#Liquor warehouse PA | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bowiebond · 2 years

Text

Dive Into Possession (Breathe Life Into Me) - Chapter 1

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41001408/chapters/102755442

Relationship: Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan & Carol Perkins

Summary: A spin off of Lick Your Liquor From My Lips, diving into the story of Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington’s rekindling friendship, and their journey into more.

“It hurt, didn’t it? Watching the boy you love drive away.”

“I spent my whole life—“ His breath hitched as tears dripped down his cheeks. “I spent my whole life, I…”

“You buried it so deep down, but there’s not much depth to you, now is there, Tommy?”

CW: Minor Non-SFW, Internalized Homophobia, Slurs, Period Typical Homophobia & Racism, Religious Trauma, Denial of Feelings, Bearded Relationship, Mindflayer Possession/Vecna’s Nightmares, Implied Deaths, Blood.

Words: 6.2k

“Tommy? Why didn’t you come around the other night? Your parents are freaking out-“

“I think I did something…something bad, Carol. Something really, really bad.” His head felt like it was swimming.

“What? What are you on about? You’re acting crazy, Tommy.” She huffed, looking pissed. “First you stand me up and now this? What, did you wreck your car or something? Trying to prank your way into my room?”

“No, no, I— Carol, I think I—“

“Carol, sweetie, dinners ready. Whoever your little friend is, send them off, will you?” Carol looked behind her at the sound of her mothers voice that drifted from the kitchen.

“Be right there!” She called and looked back to him, scanning him over with her eyes. A hint of concern entered them. “If you’re not feeling well, go home. Like I said, your parents are worried. You look sick.”

“Carol, please, I don’t— fuck, I don’t know what’s— even happening anymore, I keep blacking out and I...I-”

“Go. Home. You know my parents doesn’t like you here this late. If you wanted to hang, you should have come two nights ago when they weren’t home.” She was beginning to close the door and it took everything in him not to force his way inside. He wanted inside. Not Tommy, but him.

“Carol, Carol, please.” He begged, near tears, not even knowing what he wanted anymore. Comfort, safety, something familiar and bright perhaps. Anything that wasn’t shadows and the pit of dread in his stomach that something was very, very wrong. Every time he closed his eyes, it was like time disappeared. All he could see was that grotesque thing in that warehouse. See himself but it wasn’t, couldn’t be, him.

“Just go home, Tommy.” Carol sighed and closed the door with a deafening finality.

“You bitch!” He smacked the door and stomped off the porch. He took his feet as far away from there as possible before the pressure in the back of head swarmed forward and constricted. Before his vision went fuzzy and dark.

———

The scrapes of forks were loud in the silent room. Chewing filled his ears and it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Skin that felt too tight, muscles tense as his heart puttered on in his chest, fast like a rabbits. He felt like one; jumpy, leg bouncing as he tried to stuff another piece of meatloaf in his mouth. He hated meatloaf. It was mushy, falling apart in his mouth because his Ma never cooked it right, and somehow she had gotten it drier than all hell when it was supposed to be the opposite. She should have stuck to her home cuisine instead of practicing this shit for the neighbors.

Meatloaf was awful.

“Where were you last night, Tomás?”

He hated when they called him that. Tommy, he’d say. It’s Tommy, Ma, Pa. Nobody calls me Tomás. The kids made fun of the way you guys said it until I was eleven and you stopped picking me up every day.

“Just at Steve’s.”

“Alone?” There was that judgement, the underlying warning that he’s not supposed to do that.

“No, Pa, Carol was there too.”

“Are you two still dating?” His Ma, ever the saint, chimed in.

“Uh, no. She’s mad at me right now.”

“What did you do this time?” She chuckled. She always assumed it was his fault for his and Carol’s sudden break ups. It wasn’t his fault Carol was so much work. He loved her, really, but loving her was a lot of work with her flippant moods. He thought he was a decent boyfriend. He treated her well when they were on, and didn’t even pursue any girls when they were off unlike Carol who was happy to find a rebound during their breaks.

He tried to be a good boyfriend. He really did.

“Said the wrong thing.” He shrugged, uninterested in delving into their childish argument that, honestly, he couldn’t even recall in detail.

“You always say the wrong thing.” Pa muttered. “Women are complicated creatures, you have to be more delicate with your words, Tomás.”

“Tommy.”

“I’m not calling you that ridiculous name.” He said curtly, not even looking at him as he shook his finger in disagreement.

“Everyone calls me that, Pa.” Tommy sighed, his aggravation clear in his tone.

“I am not everyone, I am your Padre.” He pointed his fork at him and Tommy pursed his lips, nodding once to show he understood.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, knowing the silent ‘watch your tone’ in his Pa’s gaze, and that he was expecting him to apologize without saying it out loud.

The dining room was quiet once more as they ate. Tommy wanted to be anywhere else right now. He hated family dinners when Pa was home. It was always so tense compared to dinners with just him and Ma. Ma always had wisdom to share and jokes to crack.

“If Carol is mad at you, then why was she with you last night?” Sometimes he wished Ma didn’t talk. Like right now.

“Uh…She just- she got mad at me last night. So…yeah.” He moved the peas across his plate, unable to look at either of them.

“Is that so?” Pa asked and Tommy sunk further into himself.

“Yeah.” He shoved a few peas in his mouth. He wished his Pa would just drop it. Yet he never did.

“Did you go after her?”

“Uh, I mean, you know how she is. Carol’s a little headstrong.” He laughed awkwardly and his Pa placed the fork down against his plate. It clinked loudly, silencing the scraping along with it like a toast at an event. The quiet buzzed in his ears.

“So you were alone with him.” Tommy’s face burned with shame at the accusation in his voice.

“Pa, it’s not like that.” He insisted, wanting to be angry, but he just felt small under his Pa’s gaze.

“You know I don’t like you being alone with him.”

“Pa, stop it.”

