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least-carpet · 22 days

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Maybe a chengxian' meeting post-canon? Platonic or romantic, as you prefer

100 years later, I have given up and concussed Jiang Cheng in the name of love and yunmeng shuangjie reconciliation. You know, if it's not working, give it a smack!

This wasn’t precisely the way that he had imagined this reunion going, reflected Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng lay across his lap, blood smeared dark against his forehead, face illuminated by a streak of moonlight.

Not that he’d imagined seeing Jiang Cheng again. Well—not on purpose—sometimes it crossed his mind, when he saw Jin Ling out of the corner of his eye. Something about the posture was very like Jiang Cheng as a teenager, if a little more brash and impulsive. Jiang Cheng had always been more hesitant in public, aware of the eyes on him.

Anyway, it had occurred to him, mostly against his will, when he saw Jin Ling or he smelled the sword oil Jiang Cheng had favoured (still favoured?) or someone mentioned Lotus Pier. He’d flung it away each time for some future version of him to deal with. Now the future was here, and it sucked.

Wei Wuxian squinted at the ray of moonlight. At least they wouldn’t be suffocated. The section of the cave they were trapped in had at least one opening that went up to the outside world.

They had tracked a very strange yao back to the cave where it lived, him and Lan Zhan and the juniors, and crossed paths with a Jiang team led by Jiang Cheng himself following the same kind of yao. Unfortunately, it seemed that they lived in packs. The resulting fight had gone badly. An over-eager hit from Lan Jingyi had smashed one into the wall, and that had triggered a cave-in, and now Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were alone in the dark together behind an enormous pile of rocks. On top of everything else, Jiang Cheng was unconscious, which Wei Wuxian really did not like.

The only thing he could think of to do was prop Jiang Cheng up in his lap and wait for him to come to. He didn’t know what Jiang Cheng would make of it when he woke up, but Wei Wuxian decided that he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Jiang Cheng groaned and opened his eyes. “What happened?” he asked.

Wei Wuxian looked down at his face, and winced. Those pupils were not supposed to be different sizes.

“You took a hard hit to the head,” said Wei Wuxian, as cheerfully as he could. “Just stay still, will you? Rescue is on the way!”

He assumed, anyway. Lan Zhan wouldn’t just leave him here. He was very reliable like that.

“Rescue? Why the hell are we being rescued? What did we do this time?” complained Jiang Cheng. Something about his voice tugged at Wei Wuxian. It was less assertive that it usually was, tired, almost—whiny?

“You don’t remember?” said Wei Wuxian. This was bad. This was very bad. “There was a yao. Actually, there were quite a few yaos…”

Jiang Cheng let out a disapproving little huff. Distantly, Wei Wuxian noted that he had made no effort to get up from Wei Wuxian’s lap.

“If we’re late to dinner again, A-jie will be upset,” he mumbled.

Wei Wuxian froze. This was very bad indeed.

#if your shidi won't shidi just hit the reset button for his brain and see if that fixes it!#wei wuxian confronted with teenagememoriesonly!jiang cheng in pain: HOW DO I TORTURE THIS CAVE TO DEATH?#jiang cheng #wei wuxian #yunmeng shuangjie #chengxian #mdzs +#I wish you would write a fic ask game #ask game #my fanfic #least-carpet thoughts #that's your queue #asks

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chibinightowl · 5 months

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Why does housework always manage to inspire me? I'm exhausted and yet, here I am. Enjoy.

---

Tim wipes his brow, remembering too late he's wearing a bandana to catch the sweat beading on his brow. Grunting, he readjusts it for the umpteenth time.

Beside him, Jason snickers. "You should see the look on your face. If looks could kill..."

"You're lucky I don't have heat vision because you'd be dead again and in a pile of ash even Ra's can't resurrect."

From across the room, Dick's head jerks up. "Tim!" he admonishes. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Tim parrots back, ignoring the affronted look on Jason's face. "Not that bad? Dick, we are using an industrial carpet cleaner to clean up cow urine... In. The. Living. Room." He punctuates each word for good measure.

"And the Baby Bat is nowhere to be seen," Jason adds.

