#but this thought gobsmacked me today and I had to share it with somebody

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Okay but imagine a workaholic with a physically active job who breaks/injures one of their limbs and literally cannot work for a few weeks or months. Their body comes to a screening halt, they're already crabby and hurting and then the LEISURE SICKNESS kicks in!! So now they're not only in pain, they're a sick, pathetic, contagious mess can you imagine the misery and the need for cuddling and coddling

[saffyspirals]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 + 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚜

; aka: drabbles that aren’t long enough to post individually!

; with: draken, baji, sanzu, kazutora and chifuyu.

; author’s note: these are separate drabbles, but they all have a shared theme! they either include a text message, or some sort of written note. i might make a part 2, since i really enjoyed writing this up.

; warnings: all of them are timeskip! characters, except baji. chifuyu’s drabble is suggestive. sanzu’s drabble is unintentionally longer than the rest. proofread, but i guarantee i didn’t correct all the mistakes.

completely exhausted from last night’s shift, draken is in no condition to wake up at seven-thirty to get your kids up, dressed and driven to school. that’s why you turn off his alarm, minutes before it’s set to ring, and climb out of bed yourself. you tiptoe next door into your kids bedroom, and gently wake them up; a finger comes to your lips, a silent signal for the children to stay quiet. you get them ready in no time flat, and have them come down for some breakfast, before you usher them out the door and into the backseat of your car. you climb into the drivers seat, and pull out your phone to send your beloved a message. it reads; ‘good morning, sleepyhead. thought i’d let you lie in, since you got home pretty late last night! i’m taking the kids to school, and then i’ll go to work from here. there’s leftovers in the oven if you want them, make sure you eat something before heading to the store today! love you, and i’ll see you tonight.’ he reads the text hours later, gobsmacked by your overwhelming kindness. it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like he’s a little kid, experiencing what it’s like to fall in love for the first time. but, he concludes, that feeling never really does go away, when you love somebody.

baji knows that today is going to be a bad day, when he manages to sleep through the three alarms he set for himself. today, baji is supposed to sit his maths exam. he’s bad at every subject (except kicking ass), but maths is a bit more of a struggle than the others. that’s why, he’d had you, and chifuyu tutor him for the past few weeks. although he’d found it helpful, he can’t help but feel his oversleeping is a bad sign that all of his hard work was for naught. he hardly has time for breakfast; actually, he doesn’t even get to try to eat. his mother catches him looking through the fridge, and forces him to leave. “you’re going to be late, keisuke!” now he’s hungry, and unconfident. halfway to school, he meets up with you. you’re wearing an awfully cheerful smile. you’re good at maths, there won’t be any problem passing. but, he comes to realise, that’s not why you’re so happy. nearly at the school’s entrance, baji’s cell buzzes in his pocket. he fishes it out. a message from you? “why are you texting me when i’m right—” “just read it!” you turn away from him when he does. ‘baji keisuke, i believe in you. good luck on your exam today, you’ll pass with flying colours! get more than 60%, and you’ll get a little <3 from me.’ “just a little one?” a smile creeps up on his lips. “listen, i typed it out so we wouldn’t have to discuss it out loud!” you hiss, still refusing to meet his eyes. “fine, fine.” he begins drafting out a message to send back. ‘70%, and i get way more than just a little <3. deal?’

‘where r u??’ you message sanzu for the millionth time in the last two hours. it’s just gone midnight, and you’ve yet to hear from him, who’d promised he’d be home by nine. yes, he was his own person, and yes, as an adult, he had a right to be out wherever whenever, but would it kill him to at least tell you his girlfriend first, so you wouldn’t make dinner for two, and worry about him? your cell phone shuts down; a result of not heeding its warnings to find a charger. you groan, before reluctantly pulling yourself up from the sofa. your charger is in yours and sanzu’s bedroom, you figure you may as well go to bed from there. you climb up the stairs, steps creaking beneath your feet as you go along. you see no point in turning on the light when you get there, opting to just plug your phone in, and bury yourself under the covers. your eyes become heavy almost immediately, and you slip into the realm of dreams. mere minutes after you do, the front door is unlocked, opened and shut again. “i’m home!” he announces, kicking his shoes off before coming through the hall into the living room, where there’s light. you’re not in the room (you’d forgotten to turn off the light), but the smell of his favourite dish keeps him from choosing to look for you elsewhere. within the living room is a little dining area. on the table sit two plates; one for you, one for him, he presumes. both meals have gone cold, and by the looks of it, they’d done so a long time ago. he feels a tad guilty about that. he turns out the light when he leaves the living room, before starting up the stairs. the sound of creaking is much more pronounced than yours — he’s heavier than you — but, as sanzu finds out when he enters your shared bedroom, the noise isn’t enough to wake you. he ruffles your hair a little bit when he gets close, before shifting over to his wardrobe to undress. down to his boxers, sanzu climbs into bed with his phone. he plugs it in, using the charger on his own side. once it turns on, it’s flooded with several missed call and text notifications, all from you. the tad bit of guilt he’d been feeling before grows drastically. ‘i’ve made your favourite for dinner today! i’m kinda excited you’re coming home on time, hehe’ | ‘where r u? the food’s getting cold!’ | ‘dudeeee i’m rlly hungry, i might just eat without you!’ | ‘sanzu?’ | ‘haruuuuu?’ | ‘SANZU HARUCHIYO’ | ‘where r u???’ | he drops his phone on his beside table, before turning over to face your back. he comes closer, close enough so his chest is touching you. his arms wrap around your middle, and two kisses are left on your shoulder. “i’ll make it up to you princess, i promise.”

kazutora is the first to give in. two nights after your argument, he sends a text. ‘let’s talk.’ it’s not quite the apology you’d been looking for, so you respond with a, ‘about what?’. he doesn’t reply again, so you leave your cell on your desk, and go to your bedroom window. you open it up, and, eyes closed, take a whiff of the cool air. “did you know i would be here?” a familiar voice yells. only then down you think to look down; standing in your driveway is his truly, and he’s holding a bunch of stones. “can you close your window? i want to throw these at it, and attract your attention in a more romantic way.” you roll your eyes at him, though you doubt he could’ve seen from there, before stepping away from your window. you choose not to close it, before leaving your room, and going down the stairs, to open the front door. kazutora is disappointed you don’t want to do things his way; you’re not following the script he’d planned in his head; but decides to enter your house without a peep, not wanting another argument to ensue. “why are you here?” you start, offering him a seat on the couch. kazutora doesn’t sit, favouring standing close to you. “i want us to make up.” “why? what did you do wrong?” he huffs at the difficult position you’re putting him in. not really knowing how to answer, he takes your hands, and intertwines them with his. when there’s no resistance on your end, he leans down, lips making contact with yours for a moment. there still isn’t any rejection, so kazutora continues. he presses his lips against yours again, and your eyelids flutter shut. you can’t feel any more at home than this; the built up frustration you’ve been feeling towards him simply melts away, ceases to exist. you’re soft for him, and he’s soft for you. even if neither of you manage to utter the words, “i’m sorry,”, you know you’ll be just fine.

upon arriving at his doorstep, chifuyu notices something yellow stuck on the door. it’s a sticky note. and, after inspecting it further, he recognises that it’s from you; your handwriting gives it away. ‘you’re in trouble.’ the note reads. his first thought is ‘?’; nothing immediately comes to mind when he questions himself about what he could have done. he pulls the note from the door, crumples it up, and shoves it into his pocket. he’d ask you about it when he got inside. he calls your name when he does, but gets no answer. figuring you can’t hear him, he decides to look around the house for you instead. before he goes anywhere though, chifuyu removes his shoes, and picks them up to place onto the shoe rack. this is when he comes across a second note: ‘BIG trouble.’ he starts visibly sweating. he calls out for you again, still receiving no response. the note follows the first one into his pocket. chifuyu starts up the stairs, knowing that whenever you’re pissed, you remain in your shared room. “i’m sorry!” he bursts through the door, eyes squeezed shut, hoping you’ll have mercy. “keep ‘em closed.” you command. he hears you shuffle out of bed. he senses you as you come close. he feels your arms wrap around his middle. on any other day, he would have relaxed upon feeling your touch. “chifuyu, now you can open them.” you crane your neck up, to meet his gaze when he looks down. surprise takes over his features. “do you like it?” you ask, taking your arms away from him to gesture to your body. you’re wearing nothing but undergarments; the same ones he’d offhandedly mentioned he’d liked, when you were shopping online for clothes the other night. “you—you’re gorgeous!” he splutters, scratches of pink decorate his cheeks as his eyes trail over your figure. “but, why am i in trouble?” “because,” you stand on the tips of your toes, so your lips are by his ear. your fingers intertwine at the back of his neck. “you’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

[here’s my masterlist] !

