his concerns, ganging up on him and forcing him out. 

“Yeah, okay.” He turns and makes his way to the stairs, looking back once more at them, “this won’t end well.” 

They watch as Eddie walks down the stairs, the door opening and then slamming shut. A heavy sigh before turning to Buck, the sadness evident on your face. “Oh baby, come here” His arm pulls you into his side. Arms around his torso and your face buried in his chest, his hand gently rubs your back.

Sure, you might have just yelled at Eddie but he was still your brother. He only did what he did with good intentions. Why did things have to be so complicated? 

“What are we going to do?” mumbling, face still buried in his chest. You feel him sigh, “whatever you want to do baby. It’s your choice.” 

“All the pressure on me? Great, thanks so much Evan.” you joke, he chuckles lightly. 

“No, baby. He’s your brother and I know how much he cares about you. Plus your relationship with him is important, so you should do what you think would be best for you, I’ll understand” 

“Are you sure ?” you lean back into his arms, looking up at him. 

“Of course. If you want to stick it out, I can deal with the cold shoulder at work if I really need too but if not, we can...” 

“End things?” you finish his sentence for him, he hums. 

Untangling yourself from him, you sit on the bed. Buck moves and sits next to you. His hand holding yours, fingers intertwined. “I don’t want to lose you” you say quietly, he answers, “I don’t want to lose you too.” There’s a pause in the conversation before Buck speaks up again. “But, I also know that you don’t want to lose him either.” 

“Buck, what are you saying?” glancing at your boyfriend, he gives you a small smile, a sad one nonetheless. 

“I think we should end things.” 

“Buck-” you breathe, “y/n, please. I get what Eddie is trying to do, he’s protecting you the only way he knows how. I’d do the same for Maddie in a heartbeat. I also know that Maddie would do anything to make sure we were okay, no one comes between us- and you two are the same way. So, if ending things is the only way to make sure that you don’t ruin your relationship with your brother, then that’s what we’ll do.” his hand squeezes yours softly. You can feel the tears welling up by your eyes threatening to fall. 

“Are you sure this is what we should do ? Are you okay with this?” 

“Y/n, I'll always be here for you. It’ll always be you” he smiles, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, you smile too. 

“C’mon, I'll walk you down” the two of you get up, hands still holding one another, walking down the stairs and to the door. Turning to look at him, he pulled you back to him, his arms embracing you in a hug- a hug that didn’t feel like a ‘see you later’ but rather a goodbye. 

“I love you, always.” he whispers to you, kissing your temple. You sniffle, holding back tears. “I love you” leaning back into his arms, your hand cups his cheek, your thumb delicately rubbing over his cheekbone. After what felt like forever, you opened the door and stepped out. One last look at him, you muster up as best of a smile as you could. 

“Bye Buck” 

“Bye y/n.” 

You manage to hold it together until you get to the car, the tears that were threatening to fall upstairs were now falling and the reality of what just happened now settling in and felt heavy upon your shoulders. Upstairs, with his back against the door, a similar scene unfolded. Buck made his way back up to his bed, laying down as his arm stretched out to the right side- the side where you were supposed to be but you weren’t. He too, was now feeling the weight of what had just happened and suddenly his apartment started to feel a little bigger and a lot less like home. 

---- 

Over the next few weeks, Eddie starts to notice a change in both his little sister and his best friend. 

You weren't your normal bubbly self. You went from rainbows and sunshine to grey clouds and rainy days. The witty remarks that typically bit Eddie in the ass after saying something stupid came to a halt, the random visits to hangout with your two favourite boys had stopped. It was hard to get you out of your apartment unless you were absolutely needed. 

Buck on the other hand, was quiet. Which of course was strange because he’s Mr. talkative. The same guy that was running head fire into fires and collapsing buildings now waited for instructions. He also didn’t blurt out random facts or babble on about natural disasters. Surely, he still hung out with Eddie and Chris after work but it wasn't the same, Eddie could sense the change in him- Chris noticed too. 

Was he the reason for the change ? He knew that the two of you had ended things and admittedly, he had been pleased when he first found out. Then he started to notice the changes in you and now Buck, things weren't the same. He hadn’t realized how much you two meant to each other until he saw you apart. 

Eddie had the day off, he and Chris were headed to the beach for the day.  it was such a nice day so he thought why not see if you were up to it. 

From Eddie: headed to the beach with Chris for a bit. Wanna join us ? I know he misses his tia 

To Eddie: not really in a beach mood today 

Form Eddie: you don’t have to do anything, just hang out with us.

To Eddie: fine, I'll see you there. 

You weren't the only one Eddie texted. 

To Buck: headed to the beach with Chris for a bit. Wanna join us ? 

From Buck: kinda busy today man, maybe another time ? 

To Buck: sure you can’t squeeze it in ? I know he misses you 

From Buck: okay fine, I'll probably have to leave early tho 

This was the only way he could think of. He knew if he had told you both to just come over, it wouldn't end well. You would have seen Buck’s car or Buck would have seen yours but the beach was a big place, with a big parking lot so there was so way either of you would notice, right? The entire drive over, he kept thinking about how he hated seeing you like this. You were his sister and all he’s ever wanted was for you to be happy. Buck was his best friend, his partner- things weren't right if they weren't okay. If he was the only thing standing in the way of your two, then he would make it right. 

You arrived first, laying on the sand on top of a beach towel. The heat of the sun beating down on your skin until something blocked the sun. Opening your eyes, your brother stood in front of you with your nephew beside him. 

“You’re blocking my sun” 

“Nice to see you too sis” Eddie rolled his eyes, shutting the bag down beside you. 

“Hey buddy” you sat up, Chris sat beside you on the sand. “Hi” he gave you a big smile, the kind that warmed your heart. Eddie made himself comfortable on the other side of Chris, the two men turned their attention to the sand, Christoper deciding that he would build the most amazing sand castle known to man - his words of course. Half way through the sand castle, Eddie was tumbling through the bag for something. 

“What are you looking for ?” turning onto your side, you look up at him. 

“Forgot the sunblock in the car, I don’t want Chris to burn. I’ll be back, watch him ?” 