"He's got the flu, you can't expect him to help with this," Dick says, ever the peacemaker.

"No, but I sure as hell want to know why Batcow was in the house in the first place," Tim mutters. "If Alfred finds out..."

Dick pales. "I'm sure it was just an accident and the cow wandered in through an open door."

Jason's eyes narrow, catching the ridiculous lie as quickly as Tim does. "Don't tell me you tried to bring the cow into the manor to visit Damian."

It sounds utterly ridiculous but Tim knows Dick. He knows the lengths the man will go to bring a smile to their faces when it's in his power to do so. And this? It's right up his alley.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dick answers breezily. "But what I do know is if you guys help me finish these rugs, I won't tell Bruce or Alfred you're shacking up."

Tim grimaces. It's not often the tables are turned when it comes to blackmail. But what he and Jason have is so new, the last thing either of them want is to tell Bruce. Better he figures it out on his own months or even years from now.

"Pretty sure Alfred already knows," Jason replies, glancing uncertainly at Tim. "He made a few comments the other day at tea."

"Good, bad, or neutral?"

"Neutral to good."

"Great." Tim turns his gaze back on Dick. "Since your threat doesn't have the power of Alfred behind it, you're got fifteen minutes before I walk out of here and leave you on your own."

Jason nods. "I second that, Dickie. You're interrupting date night."

That's a lie but Dick doesn't know that. Still, maybe they can turn it into one after they're done.

"I'll get you a reservation at Francine's if you stay and help me finish," Dick pleads. "Please, guys. Alfred will murder me if he sees the rug."

Tim can get that reservation just as easily, but he makes a show of glancing at Jason to get his thoughts. "Well?"

"I think Dickie is a dead man anyway." Jason gestures to the rug they're been working on for the last 45 minutes. "Only way to salvage this is to cut your losses and get a new one."

Dick groans. "Fine. Where can we buy a new rug at this time of night?"

Jason flashes an arch look at Tim as he smirks. "I know a guy."

#chibinightowl writes #jaytim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #I hate cleaning carpets #but it's done and looks good #my sinuses are already thanking me for the effort

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mrs-snape5984 · 1 month

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“As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face…”

“Save your tears, it'll be okay. All I know is you're here with me…” (“Here with me” by D4vd)

Suffering from ME/CFS makes me feel like my whole world is falling apart in front of my eyes. Since I’ve already lost so much joy and so many abilities due to this devastating disease, my continuing loss seems to increase even further.

As some of you might know, do I love to write my own stories about Severus and Julia just as much as I enjoy using my tumblr blog as some kind of journal, whenever I’ve commissioned another artwork. It’s my way of rolling out a red carpet for the artists of Snapedom…it’s my way of honouring them for their talent in their profession. Commissioning those amazing people and letting them make my ideas and fantasies come to life, is my very own manner of coping with my physical and emotional pain.

And now, this coping mechanism seems to crumble into pieces as well as everything else, that I’ve already lost! It hurts me to admit, that my brain fog takes advantage of my capability to create vivid images with my words. My thoughts are getting blurry and chaotic. I’m struggling to find the right words to express my emotions (it’s even worse in my native language German than in English!!)…and this scares me to hell!

My mind was the only place, where I could find some shelter from my infuriating and terrifying reality of losing myself to ME/CFS. What if I forfeit my only - just barely existing- talent now?? How should I flee this nightmare of existence if writing wouldn’t be an option anymore?! How should I express my gratitude towards all those marvellous artists of Snapedom, who are all weaving my emotional comfort blanket with each piece of their art?!?

I don’t want to give up on my writing…and I won’t…even though my pride would probably fade away with each badly written chapter of my fictions…and with each unworthy post on my blog. I must admit, that I’m already acknowledging the loss of quality. 🥺

I found an inspiring poem about the importance of staying resilient, no matter how difficult the hardships of life might become, and I want to share it with you:

"KEEP GOING" (Better known as "DON'T QUIT") by Edgar A. Guest

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and debts are high, And you want to smile but have to sigh.

When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest, if you must, but DON'T YOU QUIT!