[writeyouin]

Hey there, wanted to know if I could get  some scenarios of how ratchet, ravage, swerve, and cygate would handle if their human s/o  found an abandoned baby and was instantly overcome with motherly instincts. Mama bear mode activated

Transformers MTMTE-LL Reader Insert Drabbles - Baby

A/N – All baby girls in the fic today cos I’m biased.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Ratchet

Ratchet stared at you and the small child swaddled in your arms. He had felt bad when he had to work again instead of joining you on the visit to the space port. Now, he regretted not going, because he would have handed the child over to the authorities instead of bringing it aboard like it was his own sparkling.

“(Y/N), please tell me that you aren’t planning to keep this child. What about the original owners?”

“The parents,” You emphasized the word as if it burned your tongue, “abandoned this baby in an alley, with a note, claiming anyone could take her. I mean, who does that? So now, I’m going to be her parent, aren’t I Evie?” You addressed the child. “Yes, I am and I won’t ever abandon you, will I?”

Ratchet glared at you, trying to keep his voice low when he spoke so as not to scare the child. “(Y/N), we cannot keep her. You have to take her back. This is no place for a baby.”

“And why not? She’s not going to cause any trouble here Ratchet, and she needs a family.”

“Of course she needs a family, but it’s not going to be us.”

“Don’t you want to start a family with me?”

“No,” Ratchet hissed. “(Y/N), you are my Conjunx and you had better understand me here. This is not our child. She will never be our child. This was somebody else’s and we will take her back.”

“Ratchet, if you think that I am ever leaving this baby-”

“THIS WON’T MAKE UP FOR THE ONE WE LOST!”

At that point the baby in your arms started crying and you turned all your attention to calming her, “Shh, shh, oh, it’s okay Evie. Your daddy is just working through some issues, he didn’t mean to shout. There, there.”

“I am not her father.”

“Ratchet,” Your stare bore into him, “We are married and this is my child now. You either get on board with this or we are going to have a serious discussion about our future. Now, I would storm out, but Evie needs a health check, so once you’ve given her the all clear, then I will leave.”

No more was said over the matter. Ratchet still didn’t want the child and clearly, he would have to convince you that keeping her was the worst idea for the two of you. The last baby, an accidental clone of you from one of the younger scientists, had been another surprise that Ratchet hadn’t wanted. He hadn’t said so at the time as he could see how you would feel responsible for that one; all the same, while he had never wanted to be a father, he also never wanted the child to die in that unspeakable accident. The Lost Light was no place for a child, and Ratchet hoped he could make you see that before you got hurt again.

After Ratchet had given the baby a thorough medical check, finding that she was perfectly healthy, he started up the argument with you again. It didn’t matter what he said, you simply weren’t listening.

Finally, after a full-on shouting match in which Ratchet regretted most of what he said, he roared at you to get out. It seemed that he would be in no mood to go back to your shared hab-suite for a while, at least until you came to your senses.

While Ratchet expected you to give in, and realise he was right, you waited for him to do the same. Days turned into weeks and Ratchet still hadn’t returned to the hab-suite, nor you to the medical bay.

Although Ratchet didn’t venture out from the med-bay, he heard stories from the bots that came in about how Evie had become something of a ship-mascot and treasure. Every-time she so much as waved her arms or gurgled a spit bubble, Rodimus added another cuddly Rodimus star to her collection.

Even knowing of the rift between the two of you, most bots tried to bring Ratchet around to their way of thinking by pretending they didn’t know about the fight and saying, “You must be one proud bot, having a sparkling so great,” upon finishing their medical evaluations.

Finally, Ratchet couldn’t take it anymore. His spark ached from yearning and sadness and yet he felt in his mind he was right, and no matter what, he would not be a parent. He stomped his way through the ship to the hab-suite he hadn’t seen since the fight. Ready to argue his point further, he stepped inside, instantly deflating at the sight that met him.

You were asleep on the berth, with Evie sleeping atop your chest; the two of you clearly exhausted from the day’s activities. Ratchet sat down in a nearby chair, watching the two of you. He had no idea how much a baby could grow in a month, and yet here it was in front of him.

Staying there for a while, seeing how peaceful the two of you were, Ratchet sighed.

‘Primus,’ He thought, ‘I’m not a praying mech, but… I hope I’m a better creator than my mine was. I’ll need to be here for this child… For Evie.’

Indeed, he hadn’t ever wanted to be a parent, but if Ratchet could be better than those who raised him, then maybe everything would be alright.

Ravage

Ravage sniffed the tiny fledgling in the basket in which you had found it and brought it aboard.

“What is it?” He asked, his tail lashing in frustration as the creature reached out its tiny fists to touch him.

“She is a human, like me,” You answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Ravage didn’t like that tone, nor did he like your infatuation with the small human; you hadn’t taken your eyes off it since bringing it aboard.

“Is it deformed?”

That earned him a glare from you, “No.”

He glanced at you then back to her, realisation finally drawing on him, “Oh, so it’s a Minibot then. Smaller and weaker… What happened to its vocaliser? Why doesn’t it say something?”

You supressed a smile at Ravage’s unwitting ignorance, “Ravage, this isn’t a Minibot. This is a baby, you know, like a sparkling?”

“This is how you start off? No wonder you need me to protect you all the time.”

“Keep talking like that, see where it gets you in this relationship.”

Ravage hissed, making the baby cry with the sound.

“Ravage, you can’t make noises like that around the baby, you’re scaring her.”

Ravage glared at you as you picked the tiny human up, swaddling her in a blanket and soothing her. He hated not being the centre of attention where you were concerned.

“Fine,” He spat, keeping the growl out of his voice, “Tell me everything about your new toy so I won’t accidentally break it.”

It had taken some time for Ravage to understand everything to do with the human sparkling but he finally felt that he could take care of it, if he so wished.

While you were occupied, Ravage strutted into your room carrying a sandwich in his mouth. The baby was lying on its back in the playpen you had commissioned from one of the other bots obsessed with the fleshling. You had named her Danica after the first female NASCAR driver, but Ravage much preferred to call the creature ‘Spawn of Unicron.’

Perching on the playpen rail, Ravage dropped the sandwich onto the baby’s chest.

“Eat, you little retch,” Ravage growled. “I said eat. Then you will grow and (Y/N) will be all mine again.”

The baby giggled and waved her arms.

“You milky little let-down. My hunting skill was perfect. I stole that sandwich from (Y/N) herself. Now eat it.”

Danica gurgled, sticking her fist in her mouth.

“Well,” Ravage sneered, “At least you can clean yourself without help… Wait, what is that? Is that drool? Disgusting. Ugh fine, watch me.”

Ravage started cleaning himself gracefully, watching to see if the baby would do the same. When it did not, he simply rolled his eyes; clearly the child couldn’t do anything for itself.

“You’re not really a threat, are you. Fine (Y/N) can love you and I suppose I will do my part in protecting you. Do we have an agreement, spawn of Unicron?”

Danica started blowing spit-bubbles, entertaining herself in her own manner. Ravage merely scoffed and laid down outside the playpen; until the child learned to stop drooling, there was no way he would get any closer to her.

Swerve

“Let’s keep her,” You said, upon finding the abandoned child in the alley.

“What?” Swerve sputtered, gobsmacked by your suggestion.

“Why not?” You asked, picking the child up and checking her temperature. “We were talking about trying soon, so… Well, we can’t leave her here, and this planet doesn’t have a whole lot of humans and, Swerve, I just-” You looked at him for the first time since finding the baby, “I can’t leave her.”

“Will she- I mean- What should we call her? How long will it take her to walk? Do you think we should make Skids the Godfather? Primus, who will be Godmother? What items does she need? Don’t tell the others that, only me. I’m her dad now so I want to make the furniture? Scrap, where do we get baby formula? Argh, I just swore in front of our child.”

From that very rant, you knew Swerve was going to be a great father.

