#i would be demanding billy come home i mean jesus christ

[grinchwrapsupreme]

imagine being Billy Whalen's mom like your son is the reigning champion of a quiz show when he's 15 until one day he's caught cheating, then he disappears. and when he turns up again he's missing an eye and has a robot hand and by the time you've heard about this he's moved in with the host of the quiz show who it turns out was the one who cheated for him by rigging the game and now they've been together for 20 years and you don't know how to re-establish a functioning relationship with him because you think he's scared you'll be homophobic so to signal to him that you support him and this quiz show host you send them furniture and dishware and then AND THEN they come to New York and move in with you and the whole time you have to just be normal about it

[dontcare77ghj]

Breaking The Fourth Wall

Wanda x reader x Vision

Wanda awoke to an empty bed and sunlight blinding her.

"Look, we've all been there, right?" Wanda chuckled as she sat on a chair in Vision's dressing gown. "Letting our fear and anger get the best of us, intentionally expanding the borders of the false world we created." Wanda wondered.

Wanda let out a sigh as she laid in bed at the image of soldiers running in fear, and screaming invaded her mind before pulling the covers over her head.

"Mama, are you coming down soon?" Tommy asked as he and his siblings rushed into her bedroom.

"Mama, our game is freaking out!" Billy exclaimed.

"The systems keep changing!" Luna recalled.

"Is she asleep?" Tommy wondered after their mother stayed quiet.

"Mama's not sleeping, honey," Wanda announced. "She's just resting her eyes." She said from under the covers.

"Kids, what did I say about bothering your Mama?" Y/N asked as she entered the bedroom. "I told you that she's not feeling well."

"But, Mom, my head feels weird. It's, like, really noisy. I don't like it." Billy told Y/N.

"Resting her eyes," Wanda repeated as Y/N pulled Billy in for a hug.

"It's okay, sweetheart. C'mon, kids, Mama's not feeling well. Let's let her rest, and find you something for your head, Billy." Y/N said as she ushered the kids out of the room.

"I feel like an ass," Y/N admitted, sitting in the living room. "I want to take care of Wanda, I do, but at the moment, I'm the only functioning parent in this house. Wanda's bedbound, Vis is MIA, and I've got three kids to look after." Y/N sighed. "They don't need to see her like this. They don't."

"As punishment for my reckless evening, I plan on taking a quarantine-style staycation," Wanda said, back in her striped chair. "A whole day. To myself. That'll show me." She nodded.

Wanda pulled back the covers on her bed to reveal she was still in her Halloween costume, causing Wanda to sigh loudly.

"I got to it first!" Tommy grunted, struggling to pull a controller towards him.

"You always get to it first!" Billy complained, pulling back against his brother's grip.

"Boys." Y/N snapped, moving forward and taking the device out of their hands. "Today is not the day for petty arguments, okay? I have to take care of the three of you and your Mama today, alright. I'm severely under-caffeinated and exhausted, so please, for me, be civil until I've at least had a coffee."

"I'll keep them civil, Mom." Luna piped up from the couch.

"We'll be good, Mom." Billy nodded as Wanda stumbled down the stairs, dressed in one of Y/N's shirts and Vision's dressing gown.

The kids all turned to stare at Wanda in confusion as she blundered into the kitchen.

"Wanda?" Y/N asked as she followed after her wife. "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" She wondered, watching as Wanda gathered items for breakfast.

"Cereal." Wanda simply said as the milk on the counter glitched.

"Why didn't you just ask? I could've brought it to you." Y/N said as Wanda sniffed her cereal.

"Well, I'm up now, so it doesn't matter," Wanda said as the milk turned, a grainy black and white.

"Yeah, I'm not sure what that's about," Wanda commented about the milk. "It's probably just a case of the Mondays. Am I right?" She chuckled.

After the events of last night, SWORD had had to create a temporary base about eight miles outside of Westview.

"Lucky for us, she pumped the breaks." A woman commented as she and Hayward stared at the red energy field. 

"Yeah. I feel very lucky." Hayward chuckled. "What's happening with the broadcast?" He asked her.

"Dead air. The signal's gone." She informed him.

"Make sure the team has everything they need. We launch today." Hayward nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Back inside the Hex, Vision was just beginning to wake up. Though, to his surprise, he was not waking up in his bed at home. 