Life is queer with its twists and turns, As everyone of us sometimes learns, And many a failure turns about,

When he might have won if he'd stuck it out, Don't give up though the pace seems slow, You might succeed with another blow.

Often the struggler has given up, When he might captured the victor's cup.

And he learned too late, when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown,

Success is failure turned inside out, The silver tint on clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems afar,

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit, It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.

My dear @mmad-lover, I can’t stress enough how grateful I am for your dedication to this stunning piece of art and believe me, it was worth every single second of waiting! Paula, I was incredibly touched to hear, that my request seemed to be something special, something personal to you. I can assure you, that, indeed, all of my ideas have a profound meaning to me and I’m glad that you’re such an empathetic person, who sensed that particular importance of your art to me. Your devotion to this drawing is palpable in every single detail, every line of your brushes. You created exactly the mood, that I wished for Severus and Julia. It doesn’t matter that the world is burning to the ground around them, they will always have each other’s backs! Just like I’m relying on Severus for more than 21 years now. Thank you for everything, you precious soul! I’m glad that I met you and I hope, we’ll stay in touch. 🥹

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

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garadinervi · 28 days

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Hilma af Klint, Group IV, no 5. The Ten Largest, (75% New Zeeland wool, 25% silk, hand-knotted), CFHILL, Stockholm, Edition of 10 + 2 AP [Stiftelsen Hilma af Klints Verk, Stockholm]

Exhibition: Hilma af Klint: The Temple Series Collection, CFHILL, Stockholm, September 20 – November 2, 2018

#art #drawing #mixed media #geometry #visual writing #carpet #rug #exhibition #hilma af klint #cfhill #stiftelsen hilma af klints verk #2010s

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peachy-panic · 6 months

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BBU: Hollywood

This idea took root and wouldn't let go. Can't say for sure if this will be A Thing, or just a one-off teaser of a thing, but here it is nonetheless.

WARNINGS: BBU, implied noncon, implied noncon drug use, the fucked up film industry

“Cut!”

He doesn’t realize the cameras have stopped rolling until the shrill ring of the bell jolts him back into his body, and out of the one he’s been inhabiting since the last call of action. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink for a few moments, still caught in the blurry line between characters. Sometimes it takes a few seconds to remember which mask he's wearing.

There is a flurry of movement around him; PAs rush past, murmuring into their headsets, toting plush robes and glass bottles of sparkling water. Hair and makeup swoop in to invade everyone’s space, making their minute adjustments before rolling begins anew.

When he returns to himself, Henry's cheeks are cold with drying tear tracks, and his heartbeat pulses lightly in his lips.

His scene partner is already turned away, her attention attuned to the phone in her hand while a woman with frizzy hair attends to her smudged lipstick. Distantly, Henry knows if he touches his fingertips to his own mouth, they will come away in the same shade of red. Seconds ago, they were locked in an embrace, their tears mingling in the neckline of her silk gown, whispered words of affection spilling between them, and now Henry doesn’t exist. He won’t again until the cameras are pointed at him. Only then does he become alive.

A cold, acrylic nail hooks his chin and turns his head. His personal makeup artist is a woman named Kat in her late thirties with a sleek, blonde bob and smile lines around her eyes. She’s worked on every one of Henry’s films, and she has never spoken to him directly. On instinct, Henry lets his eyes fall shut, slipping back from the surface as she goes through the familiar routine of touching him up.

From behind the wall of his own little world, he allows himself the indulgence of tuning into the conversations around him. A couple of new production assistants—not much older than him—talk about the food truck that production ordered as an end-of-week treat. (This doesn’t apply to Henry. He is on a strict diet of kale and boiled chicken while he's filming. He is always filming). The wardrobe team talks about grabbing a drink at Stanley’s after wrap today. (He knows that Stanley’s is everyone’s favorite spot because it’s less than a mile from the studio, but he’s never seen it for himself). The assistant director comments on her third cup of coffee of the day. (Henry wishes he could ask for some).

The voices fade and flutter until one cuts through the rest.

“One last take, and we’re calling it, David.”

Henry opens his eyes, and Paul stands directly in front of him.