“Okay… Can you think of anything else we need to babyproof?” Swerve asked, looking at the new layout of the hab-suite.

“Nope, we crushed it,” You answered happily.

“You hear that, Nova? This is your new home.” Swerve picked up the baby from the sock drawer you were keeping her in until the cot was ready. Upon being disturbed Nova started crying. “Oh no, don’t cry. I’m sorry. (Y/N), what do I do?”

“It’s okay Swerve, just keep calm and rock her gently. She’s probably just over-tired.”

“(Y/N), please take her. I need to see how this works.”

Swerve handed you the baby, watching closely to learn how to handle her.

“Alright, so this is how you calm her,” You said, using the techniques you had picked up on Earth whenever a family member or friend asked you to babysit. Eventually, Nova stopped crying and you smiled, “See, it’s just a matter of practice.”

“Oh… Okay. Yeah, I can do this. Hey, will she be needing her crib now?”

“Yeah, as soon as we can get that and the other stuff, we’ll be all set.”

“Great, then I’ll be just a few minutes. I built them earlier, so it’s just a matter of collection.”

Swerve hurriedly left and you smiled to yourself, “See that, Nova? Your daddy is having a freak out. Come on, we’ll start walking to the labs. By the time we get there on our tiny legs, he should have calmed down.”

Swerve vented air through his system, trying to cool down. He wondered how he could be a good parent if he didn’t even know how to calm his new child down. Primus, he would be terrible at this. How long would it be before you realised that he was no good for you and Nova before you left him? He bet it wouldn’t be long at all. After all, humans were so different than Cybertronians; he couldn’t possibly be any good for a human baby.

Swerve slumped against the lab walls, looking at all he had built for the child. All the designs had come from the Earth’s internet, but he had painted them with things from both your planet and his. Looking at his work, Swerve thought of all the pros and cons of him being the child’s adoptive parent; that imaginary list held a lot of cons.

Eventually, the door swished open and Swerve busied himself, pretending to check over the items.

“Hey sweetie,” You greeted upon entering the room. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Swerve laughed anxiously, “I’m doing great. Life couldn’t be better. I’m just late back because I was looking at this crib and I was wondering, does it look rickety to you, because to me it looks rickety, so what do you think?”

“I think you’re freaking out.”

Swerve stared at you, ashamed that you had seen right through him. “I’m sorry. I just- I love Nova and I want to be a good parent, but what if I’m not? What if I screw up and she grows up to hate me? I’ve never been a parent and I’m scared. There’s so much that could go wrong.”

“Swerve, it’ okay to be scared. I’m scared too. This is hardly a normal place to raise a child. Anything could happen, but as long as we have each other, I know we’ll do great. All we can do is love Nova and show her that every day. If we do that, we’ll do great. So, do you want to come back to the suite and help set up the nursery?”

Swerve pulled you into a hug, being careful not to disturb Nova. “Let’s take our baby home,” He whispered.

You kissed his cheek, “That’s my Conjunx.”

Cygate

“So, what do you think?” You asked Tailgate and Cyclonus, having explained to them how you had come by a human baby. There was only one acceptable answer from the pair, but you hoped they wouldn’t make you choose between them and your new daughter.

Tailgate’s frame started shaking with excitement, and Cyclonus had to hold him back before he tackled you and the child in a hug.

“Careful,” Cyclonus warned. “The baby is more delicate than even (Y/N).”

Tailgate tried to take the warning into consideration, remembering when you had agreed to a polyamorous relationship with him and Cyclonus; he had hugged you so hard that it broke your arm and three ribs. Although he always tried to be more careful now, he still found it hard to restrain himself sometimes.

“WHAT DO WE THINK?” Tailgate exclaimed. “THIS IS AMAZING. YOU HAVE A SPARKLING- NO, WE HAVE A SPARKLING. Oh, boy, oh boy, oh boy. I can’t wait to teach her to play catch. And we can watch shows together and read to her, and Cyclonus can teach her to sing. WE ARE GONNA BE THE BEST CREATORS IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE UNIVERSE.”

You had to laugh at Tailgate’s enthusiasm, but you didn’t let it escape your attention that Cyclonus had yet to say how he felt.

“We can keep her, right Cyclonus?” Tailgate asked what you had been too afraid to.

Cyclonus looked at you and Tailgate. You were the only two people he had ever loved in all of his long life, and it had taken a long time for him to open his spark to you and let himself be vulnerable. Did he really have room in his spark for a third person? It seemed that you and Tailgate were full of nothing but love, but Cyclonus knew he wasn’t like that, and knowing so scared him.

He looked at the sleeping child nestled in your arms. She was so tiny. Delicate features graced her face, and such a young being could only be innocent and pure. Cyclonus was neither innocent or pure. He had a dark past which he would always be haunted by. While it was true that you and Tailgate had helped to heal his inner scars, he knew they could so easily be reopened if he wasn’t careful.

Did such a precious child really deserve such a bad role model? Cyclonus wasn’t sure of the answer to that. Perhaps he would be a terrible creator and only serve to dampen the baby’s future, but maybe, just maybe, he could heal even further with her to care for.

Swallowing his fear, Cyclonus looked at you and Tailgate, and with some effort he said, “She needs a name.”

Tailgate punched the air, crushing Cyclonus in a hug afterwards, “YESSS. WHAT ABOUT AUTOCLAVE, OR CAMBER, OOH CHICANE- NO, RUMBLESTRIP.”

“How about a name from Earth?” Cyclonus suggested, looking to you for an answer.

You considered the question for a moment, knowing full well that Cyclonus didn’t want a Cybertronian name that might remind him of his past. “Okay, what about… Penelope?”

“Penelope…” Tailgate sounded out the word in his vocaliser.

“Yeah, she’s blonde like Penelope Pitstop and one day, she’ll be one hell of a driver.”

“I don’t know who this Pitstop person is, but I like the sound of Penelope. What do you think Cyclonus?”

Cyclonus gave a small smile, “I think she’s perfect.”

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[h-styles-babes]

FOURTEEN

Week Four

It didn’t take long for Sia to discover why it was that Harry had shot Mitch that scathing look at the beach the previous weekend.

True to his word, they finished all the recording and preliminary mixing for ‘Anna’ early Tuesday, so after lunch they went into the new song that Harry and Mitch had been working on together after hours. They started off with recording that original bass beat that Mitch had come in with that first week they’d been in the studio. Sia was as in love with it as she had been the first time she’d heard it, the sultry tones and slow draw clawing at her music-loving heart. They spent the first hour laying down an unedited track, just getting it in the computer in order to lay the vocals Harry had prepared for the song on top.

Harry shot a concerned look to Mitch from opposite sides of the glass in the booth, before  darting his eyes over to where Sia was sitting. Sia couldn’t help but wonder what Harry seemed to be so nervous about. She watched Mitch give Harry a reassuring nod before Harry signaled for them to start the track. Alex pressed play on the board in front of them. Harry let the beat play for a two counts before opening his mouth, eyes closed, like he either was so into it he couldn’t be bothered to look at anything else, or he didn’t want to have to look at Sia.

“I’m selfish, I know…”

Sia could do nothing but stare, gobsmacked as Harry sang the entire song through, hanging on his every word. Every song they’d recorded up to that point had been fun, upbeat, maybe a little provocative, and there’d been one that was very obviously about his mum and sister. However, this was the first one that was a bit more agonising and beseeching. It wasn’t a hard guess as to what—or whom—he was singing about through his beautiful words of imagery and metaphor.

When he’d finished the first run through the whole song, the people sitting in the room promptly erupted into a round of applause, cheering for Harry, who was bashfully smiling behind the mic still. When Jeff and Mitch flashed him a thumbs up, he chuckled and took a mocking bow

Sia stood quietly by herself. Everyone’s cheers and words of encouragement sounded hazy and muffled in her ears. All that was playing in her mind was Harry’s beautiful voice, singing those words that were obviously drawn from a place that contained her and their relationship. She obviously couldn’t fault him for writing songs about his emotions and experiences, but it was still a hard pill to swallow, hearing him sing about her so longingly and reflectively. She wasn’t sure if she was prepared for it, and it had certainly caught her off guard.

No one besides Mitch and Harry noticed when Sia quietly slipped out of the room.