“I am not stupid, you may think I am, but you are my son and I know you very well, Tomás-“

“It’s Tommy! Stop calling me that stupid name!” His cutlery slammed against the table and his Pa stood before him like a raging sandstorm.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, pendejo! I gave you that name and you will use it in this house!”

Tommy glared before lowering his gaze, trying not to give into the quiver of his lip or the itch behind his eyes.

“Were you with Steven last night, Tomás?”

“I already told you I was.” He mumbled, staring down at his plate.

“Alone?”

“…Yes.” He could feel his Pa’s disappointment like an anvil on his shoulders. He swallowed down the lump growing in his throat.

“Joto.” His father muttered under his breath, but he may has well have slapped him because it would have hurt just as badly.

“Manuel…” His Ma tried to speak up but Pa raised a hand to silence her. Tommy knew Ma was scowling. She hated when they ruined dinner. It was always Tommy and Pa. Always Tommy.

“No, he needs to listen, Josefa.” The room felt stifling as Tommy fisted his hands against the table.

“Aye,” He shoved his shoulder with two fingers, but Tommy refused to look up at him. “Is that what you want to be, huh, Tomás?” His chin wobbled. “A maricón chupapollas? Huh?” He shoved his shoulder again and Tommy shook him off, eyes threatening to well.

“No.” His voice was too thin for his liking. “I’m not, okay?”

“Do not lie to me. I am your Padre, Tomás.”

“I’m not.” He finally looked up at his Pa, voice firm despite his red eyes. “Okay? I’m not.”

Pa looked down his nose at him. Contempt mixed with disappointment at Tommy’s lies. He had been raised to be honest, but he had tossed the notion away long ago. He had learn to be dishonest to fit in. To stay by Steve and Carol’s side as they shifted from middle school to high school.

“First, you fail to maintain good grades. I do not get angry. You have always been a boy with energy, and I encouraged that with your sports. Then, you spend all your time with friends, drinking, smoking - do not look at me like that, I am not estúpido, Tomás.”

He pursed his lips, trying to keep his face neutral. It was hard. But a reaction would only make his Pa berate him further.

“I let you. You are a good boy at home. You help your Madrecita around the house, you attend church with your family every week, you take time out of your social life to go and visit your Abuela and Abuelo without us having to drag you there, and you stay out of trouble with the policía. I have no reason to distrust you when you are in this house, or when you are at school.”

Tommy swallowed, knowing exactly what his Pa would say next.

“But when you are with that boy,” He spat the word. “You lose your whole brain. Gone. That gringo makes you estúpido.”

“Steve…His Mamma is actually Italian, so…” It was a weak excuse, a poor attempt at a topic change, and he jumped when Pa slammed a hand on the table.

“Manuel!”

“I do not care about his Mamma.” Tommy bit his tongue as his Pa leaned in close. “He is a bad influence on you. He steers you clear of your path, m'hijo. The one set by el Todopoderoso.” He pointed upwards, declaring it with the faith of a priest, and Tommy gritted his teeth.

“Abuelita said God only wants us to be happy.” It’s the wrong thing to say, because Pa only jabbed deeper at his open wounds.

“Are you happy, Tomás?” He said it was such disdain that Tommy couldn’t fathom looking him in the eye and saying yes. “Are you happy following your little friend around like a neutered dog?”

“We’re friends, Pa.”

“Do not lie to me. Your feelings are not that pure, joto.”

“Don’t call me that.” It came out hoarse.

“Don’t call you what? What you are?”

“I’m not. Steve and I are just friends. That’s all we’ve ever been. I have a girlfriend, Pa.”

“That you can’t seem to keep.” He poked him in the chest. “In the past few years of you’re little on and off game, I’ve met her twice. I have met Steven more times than I can count, Tomás. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“You’re wrong. I love Carol. She’s- she’s been my girlfriend since middle school.”

“I see you for what you are. I see past your lies.” Pa’s voice warped. “I see everything.”

“P-pa? Amami?” Tommy reached out for his Ma’s hand, staring with wide eyes as the lights started flickering wildly. He took her hand and turned to her, heart thundering, and screamed when he saw Carol instead. His chair fell as he scrambled to get up, back hitting his Pa’s chest. His hands were like steel when they clamped around his arms.

“What’s going on? What’s happening? Oh god, oh Dios mio, am I in hell? I—“

Carol pressed his Ma’s knife against the table and dragged it along the wood. It left a long white scratch and Tommy knew this couldn’t be real because his Pa would freak if anyone scratched their table.

“Do you love me, Tommy?”

“What?” He couldn’t break free of his Pa’s grip. “W-what are you talking about right now? Am I going crazy or-?”

“You tell me you do. But do you really?”

“Yes! Of course, I- I love you. I do.”

“Even though I’m bitchy?”

“It’s a part of your charm! You’re funny, Car.”

“Even though I make fun of you?”

“I’m not all that smart, girls make fun of their boyfriends all the time!”

“Even though I fuck other guys?”

“We aren’t dating when you do.” And it was true. She was faithful when they were on, she cared when they were on, she only rubbed up on other guys to make him jealous like most girls do.

“Would you still love me if I fucked Steve?”

That question made the flickering stop. The room was quiet, dimly lit, and Tommy stared at her in horror.

“What?” It came out weak.

“Everyone used to joke about it. ‘Perky Perkins, she’s a slut whenever she’s not warming Tommy’s bed. I bet she’ll fuck Harrington one of these days’. All best friends share a gal, don’t they?”

“You don’t like Steve.” He denied.

“I don’t have to like someone to fuck them.”

“He wouldn’t fuck you. You’re not his type.”

“Does he really have a type? King Steve.”

“We…” He paused as he remembered. “We aren’t even friends anymore.” He looked around the room, confusion muddling his features. “He’s not...King Steve anymore.”

“Yeah. He left us. For that slut, Wheeler.” Carol came to stand before him, cupping his face and drawing him back to look at her. “Don’t you remember? How he betrayed us? Betrayed you?”