His sleek, black suit stands out among the crew's workwear, and probably costs three times as much combined. It’s hard not to notice the ways everyone’s demeanor changes the moment the Executive Producer steps onto set. In a way, it’s almost reassuring to know Henry isn’t the only one who shrinks in this man’s shadow. But that’s where the commonality ends. They may fear him, too, but at the end of a fourteen hour day, they are not the ones who return home to Paul Maxwell’s bed.

“Our star needs to be red-carpet ready in an hour-thirty.” Though he’s addressing the director, Paul stares directly into Henry’s eyes. “Be sure that he is.”

He doesn’t need to nudge the makeup artist away so much as she instinctively pulls back when Paul lifts a large hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Henry’s jaw. Henry keeps his eyes where they’ve been beckoned and pretends not to notice the assistants in his periphery who duck their faces away from the display of ownership. Paul’s thumb swipes across the corner of Henry’s mouth, taking with it a smear of Eliza Darling’s expensive lipstick. Then, wordlessly, he releases him.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency as Paul retreats from the chaos, but also one of relief that comes with the last shot of the day—for everyone except Henry.

He was up before the sun, and he knows he’ll be out long after it has set. The worst part about interior days: he doesn’t get to see daylight once. Normally, even the call of his Keeper’s bedroom feels like a reprieve after this many hours of shooting. But tonight, his previous film is set to premier on the other side of Los Angeles, and there is no premier without Paul Maxwell’s shining star.

More importantly, there is no after party without him.

There is no time for exhaustion, not for him. When the caffeine pills have run their course, he’ll be given something stronger, and he’ll take it. Whatever it takes to get through the night that will inevitably become a very long weekend.

“You heard the boss,” David says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s make it a good one. Clear frame.”

The makeup brushes make a few last frantic swipes across his skin before they scurry away. Liza Darling tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and presses her phone into a nameless PA’s hand. Henry closes his eyes and slips into another man’s skin.

People tell Henry all the time that he’s lucky to lead the life that he does, in his position. It is only in these fleeting intervals of fiction between reality that he might just agree with them.

For the next three minutes, he does not have to be Henry, nor is he the boy with the name from a life he is not allowed to remember. For the next three minutes, he is Brock Layton: twenty-three, rich, and madly in love.

For the next three minutes, he is as free as he’ll ever be again.

“Sound speed,” the mixer calls out, raising the boom pole over his head.

“Rolling,” camera echoes back.

“And, action.”

#bbu #like bbu adjacent?#whump writing #whump #whumplr #Henry The Sad Little Starling #I've thought a lot about how BBU workers would potentially be used in the entertainment industry #because it is such a brutal and demanding work environment #and how they would have this exterior of glamor and stardom #but it would be a gilded cage as they say #and nothing would be as fun as it seems #I have an urge to write the follow up chapter #the follow up chapter being the red carpet (and the after party which is worse)#and i know what youre thinking:#hey peachy what about the 800 other stories you have started and neglected #and to that i say:

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spriteofmushrooms · 7 months

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hiya! how about things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear + ningcheng for the ask game?

"A-jie, Zixuan-ge, I'm here again." Jiang Cheng's voice is soft, and Wen Ning wants to leave, but... but Wei Wuxian had asked him to watch out for Jiang Cheng. Even when Wei Wuxian doesn't put any power behind his words, it's still difficult to disobey. Wen Ning should tell him, but wouldn't Wei Wuxian feel bad? So he stays.

The Jin ancestral hall is nothing like the Jiang clan's. Engulfed in gold, Jiang Cheng is a point of darkness kneeling before grandeur.

"I'm not sure what that brat a-Ling has told you, so..." Jiang Cheng describes the past few months of Jin Ling's life--a notable night hunt, a well-negotiated treaty, the fight for the watchtowers. He tells them that Jin Ling has grown again, and that he's almost taller than Jiang Cheng already. That his friends are sweet, annoying, and promising. That he very obviously maneuvered so that Jiang Cheng would have to take care of Fairy while he studies in Cloud Recesses, because it would be 'so helpful, jiujiu.' He pauses. "He's such a good boy, a-jie."