~*~*~*~

Sia successfully avoided any human contact for the rest of the day. When she’d left the studio, she’d made a short detour to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, and then gone promptly to her room. She’d sent a quick text to Ellen to tell her about the song Harry had apparently written about her, and she hadn’t bothered to read whatever her friend had replied. El knew not to bother Sia if she didn’t answer her texts, so she turned on the telly and put on Forensic Files, happy to watch some mindless show for the rest of her day. Mitch came in to check on her around dinner time, and Sia had declined his offers to bring her something small. No one bothered her for the rest of the evening.

That night, she hadn’t been asleep for more than three hours when she was woken by a nightmare, a recurring one she’d been having since December of the previous year. She sat straight up in bed, heart racing, chest heaving, and tears streaming down her face. She stumbled her way to the bathroom, lights still off, and ran cold water over her face to calm her down and hopefully mitigate some of the swelling.

The nightmare occurred every night for the rest of the week. Coincidentally, that was the same span of time they were working on this song that was hitting a little too close to home for Sia. She effectively avoided Harry and Mitch for the rest of the work week, and she was relieved when they went out with the rest of the crew on Saturday. There’d been talks of a barbecue on Sunday, and Sia had promised Alex and Ben that she’d be there, but she was working herself up to that.

While everyone had broken for lunch break on Thursday, Sia decided it was an appropriate time and put in a call to her therapist back in LA.

“I thought I was doing better,” Sia admitted, picking at the little fringed bits that hung off the decorative pillows on her bed. “But evidently, I’ve regressed.”

“Having your nightmares come back isn’t a regression, Sia,” Dr. Lind soothed, her voice taking on that motherly quality that Sia had become used to when she was talking her off the metaphorical ledge.

“Well, considering I haven’t had them since April, it sure feels like it,” Sia huffed.

“I’m honestly surprised it took you four weeks of being in that environment for them to come back.”

“That’s why I thought I was actually healing.” Sia swiped at the tears that threatened to fall.

“I’ve told you before, and I will continue to reiterate this: healing is not a straight line. Sometimes you’ll kick a habit or symptom only for it to return months later, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean all your work has been for nothing. It just means there’s been a bump in the road that you will overcome, because you have the tools to jump that hurdle. Sia, compared to the mental and physical state you were in when I first met you in March, you’re doing worlds better. And from what Dr. Grant sent me from when you were seeing him in London, you’re not even the same young woman he first met back in January. You need to be proud of the progress you’ve made and all your accomplishments, because they are celebration-worthy. But you also need to accept that this isn’t a straight path, and that’s perfectly okay.”

“I just want to be me again.” Sia’s vice sounded strained even to her own ears. The lump in her throat made it harder to talk over, and she knew she was only a few minutes away from completely breaking down. Today was the perfect time for a cry session in the shower, she reckoned.

“You’re still you, Sia,” Dr. Lind hushed. “You’ve just experienced a trauma that no one expects you to just get over. And the sooner you tell Harry and let him shoulder this burden with you, the sooner I think you’ll really begin to feel better. While I see all this progress in you, I know that is something that you will see as a marker for your journey. Let yourself have that, even if that means pushing yourself. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. And I think Harry will be more willing to share that heartache than you believe.”

Dr. Lind let Sia quietly cry on the other end of the phone for a few minutes before she sniffled out an affirmative, promising to herself in that moment that she would tell Harry about her demons before their time in Jamaica was over. While she hadn’t really wanted to tell him, first because of her own emotional state, and then for fear of derailing the recording process, she knew it needed to be done. She needed to be selfish for once in her life and let herself own this heartbreak and hurt and live in it with someone that was so closely connected with it.

Her therapist gently ended the phone call with a reminder that she had an appointment in five minutes and needed to prepare. Sia thanked her for her impromptu phone call and agreed to call back in a week with any progress or concerns. She hadn’t been great at keeping up with her doctor while she was on the island, but she knew it was something that she needed to make a weekly commitment to in order to keep her sanity and not lose the forward momentum she was experiencing.

Sia sighed and wiped her eyes one final time before heaving herself off of the bed. She checked the hallway for wandering people before darting across to the bathroom to fix her makeup and make sure her face and eyes weren’t too red from her short crying session. When she was sure that she was pretty put together, she emerged and joined the rest of her coworkers in the kitchen.

When she walked in, Mitch offered her the rest of the antipasto salad he had been eating. She took it with a smile, but she was pretty sure it didn’t pass as anything close to genuine. She was still feeling raw from her phone session with her therapist and all the thoughts swirling in her head.

“You okay?” Mitch asked her as she sat down beside him at the counter.

She flashed him another closed-mouth smile and a quick nod before looking down into the salad he’d given her.

Harry and Mitch both tried including her in the conversation everyone was having around the island, but nothing they said could pull her attention away from her intent focus on her salad. Something was on her mind, and both men were curious as to what, but neither were going to push her. Mitch had a pretty good clue as to what it was, but that was a conversation for a different time.

~*~*~*~

Sia maintained her aloof act the rest of the day and into the following day. Harry could tell she was deep in thought most of the time they were together. He was sure it wasn’t always about work, as she was mostly silent during their time in the studio, only offering feedback when it was specifically asked of her from Alex or one of the musicians. During breaks, she spent her time in her room, and when Harry walked past, he could hear that she was on the phone with somebody. She denied his requests to go on walks and have their regular yoga sessions, claiming she was tired from the recording session that day.

Harry was worried about her, but he didn’t want to push. They had just become tentative friends again. He didn’t want to risk anything.

However, on Friday night, Harry was up particularly late, unable to fall asleep. So, he left his room and ventured into the kitchen to find some sort of snack and make himself a cuppa to hopefully lull himself into comfort and then sleep. He went to go back to his room after he’d fixed himself a bowl of grapes and slices of cheese and his tea, when he heard Sia sobbing in her room. And it wasn’t even sobbing as much as it was hysteric bawling, and it sounded like she was hardly pulling in any breath between wails.

Harry quickly set his bowl and mug down on the floor beside the door and knocked softly. “Sia.”

There was no break in her crying.

“Sia, I’m comin’ in, love,” he called out, hoping she could hear him above her own noise. Harry opened the door just enough to let himself slip in, not wanting to alert the rest of the house to whatever turmoil Sia was going through. Her cries hadn’t quieted any, so Harry rushed to her side. He’d dealt with Sia after she’d had nightmares before, but they were nothing like this. She would typically wake with a gasp and take a few shuddering breaths after she gained her bearings, and it was just enough to wake Harry beside her. He would usually coax her to lay back down beside him and ask her what it was that scared her. She’d more likely than not tell him about some absolutely ridiculous scenario that she would usually laugh about before settling back in enough to fall back asleep.

This was nothing like that.

She was thrashing almost violently, her face absolutely covered in tears, and she was wailing like she was in physical pain. But she was obviously still asleep. Harry wasn’t sure if it was best to wake her or try to get her to calm down while she was still unconscious, but he was running out of time to make that decision. Her wild movements were getting so out of hand that she was starting to hit him on accident, both with her hands and her legs.

At that point, he figured waking her up was his best option.

“Sia,” Harry called, gripping her wrists in order to keep her from further lashing out. “Sia, you need to wake up, darling.”

It was clear she wasn’t hearing him over her continued wails, so he gathered both her wrists in one hand and used the other to stroke her tangled hair back from her face. Back when they lived together and she was being particularly stubborn about waking up in the morning, running his hands over her face and hair was a sure fire way to get her up. So he took his shot at it again, and combined it with a low shushing sound to try to soothe her out of whatever terror she was experiencing.

It took nearly five full minutes before Sia seemed to finally come out of her nightmare. She blinked owlishly into the dimness of her room, a little startled at first by the person that was obviously in the room with her. She thought at first that it might have been Mitch, but she realised he most likely wouldn’t have heard her from his room all the way across the house. So, the only real logical conclusion was that it was Harry. And from the warm grip on her wrists and the light, tender strokes to her hair and face, she was sure it was her ex-boyfriend.

“Harry?” she asked, the hoarseness of her voice surprising her when it shouldn’t have. She knew she cried so hard in her sleep that it made her throat raw when she woke in the morning. She just wasn’t used to waking when it was still dark outside.

“There you are,” he cooed, dropping her wrists now that she was conscious and no longer struggling. He didn’t cease his stroking to her hair, though. He figured she still needed some comforting, given how upset she was in her sleep.