“Mhm of course” you hum, rolling back onto your back. One more glance at Christopher, he was happily building away, brushing away the sand from around the castle and adding towers. Your eyes shut and once again, the heat of the sun beating down against your skin. The warmth was comfortable, so much so that it was putting you to sleep, you just had to keep yourself awake long enough for Eddie to return from the car. Chris was humming a song, you couldn't quite place where you had heard it but you knew that you knew it. 

Suddenly, the warmth vanished. sitting up, you turned with the intention of asking your brother why he kept blocking the sun but when you turned, you were met with someone else- Buck. 

“What are you doing here ?” you ask him. 

“Eddie invited me.” he sits beside Chris, leaning over to give him a high five when Chris tells him about his plans for his sandcastle. 

Returning to your original position, your back sinking into the sand- all of the possible things that could have resulted in this situation ran through your head. 1. Eddie forgot that he invited both of you hence both of you being here. 

2. Eddie intentionally invited you both here.

3. Eddie’s just an idiot that didn’t care about how this would make either of you feel so he invited you both. 

All of which were very much possible. You can hear Eddie calling for Christoper as he makes his way back over to the 3 of you. A small smile on his face when he sees the 3 of you- you knew that look all too well, he was up to something. 

“Hey Buck” he smiles at his friend, sitting between the two of you. 

Propping your elbow up, you lean up and exchange glances with Buck- both of you equally confused as to why Eddie had both of you here. Eddie noticed the glances but Chris on the other hand, was happily rebuilding his castle as a wave had washed away a part of it. 

“Eds, what’s going on ?” asking him, your brows furrow

“What do you mean ?” his head tilts, a hint of amusement mixed with the confused look on his face. 

“She means, why are we both here when you were dead set on keeping us apart” Buck chimes in. 

Eddie hums, the conversation drops. Eddie takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh, looking at you before looking at Buck. “You know all I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” Eddie reaches for your hand, now holding it. “I know, I always say no one is good enough for you and I still think that- I always will because I see you as a literal angel, y/n. You have always been my perfect little sister who no one was ever good enough for- but I’ve been stupid. So incredibly stupid.” he sighs 

“What are you going on about ?” you ask, not that you minded but you were so confused as to what brought on the sudden outpour of love. 

“I hadn't ever seen you as happy as you were when you were with Buck. I know you told you to stay away from him but I shouldn't have- it wasn’t my place to do that. Sometimes I forgot that you’re an adult now and you’re capable of making your own choices” Eddie glances at Buck, thinking back to their conversation in the locker room. 

Eddie now turns to Buck, “if you make her happy and she makes you happy, who am I to stand between the two of you? you both now how much you mean to me and to Christoper” he looks towards Chris, “if you promise to treat her well and take care of her, then we’re good.” 

“I do” Buck smiles at Eddie, the joy evident on his face. So much for a subtle reaction. You weren't sure if you bought it- the whole ‘if you make each other happy’ shit that Eddie just said. 

“Do you mean that ?” your brother looked back towards you, he nodded. “Of course. Your happiness is all that matters y/n. I trust your judgment and I trust buck, I know he’d treat you well.” he gave your hand a small squeeze. You hummed, Buck gave you a smile. 

Getting up and brushing the sand from your legs, you walk toward Chris and crouch down beside him. Eddie and Buck watch, Chris laughs at something you say, a smile on both you and him. Chris gets up, his hand in yours as the two of you walk towards the edge of the water. You stood behind him, your arms looped around him to hold him. The two of you laughed as the water splashed against your legs. 

Some time rolled by and Chris was now tired. “How about we head home and we can watch a movie ?” he nods and you look back at Eddie, giving him a look. He comes over and picks Chris up, the little boy wrapping his arms around his dad. Buck picked up the stuff Eddie had brought and the 4 of you headed towards the cars. 

When you get home, Chris decides that he wants to watch Hotel Transylvania and obviously you agree. You’ve seen this movie a million and one times because your class loves this movie. You and Chris settle in on the couch, he cuddles into your side as your arm comes up and wraps around him. Eddie and Buck were in the kitchen trying to decide what to order for dinner. Before they could decide, you were calling for Eddie to come get Chris - lil man had fallen asleep on you not even 15 minutes into the movie. 

“He’d be more comfortable in bed” you tell your brother as he comes over to pick Chris up and carry him to bed. Once Eddie picks him up, you head to the kitchen. Buck leaning against the counter, a beer in one hand and the other hand on the counter. 

“Are you just not going to talk to me ?” he calls out, you were leant into the fridge, getting yourself a beer. “What do you want me to say ?” you ask, “you really believe all that shit ?” 

“What ? That he wants you to be happy ? Yeah, I do.” 

You scoff and shake your head. Buck might be Eddie’s best friend but you knew  him better than Buck did. Eddie said what you wanted to hear the most, he just wanted to see if you did what he wanted you to do. Buck’s hand grabs yours, pulling your body close to his. One of his arms was now wrapped around your waist, flipping you so now you were stuck between him and the counter. 

“Y/n, why can’t you just take what's in front of you as the answer ?” 

“Buck, I'm literally a teacher. It’s my job to look into the problem. Isn't that part of your job too ? 

“No- well yes, but that’s not the point right now. The simplest answer is often the right one and if Eddie thinks we'd be happy together and he gave us his blessing- which I know was important to you, then why can’t you just be happy?” 

Hands coming up and resting on his chest, you sigh. Buck smiles, it felt good to have you back in his arms- he never wanted to let go. 

“Y/n” he starts, 

“Don’t say it” warning him, you look up at the stupid grin on his face. 

“I love you” he says with a smile. 

“Damn it Buckley.” 

“What ?” 

“Now I have to say it back huh ?” you joke, Buck’s face twists into a look of shock and amusement. 

“Y/n!” he pinches your waist softly, you laugh.

“I love you too” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought” Buck’s hands on your waist pull you closer- you didn’t even realize that was possible. Warmth blossoming in your chest as Buck leant closer, lips brushing against each other as if it was the first time all over again. The smell of your perfume was intoxicating and brought butterflies to his stomach- never did he think he’d have the chance to kiss you again. The moment his lips touched yours again, it felt like everything was right again, like you had spent no time apart and nothing would ever change the way you felt about each other. 

Because in the end, what’s made for you will always find its way back to you. 