He laughs, self-mocking. "Your a-Xian, though." Wen Ning should leave! "Your a-Xian has bewitched Lan Qiren's perfect, dutiful nephew, which is somehow something he thought I should be advised of. Not one personal letter in almost eighteen years, and this is what he thinks I want to know? Your didi was responsible, though, and he did not describe every imperfect act by Hanguang-jun. So, you see, I am still diplomatic."

Jiang Cheng curls down, perfect posture forgotten. His hands grip the skirts of his robes. Wen Ning can't see his face. After a few silent moments, he adds, "Jin Ling says that your a-Xian is gaining weight. So he must be eating something, even if it is bland."

The silence of the ancestral hall presses in.

"I wish..." Jiang Cheng whispers. "I wish..."

But then he shakes his head and wipes his face. "I'll visit again soon."

#pallas.rtf #mdzs #least-carpet #wen ''but wei-gongzi asked me to 🥺'' ning #chengning #my writing #this isn't sexy but it's what popped into my mind #wen ning is always witnessing jiang cheng's worst moments. it's good for them

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the-prussian-nap · 10 months

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Day 12, At work/The office

Emmet would rather be having a Pokémon battle, than being stuck in his dumb office doing dumb paperwork!!

#monthofemmet #submas #subway boss emmet #emmet #It’s poor emmets turn to write e-mails and do paper work #he’s not happy about this #it’s repetitive and boring #no fun at all #unlike Pokémon battles #i didn’t draw the carpet I stole it from Google #Naps art

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snek-eyes · 6 months

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My point here is... what's my point Well, Mr. Brown clearly had his life changed when Crowley sauntered in wearing that turtleneck, if only he knew about ole Disco Tony's mustache! Some kind of underrated duo potential here.

#good omens #good omens 2 #goodomensedit #crowley #Mr. Brown #mr. brown from brown's world of carpets #v watches good omens #v posts things #thank you my dear fortunes-haven for enabling me #yes that middle one is a still bc the look is there for like 3 frames and that was not pleasant as a gif #i have seen and enjoyed many fics of Crowley hanging out with various members of Whickber st #if there are any with Mr Brown or if you write one let me know haha

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inthecarpets · 2 months

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Also love the way Wild Mane is pretty smart but doesn't like thinking. She's the no thoughts, only fight. But in the same time she's always trying to be cautious. Her thoughtlessness lead her to get infected and lose everything.

She keeps splinters of her major lance's shell to remind her that every battle comes with a cost and she has to think things through.

She never rushes ahead into battle and instead uses the advantage of the long lance to protect her allies' flanks.

I wonder if she longs to go head into battle but keeps herself in constant check so she doesn't do another awful mistake. Constantly training self discipline.

#i'm just writing stuff down and looking at her operator info #arknights #Arknights Wild Mane #Wild Mane #blorbo hours #carpet talks

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hargrove-mayfields · 8 months

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________

Steve traveled a few hours for this.

Robin and Dustin came with him, taking turns driving since neither of them really liked to, but there wasn’t much choice. They would’ve brought the boys’ mom, but going a few states away isn’t something Claudia can do with her job if she still wants to retire in a month.

She’d entrusted Steve and Dustin with her car and settled for car-pooling with Joyce to work until the boys and Robin got back.

He really appreciated that. This trip is a very big deal to him; a visit to literally the only place left in the country he can visit his decades long hyperfixation. The Rock-Afire Explosion, in all its horribly tacky 1980s glory. Settled today at an independent arcade restaurant.

There’s one closer to home, but it isn’t the right group. Some corporate sellout place that uses digital screens and shit. Another is closed off to the public unless he was going to pay way too much money to see his favorite characters barely functioning. So to West by god Virginia it is.

They made it, and have spent probably two hours straight at this literal wonderland. Robin and Dustin are mostly hanging out in the arcade portion, dishing out little golden tokens into skee-ball games and spinning wheels for tickets. Actual print tickets. Just when he thought this place couldn’t get better.