With her hands free, she reached up to wipe at her cheeks, trying her best to get rid of all the evidence of her emotional struggles. Harry was really the last person she wanted to get into with right then, but he was there. It was all inevitable anyway, but she’d still put it off as long as possible. Hopefully Harry would leave her be given he was pretty accepting of her need for space when she asked for it.

“Sorry I woke you,” she sniffled, using her hands to prop her up further in her bed. Harry let his hand fall from her hair to her thigh, leaving it stationary as a sign of his support.

Harry shook his head. He reached over to the bedside table and retrieved her a tissue to help pull herself together a bit more. “I was already awake. I was comin’ back with a midnight snack when I heard you in here. Just wanted to make sure that you weren't hurt or anything.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine, so…” she shrugged off, crumpling the tissue in her hand before she started ripping it into little bits like she usually did when she was upset. She did it a lot when she was sitting across from Dr. Lind in therapy, especially when she was speaking about something close to her heart.

“Darlin’…” Harry pled gently. “You’re not havin’ night terrors over nothing.”

Sia didn’t bug him about the term of endearment this time. Instead, she rubbed her lips together, looking back at Harry as he gazed at her, his green eyes betraying his concern. She knew she wasn’t going to get out of this by insisting that it was nothing, so she went with the route that would give her a chance to gather her bearings until he asked again. Hopefully that was a few weeks from now, if the recording schedule kept them all as busy as it had the previous weeks.

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now, Harry.”

Like she knew he would, Harry nodded sympathetically. “Okay. Do you want me to leave?”

“Actually,” she said, probably surprising both herself and him, “can you stay? At least just until I fall asleep? I could use the distraction.”

Harry sat still for a second before smiling at her. “Alright, budge over. Nearly takin’ up the whole fuckin’ bed.”

She playfully scowled at him. “I sleep alone. I’m allowed to take up the whole bed. After years of sharin’ a bed with your crazy limbs, I deserve to hog a bed.”

Harry laughed as he settled himself in beside her, rearranging the extra pillows to better support him against the headboard. “S’pose you’re right. I’d wake up some mornings to you nearly hangin’ off the edge and I’d be spread out like a toddler who’d snuck into their parent’s room in the middle of the night.”

“Exactly. You’re like a giant toddler,” Sia agreed with a grin of her own. She settled deeper into the pillows she had around herself, getting herself comfortable.

Harry shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Homeward Bound : Chapter 10

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: It’s like the Breakfast Club! But lamer...

Word Count: 3,739

Warnings: Swearing, awkwardness, THE BABIES ARE HERE!!!

Author’s Note: Gotta keep up with Amanda, don’t I? 😉

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @hipsmcgee @thatchickvic

Series Tag: @baebee35 @moonstruckhargrove @kurt-nightcrawler @supernatural-pants @thoughstofaredhead @bby-becca @fear-the-reaper115 @estheflowergirl

You looked up with a grimace. Steve Harrington was standing over you in all his fluffy haired glory, being an absolute dick, as per usual.

“I highly disagree.” You snapped, pulling his arm off you “What the hell are you doing here anyway, what you got an APB out on me now?”

Steve’s demeanour deflated instantly, stepping back, hands finding their way into his front pockets, shoulders hunching slightly. “It’s the last day of school, somebody has to do the annual ‘threaten kids into not being assholes’ speech.” He explained.

“They still do that?” you asked, letting your guard down just for a second.

“Unfortunately, and apparently it’s a rite of passage to do the speech. Which means this year I got spit balls shot at me and paper balls lobed at my head by snot nose kids.” He replied.

“Oh the irony, you used to do that all through high school, especially when it was Callahan doing the talking.” Nancy said, knocking her shoulder into his. Steve smiled, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Hey, Steve.” She said softly into his shoulder. They both looked highly emotional, a strange sight for you. You remembered when she couldn’t stand being in a room with him and he was still just trying to prove that he wasn’t still in love with her, to no avail. And while that went away with time, they never seemed exactly close.

“I didn’t know you were coming in today, I thought it was tomorrow.” He replied, pushing her back slightly by the shoulders, looking her over “How’s Sybs?”

“Good, thank you again for the gift for her, you’re two months early, but she looks adorable in the bunny suit and it’s the only thing she’ll stay asleep in now.” Nancy replied with a smile.

“Good, I’m glad.” He replied. “Your mother must love the attention and the full house again, how’s she getting along with Jonathan? Or did he end up staying back?”

“Jonathan is visiting with his mom; he’ll come down with them later in the week.” She replied easily.

“They still hate each other?” you asked, popping a stick of white chewing gum into your mouth, grinning cheekily at her.

Steve rolled his eyes “You’re just gonna ask that like it isn’t rude, huh? He asked disappointedly “’Cause you know, it doesn’t really matter anymore. They’re married and Karen’s just gonna to deal. Besides, they can’t be that petty as to-”

“They absolutely hate each other. Jonathan wouldn’t come down with me to stay with her; he’s still trying to find a way to not have to stay with her when he gets here.” Nancy replied breezily with a shrug.

“Ha! I knew it!” you cried, grinning like a fool.

“You always gotta be right, Y/N?” Steve asked. You turned to look at him, ready to retort with sass and anger. But he wasn’t cocky or annoyed, he was trying to hold back a grin; his eyes shining with mirth. Nothing about him was confrontational and the need to fight back drained from your body.

“When you’re around, Harrington, I’m always right.” You replied, a small smirk slipping onto your lips. And looking at you, relaxed and bright and joking again, Steve felt his whole body warm and glow. He didn’t release how cold and uncomfortable he was until you smiled; your body language could change his whole disposition and your smile could light up a whole room.

“So wait what are we doing here? Just wandering? ‘Cause I have no one here I need to see, except Mike but I’m not gonna pull him out of class, you know?” Nancy asked.

“Well, I’m hiding from Hargrove. I can’t get caught by him without Dustin or else I’ll get dragged into his truck.” You replied.

“He’s following you around?” Steve asked, tone hostile and worrisome, his whole body lifting to appear more physically opposing.

“No more than you are.” You replied, watching him deflate like a popped balloon. “He just saw me outside the school and decided that he had the time to try to get me in his truck. Probably not something he should be doing while on the clock.”

“He’s definitely got the time, since he’s on probation.” he replied. You cocked your brow, utterly lost, expecting clarification. “Powell caught him driving around drunk a couple months ago, Mr. Sherman put him on probation since it was in the truck. Powell never booked him on it because, according to him, the lost wages should be more than enough punishment. He’s got another week of forced time off before he’s back in.” Steve explained.

Nancy furrowed her brow “Why not just fire him then?” she asked.

“We’re short on mechanics. Usually we get a couple kids from the trade school Milton, but they opened a new shop in Carmel and so we didn’t get many kids up here. Mr. Sherman’s short a man and without Billy, he’ll be down to just him and George Burns.” Steve replied.

You hummed “Billy didn’t mention that…” you said, not really to them but more to yourself.

Billy was never the most honest guy on the block, but he owned up to his fuck ups fairly quickly, usually without being pressed or even asked. He owned up to still not getting along with Max and Susan, his dislike still very apparent. He owned up to not going home in part because he was scared. Hell, he owned up to supposedly still being in love with you! But this, this almost expected thing was hidden from you. You wondered what else he was hiding.

“I don’t know, I mean its Hargrove, he’s not much of a talker.” Nancy said reasonably, smiling sympathetically at you.

“Besides, he probably didn’t want to be doing much talker. Or have the time, I should say.” Steve said, his tone forcefully light and more than a little bitter.

Nancy gasped “You told him?!?” she cried, earning an awkward chuckle from Steve and an eye roll from you.

“He picked me up this morning. I had to tell someone or else I would explode from shame, embarrassment, and the giddiness of a secret.” You replied.

“He picked you up?” Nancy asked “And you didn’t tell me?”

“What exactly is there to tell, Nance? He picked me up, we had breakfast, and then he drove me home. Not exactly rocket science.” You replied, watching her carefully.

“Right, right of course…” she said, nodding quickly, her mind obviously running through a million scenarios. “So…how’d it go? You have fun?” she asked, a little twitchy and excited, far too excited for the subject at hand.

“It was fine. Like I said nothing major, right Steve?” you said, making Nancy jump. She’d forgotten he was there. Steve muffled a laugh, watching her curiously.