----- 

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[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

[gumnut-logic]

The Kermadec Whales (Epilogue)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Epilogue

It’s finished!!!! ::runs around the room in crazy circles::

Thank you so much to @onereyofstarlight​ @gaviiadastra​ @janetm74​ and @tsarinatorment​ for all their help and support on this one. Special thanks to @gaviiadastra​ for letting me play with her Enki and her concepts. You guys are so kind to me :D

Also many, many thanks to all the Thunderfam who have read and commented and encouraged along the way. It means more than you can know.

::hugs everybody!::

I hope you enjoy this last bit. As said in the first line of the story, ‘Scott did not like this at all’ and I have put him through hell.

-o-o-o-

He knew Scott knew he was out there. He could almost feel the worry emanating from the villa.

As Gordon and Virgil made their way back up the track, Gordon had a lot of questions and he answered all of them the best he could. But one question he had no answer for was Scott.

When his big brother and grandmother had presented their concern regarding what she found in his scans, Virgil was sure Scott was going to try and stop him.

He knew Scott loved his family more than life itself and would do anything to protect all of them. Virgil knew, because Virgil felt the same. Putting himself in Scott’s shoes just hurt.

But this was worth the risk. Virgil was sure of it. Humans had been trying to contact aliens for over a hundred years, and yet hadn’t even managed to start up a conversation with the fellow life on this planet.

Until now.

Something stirred in his gut as he and Gordon walked into the comms room side by side. Scott stood beside their father’s desk as a hologram flickered in the centre of the sunken lounge.

The elderly whale was cruising quietly past Mateo.

John, who evidently had not returned to Five sat at the desk, obviously harnessing the power of Five to track what had been happening on the beach.

The breeze was cool through the open doors to the balcony, catching Virgil’s wet clothes.

He shivered.

Scott’s face was carved in stone.

“Virgil?” Gordon placed his hand on his arm.

He shook his head. “Gords, go see to Sam.”

“V-“

“I’ll handle this.” He straightened his spine. Still in bare feet, he was unusually shorter than Scott and his brother was definitely looking down at him.

Virgil brushed Gordon’s hand off his arm and approached Scott. The early morning sun lit everything up in gold, including his big brother.

“Scott, we need to talk.”

“You bet your ass, we do. What the hell were you thinking going down there alone?”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“Only because Gordon chased after you.”

“Really? Eos was watching the entire time.” He turned to John. “Did she pick the conversation from the caldera sea buoys?” His space brother flicked his eyes to Scott and back, but nodded once. “Great. Can you send a copy to Gordon and Sam? Thanks, John.” A slow nod of acknowledgment. “And to you, too, Eos.”

“You’re welcome.” She sounded quite delighted.

He turned back to his big brother and waved a hand in the direction of where he had just entered. “Walk with me?”

He didn’t fail to notice that Gordon was still in the room, eyes pinned to their eldest brother.

Scott swallowed, obviously holding far too much back, before striding angrily past. “Fine.”

Virgil found himself hurrying to catch up. He glared at Gordon as he passed him. His fish brother was worried again.

Virgil sighed and dashed down the stairs to the kitchen. It was no surprise when Scott chose the hill path rather than any that followed the coast. It wasn’t until his feet hit the gravel that Virgil remembered he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Damn.

There was a reason why he traditionally wore boots on the Island. But as he climbed up past the villa, he was suddenly met by Gordon, out of breath, carrying a pair of those boots and socks. “Can’t have you messing up your feet.” He lobbed a towel onto Virgil’s shoulders.

Virgil blinked, but took the footwear.

Gordon grinned and dashed down the hill the way they had just climbed up.

Revealing a very stern-faced Scott on the trail above him. Those blue eyes stared at the boots in Virgil’s hands.

Virgil shoved on the socks and shoes under that baleful glare.

“I’m okay, Scott.”

“No, you’re not. You’re speaking to whales, Virgil! And not voluntarily. These things are altering you in ways we don’t understand.” And as if a dam had burst, Scott threw everything at him. “You died! Grandma said that for a moment you had zero brain activity! None!” He shifted closer looming over Virgil who was lower on the incline. “We lost you, and for what?!”

Scott wasn’t angry. He was terrified.

“It’s worth it.”

It was the wrong thing to say and Virgil realised it the moment he said it.

“It’s not worth your life, or worse, your sanity, Virgil! We don’t know what this is doing to you.”

“It’s not doing anything!”

“It’s changing you!”

“I feel fine!”

“I lost you!” And it was said with a gasp. Scott physically shook before spinning on the spot and striding up the mountain as if the energy expenditure was all that was keeping him from disintegrating on the spot.

Shit.

Virgil clambered up the hillside after him and into the tropical forest as his brother disappeared amongst the trees.

Scott was damned fast whatever his method of propulsion.

He lost sight of the man for a split second. “Scott!” His brother may be fast, but it wasn’t like him to run from anything. “Scott!”

He found him sitting on the remains of an old and fallen pohutukawa tree alongside the path. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

He didn’t look up when Virgil approached.

“I’m sorry, Scott.” The words were quiet and full of emotion. He hated seeing his brother like this, would do anything to prevent it, and the worst of it was that he was the cause.

Scott didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. So Virgil sat down quietly beside him and waited.

And waited.

The sun was well into the sky now and the light trickled down between the leaves as the breeze tossed them about. Virgil couldn’t help but look up and feel the vibrations of the life around him. In the distance, the ocean crashed against cliffs, and beyond that was a world he had only a glimpse of.

It hummed like a lure.

“Dad would have said no.” The words were hoarse and very quiet.

Virgil pressed his lips together. “You’re a better leader than Dad.”

That brought his brother’s head up, red rimmed eyes and all. Anything said against their father was sacrilege.

Virgil held his gaze. “You are, you know.”

“Dad would have been right.”

“Dad would have been a hypocrite.”

“Virgil-“ Such blasphemy.

“It wouldn’t have been Dad’s choice any more than it is yours. He would just have removed the element of free will. The parent would have won out.”

“I’m your brother. How can I let you do this?”

Ever so quiet. “You have no choice, Scott. I’m sorry.”