He was waking up on a field, a field where a circus had set itself up around him.

Vision stopped in confusion as clowns, mimes and other circus folk walked around him.

What happened last night? Vision wondered, watching the milling people.

And then suddenly, it hit him. The memories of the night before, the pain he felt before collapsing and blacking out.

"You're the new clown?" A man in a leotard demanded as he approached Vision. "At least you're already in makeup." He sighed. "You're late for rehearsal with the escape artist. Come on." The man said, gesturing his head to the left before walking away.

Vision stared after the man in confusion before turning in the direction he nodded.

There stood a dark-haired woman, wrapped in chains. A woman Vision remembered from last night.

"Yeah, I'm not great at this gig, I gotta be honest." She admitted with a sigh. "It doesn't really speak to my skill set. I put in for the bearded lady, but this alabaster complexion wasn't fooling anyone."

As Vision's memory became more comprehensible, he began to stare at the woman quite intensely.

"Can I help you, creeper?" The woman asked, raising a brow at Vision.

"You don't remember me from last night?" Vision asked, causing the woman's eyes to widen. "We locked eyes. There was an unspoken understanding."

"Um, hard pass." She said, pulling the chains from her body before she began to walk away.

"No, wait. Wait up!" Vision called, rushing after her. 

"Y/N, have you seen Vis?" Wanda asked, shoveling a spoonful of sugary snaps into her mouth.

"Not since last night," Y/N told her. "I haven't heard from him this morning. I'm worried about him."

"Hm." Wanda hummed before walking into the living room. "Have you seen your Dad?" She asked the kids.

"No." Tommy shook his head, engrossed in the video game before him.

"Do you wanna go look for him?" Billy asked, turning away from the game as Luna put her book down.

"Well, if he doesn't want to be here, there's nothing I can do about it." Wanda shrugged, grabbing the TV remote and changing the channel.

"Mama's kidding, guys," Y/N said, causing Wanda to snort. "Your Dad's just busy, that's all."

"Mama, what did Uncle Pietro mean about re-killing Dad?" Luna asked, biting her lower lip in worry.

"Actually, what did he mean, sweetheart?" Y/N asked, turning to her wife.

"He meant nothing." Wanda scoffed. "And don't believe a word that man said. He is not your uncle." She told the three children.

"Well, then, who is he?" Tommy wondered.

"Here's the thing, guys. I'm your Mama, and as such, you were counting on me to have all the answers, right?" Wanda asked, causing the kids to nod. "Well, I don't. I have no answers. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Niente." She laughed as the kids stared at her and their other mother worriedly. "I'm starting to believe that everything is meaningless. You're welcome to draw your own conclusions, but that's just where I'm at."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Y/N sighed, pressing her head into her hands.

"So maybe I went a little too dark there, but they'll be fine. Vision is made of Vibranium. And have you met my wife? The kids literally inherited tough skin."

"Okay, kids, why don't you go grab your jackets for me, okay?" Y/N asked, ushering the kids out of the living room as Wanda collapsed onto the couch. "Okay, we're going to give you some me-time. I'm taking the kids to the park, Wand."

"Are you serious?" Wanda asked, looking up at Y/N with wide eyes.

"Yes, you need a break," Y/N told her. "I don't know what last night was, and I certainly don't know what's going on this morning, but you need some time to yourself."

"I ever tell you that I love you?" Wanda asked, causing Y/N to smirk.

"Not this morning." She told her.

"I love you." Wanda sighed, leaning up to kiss Y/N as the kids re-entered the living room.

"I love you too," Y/N said as she pulled away. "Now, who's ready to go to the park?" Y/N clapped, turning to the kids, a convincing fake grin on her face.

"But who's going to stay and look after Mama?" Billy asked, looking at Wanda in concern.

"Guys, I'll be fine," Wanda promised. "Go. Have fun at the park." She shooed the four out the front door. 

When the door shut behind her family, Wanda was left alone.

And the silence of the house brought a smile to her face.

Wanda settled back into the couch, her bowl of cereal on her lap, as she turned her attention to the TV.

The TV wasn't able to hold her attention for long as her head snapped to the side to see a house plant glitching.

And then the fireplace changed.

A chair followed, and then the TV altered.

Wanda put her bowl of cereal on the table before she forced the living room to change back to its modern setting.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine." Wanda chuckled. "I'm fine. I'm fine." She promised reassuringly. "I'm fine."

