"You're Such a Strange Girl, I Want to be With You"
Moodboard for my Henderhop fic!
Its July of 1989 and the party is making the most out of their last summer together. This means weekly movie nights every Sunday at the Wheeler’s house. With a stricter curfew than ever, Jane doesn’t make it to many of these meetings.
Now, she's decided, she's not going to miss another one, and she's making it Dustin Henderson's problem.
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cooper & barb // pre-1.6, pre-war
wc: 404 // no warnings
Cooper always had a little apocalypse fantasy. Every straight white American man did back then. Granted, his didn’t ever involve a bunker or bomb shelter— he didn’t much care for confined spaces— but it featured a hefty dose of masculine heroics all the same.
He would use the knowledge he learned from his tour in Alaska (he never stopped going to the gun range after returning, even if just for the pastime— those prick neighbors of his who never served were kidding themselves by stocking up on firearms they didn’t know how to use) to dispatch any attacker who came for his wife and daughter. Then he’d scoop them both up on horseback in valiant medieval fashion and ride out to Bakersfield, where he would grinningly surprise barb with the fact that he secretly bought a ranch. A sanctuary of sorts, miles away from any fighting. A little eden.
In his mind— as he dozed off in his chair at night, the TV blaring and a smoldering cigarette precariously dangling between his fingers— an acres-wide patch of grass like that could conceivably be so perfect, so special, so imbued with strange power, that if the bombs ever came for Los Angeles, it would gently disconnect itself from the earth and float out to space for a while. Just until Janey was older, and the world had got tired of fighting once and for all.
Then, like atomic clockwork, just as he was beginning to snore, Barb would flutter by in her nightgown and transfer the lit cigarette from his hand to the safety of an ash tray, kissing him gently on the forehead as fires raced in her mind.
Barb knew better than to fantasize about such things; fantasies are for those with the privilege of being oblivious to the real cog-motions of the world. Fantasies are dangerous and fleeting.
But the bombs were real. And her family was also real, and fragile, and small. These were the parameters she was given. She was not permitted to dream.
Still, let her husband dream on the couch as her daughter did in the next room. Let their imaginations find solace where she did not. Let them sleep soundly while she sat by the moonlit window with a pack of Big Boss in her trembling hands, chain smoking through the drapes and trying desperately— pointlessly— to tamp down the guilt and pain that wracked her heart.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Its July of 1989 and the party is making the most out of their last summer together. This means weekly movie nights every Sunday at the Wheeler’s house. Jane has a pretty strict curfew and doesn’t make it to many of these meetings.
Now, she's decided, she's not going to miss another one, and she's making it Dustin Henderson's problem.
“I want to come. Please, Dustin?” There was something almost coy in her voice now, as if she knew the plea would resonate with him.
Dustin sighed, but there was no hesitation to his response, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll be over in fifteen.”
“Thank you.” He could practically hear her smile over the phone.
Dustin could barely control his own grin, warmth pressing through the speaker as he bid her goodbye and hung the phone back up on the wall.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Flambae and Robert finally talk, and everything comes to a close.
“Trust,” Robert repeated as he took another swig, thinking over what Flambae had said. Trust. It was such an easy word to throw around. Robert didn’t know when he had started trusting people again, didn’t know when he had stopped in the first place. He could say it had started when his father had died, but a part of him knew that wasn’t true at all. Maybe his trust had been broken from the start.
“Did you trust the team when you first joined?” Robert shifted a little closer again, the faint heat that always seemed to radiate off of the other man growing a little warmer.
Flambae scoffed, folding his arms as he leaned away in response, sinking back into the futon. “I don’t want a speech.”
Robert rolled his eyes, continuing anyway, “No, you didn’t. But you stuck around anyway, and you got to know them, and talk to them, and fight with them. And you did all that with me as well. For the last three damn months.” Robert smirked then, tilting his head a little as he regarded the man next to him, “So I’m sorry, but frankly, I don’t believe you when you say that.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Robert tries valiantly to confront Flambae, only to be thwarted at every turn.
“We should go to a bar,” the hero whined, “I need something stronger than shit diner coffee.”
“I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from last week.” Punch Up protested, “Sonar kept ordering us Jägerbombs at every bar.”
“Because they fucking rock.” Sonar retorted before continuing, “Also, Flambae and Robert dipped early, so they both owe us a round.” Robert winced at the comment and Flambae’s ensuing silence.
“Yeah, where did you two even go that night. Rob texted me, but you like totally ghosted man.” Mal chimed in, and Robert could just see her horns sway as she cocked her head to look at the accused man in question.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Reposting my AFTG christmas/holiday fic because tis the season and I'm still very happy with it.
A collection of moments from Neil's second winter with the foxes, and his attempts to process his trauma.
Or: Five times the foxes showed Neil genuine affection, and the one time it finally broke him.
“You’re not staying over break are you Neil?” Dan asked, as if he had anywhere else to go. There was nowhere left for him outside of Palmetto.
Neil fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, sliding the tab up and down the chain, “I’ll go wherever Andrew’s going.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so sentimental but Dan’s soft awe caught him off guard. He looked over at Allison who was rolling her eyes, now reclined on the other side of the bed. His fingers tripped over the zipper and he realized with a start that his face had begun to flush.
“I won't tell Nicky you said that if you let me paint your nails.” Allison offered snarkily, smirking at him again.
Dan scoffed and started out of the room, “I’m gonna heat up dinner, are you staying Neil?” She looked back briefly for his response. He nodded before turning back to Allison, “I don’t care what you tell Nicky.” He told her, and it was only half a lie.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Robert gets defensive, makes a few choices he will quickly regret, and a few more that might not be as bad as they first seemed. He runs into a few no-so-small distractions along the way.
“You gonna keep staring at my tits or can we get back to work?”
Robert squinted, looking up at Flambae’s irked expression before another yawn overtook him, squinting his eyes shut.
“Jesus Christ, man.” Flambae stepped away, finally, crossing his arms as he stared down at Robert.
“What time is it?” He reached for his mug, vexed to discover it was completely cold. He sipped at the coffee anyway, grimacing at the chill it left as it ran down his throat.
“Second shift started thirty minutes ago.”
“Shit… Robert rose quickly from the couch, stumbling a little as blood rushed back through him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Robert is finally convinced to go out clubbing with the Z-Team again. Surely things can only go up from here.
“We will see you there, no excuses,” Mal turned, making her way out of the locker room doors and into the gym. Entering after her was Flambae again, who turned a curious look to Robert and Punch Up. His gaze trailed down to Robert's towel before zipping back up to make eye contact again.
"You gonna put some clothes on or just stand around with your cock out all day?"
"My cock isn't even--"
Flambae continued before Robert could finish, "It's a better look than your stupid uniform anyway."
He shouldered past the two of them, making his way towards the showers without another word.
"Oh yeah, by the way, Prism said if you wear that uniform shirt at a bar again, she'd cut that shit right off ya, and not in a sexy way. So maybe pick up a change of clothes on the way."