“He threw us away like we were nothing.” His chest ached fiercely, angry tears threatening to fill his eyes. “He got mad at us for defending him.”

“He threw away your friendship for a girl.”

“Yeah. He- he did.” Tommy swallowed with a loud click, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred.

“He threw you away for Nancy Wheeler.”

“What was so special about her, huh?” He said bitterly. “She comes into our lives and we’re nice to her ‘cause she’s Steve’s new fancy, and then she cheats on him? We call her out and we get ditched?”

“Oh, I know.” Carol stroked his cheek with her thumb and he sunk into the familiar comfort as the iron clamps seemed to vanish, leaving him in her hands. “It hurt, didn’t it? Watching the boy you love drive away.”

“I spent my whole life—“ His breath hitched as tears dripped down his cheeks. “I spent my whole life, Carol, I…”

“You buried it so deep down, but there’s not much depth to you, now is there, Tommy?” It stung, but it was true. Tommy had never been good at hiding his feelings, try as he might. He masked it with peacocking, with nasty words and a bitchy girlfriend that almost every guy wanted to sleep with at least once. He tried so hard to be tough, to fit in, but he never would. He spent his school years trying to be anyone but himself - but he had been Tommy to Steve.

They grew up together. Steve had called Tommy ‘Tomás’ like his parents, copying it until it sounded normal, natural, until he snapped at him to quit it. Because everyone was laughing at him and mocking his parents accent every time they called for him at the gate.

“Toe-mass? What, is your dad gonna give us a sermon on toe jam? Gross! Probably what he puts in your lunches to make it smell so bad.” It was childish but it hurt. He didn’t want Steve to mock him too. Steve had just huffed, tugging on his backpack straps with all the stroppiness an eleven year old could muster, which was a lot when it came to Steve with his floppy hair and his near constant pout.

“Fine, I’ll call you Tommy or something, okay?”

And like most of Steve’s huffy demands at that age, ‘Tommy’ had stuck. When twelve year old Steve invited him to his house in the summer to swim, he had written ‘Tommy’ on his can of soda so they didn’t mix it up. And when thirteen year old Steve called his Mamma on the phone, looking awkward and hunched as he twirled the phone cord, he had said, “Tommy and I just need a few extra dollars for pizza, that’s all. It’s movie night, Mamma.”

When they turned fourteen, Steve had cackled his name, rolling off Tommy’s maroon bed in his laughter as Tommy gave his best rendition of Grease Lightning, hair slicked back with his Pa’s hair gel.

“Come on, Stevie, you could be Danny,” He flicked his Sunday church blazer like it was a leather jacket. “And I could be Kenickie!”

“Carol is a lot like Rizzo, ain’t she?” Steve had laughed, trying out his best Danny impression.

“Carol’s a total Rizzo! Now you just gotta find your Sandy.” Even when he said it, he knew deep down he didn’t want Steve’s Sandy to ever appear. Yet she had, and she had stolen him away without even needing Summer Lovin’ to do it.

Tommy was fifteen when Steve saying his name had started to make his stomach flip. Not always, but sometimes Steve would say it around a cigarette he brought off some older kid. It would be late at night as Tommy dipped his feet in the pool. Steve enjoyed the cold water because he was a crazy, and he’d volunteer to swim at night, and not even because he wanted to skinny dip with a pretty girl.

Steve would come up to the edge near Tommy’s thigh and fold his arms on the pavement. Ask for a cigarette and Tommy always gave him one, putting it between his lips and lighting it because Steve’s hands were wet, so it’s not like he could do it himself, you know?

“Thanks, Tommy.” His voice would be low and quiet, and Tommy’s heart would race because he was stupid. He had a girlfriend, even if they broke up and made up a million time, and he was here, alone, with his best friend Steve on a Friday night after school. He should be at Carol’s, had said that was where he was going, but he didn’t.

His Pa didn’t like Tommy having sleepovers in Steve’s big, empty house. Because he caught Tommy staring a little too long at his friend when he was over for dinner or laughing a little too hard at his jokes when they watched movies in Tommy’s living room because sometimes Steve’s house just felt too big some days. Tommy could let Steve feel like he was a part of a real family for a few hours every now and then. Even if the idea of being his brother in that narrative made his stomach churn.

Pa was a smart man. A family man. His Abuelo worked hard to get them to where they were and his Pa continued that work to keep them settled here. His Ma was a devout woman, a good if temperamental wife. They were happy.

They just wanted Tommy to be happy. And Tommy would not find happiness in the arms of his best friend, no, he would find it in a woman. Someone fierce and headstrong who would initiate sex and push him around a bit because honestly? He wouldn’t be able to get it up if he wasn’t used to it already, if Carol didn’t touch him like she wanted him. Carol was pretty, his friend since they were ten, and girlfriend since they were twelve. She was bitchy and funny and sweet when she allowed herself to be alone with him because she cared about him.

It made him feel awful every time he thought about Steve instead of her when his hand was around his dick. It made him guilty, and when he closed his eyes at night, he tried to push his prayer into the heavens in hopes it would be answered and that God would make him love her and not his best friend since pre-school who had no interest in guys.

Which was normal. A guy like Steve liking pretty girls and taking them on dates and wooing them into his bed; it was all very normal. Tommy knew that. He played nice with Steve’s girls, not that he met half of them. Steve had played hooky with girls a few times, loose and free and maybe a little tipsy with most of the girls he brought into a spare room or bathroom at parties. A select few he was sweet on in the hallways, or would don a coat on for because he had a window to climb through.

When they were sixteen, Steve had thrown the party of the year in his giant house, and by the early morning, most of the guests were gone or passed out. It had just been him and Steve in his bedroom, flopped back on the duvet and Carol sleeping on Tommy’s chest as Steve and him talked about nothing, both still a little buzzed around the edges.

“I wish I had what you guys had.” Steve had sighed, stretched out with his arms above his head, hooking his hands under the frame of his bed. Tommy had tried not to stare at the sliver of skin that peaked out from beneath his polo, thumb caressing his girlfriends shoulder as she dozed. She had a faded red lipstick mark on her cheek from some drunk girl she had been taking shots with and frizzy hair after all the dancing. Carol loved to party, and Tommy did too. For the most part.