"Darcy made it through that last firewall all right," Jimmy reported. He and Monica had been driving all night, too afraid Wanda's Hex would catch them if they even slowed down.

"What'd she find?" Monica asked, glancing over at the man before turning back to the road.

"R and D reports. All on the same project. Code name, Cataract." Jimmy informed her. "Hayward wasn't decommissioning Vision. He was trying to bring him back online. And nothing worked until,"

"Wanda stole Vision's body." Monica nodded, the pieces beginning to fit together. 

"That's why he was so focused on tracking Vision inside the Hex." Jimmy realized.

"Hayward wants his sentient weapon back," Monica murmured.

"Someone has to tell Wanda," Jimmy said, causing Monica to nod. 

"Look. There they are." Monica grinned as she and Jimmy got closer to several cars and a large metal storage container.

She and Jimmy quickly got out of the car and made a beeline for a woman already walking their way.

"Major Goodner." Monica grinned.

"Captain Rambeau." The woman smiled.

"This is Agent Woo." Monica introduced as Jimmy reached a hand out.

"Nice to meet you." Major Goodner nodded, shaking Jimmy's hand firmly.

"Thank you so much for coming. My mother would appreciate your loyalty." Monica said, taking the Major's hand in her own.

"She's not the only one we're loyal to, Captain," Goodner told Monica. "Let me show you what we brought you." She said before leading the pair over to the tent. 

At Goodner's nod, a six-wheeled vehicle rolled out of the container.

"Did we get your specs right?" Goodner asked as Monica took several steps forward.

"She's perfect," Monica murmured, staring at the vehicle in awe.

"Hello, excuse me? You tried to help me." Vision said as he rushed after the dark-haired woman.

"Doubtful." She scoffed. "I'm notoriously self-involved." She said, continuing to walk away from Vision.

"No. No. No. Please, just hear me out." Vision begged, rushing in front of the woman, causing her to stop. "All right. I believe that you were a part of a team monitoring a supernatural anomaly. And now, well, you're in it." He said, causing the woman to sigh heavily.

"Fine. I'll go out with you, but I'm ordering the lobster." She said before attempting to walk away.

Vision let out a heavy sigh before a plan came to mind.

"Oh no, look! That mime! His tray is too heavy!" Vision gasped, causing the woman to spin and face said mime.

"Oh, your bad back!" She groaned before Vision pressed his hands to her temples. "Oh! Ooh, okay. Whoa!" Darcy gasped as the wall broke.

"Awake?" Vision asked, holding his hands out in case the woman toppled over

"Uh, yeah?"

"All right?" Vision confirmed.

"Ooh. Oh, hello, self. You know, part of me secretly wanted a guest spot on the show, but seriously? That sucked." Darcy admitted.

"Look, uh, what is your name? Your real name?" Vision demanded of her.

"Darcy Lewis." 

"Dr. Darcy Lewis." Vision sighed in relief. "I intercepted a communication regarding your work." He recalled.

"Hey, the lions just got off stage. You're up." A man in a leotard told the two, who promptly ignored him.

"Dr. Lewis, I have questions," Vision told her.

"I have answers." She nodded.

"Brilliant. I believe it's time we take our leave." Vision said, noting the leotard-clad man approaching them.

"You're right, but first, we need him," Darcy said, pointing to a man who was throwing knives at a board.

Throwing knives at a board with an abnormal accuracy rate.

"Him? Are you sure?" Vision wondered.

"Yes. Trust me, we need him. Awake." Darcy told him.

"Alright." Vision nodded before he and Darcy rushed over to the blonde man.

The man snapped around when the two approached, but before he could say a word, Vision pressed his hands to the man's temples and broke the wall.

"Oh, shit." The man grunted, dropping his knives to the ground. "I never wanted to be back in the circus." He sighed, rubbing his temples before looking up. "It's good to see you, Darcy. And you too, Vision."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Vision wondered, cocking his head to the side.

"You do. You tried to choke me out once." He nodded. "I'm also your father-in-law. Clint Barton." He announced.

"We can catch you up on the road," Darcy said, nodding over to a funnel cake truck.

"I said you two are up." The leotard man said, appearing behind Vision and Darcy.

"No, I'm so sorry. But the three of us have a prior engagement." Vision apologized.