“Yeah,” he said, a tiny giggle popping out at the end of the word, forcing him to swallow his giggles, finding a stern face. “Yeah, fine. Are you alright, Nance, you’re really jumpy.”

“Fucking hormones man…I have the memory and foresight of a fucking goldfish…” she  muttered, shaking her head wearily.

You giggled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders “Ah, Mrs. Nancy Byers-Wheeler, you are too fun to bug. Truly, you should be pregnant all the time, it makes it more fun for me. I get to be the smart one.” You said.

“I am still the smarter of the two of us, even with a baby stealing my brain cells.” Nancy frowned, annoyance evident in the heavy line creasing the centre of her forehead.

“I know, my dearest darling, I know.” You replied, making her smile again and sharing it with her.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Steve called at a flock of teenagers in the hall a few feet away. You almost didn’t recognize them.

Max, Lucas, Mike, Dustin, and a girl you could only label as Marcy were all ahead of you, loitering around as the girl you’d labelled Marcy scratched something into the wall.

Mike, significantly taller but somehow not the tallest of the group, turned to find the sound and, without registering the whole of your little band, turned back to his friends and yelled “Scatter!”

You stepped forward, holding Steve back as you replied “Chill, Wheeler, nobody’s gonna tell on you.” Max turned back to look at you, roll her eyes as she grabbed Mike by the back of the shirt collar.

“Chill, dipshit, it’s just Steve and…is that you, Henderson? Jesus you turned into a hippie.” She said, earning a collective sigh from the group.

I haven’t had time to cut it, been busy.” You replied, walking over to the group to muffle her red hair, chopped almost completely off into a red pixie cut, mirroring Mia Farrow from Rosemary’s Baby. “Ugh, don’t mess with it, it took morning to get it to look this good.” She moaned, pushing your hand

“And it still looks like shit.” Lucas joked. Overall, he’d changed the most. While Mike had gotten taller, he still looked a little like an elf and was still too pale, and Max was still freckled and tiny, boyish save for her well done makeup, clearly a way to remind the world that she was still in fact a girl. Lucas was the most mature looking-the tallest of the group and the strongest. Dustin had said he’d taken up the helm of being the group’s sports star, captaining the basketball team in Steve’s place. His hair was still cropped short and his smile was still kind, but awkward. Underneath it all, he still seemed to be the little, awkward, logical boy you’d left in Hawkins with bad clothes and a worse relationship with his little sister, now a eighth grader.

“That’s not what you said earlier.” Max replied, eyeing him up. You cringed at their little routine, still virgining in their attempts at adulthood.

Mike was looking at you all, gobsmacked to see everyone all at once. “Nancy?” he asked, finding his sister in the group. “Jesus Christ what’re you doing here? Mom’s gonna kill you and the baby.”

“Language, Mike! Sybil is picking up on words now!” she cried.

“She’s not here now, is she?” he shot back and the two fell into a stream of bickering.

“Yeah well…it looked better then…” Lucas tried, awkward and strained.

“Y/N! What’re you doing here?” Dustin asked, pushing his way to the front of the group, clearly embarrassed.

“We were bored, decided to loiter inside the school instead of outside.” You replied with a shrug.

“And you are?” a female voice asked, high and tight. The supposed Marcy had stepped forward, hands on her hips and chest stuck out. If you were her age, this would turn into a girl fight, forcing strained seduction and quick backhanded acts of kindness.

“Hey, I’m Y/N,” you said, sticking out a hand for her to shake, which she looked at with a scowl. “I’m Dustin’s older sister.” You added. Quickly, her demeanour changed; she deflated, looking away with a sort of embarrassed inward cringe, shaking her head.

She huffed out a sigh, taking your hand and shaking it weakly “Hi…I’m Marcy, Dustin’s friend.” She said.

“I thought as much, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You replied with an easy smile, trying to urge her on. She looked uncomfortable, feigning toughness in dark clothes and a scowl painted dark purple, emphasizing the thickness of her lips. It all looked like what your mother would call an attempt to muffle your beauty, a form of dazzle camouflage that was meant to distract and scare away, not invite in. You understood her, you were her when you were her age.

“Really?” she asked, a small smile pulling at the corners of her pursed mouth, trying in vain not to smile.

“Yeah, you pop up in more letters than anyone else, well maybe anyone except Steve over here, he takes first place.” You replied, watching both Steve and Dustin cower away, watching you horrified and nervous.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Dustin said, eyes flicking between you and Marcy, too nervous to look at either of you fully. You tried to sympathize; you didn’t want to be like your mother and embarrass him, but if it’s that easy to embarrass him then you didn’t know how to really communicate with this poor girl.

“That’s cool.” Marcy announced, the evidence of a smile on her eyes and cheeks, her mouth still holding firm despite the lilt in her voice.

“So, what does he say about me?” Steve asked nervously, shifting his weight between feet. Dustin looked at him curiously and a silent look was exchanged; Dustin confused and Steve trying to seem calm as his mind raced with possibilities.

“I mean…nothing major, he mostly just mentions you every time he talks about friends or hanging out.” You replied with a shrug, not registering his tense body language he was displaying.

“Really? Nothing else?” he asked, eyes darting around the hall.

“Not really, I mean, I didn’t even know you were a cop, remember? He’s not great with details.” You replied, watching him curiously. Steve seemed to be calming down, though his nerves were still ragged and raw and now very obvious to you. “You know, if this questioning is going to continue, I’m going to need a lawyer.” You said with a smile, nudging his shoulder. He smiled, though the twitchy energy wasn’t fading.

“Guys,” Marcy called, having gone back to examine her work, her scratchy letters spelling out ‘fuck school’ surely to be cover by paint or simply more scratches before the beginning of the school year. “I gotta get going, Andy’s gonna be here soon, I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, you still looking for a job in town?” Dustin asked, picking up her bag off the floor.

“Got an interview at Darlene’s Dress Shop at the mall, if all goes to plan I won’t be looking by Monday!” She replied, running down the hall without another word. Max rolled her eyes, sending her a half hearted wave.

“Bye Marce…” She muttered, a scowl making lines around her mouth. Lucas rubbed her shoulder gently, shaking his head.

“She’s not worth it, M&M…” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Guys! She had our hall passes! We gotta go!” Mike cried, trying to run off again, only to be grabbed by Nancy, forcing him back.

“It’s the last day of school, exams start Wednesday. Relax, you won’t get detention.” Nancy said softly. Mike nodded, his breathing shaky. Mike seemed to have gotten the worst of the anxiety, or at least the most obvious. Dustin had mentioned he’d turned into a bit of a square but you didn’t see it. He just seemed stressed out, a nervous twinge to his movement, a dart in his eyes. Hawkins obviously wasn’t helping him.

“And besides, if they even tried we’d come and break you out. They can’t hold you here, you’re graduating in a week!” Dustin added, wrapping a careful arm around the lanky boy’s shoulders, squeezing him too tight.

“That’s not encouraging, dude.” Mike replied, his face scrunching from the uncomfortable squeeze, pushing away.

“Well, how about then we get out of here? Can’t get detention if you aren’t in the building.” You offered.

“Yes, you can. We tried that, they just call home.” Mike retorted, crossing his skinny arms over his chest.

“Anybody else?” You asked, turning your attention to the others, already grabbing their bags off the floor. They nodded, heading down the hall. You motioned for Steve and Nancy to follow them, leaving Mike behind.

“Aw Jesus Christ wait up you assholes!” Mike cried, running to catch up with the rest of you. As it turns out, peer pressure and a bit of motherly coaxing still worked on him. You restrained yourself from laughing at him, his shaggy hair bouncing with every bound.

“Where are we even going?” He whined, eyes darting around for some mythical hall monitor or camera waiting to catch him.

“Well, I only have one request for you all, and then you can go wherever you want.” You replied with a shrug.

“We’re going to Scoops after this, its tradition, dumbass.” Max added, brushing her bangs off her face and holding out her palm to you, silently asking for gum. You complied easily, digging around in your purse for the pack and a pen as you found your way back into the front hall and in front of that mural.

You pulled the visitor pass from your pocket and handed it to Steve, motioning for Nancy to do the same. “Go and return these for us and keep Rhonda busy for a minute, okay?” you asked.

“What, why?” he countered, taking the polyester lanyards.

“Because I’m about to get the kids to commit a minor criminal offence and you’re a cop. So go away. You heard nothing.” You replied, pushing him towards the office door. Steve complied, heading into the office like a child forced to say hello to their kissy aunt.