“You want a girl who’s always on your ass and dumping you for the smallest things?” He joked and Steve laughed softly.

“No, no, man, I mean...I want that kind of closeness, you know? Cuddling and kissing and shit. It’s dumb, but I like the romantic stuff.”

“It’s not dumb.” Tommy meant it. His feelings for Carol were...complicated, but mostly true. He loved being close to her, holding her, kissing her cheek, exchanging notes in class and admiring her outfits because she looked good. She was beautiful and snarky, and Tommy loved that about her. Had loved that about her for years.

“I don’t know, I just feel like...none of these girls I fool around with would want anything more, you know? It bums me out.”

“Any girl would be lucky to have you, Stevie.” He knocked his hand against his chest, patting it with the back of his hand and Steve had chuckled, curling his fingers around his until his knuckles were pressing against the heel of his palm, squeezing and giving it a small shake.

“Thanks, Tommy.” His soft murmur had made his stomach erupt in butterflies, and they had laid there a long while, just holding each others hand. Years of friendship didn’t make it weird. It’s not like Steve was threading his fingers through his and swinging it like they were a couple on a sidewalk. He was simply clasping his hand against his chest, thumb grazed over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, and they were both buzzed and sleepy so it didn’t mean anything.

Tommy had held onto that memory for months, replaying it so many times in his head that he was sure he was remembering it wrong. He thought about it when Steve passed him his pudding out of habit during lunch, laughing at whatever Carol said. When they were on the court together, grinning at each other as Steve skipped around him and stole the ball that Tommy wasn’t really paying attention to honestly. When they were smoking by the quarry because Carol had a perm booked in and Tommy didn’t have to be home for another few hours, and Steve never had anything on, really. Not unless he had a girl waiting, and sometimes, he just made them wait. Because Steve and him were hanging out, and they were best friends, and it was normal to put your best guy before your best girl sometimes, you know?

Steve was seventeen, Tommy only a few weeks away from it himself, when Nancy Wheeler caught his eye.

It was like they were magnets, the way they were drawn together. Nancy had been different from all the other girls Steve wooed and Tommy had watched from the sidelines, trying his best to support Steve. They were friends after all. If Nancy was to be his Sandy, then hell, Tommy would be his Kenickie and make sure she didn’t hurt the hopeless romantic in Steve.

Yet she did. She had shifted her gaze to that creep Jonathan Byers, despite Steve proving to her what a freak he was, and Tommy had been there to give him a pat on the back. To pull the guy in, back to his side where he was supposed to be, because they were a pair. Had been since the first day of pre-school when Tommy had taken Steve’s hand on the playground and led him to the teacher to bandage his bloody knee, the boy sniffling and biting his lip like crying wouldn’t do him any good. Steve’s parents hadn’t cared much for his scrapes, barely sparing his a glance as a child and leaving him to his nanny even when they were home.

Much like Kenickie, he had seen Steve’s downtrodden expression after he ranted about Byers in Nancy Wheeler's bedroom, and had wanted to ask, ‘Hey Danny, what's up? You still thinking about that chick?‘

Because he didn’t see why he should think about her. She was a slut, a cheater, and Tommy had taken pleasure in spraying it onto the cinema sign, along the walls. Doing it for Steve because Steve was too heartbroken to see that girls like Nancy didn’t matter. Not when he had him. And Carol, of course, but it was different. Carol wasn’t around until they were ten, a several years behind in their friendship.

Nancy Wheeler had ruined everything. Jonathan Byers too. But mostly Nancy. You know how at the end of the movie, Sandy had this grand makeover to be with Danny?

It turned out that Steve was never Danny. He was Sandy.

Tommy never got to clear the air and tell Steve he was just worried for him, trying to protect his fragile heart because they were best friends, because Steve had dropped them like coals and changed without giving them a second look over his shoulder. Got his girl back, had the perfect relationship until they didn’t, just like Tommy had expected, and yeah, it felt good to dig into that wound when the Slut and the Freak disappeared together because his own bitter resentment had grown in the months apart. He had flaunted Hargrove like a jealous ex, much to be own embarrassment because Hargrove was like ice around everyone but Munson apparently.

He had spent months tossing and turning at night, swimming in his anger at Steve’s dismissal, how quickly he tossed their friendship aside because they were the assholes. For what? Telling it like it was? That his girlfriend betrayed him and they, Tommy, cared enough to call her out on it?

It had been malicious, driven by jealousy and righteousness, and his Abuelita would have smacked his hands and pinched his ear for it, but it had felt good until it didn’t. Until Steve was driving away and he was left with Carol who was talking, complaining, ranting in that pitched voice of hers, and Tommy had wanted to snap at her to shut up for two seconds. She had stormed off when he ignored her, glaring down the road, even shoved him for extra flare as his heart continued to crack and his stomach bubbled with rage.

“I loved him.” He mumbled, biting his lip. “It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. But we were friends, and I loved him more than any other girl could, Car.” Carol wiped away his tears and he fell into her comforting embrace, face buried in her neck in the cold, lifeless dining room.

Since he was fifteen, he had told himself he could be happy with this forever. That he couldn’t be a real queer because he loved Carol, and he could see himself spending his life with her. Buying a picket fence house, maybe a kid or two, working a desk job while she worked at a salon. They could even have a pool, a dog.

Yet every time he imagined it, there was no fluttering. No racing heart. Just the soft warmth he felt when he hugged his Ma before he slipped out of the door or when he cooked with his Abuelita because she couldn’t stand for too long these days, and the mornings were cold, so she and Abuelo needed to give their creaky hips and knees a break. Tommy was an upstanding young man who could easily keep the eggs from burning, Abuelo would insist every time his Abuelita tutted and huffed.