"They're not going anywhere." The man said, grabbing Darcy's arm. 

But Darcy wasn't having any of it and quickly turned around and punched him in the face.

"Oh no!" Vision hissed.

"My nose!" The man cried from the ground as Darcy high-fived Clint.

"Sorry." Darcy shrugged as the three began to run towards the van.

"Come on."

"Excuse me!"

"Out of the way."

"Where do you think you're going? Get back here!" The leotard-clad man yelled before the three loaded themselves into the van.

"To your house, I assume?" Darcy asked as Clint searched the car for the keys.

"Dr. Lewis, my questions, are my children safe?" Vision demanded.

"That I don't know."

"Are my wife's safe?"

"I don't know."

"And who is that imposter Pietro?"

"Beats me."

"Ah-ha! Let's get moving." Clint cheered, having found the keys.

"Excellent." Vision grinned. As Clint started the car, there was a second that Vision allowed himself to relax in his chair before there was a pounding at the window that caused him to yell.

"Get out of there!" The man ordered.

"Sorry, can't hear you." Vision said apologetically.

"What?"

"Drive!" Vision exclaimed, turning towards Clint. "I'm so sorry. We were double-booked by the agents."

"You have to be on stage."

"Never again, pal," Clint yelled out his open window.

"Step on it, Clint!" Darcy shouted.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't hear you." 

"You get back here! I need you! We need you!" The leotard man yelled, but it was fruitless.

The van had left the campground and was speeding towards Wanda and Y/N.

Y/N let out a sigh as she reached Vision's voicemail once more.

"Vis, please call me back. I need to know that you're okay and that you're safe. I need you, Vis, I need you now. I'm with the kids at the park. Something's wrong with Wanda, and I couldn't let them see her like that. Please, just. Please, just call me back. I love you." Y/N said before turning her phone off and turning her gaze back to her playing children.

"Y/N?" 

At the call of her name, Y/N turned around to see Agnes approaching the bench she sat on. 

"I thought that was you, hon." Agnes grinned, taking a seat beside her.

"Agnes, hi." Y/N gave Agnes a weak smile. "Were you out on a walk?"

"No, not today, hon. I actually went to your house." Agnes admitted. "I talked Wanda out of cutting her own bangs before she mentioned you and the kids were here."

"God, I shouldn't have left her alone." Y/N sighed, pressing her face into her hands.

"No, you did the right thing. No need to make the kids see their mother like that." Agnes promised. "You look like you need a break, Y/N. Say, why don't you bring the kids over to my house?" Agnes suggested.

"Oh, Agnes, are you sure?"

"Of course! Ralph just finished renovating the rumpus room, and the kids can play down there with Senor Scratchy, and we have some adult conversation." She told you. 

"That sounds great, Agnes." Y/N sighed happily. "Give me a second to round up the kids, and we can get going." She said as she stood.

"I'll help." Agnes offered. "I'll bluster Aunty Agnes' house of fun so much they'll never want to leave."

While Y/N had been at the park with the kids, Wanda had been enjoying the quiet of the house.

She'd been able to turn off her brain as she ate her cereal and mindlessly watched the TV. 

When her bowl was finished, Wanda rose from the couch and made her way towards the kitchen.

But it was when she neared the kitchen it started again.

The kitchen table glitched, reverting in style.

The light fixture was next, and the curtains soon followed.

And then the wallpaper to peel upwards, and the walls glitched between walls and windows.

The stairs flared, and Wanda snapped around when she heard the stork which had reappeared. 

"I don't understand what's happening." Wanda sighed, staring blankly at a wall. "Why it's all falling apart and why I can't fix it." She elaborated. 

"Do you think maybe this is what you deserve?"

"What?" Wanda asked, staring across from her in confusion. "You're not supposed to talk."

At Agnes' house, Agnes brought out a tray of snacks into the living room, where the kids sat playing with Senor Scratchy. Y/N was sitting in the kitchen, clutching a mug in her hands like it was her lifeline.

"Sweets for the sweets!" Agnes cooed, placing the tray on the table. "Penny, for your thoughts?" She asked Billy, who was gently patting her rabbit.

"I like it here," Billy told the woman.

"Oh, good. Is it because Senor Scratchy is such a good listener?" Agnes wondered.

"No. It's because it's quiet." Billy said before looking up at the woman. "You're quiet, Agnes. On the inside." He told her.