“But…” And his voice was strangled. “I…”

Virgil reached out and wrapped an arm around his big brother’s shoulders, drawing him in close. He dropped his head to the side until it made contact with Scott’s just gently. “I’m sorry.”

All the breath left Scott’s body and he wilted.

Virgil just pulled him closer and held on.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #kermadec au #nuttyfic

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

🗣Tues 15 Dec ‘20🙊

Anyone order their daily with EXTRA DISCOURSE today? Lucky you, I guess, I'd send it back to the kitchen if I had the option but this is more a 'you'll take what you get and like it' kind of establishment so here we are! EAT UP we got Liam and Lou Teasdale making everyone mad, Louis and Harry's teams forgetting they're supposed to be mortal enemies, and Zayn?? Getting papped?? Omg is Z3 really coming this time? I've been burned so many times before (flown too close to the sun) but what if....... So first Gigi and zaby stroller were papped, then Zayn was papped in his usual way-- 'if you can get a good picture of me in the seconds it takes me to walk from my front door to the car have at it, that's exactly all you get'-- and then a fan reported seeing Zigi and zaby at a pizza restaurant. Zayn's hair is bleached white blond and that's about all I can tell you except that Z NEVER gets papped (or spotted really) for nothing so I am excite!!

Liam's back! He did the postponed-from-last-Tues hour long live for Stand Up To Cancer (and raised $16k!) and he's got a show in two days so I'd say his extremely brief breather is probably done with, whether he got the time he needed to be happy about coming back or not. He seems in good shape for the live though, even if he does say “its been a really long day, you don't even know, REALLY long” and that what he wants most for Christmas is “to have a little bit of time to reflect.” But he says he is going to take some time out and go away and write music “for the first time in a very long time,” in the new year, nice! He mentions how he went up to Sweden for recording recently and says it ”went really well I'm really really excited” about the new music and, uhhh, “got something sent through from Mick Fleetwood while I was over in Sweden writing, some guitar stuff, which was amazing, and he was dressed like santa at the time!” I...what??? I'll just... leave that there?? About other bands, he says that he's become a big fan of the Wanted over time, that “someone Zayn-ed out,” of Little Mix but “Zayn left for pretty much the same reasons and I do feel for them,” and “are 5SOS still together? Did they pull an us I thought they pulled an us?” He said yes, it's so great about Louis' show, and “it was great, and do you know what, like listening through those lyrics, it’s really nice to hear the truth in his music because obviously I mean I know all of the full story about him, and [pause].. and uh... his relationship with his girlfriend and whatever else,” SKLDYSSKKJ.

This long live also had him responding to screen comments he would usually ignore (though thank GOD he only reads but doesn't answer 'what happened with Niall in Japan' please tell me the questioner wasn't trying to get him to comment on the 'violently masturbating' story), anyway so we got Liam on touching his hair if larry is real-- “of course that's not going to happen don't be silly,” and on whether he thinks 'larry is disrespectful' “sometimes I do... actually that's not true, all the time I do.” Well he's not wrong though I'd expand that to 'all the fans' but if I had to wade through a million “touch your nose if larry is real” comments every time I was promoting my own material, for ten years, I'd probably get tetchy too! He didn't say it was or wasn't real, as he himself pointed out he never WILL do that for REASONS; tbh I'm with Liam can people PLEASE stop being so embarrassing on main and let him live? ANYWAY, moving on, his Advent Alarm clock today is the sleep story edited down to be just Liam laughing for like 30 seconds, aka the exact edit that I suggested they should make a couple weeks ago, which I find frankly extremely alarming (ALARMing HA) are they... listening to me?? Well if Liam's management are looking for ideas BOY HAVE I GOT SOME FOR THEM hit me up fellas PLEASE.

Harry and Louis both announced further postponements of their UK and Europe tour shows, like really the same announcement and just fully back to back, I can only assume that after weeks of intensive hashing out to match up dates their teams have arrived at some kind of plan and were like cool let's announce! Louis has added some new shows, while Harry's new schedule is undisclosed as yet. Harry says “I really hope to play these shows and will have news for you in the new year on when they will take place.” Louis' new dates include previously omitted countries (Iceland! Austria!), and those tickets go on sale Friday. Harry did not respond to Rob Sheffield's awkward attempt to link Watermelon Sugar and WAP as being similar but he did like Megan Thee Stallion's post celebrating her successful year, and Vulture ranked Adore You in its top 5 videos of the year with a much better take on what Harry is all about, saying that it “highlights one of the singer’s best traits: his willingness to be delightfully weird.” Kid Harpoon said that he and Harry “wrote a song in Japan that may yet see the light of the day,” and Harry continues to roast him, disputing his songwriter of the year award-- “they found 8,000,000 opposing ballots in a bin behind his house! FRAUD!”

And last but most discourse-y-est of all, The Sun made waves today, pulling the most salacious parts of a Lou Teasdale interview with the Sex, Lies and DM Slides podcast from last week and bringing it to wider attention. In the interview she talked at length about systemic discrimination against women working in the music industry and her own work experiences, which naturally include (very briefly) touching on her highest profile job- the years she spent traveling with 1D. In this context she says “you kind of can’t sleep with them [the band]- it’s quite important to keeping your job... some people would come in and like you know assistants and stuff and I think they would really think... that it was love and obviously it’s not,” and “it’s just the quickest way to lose your job- because then they’ve got a new girlfriend and she’s there and they don’t want you in the room.” She did not sell her story to The Sun she mentioned this in passing as part of an interview about her work experiences; she herself says, “I didn’t do an interview [with] the sun. I’ve never done that. I did a podcast with friends about loads of things.”

There is nothing remotely unlikely in this story, either in the concept that members of the band slept with girls casually (we know that certain of them did and there isn't even anything wrong with that in a situation of consent, the denial of it is as bizarre as scribbling out the beer bottle in a 28 year old man's hand), or that low level members (“assistants and stuff”) of the 150 person+ crew appeared and disappeared on a regular basis. The band were, to my guess, probably simply not paying very much attention to the serious ramifications of this carelessness and the consequences rather than demanding that people be fired, but I do very much hope they've learned over the years to be responsible for the kind of power that they have over other peoples' lives (something I really doubt they understood the extent of yet as very young people being dragged from one place to another who felt powerless themselves).