Tommy could live with Carol. Marry her. He would be comfortable, occupied with work and children, and she could tell him about her day. They could hold each other at night and Tommy could be content with that.

He didn’t think he’d ever look at her with the same love as Pa did when he looked at his Ma, but it would be some kind of love. A safe love. A love filled with gossip and fights over little things they would laugh about after Tommy had spent the night on the couch. Marry your best friend, they always said.

“But he would hate you.” Carol stroked his hair, her nails scraping the back of his head as he clung to her. Tommy knew she was right. He wasn’t daft. He had spat and laughed the word ‘queer’ enough times that he didn’t flinch anymore. Had watched others flinch when he said it and buried the guilt deep down because he shouldn’t feel bad for stating a fact.

But he understood why they recoiled when his Pa said it in his native tongue, a sucker punch he couldn’t avoid. He understood why their jaws clenched and their lashes flutter trying not to cry because he had to bite his own tongue every time the word slipped from Steve’s lips; not that he said it often. A here, a there, always catching Tommy off guard, but rarely directed at him, so it was fine.

It was just another mean word. Another label to slap on someone who wasn’t normal. They were just stating facts and Tommy did everything he could not to get slapped with that same title in the hallways in middle school. He couldn’t escape it in his home, the murmured insult, the scolding to make him act right.

It could have been worse. He was lucky. His body could have been found in the same quarry Byer’s brother had been if his Pa was a more physical man. An angrier man who didn’t have faith that he could change, be normal too with a little more effort, more compromise.

“He was never gonna be mine. I could have been happy just...being by his side.”

“And you would have dragged me along, right?” Carol hummed. “Married me even though you didn’t love me. It seems selfish, Tommy.”

“I would have treated you well. I have. I try.” Tommy squeezed her. She was soft, warm, everything he should want. “I would have made our life comfortable, Car. Happy.”

“You think I’d be happy married to a fag who can’t love me properly?” His hands fisted in her shirt, unable to let her go even as she tried to push him away. Her hands ran up his shoulders and onto his face, holding it as she forced his head back to look down at. Red, blotchy and tear-stained; he had to look like a wreck.

“I do love you. I-it’s different but...it’s love.”

“How much love do you have, Tommy?” Her cold expression was like a shard of ice through his heart. “How much can you spare? How much can you ignore?”

“I...”

“Just stay still.” She said softly. “It’ll all be over soon. You won’t have to worry about your sins.” She vanished, the room vanished, and he was before the thing, the monster, once more, looking up at it with wide eyes.

‘What?’ He said it but he didn’t, and it felt surreal to hear the word in his head so loud but not feel it leave his lips. He wanted to cry from pure fear, but his eyes were dry as he watched the monster come closer. A muffled cry echoed in the room, and Tommy’s eyes slowly dragged down to the two bodies before him.

Ma. Pa. Why were they here?

Carol apparated before him, the dining room flickering back into existence as he raised his head to look at her.

“Don’t you remember? I told you to go home, Tommy.” Her nails bit into his cheeks and he winced, eyes squeezing shut when the pinch grew into a sharp sting, crying out.

“Tomás! You’re home!” Ma.

“You worried us sick, boy!” Pa.

“Sorry.” It was his living room, with the quilt from Abuelita draped over the couch and Ma’s pottery collection on the shelves and Pa’s blueprints scattered across the coffee table with circle cup stains because Pa always forgot to put down a coaster despite Ma’s scoldings.

“I got in an accident, Pa. Near Brimborn Steel.” That wasn’t him. It was his voice but it was wrong. He sounded so- so lifeless. Overtly polite. Eerie.

“Oh maldito dios.” Pa cursed, rubbing a hand down his face and his Ma quickly took his hand. He couldn’t feel it, not really, it felt like the softest touch even though he could see the way his skin dented under her fingertips.

“It’s okay. We’re just happy you’re okay, Tomás. Manuel, mi corazón, you can pick it up tomorrow with the tow from work, it is a little mistake we can worry about later.” She wasn’t facing Tommy as she spoke, focused solely on her husband, and it assaulted him in flashes.

Sitting at the table. Ma holding his hand across the table.

The food tasted like nothing.

Cleaning the dishes. Pa talking lowly on the phone outside the kitchen.

“Joe from work will bring the car back tomorrow. We won’t have to go down that far to the warehouse to pick it up.”

That wasn’t the plan. Tommy knew that wasn’t the plan and it made him break into a cold sweat. The hallway. His bedroom was at the end. His parents two doors down.

It was quiet. It was dark.

He was wrong. It was muffled, strength against his own - no, more than his own. The strength was inhuman as he carried his Pa’s body and slotted him in beside Ma’s in the trunk of his work truck.

There was blood on his hands, on Ma’s head. Soaking through Pa’s shirt. It stained the wheel as he drove.

He snapped his eyes open and Carol was gone. The thing clambered forward with a sticky squelch that made his stomach squirm with nausea.

A strained whimper escaped his throat, unable to get anything else out.

As the creature came into the low light, Tommy was sure of it. He was possessed. By a demon from hell. Perhaps even the devil himself. He couldn’t cry even if he wanted to, watching as the creature slunk closer and closer to his bound parents, his Ma still unconscious.

He choked on his protest, going blue in the face as he tried again and again to force it past the height of his throat, eyes growing wet from the strain alone.

“Do not fret.” The eerie, deep voice spoke from behind him, hands against his shoulders as the creature’s tentacle slipped over his Ma’s limp hand, digging in sharper than Carol’s nails. His Pa was still struggling, screaming, but Tommy felt like it was all so far away. “In time, you will join them. When the mission succeeds, we will all be one.”

A tear slipped down his freckled cheek, the world growing fuzzy around the edges. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be. He had tried to be good. He attended church every Sunday, he made time for family, he had always planned to make an honest woman out of Carol, truly. So why? Was one sin so heavy that it countered all the good in him?

“Isn’t that what your God desired?” Tommy’s vision dimmed, panic filling every inch of him. “Unity.”