Steve though, he’s mostly been parked in front of the stage the entire time. A basket of chicken tenders later, even though the place is known for pizza- which Steve in his post ileostomy world can’t eat- he’s still not going anywhere.

Each and every time the show selector board lights up again, he’s wheeling his way over and choosing one from the draw. So far, he’s seen probably half of the whole show tape, happy stimming his way through each song and skit that he’d wanted so desperately to see in person ever since the last Showbiz Pizza closed in Indiana during his early childhood.

This time, when it comes back on to signal the cooldown is over, he’s beat to the draw.

A small boy of about 10 or 11 years old comes darting past in little light up sneakers, on tip-toes to reach where the buttons are mounted up on the wall. He’s got a mop of blonde curly hair on his head, where it’s longer in the back pulled into a tiny ponytail, with the band of some strap-on glasses tucked underneath.

Steve looks over his shoulder to see where the little guy came from, and sees a man who looks almost identical. But not just any. The one approaching him is someone he used to know, an old crush that got away.

Billy Hargrove in the flesh.

It’s been over thirty years. These days, Billy is inked from shoulder to wrist, even more tattoos peeking out from just under the v-neck t-shirt he’s wearing. His hair has lightened, probably from the California sun that darkened his freckles and added more to any uncovered spot of skin. Those pale, almost peachy colored curls don’t do much to hide the dark graying streaks.

Steve is the same way, a whole patch of greyish-brown blooming at the front of his hair, and crows feet by his undercast eyes. Aging hasn’t done him particularly well, not the way it has Billy. That is what he thinks at least, still never quite breaking out of his self-critical shell. His mom says he’s still charming at least.

Being love-sick all these years hasn’t helped though. He wonders what Billy will think of him now.

Billy who, with an absolutely adorable laugh, calls after his boy, “Mackenzie! You gotta wait your turn little dude!”

Steve rushes to insist, “Oh, no, he’s alright!” After all, he’s the grown ass man getting his entertainment from a group of cutesy animal robots.

If that little boy in his cute sneakers wants to have fun too, he’s not gonna be some gatekeeping elitist about it. Not when he sees the wristband on his little wrist that proudly declares his extra 21st chromosome. He recognizes the rainbow infinity on the beaded bracelet beneath that one too.

Steve gets it. Hyperfixations and special interests are pretty huge for him too. Mackenzie being so excited about the band he’s loved for so long is not something Steve would ever dream of squashing out.

Not even when the young boy takes to climbing up the side of Steve’s wheelchair.

Billy intervenes and picks him up right away though, “Hey, hey. We don’t touch that, Kenz. That’s his legs.”

Mackenzie’s slanted eyes get big, his little head whipping towards Steve to apologize, “Sowwy!”

But the little guy was so genuine and curious, there’s no way Steve could be mad about that, “It’s alright! Here, do you wanna push a button?”

Billy looks relieved that Steve didn’t start freaking out on his kid, motioning with a little nod of his head that it’s okay for Steve to take Mackenzie’s little hand and guide it towards one of the buttons.

Together, they choose a blue one. Steve’s already watched this specific show, but it’s one of his favorites since it involves all eight characters. For some reason, he hopes the kiddo really likes it too.

Nothing happens at first- the animatronics have to get air pressure back in them before they can start -so Steve takes the few seconds of delay to roll back to his table. It doesn’t really surprise him when the two friends he’s made join him. Father and son in swivelly red chairs at the table Steve parked beside.

When the lights come up on stage, Steve finds he doesn’t want to look right at the show and stare the way he usually does. Instead, he watches the wonder in Mackenzie’s deep and emotional eyes.

Kids like him don’t do much to hide their emotions, which is honestly a huge inspiration to Steve, who grew up masking and hiding his disability. Pretending isn’t fun, and even though he just met this little dude, watching him just be himself makes Steve happy too.

They’re both letting their hands flutter about by the time the first set is finished, the hiss of air signaling the animatronics are done until the next time.

Mackenzie whips around in his seat and all but shouts at his dad, “Baba, t’ey sang to me!!”

“I heard, buddy! Wasn’t that cool?” Billy enthuses back.

Little Mackenzie nods his head over and over, giggles replacing his words.