#liam payne #harry styles #louis tomlinson #zayn #lou teasdale #listen: people talk about wanting the 1D tell all but I don't think you guys do want it at all tbh #you know the whole point of that is that it will destroy the 'perfect angels' front that was created around the boys? #loving and supporting someone even though you know they are imperfect and flawed is not something to be ashamed of though #so I say bring it on #Liam has SO MANY reasons to be cranky right now and coming back online to everyone clamoring for him to comment #on Louis' record breaking veeps stream... honestly think it through?? have some fucking tact #Liam also said Freddie and Bear facetime which is just such clear nonsense I have no comment he just wants to make people happy #I DON'T KNOW if the Mick Fleetwood thing is real like – he seems dead serious??? I think it's serious? #How fucking Liam is that right he is as ever the most unrealistic I'm bringing back that tag: #Liam is a Gary Sue #Zaayyyyn is Z3 coming??? listen may I suggest sir-- LIVEZTREAM??? PLEASE? #I know you won't tour and wouldn't want you to but just consider how PERFECT this would be?? PLEASE SIR #lost in the shuffle: Lou Teasdale also addressed the old quote about keeping the 1D boys from looking 'too feminine' #(assumed to be @harry) saying 'it’s taken totally out of context. A clip from male grooming interview talking about grooming men. #I have no problem with men wearing make up or looking feminine it’s my profession. I apologise it sounds like that here.' #I feel like the truth is somewhere in between but I very much doubt she- the MUA- had final say over their images #and might well have not been the only thing standing between harry and his nail art and eyebrow grooming #I don't like her but like- dislike her for better reasons! #There are plenty she's very annoying but talking about sexism in the workplace and telling her story isn't one of them #Liam said he was very drunk watching Louis' show #I have a lot of things I'd like to say to Liam's management but mostly not publicly and some of them very rude #but I will say that while I guess the acknowledgement that young girls are the real drivers of the music industry and should be courted is #cool the continued obsession with only marketing these guys to that demographic was always ridiculous #and gets worse every year and Liam's team is simply throwing away money and fans by not marketing him so hard (heh) to out gay men #long post

[ayankun]

I s2g I was being a good little nerd and trying to get my excellent sleep on, but then traitor brain served up hsmtmts analysis so here it is. I will not be held accountable for the turbulence in the presentation of the following trains of thought

I've been gnawing inarticulately on why Jack was so compelling as a potential love interest for Gina even though Portwell was simmering happily on the slow burner. (Yikes you guys, that ep only aired like 48 hours ago, I feel like I've been thinking about it for way longer than that yo)

Like, for SURE Portwell is endgame, and what with how charmingly that arc has been paced this season, I guess I was a little surprised at first that Jack as a character was seemingly introduced to throw all that solid groundwork out the window. Because of the context of Gina's lack of clarity over the EJ situation, as well as the opportunity to pass the time with someone who obviously had something to offer her in that scenario, I felt that the narrative was earnestly telling us that Jack had a shot.

And the idea that Jack also earnestly thought he had a shot is still so,,,,,

(Unrelated: I've almost decided to re-rewatch S1, but I'm not sure if the earnest:zany ratio being utterly flipped from what it is this season will be prohibitively off-putting. ☹)

But then it turns out, Gina has standards! Articulated standards. As cute and compelling and situationally-appropriate as Jack is, he's not a person she can commit to any further than she already has. She's able to look past the "wow, looks great on paper!" instant connection that they've made, and recognize that the connection is fundamentally opportunistic, ultimately not capable of surviving beyond its inciting circumstances.

Which is such a cool revelation for her to express, this no-frills internalized cognizance of her needs, because the whole S1 Ricky thing was exactly Jack. A cute and compelling and situationally-appropriate diversion with a ticking clock hanging over its head. She had needed that grounding connection back then, as had Ricky, but it was always doomed to be this temporary thing because he was still hung up on someone else.

She hadn't known that fully at the time, though, thinking that her leaving Salt Lake was the artificial cut off to whatever was going on between them, and that under different circumstances, she wouldn't have given up on it. But know she just knows, intrinsically, that right-place-right-time connections don't have to be pursued on principle, or just because they were really really nice to have in that place-time. She's ready to start forging connections that aren't hung entirely on situational need and won't expire at a pre-determined moment.

And the best part is, the romantic type of connection we're discussing here is just one she's going to add to the connections she already has! She has a home, metaphorically and literally, with Ashlyn; she has her People in Carlos and the other theatre kids -- and these were both connections she's tried to artificially sever due to how the Ricky situation has been affecting her. She just needs to keep being told that she doesn't have to fly away from everything she's built at East High, that she can seek and find and maintain real relationships, that she doesn't need to settle for those opportunistic, time-locked flings. Her concept of what she wanted from Ricky needs to be recalibrated, so she can see it as a good thing for what it was, let it go, and then continue to focus on the kind of relationships that will actually meet her needs.

Love also that even though Jack was expressing a kind of echo to Gina's S1 "never gonna give you up" vibes, she doesn't give into it. There's something really beautiful that's being said here, which I'm interpreting as, "you can fall in love (be mutually emotionally available during a high school musical production and/or have a cute and compelling and situationally-appropriate evening in an airport) with someone, but not having anything more than that does not negate the beautiful and worthwhile thing you had while it lasted." Not every meaningful encounter is an endgame origin story, and that's okay! Oh my GOD teens and every person needs to hear this!!!!!

In conclusion, this season Gina is not Sharpay but Gabriella. Likewise, EJ is not Gaston but the Beast. Mr. Federle you didn't think I would notice but I did!!!!!

#hsmtmts #spoilers #2x09 #my brain came up with these thoughts not me #i was asleep the whole time I swear #aya's hyperfixated #HSMTMTS:The Analysis #Gina Porter

[costellos]

Helloooo Toya!! I have a question: how would each Duwang Gang member react to be given their favorite flower (and what's their favorite flower)? Thank you for reading my ask!!

a/n: YELLS!!! anon this is SUCH a cute question! you’re the first to request anything with the Duwang Gang so bless u. thank u. there isn’t enough content for them. also I know you probably just wanted a concept but bc I love this idea I’m writing full headcanons.

tw: mentions of death in Okuyasu’s part

❥ ┋ ❝ duwang gang, what their favorite flowers are, & how they react when given it!

jotaro kujo.