A screech rang out and his vision went black.

-------

Meatloaf was awful.

“Where were you last night, Tommy?”

“Just at-” He paused, looking up slowly.

Carol smiled at him from where she was cutting into her meatloaf, looking darling beside his Ma with her perfectly permed hair and sweetheart blue dress.

“Well? Where were you last night, Tommy?” She plopped a piece in her mouth and smiled at him as she chewed.

His heart sank.

“...Just at Steve’s.”

He looked at his Pa and Ma, taking them in.

This wasn’t real. Carol had never stayed for dinner. Never dolled herself up like this to impress his parents.

This was a nightmare. And Tommy was trapped in it, with no way out.

#stommy #tommy hagan #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic

14 notes · View notes

7hirteenclothing · 6 years

Photo

#Repost @hailsaganofficial ・・・ Every little thing YOU do is magic! We hope you’re having an awesome day! Shirt by @7hirteenclothing and makeup by @belladonnascupboard 🔮🔮🔮🔮 Come spread some magic this summer with @ravenblackband and @abolethband 5.11 Cincinnati, OH - The Venue Center 5.13 Braidwood, IL - Top Fuel Saloon 5.14 Des Moines, IA - Vaudeville Mews 5.15 Minneapolis, MN - Lee’s Liquor Lounge 5.16 Sioux Falls, SD - Big’s Bar 5.18 Lewiston, ID - 3rd Wheel 5.19 Salt Lake City, UT - The Loading Dock 5.20 Denver, CO - The Roxy Theater 5.21 Kansas City, MO - The Riot Room 5.22 Oklahoma City, OK - 89th Street 5.23 St. Louis, MO - Fubar 5.24 Clarksville, TN - The Warehouse 5.25 Atlanta, GA - The Masquerade 5.26 Orlando, FL - The Haven 5.27 Margate, FL - O’Malleys 5.28 Greenville, SC - The Radio Room 5.29 Fayetteville, NC - Drunk Horse Pub 5.30 Brooklyn, NY - The Kingsland 5.31 Pittsburgh, PA - The Smiling Moose 6.01 Toledo, OH - New Longhorn Saloon 6.02 Pipestem, WV - Metal in the Mountains Fest - Pipestem Spa 6.03 Westland, MI - Token Lounge With @americangrim➖➖➖➖➖ *6.5 South Bend, IN - Cheers Pub 6.6 Philadelphia, PA - Voltage Lounge 6.8 Providence, RI - Fete Music Hall 6.9 Manchester, NH - Bungalow 6.10 Quebec City, QC - L’Anti Bar 6.12 Ottawa, ON - Cafe Dekuf 6.13 Pennellville, NY - Monirae’s *6.14 Toronto, ON - Hard Luck *6.15 Cleveland, OH - Music Lynxx 6.16 Louisville, KY - Trixie’s 6.20 Norfolk, VA - Riffhouse Pub 6.21 Richmond, VA - Capital Ale House 6.22 Clifton, NJ - Dingbatz 6.23 Lancaster, PA - Lizard Lounge 6.24 Albany, NY - Jupiter Hall *=No American Grim #hailsagan

#repost #hailsagan

2 notes · View notes

m3t4ln3rd · 6 years

Text

Doyle has some extensive touring plans for what’s left of 2018. Doyle is currently overseas touring the U.K. and Europe with Off The Cross supporting on the majority of dates. Following a break, Doyle will kick off a North American tour in October that runs on until January 3rd of next year. All dates follow:

* = w/ Off The Cross ^ = w/ King Creature

Doyle announces more dates for the As We Die World Abomination Tour Doyle has some extensive touring plans for what's left of 2018. Doyle is currently overseas touring the U.K.

#As We Die World Abomination Tour #Doyle

0 notes

chefbarry · 6 years

Text

The Almost New Adventures of Zucchini Bellpepper, Righter of Wrongdoing, Volume 12—Tropical Madness

It was an unusually cold day in San Antonio, where I had recently moved my offices to kind of start over after a long journey through the Vietnam Wilderness. I had brought back some kind of stomach thing after eating what Andrew Zimmern calls on his show “Edible Spirits” during a ritual secret ceremony where only the town elders, a local fisherman, a visiting ex-caberet dancer from the 1960’s, mute orphaned triplets from Siberia, myself and my guide where allowed to participate. It had gone on long into the night and into the next morning, when I woke up with someone else’s underwear on my head, and my own missing, a fuzzy taste in my mouth, but my wallet and backpack intact. My guide was nowhere to be seen and I couldn’t pee. I couldn’t even stand. I think there was moonshine and karaoke involved and some kind of local delicacy that we all had to ingest for the ceremony. It was supposed to awaken the inner mind and free old inhibitions, but make you able to run an eight minute mile in seven minutes. Andrew tried it, why couldn’t I?

Anyway I was frowning in the mirror at my reflection, the worst was over, but still had some residual crampiness and discomfort. The pills my doctor gave me yesterday hadn’t kicked in yet, but I was hoping for a normal day of cleaning house, binge-watching the new “One Day at a Time” (I still had a childhood crush on Valerie Bertanelli, and just the thought of the show’s title gave me a warm feeling all over), and maybe going through some old files to maybe strike up some new business. Things have been slow since I moved here. I had to distance myself from my old life, old neighborhood and old habits. Word of mouth that a progressive-thinking private eye had moved into the abandoned warehouse district (that used to be trendy new lofts, until they burned down a year ago, and now back to being a ghost town, but the rent was cheap!) hadn’t taken off yet, so business was super slow.

I was taking out the trash to the dumpster, which was really a large plastic trash bag that the landlord would eventually pick up, when she stormed in. She was wearing a white pantsuit with a purple ascot, ruby red lipstick, and converse sneakers. She was loud to look at. I said, “Hi, can I help you?” She replied breathlessly, “Are you Zucchini?” “Yes”, I replied, turning off the TV. “Please sit down anywhere.”