Surprisingly, to Steve at least, he then looks to Steve for his opinion too. There is so much trust and adoration in that look. He hasn’t seen that since Dustin was a kid way back when Steve had first been adopted.

Steve gives a thumbs up for some reason, “Yeah, it was awesome!”

He reassures the little boy, but Billy is looking more skeptical. Not judgemental or anything, just aware of the surprised tone in Steve’s voice.

Non-confrontationally, he informs Steve, “Just a heads up.. I might’ve told Kenzie we were friends. I saw you and I panicked.”

Yep. That explains it. The sheepish looks from Billy combined with the excitement from his son.

Steve is actually really flattered that someone he used to think was so cool would want to be his friend.

“Highschool bullshit aside, I always kinda wondered what it would be like being close with the Billy Hargrove.”

“Well I still have the same taste in music.” Billy announces, after a moment to think on important fun facts about himself.

It makes Steve chuckle softly, “This tacky pop is probably painful for you then.”

Billy shrugs it off, “Hey, I heard some Springsteen in there. And the Beatles always get a pass. I can get by on this.”

Suddenly Mackenzie gets impatient with them having their own little conversation, and tries to get Steve’s attention. He taps him gently first, then starts waving and curling his hands into shapes.

Steve recognizes the gestures Mackenzie is making as sign language, but he doesn’t understand a word of it. It’s one of those things he always wanted to learn, and wished he knew, but never sat down and dedicated to. His communication board was way easier for non verbal days.

His confusion must be clear, because before he can even say anything, Billy starts acting as translator, “He wants to know your favorite member of the band.”

“Oh that’s easy! I love Beach Bear. His surfer theme and his curly blonde hair are so cool!” The answer is easy for Steve. He doesn’t mention the part where the character has always reminded him of someone his heart long yearned for.

Mackenzie seems to explode with happiness anyways, butterfly hands going faster than Steve can even finish his sentence. He guesses that’s his favorite too.

The excitement takes over totally, just then Makenzie taking off running unexpectedly.

Billy is up out of his seat so quick, jogging past his little one and intercepting him before he can complete his mission. It’s obvious Mackenzie had wanted to jump onto the stage, instead having to crash into his fathers open arms.

Before the little guy can get upset, Billy turns it into a hug. He’s so gentle, his hold on his boy loose, not crushing like the prone restraints Steve grew up with.

This is teaching through love, not fear. Steve may have just learned something about love himself if the way his heart skips a beat is any indication. He tries not to tear up.

Billy cups his hand real soft on the back of Mackenzie’s curly head, advising him, “Please don’t run off like that, baby. You could get hurt.”

“Sowwy.” Mackenzie apologizes, almost automatically.

Once again, Billy takes action to make sure his son isn’t feeling confronted or yelled at, “It’s okay, bud. You’re doing a really good job today, buddy. Daddy’s proud.”

With that, he carries him back over to the show selector to press one of the buttons that has now since lit up again, choosing a show with help from Steve through a series of pointing and lighthearted laughter from the trio.

They end up picking yet another one that Steve already heard, but Mackenzie clearly hadn’t, so Steve feels okay leaning aside with Billy and chatting while the boy dances and enjoys the show in close range.

“You’re really good with him.” He compliments softly, not just impressed but super enthralled

Instantly Billy’s face lights up with a smile, “Thanks, Steve. It’s just been me and him, I’m trying to fix a lot of shit his mom put into his head.”

Steve is going to say something, but Billy gets bashful, and interrupts it, “Sorry. Trauma dump.”

“No, it’s fine. I definitely get it. My uh.. my mom was the same way, you know.” Steve admits, to make Billy feel less embarrassed about it.

“Here, here.” Billy bumps their shoulders together, a weirdly intimate interaction, one that most people would be too afraid to do lest they break poor paralyzed Steve (not going to happen).

“It’s hard. I love my kid. More than the fucking world. I flew hours to this place just to let him be happy. But goddamn it’s not easy to unravel the shit that was done to me. To him too.”