Jotaro’s favorite flowers are wisteria (though holly is a close second).

he’s not much of a flower guy. he typically finds them to be too much, with cherry blossoms getting everywhere and the memory of Suzie Q’s gardenia perfume being  unbearable. if you asked him for his favorite, he’d say wisteria.

he wouldn’t elaborate if you asked why. truthfully, he doesn’t know. but between you and me, it’s because he saw a wisteria tree in full bloom before he, Joseph, Kakyoin, and Avdol left for Egypt. it’s the last thing he saw as his house faded over the horizon, with the cab Joseph ordered pulling the group away from the lives they knew.

the idea strikes you while looking through travel guides. being a Morioh native, why not make the most of Jotaro’s visit? there’s a wisteria tree at the Morioh Botanic Garden; being a sucker for botanics yourself, it’d be nice to do a little two-in-one. you get to enjoy the view while bringing Jotaro to his favorite flower.

but when you lead him to the tree, the reaction he gives you isn’t what you expected. he’s quiet. not a mad or sad kind of quiet, just... silent. even after months of dating, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. but judging by his face, whatever is running through his head is something he’s made peace with. he only puts his hand on the top of your arm, pulling your figure close to him. ↳ “I’m surprised you remembered.” a beat, and then a sigh. “thank you, [Name]. but let’s keep moving, I don’t want to linger here.”

rohan kishibe.

Rohan’s favorite flowers are moonflowers.

he dislikes any flower that’s associated with manga. red spider lilies, roses, cherry blossoms (which is heightened thanks to Josuke), you name it. he thinks it’s a lazy way to draw symbolism.

it’s why he finds moonflowers so fascinating. there’s no grandiose meaning to them, they’re just a peculiar flower. they only bloom at night and when they do bloom, they die shortly thereafter. it’s a fleeting moment of beauty. lovely and slightly tragic.

he’d never expect you to get it for him. moonflowers aren’t native to Japan and the Japanese climate makes it difficult for them to grow here. that’s why he finds it odd that you’ve been spending an unusual amount of time outside. toiling away, saying it’s nothing more than a little gardening project to pass the time. he’d ask more, but he’s busy himself. it’s not until you drag him outside at night under a full moon that it hits him.

it takes him a moment to process it. there’s a trellis with moonflowers carefully laced between. emerald green leaves tell him that you’ve taken impeccable care of the plant. his first thought is “how?”; there’s no way you could house a tropical flower in this climate. but he brushes the thought away ― he’d rather not waste time on dumb questions like that ― and sighs, donning his signature smirk. ↳ “pfft, you’re that desperate to impress me? ...I’m teasing, obviously. I’m... honestly speechless, [Name]. you really are something else.”

josuke higashikata.

Josuke’s favorite flowers are cherry blossoms.

to be honest, if you asked Josuke what his favorite flower was, he wouldn’t know what to say. he’s not a big flower person. hence, cherry blossoms would be the first thing that come to mind. and while it sounds like a half-assed answer, it is true. sort of.

cherry blossoms remind those early spring days when his mother would take him to the park as a child. to Josuke, cherry blossoms are warmth and laughter. they’re the pink petals his mother would collect and drop on his hair. they’re the milk pudding his grandfather would bring him when he’d come home early from the station.

that said, he wouldn’t react much if you gave him a bouquet of cherry blossoms. he’d be flattered ― a gift is a gift ― but it wouldn’t go much further than that. you quickly realized that when you took a cutting and placed it behind his ear. (he was really confused; maybe best to save the theatrics to him.)

it’s not until you gave Josuke cherry blossom-flavored pudding that he melted. it’s favorite flavor! how did you know? all those memories would come flooding back to him, all teasings from his mother and evenings spent with his grandfather. and now, a new memory: sharing his favorite dessert with you. ↳ “whaaat, you got this for me?! gah, you’re too sweet... here, let’s share it. I can’t eat this alone.” 

okuyasu nijimura.

Okuyasu’s favorite flowers are forget-me-nots.

like the other boys, Okuyasu never really had a favorite flower. he could acknowledge that some were prettier than others, but his botanical knowledge didn’t extend farther than identifying roses. that is, until you pointed out forget-me-nots to him while walking to school.

something about the name just... stuck. it really resonated with him. sure, the flower is pretty and all, but now he feels a pang in his heart whenever he passes by them. forget-me-not. he thinks of Keicho and his father every time he sees those baby blue petals.

it wasn’t hard to pick up on his silence. every day, there and back from school, his mouth would shut as you walked past the raised bed overflowing with tiny, blue flowers. and with his visiting Keicho’s grave more often, you could easily put two and two together.

needless to say, he cried when you placed a bouquet of forget-me-nots near his brother’s headstone. “so he’s never really gone,” you murmured, taking his hand in yours. you didn’t look at Okuyasu’s face. you didn’t have to. his squeezing your hand and his quivering breaths were enough. ↳ “th-thanks, [Name]... he... he would’ve really liked you, yanno.”

koichi hirose.

Koichi’s favorite flowers are camellias.

he’s the only boy who can name his favorite flowers off the bat. he can still remember seeing red camellia petals dance across the panels of his favorite shonen manga. a female samurai was confronting her evil brother, and despite all stakes being against her, she defeated him once and for all. it’s for that reason he thinks camellias are so. cool.

needless to say, Koichi associates camellias with being cool. sometimes he wishes he had a flashier stand to recreate the drama he’s read in manga, but he’d never admit it out loud. still, it’s not hard to tell. Koichi is used to being unnoticed. he still doesn’t understand why you’d pick him over guys like Josuke and Jotaro.

you try to show him your appreciation by slipping him small letters in his desk before class. some are notes of encouragement, some are long compositions of why you love him. this one is a drawing of him looking extra cool, with exaggerated bishonen features and a red camellia you clipped from Mrs. Tamura’s garden taped on. “to my favorite hero” is scrawled across the bottom.