There really was nowhere to sit except my desk at the moment, as I was still unpacking, and had no furniture. She sat on my desk, took out a business card out of her purse, and said, “ my name’s Toast, Adriana Toast, and I got your name from the Apple Butcher in the Valley.” I lived in Los Angeles previously, and had gotten a lot of business through the Apple Butcher. “I’m traveling through Texas to visit my sister and thought I’d look you up. Ya see I got a real problem at home. It’s my daughter, Avocado.”

“Avocado?” I asked, “Is that a nickname?” “No, she replied, “It’s a family name. My husband’s uncle from Veracruz wuz named Avocado Tequila Manuel Dilacente, and he was very present at her birth. In fact, he was our doula, my birth coach, her godfather and overall midhusband, since his nephew, Mr. Toast, was out of town at the time.” “What’s a midhusband?” I asked, sensing I was talking to the matriarch of a family of gypsies. “It’s like a midwife”, she said, “but when it’s a guy. He’s very artistic and where he comes from, he’s as popular as the local Pastor. Anyway, my daughter is only 16, but everywhere she goes, she get’s the paparazzi, folks hassling her, strangers asking for her autograph, boy’s making the eyes at her, and people just giving her free stuff all the time. She’s just a quiet sweet girl, and she just wants to have normal troubles, like algebra and pool parties, and such. She didn’t ask for any of this, but in LA, they serve Avocado Toast everywhere and it’s taking over our lives!”

I could understand this, as it was becoming a national fiasco, not just centered around southern California. Chefs everywhere were taking advantage of their patrons by tricking them into thinking that Avocado Toast was something special. A dish you couldn’t make at home in 60 seconds, something so falsely elevated you would order some just to see what the fuss was, and then after eating would be too embarrassed to say anything, so you would convince yourself you just had a complete meal, then go home and Instagram all your friends about it, thereby repeating the cycle. Since when did toast become a vehicle for anything? Toast is a side, an afterthought, a bread basket giveaway, something you might need if you were having a brothy soup. Avocados? Well they’re great, obviously, but so are tomatoes, mushrooms, goat cheese and hummus. Should we start making a thing out of hummus toast? What about chicken toast? How about grape jelly on Ritz crackers? Maybe start overcharging customers for a spoonful of peanut butter? I had to do something about this.

It was time to pay a visit to the Apple Butcher. He was a large man with small hands, too small to work in a real butcher shop, so he specialized in the dissecting of fruit. The lines around his shop in south central LA were long; folks waited for hours to get his special blend of small cut fruit in large cups with a variety of syrups, condiments and secret delicacies. Celebrities sent their PA’s there to stand in the sweltering heat for a low cal lunch. He was an old friend from back in the days when liquor was cheap and the girls wore short pants. We used to pal around like war buddies, without ever spending any time in the military. He was a man who knew how to make things disappear.

I packed my duffle bag and dop kit and hit the road for reunion. Later that night I caught him taking out the last of his trash (he had a real dumpster) and getting ready to close shop. “Zucchini!”, he shouted when he saw me, “How long has it been?” I replied, “Too long my old scoundrel! I need your help with a case, that smokey joe dame ya sent to me, Adriana…it’s too much.” So I explained the dilemma and we went out for tacos. Small tacos.

The plan turned out to be simple. Since he was a fruitmonger, he had access to underground tropical shipping channels you only hear about in whispered mob tones. He had an old war buddy (don’t ask) that owed him a big favor. The Butcher was able to make a huge pineapple conspiracy disappear, before the government got wind of what was happening, and saved his buddy a ton of money in storage fees. He asked his buddy to drop a toxic gas from low-flying airplanes over the avocado orchards throughout central California. People on the ground would think it was weather control, and the government would be none the wiser. The avocados would fall off the trees and die, and the desperate restauranteurs would have to resort to using those large green Mexican avocados that no one likes. Everyone would eventually stop ordering avocado toast and they would go back to using them as an occasional salad topping next year, when the avocado toast craze was over. Maybe a new trend would take over like savory ice cream sandwiches (think red pepper and truffle ice cream in a rosemary walnut shortbread cookie).

I thanked my old friend and offered to pay him, but he refused, saying it was a pleasure and his business would somehow benefit from this too. I returned to my office and summoned Mrs. Toast. She came in the next day, paid my humble fee, plus a huge bonus, which allowed me to sort of decorate my office. I received a postcard a couple weeks later from the Toast family, Adriana, Avocado, the dad, Altamont, and the crazy uncle midhusband, also named Avocado. They were beside themselves with glee. They took a trip and no one seemed to bother them or ask them any questions. Another case closed! I went out for a well-deserved breakfast of chicken toast.

0 notes

topinforma · 8 years

Text

New Post has been published on Mortgage News

New Post has been published on http://bit.ly/2loc66t

winners-best-of-harford-county-2016

Governmental elections weren’t the only races running last fall. More than 12,000 people also cast their votes in the annual Best of Harford County readers’ poll, honoring the local places, personalities and organizations that shape the community.

Spanning 60 categories, the results reflect reader recommendations for everything from dentists to doggie day care.

Editor’s note: Winners and honorable mentions were determined by popular vote. Readers were invited to vote online in October and November.