“Alright,” you announced with a clap of your hands “Before you leave this place forever, I think it’s important to leave behind a legacy. Yearbooks get forgotten, photos get switched out, but with a single act of defiance we can leave a message that might last a bit longer.” You pulled the small card from the mess of school spirit themed messages.

“This has been up since I graduated, they never change this board and so you’re message will last as long as the board does.” You explained, showing them the card, the back of which gave the old guidance counsellor’s information for parent use, handed to you with a worried expression that same day.

You wrote the message out of defiance and anger.

Mrs. Donaldson had declared that you should return to high school for a year, do the victory lap to make you truly ready for college life. The idea that you weren’t ready made your blood boil; you were ready as you could ever be. She didn’t understand-after what you’d seen you could handle anything.

“I just think, after the year you’ve had, you deserve a redo.” She said, folding her hands neatly in the centre of the desk, her giant square rimmed glasses slipping down her nose.

“Do I have the marks for college?” you asked boredly, eyeing the teen psychology posters lining the walls with a grimace.

“Well yes, but after Heather’s-” she began, watching anxiously as your bored expression switched into an angry one. She silently braced herself for the explosion.

“What the hell does Heather have to do with me going to college?” you snapped.

“I just think that after Heather’s death you-” Mrs. Donaldson tried, but the cause was lost and you were already on your feet, throwing your half-empty bag on your shoulder, forcing the chair back up to the desk.

“I think Heather’s death has nothing to do with my success and that you trying to use it to keep me here is bullshit. I know who you’re working for and I know that all of this is some sort of scheme to get me. I’m going to college and that’s final.” You snapped.

Mrs, Donaldson sighed, pulling off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose “Just take the card, Y/N.” she said, sliding the neatly printing card across the desk. And, for some reason, you took it.

You had planned to just throw it out and move on with your life. But as you sat on one of the cool metal benches outside the office, an idea slowly revealed itself.

You only had one pen on you, the purple gel pen that always left huge ink blots on everything, but you had to try. The message was clear in your head and came out easily, the pen never splotching. In that brief moment, you believed in fate and magic. It was probably just chance, but you were in the position to believe in such things because the world around you had changed so much that believing in something like fate or luck made as much sense as everything else happening around you.

You let your eyes flick to the head secretary, who was thankfully preoccupied with a magazine and carton of chocolates. You stood from the bench, trying to move as casually as you could over to the bulletin board, pretending to examine its worn news clippings and Polaroid’s. You chose the largest spot of white, up in the right hand corner and, snatching out a snapshot of Heather herself, replaced the photo with note.

‘Don’t let them make you forget things for their benefit. Remember pain. Remember embarrassment. Remember Heather Macpherson.’

“I think it’s only fitting that the third generation of fucked up kids leave theirs behind. Now, this has to be done carefully as to not draw attention to it, you can’t just write in on the bottom of a photo, okay? Do it together, write in on something, and leave your mark.” You told them. You made it feel like another mission, but the way they smiled and looked to one another. They huddled together and whispered wildly, just like they did as children. It would’ve been sweet if the context of all those huddles weren’t tattooed to your mind.

Mike had ripped off a piece of manila envelope and handed it to Lucas, who you assumed had the best handwriting. Dustin seemed to be the only one with a pen and Max was used as a makeshift desk. The note, when finished, was pinned up with a collection of very old yellowed photos. You herded them off and nodded to Steve, who headed out of the office, leaving Rhonda with her whole face lit up.

You remained at the board, wondering how long their note would last. Steve came up behind you, though this time it didn’t startle you this time.

“What they write?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You pointed out the tiny note.

The Russian girl lives.

“I mean, not entirely incorrect…” Steve said, a trying smile on his face, looking for something positive to say.

“It’s stupid.” You said, laughing just a little. Steve looked at you, taking in your easy smile and relaxed posture.

“Yeah…yeah it is. Come on, before they realize you’re laughing at them.” He replied, grabbing your hand and pulling you out the door, giggling like school children.

[theteablogger]

Thanfictioning is Returnofthenecromommycon / Necromommycon / Carlanime

After I posted my first response to Thanfictioning, I googled the blog name last night. The only two results were my blog and a Dreamwidth community where Necromommycon had posted her Sluagh read-through. That was odd.

(Incidentally, I have no reason to believe that the sole other member of that community had anything to do with any of this.)

I read back through everything Thanfictioning had posted up to that point. There were several lines that reminded me very much of things Necromommycon had said before, including that Thanfictioning had done a couple of things in the past that made them look bad in ways similar to Andy (see her tf-talk comments on channeling: 1 | 2). Thanfictioning used a tag she had used a number of times. On the other hand, the story of how Thanfictioning first attempted to reach Andy and finally made contact with him didn’t seem to correspond to her story of being unexpectedly PMed after she commented on CFC’s “other side of the wank” LJ post. Finally, given our interactions and her history (corresponding with Turimel, sharing Andy’s messages full of lies about mental illness and Brittany, being empathetic toward Abbey and other previous associates of Andy’s, writing commentary on some of his posts) I could not imagine her minimizing and misrepresenting Andy’s abusive actions as Thanfictioning had done. This made me suspect that Andy or one of his friends (probably at his behest) was trying to stir shit up and mislead me and other bloggers/anons into believing that Thanfictioning was Necromommycon.

I didn’t think it could actually be her. Neither did Abbey or another anon, when I talked about it with each of them separately. I had had enough positive interactions with Necromommycon that I trusted her. That trust was enough for me to vouch for her publicly when an anon expressed concern about her still being friends with Andy. Fuck, three years ago, Necromommycon offered to send money to help with my wedding, a gesture so kind and so unexpected that it almost moved me to tears (which is an extremely rare occurrence). Abbey and I were even more convinced of her innocence when we saw the post denying that Andy was a rapist: Necromommycon did not seem at all like the kind of person who would be so cruel to a rape survivor.

I decided that now was not the time to call anyone out for impersonating Necromommycon, although that really seemed to be what was happening. Watching and waiting seemed like the best course of action. 

Instead, I started a response to the rape apologism post. When I’d just about finished, I finally thought, “Fuck it. She needs to know what’s happening before someone else puts the pieces together and confronts her.” So I sent Necromommycon a PM on Tumblr chat and an ask. I knew she wouldn’t be able to prove that she wasn’t Thanfictioning (you can’t prove a negative), but I wanted to be able to say that I’d confirmed it wasn’t her, and I was willing to take her word for it. 

Unfortunately, this was the response I received:

Today at 6:14 PM

returnofthenecromommycon

I'm sorry to tell you this, but it was me. Last summer when I was at the cabin, Andy had me convinced that [a nightmarish thing related to being trans had happened to him years ago, and he was struggling with severe psychological problems]. I wrote four posts in total, intending them only to be read by two specific friends of mine, one of whom had the sense to tell me that I could ask Abbey if [the nightmarish thing had really happened]. She confirmed that hadn't happened.I then deleted the posts, or so I thought, from the cabin--and thought no more about it until someone informed me it had been mentioned on tf-talk. The posts were originally password protected, and I had never intended them for public view. I just needed the two people most able to tell me if I was being realistic to now everything I was thinking, so I spewed it all out in four posts. I reposted the Diamond one this morning, since it briefly seemed more honest to make it all public than to just screen it and walk away, but then I saw that would only make things even worse and deleted it. You can quote as much of this as is helpful, but please keep the [redacted information] private (Abbey can confirm that I asked about [the nightmarish thing], I guess, but it's not a detail I want shared at large). 

I was utterly gobsmacked, horrified, and furious. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I decided that I still needed to post my response to the rape apologism, because any number of people might have seen it before the Tumblr was deleted. I also replied to Necromommycon as follows:

I don't even know where to begin, but I guess I'll start with the dates on those posts. The first one was dated July 19, 2018. The "Andy isn't dangerous" one was dated Oct 26, 2018, just a week before it was linked in tf-talk. And the post about Diamond mentions my list of reasons why people think Andy is dangerous, which only went up on Oct 22, so you couldn't have written all of that over the summer. And even if you did...are you saying that during the summer, while you were calling out Chris for rape apologism and posting screenshots of him saying it was wrong to accuse Andy of rape, before ANY posts were made in the Thanfictioning tumblr, you didn't think Andy was a rapist?