Koichi is floored. you did this? for him? he can’t even comprehend that you were paying that much attention to his rambling. yet here he is, minutes before class, staring at a ridiculous picture of himself and his favorite flower taped on. ↳ “pfft, that [Name]... they really know how to get to me, huh?”

like this piece? here are similar works! 🌑 🌒 🌓

#duwang gang #jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jotaro Kujo #Josuke Higashikata #Okuyasu Nijimura #koichi hirose #Rohan Kishibe #part 4!jotaro #part 4 #Diamond is Unbreakable #long post #Anonymous #kudos to whoever knows what series I'm referencing in Koichi's portion #it's something that came out long after jjba but I still think it'd be something he'd like!

[the-writers-bookshelf]

hello there! it's the castor and reed anon. i'm going to be super busy this weekend, so i hope you don't mind if i send this in early :)

basically, i've been doing a lot of writing (at least for me), when usually i can't put words on the page at all! has any of it been productive work that furthers my story? ...not really? but i love writing one or two thousand words about something random. i'll drop some excerpts from what i've written with a little context!

this first one has no purpose, but it was still cool to lay out natalia's mindset. i didn't realize how insecure she was about being herself until writing this.

Well, now that I think about it, I guess I'm less bothered by the adults. The problem is kids my age. I know I haven't outgrown a lot of the things they have, and I don't know if it'll happen at all.

I remember when I was sitting on the bench with Ashton when a little boy came up and tagged me. Obviously, I wasn't going to spoil it for him, so I started chasing him and was just able to grab his shoulder when two teenage girls from my high school walked past. I stopped dead in my tracks like a statue. They didn't say anything directly to me, but if looks could kill, they would.

second one is part of a concept for haven, and will hopefully become an actual part of the story. natalia visits her older brother's grave, who didn't even pass away that long ago, but most of the people in the neighborhood have already stopped sending flowers and condolences. her best friend/brother figure is there with her.

"It's sad how the moment you're dead, people decide to forget about you."

"And no one really remembers you when you're alive, either..."

and for this last one, explaining it is complicated. it's not haven related. i always use first person perspective for stories, but this is the first time that i wrote "i" to mean me. this is from a short project where i explore my childhood home with a comfort character of mine, and though it feels silly, long story short, i'm kind of writing it to help heal a childhood wound. it's already working, too! it's the first time i let myself write without really thinking or editing much.

I focus my attention back onto my friend at the tap of my shoulder. He beckons me to follow him with a motion of his hand, and by the direction we head in, I can put the pieces together of what brings him here. He took a left turn, approaching the miniature field of wheat. I believe he's looking for an area of the river without such a steep embankment, which means he's in luck, but only if he's willing to stomach the sensation of tall grass scratching his calves. I never enjoyed that. Especially when it sticks to your damp skin on the way back, because what's a trip down to the creek without wading?

I walk through the wheat first, begrudgingly. He joins with a similar mentality. Once the wheat becomes more sparse and leads toward a patch of land on the creek's level, stones outlining its sides, we're relieved of the itchiness and approach a tree. It stretches to the sky with a significant, sturdy limb hanging over us like an archway. I'd always thought it'd be a good place to put a tire swing. I'd always wanted to sit on top of there, but never could.

An idea strikes me as I step closer to its trunk. Why don't the two of us climb it today?

I'm not much stronger than I was at eleven, and the same can be said about my friend. In fact, we both have stories about our fear of heights. Grabbing the base of the tree and staring upwards seems to have him catch on, so he gives me a glance that says he's unsure. That's understandable. I kneel down as a gesture to help boost him up, then smile in a way to show it's an offer he's free to decline. He gives himself time to think before finally stepping forward, placing his foot on my hands, and I raise him up with all the strength I can muster. After some scrambling, he plants himself between its limbs and reaches a hand toward me. I grip his wrist to allow him to yank me upward and find myself with a bird's eye view of my childhood backyard. We pant from the exercise.

i've also been drawing more than usual, and playing more piano, so i guess it's been a creative week overall! i'm glad.

YAY for a creative week overall!! That's fantastic!!!

I also love love love how you're exploring your self-expression through your writing and using it as a way to heal! That's wonderful!

Your writing flows incredibly well and smoothly and it's a joy to read! Fantastic job! ♥

#asks #anonymous #fab friday writers #castor and reed anon

[j-hawthorn]

Keep Him Close

(This fic can be found on AO3 here!)

ALSO! Wanna join a discworld fanfic writers discord? Send me a message and I'll add you! It's a fun, safe environment to chat about wips, life and just generally hang out!

--

Whatever strong smelling ointment Lady Sybil was delicately spreading over the backs of his shoulders made Vetinari's skin simultaneously freeze, sting, and most irritatingly, itch. It did, however, soothe the fire that had been burning for the last couple of hours.

Sitting near the middle of her bed, with his legs at odd angles, Havelock hugged a pillow. While he wasn't naked, he did in fact have a pair of Vimes' shorts on, clothing was not something he wanted anywhere near himself. His whole body ached, and stung from faded burns. He hunched forward, his hair up in a small pony tail, giving her all the access she needed. Sybil's hands paused and she kissed the back of his neck, sending a shiver down Havelock's spine. He closed his eyes with a sigh. His arms felt better. With bandages wrapped from around his thumb and palm to just above his elbow, the burning on his arms had almost completely gone.

'Honestly, what a cruel thing to try,' Sybil whispered, clicking her tongue.

'Assassination attempts are never going to be polite, my dear,' Havelock said softly, focusing on her touch and not the stinging itchiness spreading over his back.

Sybil flicked his ear with a scoff, 'Obviously, Havelock, you dopey thing. What I meant was the very concept of poisoned thread! What happened to a good old-fashioned knife in the dark?'

Havelock smiled, 'I shall pass that on, to whomsoever tries to hasten my departure next, that my dear friend and love Sybil Ramkin wishes for me to receive a quick stab in the kidneys. Perhaps I'll hang an instruction sheet on my door and you could initial it?'

'Bold of you to try and make fun of me,' Sybil tutted, but it was good natured and she pressed another kiss to the nape of his neck.

He pressed his cheek into the pillow, eyes half open, a small smile on his lips. The bedroom door opened and a slightly wet and barefoot Sam Vimes wandered in. He kicked the door shut behind himself, his scraggily notebook in one hand.