“Listen, that happy, sweet little boy that ran over to me isn’t afraid. He’s not hurt, or scared, or hiding from anything. You’re doing great.” Steve compliments, all genuine.

His dream of six little nuggets of his own might not be something he’s going to have these days, but he admires Billy for his family. Not just because of his crush either. There’s always been a side to Billy that was so emotional and tender, and he’s amazed at how easily Billy can use that for good.

A lot has changed, but not really. Steve just wonders what Billy thinks of the fact Steve hasn’t made strides in growing a family or becoming some successful mogul.

Apparently he isn’t appalled, because he’s blushing as pink as Steve has probably been all day, as he says, “Thanks, Steve.. I needed that.”

And then there’s nothing left to say. Steve opens his mouth once, then closes it again, too overwhelmed to think of anything. All he wants to do is blab about how he’s been in love with his old rival the whole time.

The pause in conversation isn’t silent, between Mitzi Mozzarella singing her little mechanical heart out, kids laughing about something fun or crying about not getting the prize they wanted, and various machines begging to be played. But it feels intimate anyways.

A moment for just Billy and Steve, in all their nearing middle-aged glory.

It’s Billy who starts things back up, after checking that Mackenzie is getting enough to drink for all the moving he’s doing, “So. D’you really think blonde surfer guys are cool?”

“Maybe.” Steve goes along with it, seeing the opportunity to flirt in the way Billy held onto that one small moment, and tugging hard on that red string of fate, “They definitely get bonus points for having cool tattoos and being good parents, I’d say.”

Billy’s face looks absolutely frazzled, eyes big and smile all crooked and wobbly. And then he laughs, a loud, hearty laugh that has butterflies going through Steve’s whole chest, “Looks like you finally beat me at my own game, H.”

So they have been flirting.

In celebration of not reading the situation wrong, Steve turns it up ten more, leaving a locationally relevant move for Billy on purpose, “Do I get a prize?”

Of course the prize isn’t a stuffed toy or a handful of bubblegum, but rather, a kiss. A sweet, shy kind of kiss that has them bumping their noses together by accident. It’s all they can really get away with, considering where they are, but it’s enough. A thousand words in one chaste press of their lips together. It’s how Steve knows right away this was meant to be all along.

For what could have been several more hours they sat and talked, just the two of them in their little corner of the restaurant, occasionally taking breaks to go play a game, or take Mackenzie to the bathroom. In that time, they go from practically strangers, to having agreed to live together.

See, Billy and MacKenzie actually bought one way tickets. The California cost of living was way too much for single dad finances, and they had plans to settle in a rental trailer park, after a tour of a few states around the area, doing cheap stuff to make it seem fun. Like they weren’t searching for a place to live.

No way was Steve going to let Billy and his disabled kid be homeless in their rental car. Absolutely not.

He sent Claudia a text, and she said instantly she’d be getting Dustin's old room in order to house Mackenzie, and Steve could share his room with Billy. The situation is one plenty of people have already criticized, saying Steve at forty something is too old to be living with his adoptive mother. Adding a alternative queer man and his kid with down’s syndrome to the mix was destined to be the talk of the town, just as it was when Dustin moved out into an apartment with Lucas and Erica.

The fact is, he doesn’t care.

Steve hasn’t done babysitting since he was paralyzed in his twenties, but he’s more than happy to watch Mackenzie while Billy works. As soon as he saw him he felt like family, and Billy agrees Steve and he are soulmates. To him, this is just completing part of him that anguished and mourned and longed for so long.

The three of them together with Steve’s mom and caregiver, sounds like a dream to him.

“Who wants funnel cake!?” Robin appears out of nowhere, two greasy paper baskets in hand. But she freezes, “Wait a second- Hargrove?”

Okay, so there is a lot to catch her up on. Steve is more than happy to tell the story of rediscovering Billy, his beautiful son, and their long-lost love for each other.

_______

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #older Harringrove #disabled steve harrington #dad billy hargrove #steves hyperfixations are my hyperfixations #brothers steve and dustin #platonic soulmates Robin and Steve #that carpet photo is my photo of the actual place I write about here #had to be super edited though because it’s very old and not bright or neon anymore

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