OUT & ABOUT

Art Studio/Gallery: Arts by the Bay Honorable mentions: Harford Artists Gallery Amazing Glaze Exploration Art School

Annual Event/Festival: Maryland State BBQ Bash Honorable mentions: Bel Air Festival for the Arts Harford County Farm Fair Darlington Apple Festival

Charity/Nonprofit: Humane Society of Harford County Honorable mentions: SARC Boys & Girls Clubs of Harford County Habitat for Humanity Susquehanna

Elected Official: County Executive Barry Glassman Honorable mentions: Sherriff Jeffrey R. Gahler Clerk of the Circuit Court James Reilly Havre de Grace Mayor William T. Martin

Kids’ Activities: The Arena Club kids’ programs Honorable mentions: Jump On It Fun Center That Bouncy Place Kinetic Youth Academy

Museum: Havre de Grace Decoy Museum Honorable mentions: Steppingstone Farm Museum Havre de Grace Maritime Museum Liriodendron

Park/Outdoor Spot: Annie’s Playground Honorable mentions: Ma & Pa Trail Rocks State Park Churchville Golf Driving Range

Principal: Thomas Smith, Youth’s Benefit Elementary School Honorable mentions: Stacey Gerringer, Abingdon Elementary School Madeleine Hobik, St. Margaret’s School Dyann Mack, Bel Air Elementary School

Private School: The John Carroll School Honorable mentions: St. Margaret School Harford Day School Friends School of Harford

Special Event Venue: Rockfield Manor Honorable mentions: Liriodendron Swan Harbor Farm The Arena Club

RECREATION

Dance Lessons: Dancing With Friends Honorable mentions: Rage Box Contemporary Dance Center Supernova Dance Company Dance With Me School of Dance

Golf Course: Bulle Rock Honorable mentions: Mountain Branch Golf Club Maryland Golf and Country Clubs Winters Run Golf Club

Gym/Fitness Center: Bel Air Athletic Club Honorable mentions: The Arena Club Planet Fitness The Y in Abingdon (Ward)

Martial Arts Classes: U.S. Taekwondo Academy Honorable mentions: Method MMA Tae Kwon Do Masters Chung’s Martial Art

The Bel Air outpost of the U.S. Taekwondo Academy consistently turns out champions on the national taekwondo stage and acts as a local pipeline to the highest levels of the sport.

But the Changs, the family behind the academy, believe that building champions is only one part of what makes their school successful.

“We preach the idea of ‘family’ in all of our programs,” says Senior Master Yong Seong “CJ” Chang, a World Taekwondo Federation sixth-degree black belt and the son of the school’s founder, Grand Master Se Yong Chang. “We give the love and support parents would give their own children.”

Fostering this notion of family helps the school’s teaching staff instill respect and discipline in students, Chang says. And from there, students gain confidence in their skills and their lives.

The academy instructs students as young as 2 through adulthood; they have students in their 60s. The school’s goal is to help students at every age stay physically fit and grow mentally. For “Little Ninjas,” this means learning social skills and boundaries. Older children might explore self-defense, anti-bullying and core values that will help them succeed as adults. Even the oldest students take away important lessons about discipline and confidence.

But studying there is not all work and no play. “We view our school as a place where students can come and learn, have fun, make friends with people from all walks of life,” says Chang. — Kit Waskom Pollard | For Harford Magazine

109A North Main St., Bel Air1301 E. Churchville Road, Bel Air443-243-4124ustachang.com

Music Lessons: Music Land Honorable mentions: Maryland Conservatory of Music Jim Bowley Guitar Instruction Jessica Deskin School of Music

Personal Trainer: Kim Kellagher, The Arena Club Honorable mentions: Wendy O’Bryant, The Arena Club Kelly Albright, Boot Camps by Kelly Travis Hash, Anytime Fitness and Hash Fitness

Swim Club: The Arena Club Honorable mentions: Bel Air Athletic Club Fountain Green Swim Club Fallston Club

Yoga Classes: Peace Yoga Honorable mentions: The Arena Club Bel Air Athletic Club The Y in Abingdon (Ward)

SHOPPING

Antique Shop: The Painted Mill Honorable mentions: Belle Patri Bahoukas Antique Mall Grassy Creek Antiques & Country Store

Bridal Boutique: K&B Bridals Honorable mentions: Amanda Ritchey Bridal and Beauty Edel’s Bridal Boutique Pizzazz Wedding Boutique

Car Dealership:Jones Junction Auto Group Honorable mentions: Boyle Buick GMC Adams Jeep of Maryland Thompson Chrysler Jeep Dodge Ram

Clothing Boutique: Tiger Lily Honorable mentions: Pink Silhouette Tiny Toes Urban Pearl

Consignment/Resale Shop: Uptown Cheapskate Honorable mentions: Belle Patri Kid to Kid Painted Daisy Consignment Boutique

Furniture Store: Gardiner Wolf Furniture Honorable mentions: Jarrettsville Furniture Simply Grande Ashley Furniture HomeStore

Gift Shop: Two Sisters Gallery Honorable mentions: Ann Marie’s Hallmark Mayfields Pizzazz

Two Sisters Gallery is a shop full of special gifts — the kinds that are a little unusual, that you can’t find at the mall or at a big box store.

Named for sisters Debbie Haywood and Bonnie Hardy, the store opened 14 years ago, with a goal of offering high-quality, interesting, American-made products, and currently features pieces from about 100 different artists.

Some of these artists — who work in a variety of media, from blown glass to fibers to jewelry — have been selling their wares at Two Sisters since it opened. But Haywood and Hardy are adding items from newly discovered artisans all the time.

“People always want to see something new, but our really loyal customers like a lot of the artists we’ve had for years,” says Haywood.

Haywood and Hardy travel frequently, visiting places all over the country, and they are always on the lookout for new and interesting pieces.

“We look for the quality of the product and things that are different than anything else out there,” says Haywood. “Things that are special. Junkyards are full of stuff people buy and throw out. These things are heirloom quality.”

328 South Main St., Bel Air410-410-9496two-sisters.com

(Rachel Cieri)

Jeweler: Saxon’s Diamond Centers Honorable mentions: Kay Jewelers Littman Jewelers Talles Diamonds & Gold

FOOD & DRINK

Beer, Wine and/or Liquor Store: Ronnie’s Beverage Warehouse Honorable mentions: Wine World Beer & Spirits Bel Air Liquors Friendship Wine & Liquor

Caterer: Pairings Bistro Honorable mentions: Laurrapin Grille Half Pints Sports Pub & Grill Dean and Brown Catering

Farmer’s Market/Stand: Bel Air Farmers’ Market Honorable mentions: Brad’s Produce Harman’s Farm Market Jones Family Farm

0 notes