'Gods, I could smell that stuff from down the hall, what are you smearing on the poor man?' Vimes chuckled, unbuckling his armour. Havelock watched as he shed the layers of metal and mail, leaving him in just his breeches and undershirt. The fabric at the man's neck and sleeve ends were darker, damp from rain.

'Where are your boots?' Vetinari asked softly.

Vimes blinked, 'Down stairs. Didn't want to track mud in.' He wandered over and stood in front of Havelock, 'You alright then?'

Smiling, Vetinari waved a hand in the air, 'Never better. Have your men found anything?'

'Not exactly-'

'Ah -'

'Your man did though.'

'...Pardon?'

Vimes shrugged a shoulder, sitting on the edge of the bed. He flicked open his notebook as Sybil took her bowl and ointment back to the bathroom.

'Your man, Drumknott. Took great offense to the poisoning of your personal wardrobe and sprung his own trap. He and Carrot are sorting it out as we speak,' Sam closed his notebook with a snap, tossing it onto the bedside table.

Havelock paused for a moment, puffing out through his nose. 'Well then,' he said. 'Good show.'

'Top notch!' Sybil said, returning while drying her hands. 'I've always said he was a fine young man, haven't I, Sam?'

'Yes dear,' Vimes yawned, shifting closer to Vetinari. He reached up, lovingly stroking back a loose strand of black hair, tucking it behind Havelock's ear. Turning, Vetinari pressed his cheek into Sam's palm with a soft sigh. Chest heavy, he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the man's touch soothe him.

'You'd do well to keep him on, is all I'm saying, ' Sybil ran her hands over Havelock's hair, carefully taking the tie out. She sat behind him, humming softly, 'Have I mentioned how dashing you look with longer hair?'

Vetinari chuckled, the smallest blush on his cheeks, 'No, but thank you.'

'Very handsome, isn't he Sam?'

Vimes snorted, shifting to kiss her cheek, his hand braced on Vetinari's knee, 'You flirt.'

Sybil giggled and began running her fingers through his hair, sending shivers over his scalp and down his back. Vimes took his hand in his, lightly tracing the edge of the bandage with a calloused finger. The man took Havelock's pillow away and gently cupped his cheeks, kneeling in front of him.

The bed shifted as Sybil stood, sharing a look with her husband that Vetinari politely didn't see, 'Right, I'm going to go get you some dinner, Havelock. You need to eat something, and I won't hear any complaints.'

As the door clicked shut, Vimes tipped Havelock's head back, leaning in as if to kiss him. He stopped just close enough for the lips to brush as he whispered, 'I'm sorry.'

Vetinari frowned, hand on Sam's knee. He gave him a squeeze, 'You haven't done anything-'

'Exactly. I should have been more aware; I should have kept better tabs on everything, I'm your guard-'

'Sam, please,' Havelock sighed. 'You are only one man. You cannot be hovering in my office every hour of every day. Also, I'd like to say, out of the two of us, you are not the one who gets to be dramatic about all this. Need I show you my back?'

He shook his head, clicking his tongue, 'Yeah, alright. C'mere.' Vimes pulled him forward, guiding him to sit on his lap. Wrapping his arms around the commander's neck, he nuzzled into his damp hair.

Sam's hands found their place low on his hips, 'Go on, then.'

'Excuse me?'

'Have a mope. You've earned it.'

Havelock rolled his eyes, 'I don't think I've ever "had a mope", as you so delightfully put it. And I don't think I'm going to start now.' He cupped the man's cheek, pressing their foreheads together, '...But I would accept some attention from a handsome man-'

'Shall I go find you one-'

'Sam...'

When Vimes kissed him, Havelock could taste the rain. His stubble scratched. Rough hands held Vetinari so tenderly he could almost believe he was made of glass. So enveloped by the commander was Vetinari that he didn't hear the door open -

'Gods, I can't leave you two alone for a minute before you attach to each other like limpets,' Sybil snorted, setting a tray on the bedside table. A bowl of soup steamed enticingly, and Havelock's stomach gave an uncharacteristic pang of hunger. The waft of fresh bread made him light headed.

Sam broke the kiss, hands over his eyes. 'Sybil!' He frowned, cheeks burning red.

Havelock grinned, gently pushing the commander onto his back. 'I have nothing to say in my defence, except simply this: look at him, can you blame me?' He stroked his bandaged hands down Sam's sides, feeling the shift of his body as the man heaved a massive sigh.

Vimes rolled his eyes, 'You're menaces, the pair of you.'

With careful movements, Havelock moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He tucked a leg under himself and picked up the bowl. Warmth radiated through his hands. Pleasant at first, but the longer he held the bowl, the more it seeped into him. He hissed through his teeth, and set the soup down. Vetinari shook his hands, holding his palm up to blow on.

Sam settled on the pillows behind him, hand on his hip, 'Here, one of us can hold it for you-'

'I'm sorry Havelock, I didn't think. We can help-

'I do not need to be handfed,' Vetinari snapped, snatching up the bread. He sucked in a sharp breath. 'Pardon me, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.'

Sybil cooed softly, sitting beside him, hand on his knee. 'Darling,' she whispered. 'It's okay. I could go get you some more bread?'

'No,' He sighed, covering her hand with his. 'No, but thank you. I'll wait for it to cool. I'm just...tired.'

Kissing his cheek, Sybil stroked back his hair, holding the underside of his jaw tenderly in her palm. 'You're okay, my love. Rest here for as long as you need. We've got you.'

Havelock nodded, feeling Vimes give his hip a reassuring squeeze. He leaned into Sybil, cheek pressed to her shoulder, and let himself accept their kindness. He closed his eyes, his whole body suddenly weighing a hundred tons. Sybil stroked his hair, pressing soft kisses to his forehead. Letting himself drift, he felt Vimes move position behind him. Someone took the bread from his unresisting hand. Eventually he shift to lay down, his arms folded over Sam's chest, his aching back bare to the room at large. But he wasn't worried. With Sybil guarding, and Sam holding him, in that moment he had nothing to worry about.

#my writing #discworld fanfiction #Discworld #fanfic #my fanfiction #Sybil/Vimes/Vetinari #sybil ramkin #sam vimes #havelock vetinari #also on ao3