She has not responded to that message.

It appears that all that time that Necromommycon was expressing empathy toward Abbey, she may have privately believed that Abbey was “lying or exaggerating” about a lot of things. Despite her calling out Chris over the summer for saying it was wrong to call Andy a rapist, she herself did not believe he was a rapist. She posted records of Chris’s rape apologism, but subsequently attempted to discredit Diamond. Over a period of years, she engaged in discussion with me and other Andy awareness bloggers, reblogging many of our posts and adding her own commentary, all while she apparently thought that I/we ought to be subject to legal action for things we were saying about Andy.

Some people will doubtless characterize this as a blow to the credibility of all Andy awareness bloggers and anon communities. It isn’t. The only person who looks bad here is Necromommycon. I have no reason to doubt the veracity of the emails and messages from Andy that she’s shared in the past, especially since Andy and CFC have indicated that they’re real, so there is no reason to remove them from the timeline. I see no reason to regret or second-guess anything that I said in my two responses to her Thanfictioning posts.

One of my favorite quotations, which I have on a little pewter keychain clipped to my bag, is, “Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend.” (Agatha Christie, The Mysterious Affair at Styles) It means a lot of things to me, but one of the most important is that when the evidence suggests that someone we like and trust has done something wrong, we should not immediately assume that they’re innocent. We should continue to gather evidence and explore the possibilities, bearing in mind that the truth may be something that makes us uncomfortable. I’m generally good at acting on that principle, but in this case, I clearly was not.

[rufusrant]

Can you do a Drarry one where they have to brew Amortia(I think I misspelled that, sorry its almost 12am) and Harry keeps complaining about how Draco wore too much cologne today and shut up Potter, how much were you polishing your Firebolt earlier?, and Hermione and Pansy are giggling in the background.

I gotcha. Hope you’ll like this *finger guns* 

(Sorry this is so long. i got carried away again)

Ron came down with a cold the day before their class was scheduled to brew Amortentia. Harry dropped by the hospital wing to pay him a visit, and he was asleep, ears smoking with Pepperup Potion.

Harry felt a little deterred about not having his usual partner- he and Ron always talked about all sorts of things and had a laugh to relieve their stress. But it would just be one-off and that would be fine.

Harry joined the line in front of the dungeons, waiting for Professor Slughorn to arrive. He surveyed around for Hermione, and found her talking to Pansy.

“Hermione! Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you’d like to partner up-”

Hermione turned and opened her mouth, but Pansy placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and smiled. “Sorry, Potter, but I got here first! Better luck next time, yeah?”

Hermione smiled at him apologetically, a little lost for words. But Harry felt alright really, deciding he’d just have Professor Slughorn assign him somebody. 

As everyone else took their seats, Harry strode up to Professor Slughorn, but he stumbled at a brusque push to his side. Draco walked past him huffily, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Professor Slughorn, my partner’s ill. I need another-”

Harry stood up sharply. “What? So is mine!”

Professor Slughorn looked pleasantly amused. “Excellent, my boys! Not so much about your partners, I mean, but it’s all solved! You’ll work together!”

Harry and Draco froze. 

“NO!” Harry yelped. “I’ll be fine by myself-”

“Professor, please!” Draco pleaded, looking agonised. You’re a reasonable man-”

“Come on now, less of the melodramatics, please!” Professor Slughorn said sternly, as he beckoned them to a worktable. Harry and Draco slumped next to each other. Harry winced at the limes-and-rosewood smell of Draco. He secretly thought it smelled pleasant, but definitely not when the worst person in the world had it caked on him. Draco caught sight of Pansy at a neighbouring table waggling her eyebrows at him, and flipped her off.

“Let’s just get this over with, Malfoy.” said Harry listlessly. He rummaged for his textbook and wand.

It went disastrously, to say the least. Draco kept snatching whatever Harry had in his hands- “You’re doing that wrong!” “I can do it quicker!” “That’s not even one of the bloody ingredients! Are you daft, Potter?- Harry believed he deserved an award for not running out of the dungeon screaming. And for not hexing Draco. He was going to murder Ron for leaving him with the prat.

It felt embarrassing to see Draco’s hands flying all over the cauldron, doing all the work. He’d yelled at Harry to stay out of his way earlier, which let to angry protesting. He now sat perched in his stool with his arms crossed and lips pouted, like a child who was being punished for misbehaving. When Draco dropped the rose petals in the cauldron and stepped back, Harry swooped in and grabbed Draco’s arm absentmindedly.

“Let me do something, I’ve barely done anything-”

Harry and Draco both flinched as if they’d been electrically shocked. One of them gasped, almost a screech, and then there was a very uncomfortable silence. Half the class turned to look at them. It was if they were stark naked. Harry heard a muffled giggle somewhere.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy! What’s happened?” Professor Slughorn asked, standing up.

“N-nothing, Professor! We, uh, nearly burnt ourselves, but we’re fine!” Draco said quickly.

Hermione and Pansy were properly laughing now. Harry and Draco tried very hard not to notice. Draco shoved the container of Pearl Dust at Harry unceremoniously and snarled at him.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

Harry looked him dead in the eye and winked. Draco’s own eyes widened for a second, frozen, but he quickly shook his head and turned away.

The scent of limes and rosewood spread into the air, and Harry thought he would suffocate. He began to cough and had to set down the ladle he was stirring with. Draco was looking at him disdainfully, holding his nose.

“Merlin’s bollocks, Potter. How much were you polishing that posh Firebolt of yours?”

“What?”

“You absolutely reek of Fleetwood’s High-Finish-”

“Look who’s talking! How much cologne did you put on?!”

Their Amortentia started spiralling smoke and Harry thought he would pass out. He couldn’t smell anything at all apart from the damn limes and rosewood. The other pairs had also finished theirs, and now the room was smothering him. 

Professor Slughorn was walking from table to table, checking on progress. Harry and Draco, with their palms squeezing their faces tight, shot their free hands up to signal that they were finished. Their knuckles collided mid-air. 

“Ow! Bugger off, will you?”

“Watch yourself, Malfoy!”

A snort of laughter rang out. Harry and Draco turned to see Hermione giggling, and Pansy next to her, doubled up and snickering. They were never going to hear the end of this.

Professor Slughorn hustled over, peered into their cauldron, and clapped both boys on the back. “I knew you both could do good work together! Have you taken a whiff?” 

“ ‘Can’t smell any’fing, Professor. ‘cept broom polish.” Draco said, pinching his nose. 

“Me too. No change at all while we were working.” added Harry. The lemons and rosewood were no longer very stifling. It was pleasant again. 

Professor Slughorn looked at them both and chuckled, shaking his head. “Full marks. Good on the both of you!” 

Harry and Draco didn’t celebrate. They hadn’t smelt anything new in their potion. They shared one long stare, and unexpectedly, a mutual understanding. 

“Oh.” said Harry.

“Fuck.” said Draco. 

Ron was up and about two days later, and nearly fainted after hearing about Harry’s Amortentia from Hermione and Pansy. They had run off somewhere hand-in-hand afterwards, leaving a gobsmacked Ron alone with Harry.

“Mate, I’m cool with you liking blokes and all, but come on! Malfoy?”  

“It-it could’ve been his cologne. It was hot and the heat probably made it spread…”

“It’s alright. I can still be your best man when you get hitched, right?” 

Harry smacked him half-heartedly with his textbook.

On his way back to Gryffindor Tower three days later, Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and begged him not to scream. “We need to talk.” 

Harry tried to wrench himself free. “No we don’t.”

“Yes, we do! You know we’ll have to anyway.”

“If this has to do with the Amortentia…”

“It has everything to do with the Amortentia.” said Draco. His face is perfectly calm, but there was a hint of hysteria in his voice. He’d probably spent the last few days freaking out as well. 

Harry folded his arms and tried to look nonchalant. “Fine. We’ll talk.” 

“Over Butterbeer at tomorrow’s Hogsmeade visit?” 

Harry’s mouth fell open slightly. “Wha- Malfoy, I’m not going out with you because a damn potion said we should!”

“Oh-”

“And frankly, I don’t want to go out with you because a damn potion said we should.”

It was Draco’s turn to fold his arms and appear nonchalant. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll go out with you of my own accord, Draco.”

Draco dropped his arms and stared at Harry. Harry stared back, and winked.