"And your colors are brighter." Luna piped up. "Brighter than the rest of the towns." She added in a low murmur.

"Do you think our Mama is okay?" Tommy asked their neighbor.

"Oh, for sure!" Agnes assured him. "You don't have to worry about your mom. She can do anything. She's a supermom!" She promised with a chuckle.

"Ralph says I sugarcoat things, but you try telling a ten-year-old that their mother is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs." Agnes shook her head with a sigh.

"Now, why don't you three go play in the basement while I talk with your Mom?" Agnes suggested.

The three kids gave her a nod before picking up Senor Scratchy and walking down the basement steps.

"How are you feeling now, hon?" Agnes asked as she re-entered the kitchen.

"Guilty, tired, like a crappy wife and mother." Y/N sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. 

"Oh, that's not true, hon. You're a great wife. And a fantastic mother." Agnes promised, standing across from Y/N at the island.

"I left my wife during her breakdown, I don't know where Vision is, and I'm pretty sure our kids are borderline traumatized from watching Wanda this morning." Y/N shook her head. 

"Oh, honey, I have seen trauma. Your kids are just fine." Agnes promised. "And you made the best decision you could in the moment. The kids didn't need to see their mother like that." 

"I know. But I'm just so tired," Y/N told her. "I'm so, so, tired." She yawned as her eyelids began to grow heavier and heavier by the second.

"We're all set, Captain." Major Goodner said as Monica was safely secured into her suit.

"Thank you." She nodded before turning back to the glowing red force field.

"Darcy's not here to give her stamp of approval," Jimmy said as he walked over to the woman.

"I know. Darcy's in there, and I'm gonna go get her out." Monica said, causing Jimmy to smile. "This is our last shot, Jimmy." She added before her helmet was secured.

"Godspeed, Captain." Jimmy nodded at her.

Monica returned the nod before taking a breath to steel herself and then walking over to the vehicle.

"How much faith do you have in this thing?" Jimmy asked Goodner.

"It's our most heavily-armored space rover. She's gonna sail right through. Unharmed." Goodner assured the man before pulling on her headset. "Capcom, check," Goodner asked after watching Monica strap herself in.

"Good, check," Monica said, clicking the vehicle on.

"On your order, Captain," Goodner told Monica.

"Moving out."

"Contact in five, four, three, two, one." Goodner counted down as the vehicle raced towards the Hex.

But instead of Monica cruising through the Hex on one, the vehicle simply crashed into the barrier.

"What happened to sailing right through?" Jimmy demanded.

"The density is matching her," Goodner said, brows furrowing in confusion.

"I'm close. It's gonna give!" Monica exclaimed as she tried to push through the boundary.

"The structural integrity is failing. It's disintegrating." Goodner said, reading from the screen.

"No, it's being rewritten." Jimmy realized before picking up a walkie-talkie. "Monica, get out of there! Do you copy, Monica? Get out of there!" Jimmy demanded as Monica struggled to pull herself out of the changing car.

Before the entire vehicle could change completely, Monica managed to burst her way out of the top. 

Tumbling to the ground below with a heavy thud.

"Get a medevac, now!" Jimmy yelled as he, and several of the soldiers, began to run towards Monica. 

As Monica rose to her feet, she had to watch in shock as the vehicle was spat out of the Hex and launched through the air.

"Watch out!" Jimmy yelled, causing the agents to halt in their tracks and narrowly avoid being hit by the car.

Monica stared at the wreck of what she thought to be her only way back into Westview in disappointment. She continued to stare at it before an idea came to her mind.

"No, no," Jimmy murmured, watching Monica turn to the Hex with new purpose.

"I can get through!" She promised, pulling her helmet off and throwing it to the ground.

"Monica! No!" Jimmy yelled as Monica sprinted towards the Hex until her hands met the barrier.

Monica couldn't remember the first time she crossed through the barrier.

And there was a part of her that was grateful for that small mercy, but she wished she was better prepared for the pain she felt now. 

As Monica forced her way through the barrier, memories of her past, moments she'd rather repress, began to resurface

It almost felt like she was breaking as Monica pushed her way further through the barrier. 

Monica was being torn apart, and it took everything in her to continue pushing and keep Geraldine at bay.

But finally, finally, Monica was able to dive onto the other side, into Westview.

But when Monica made it into Westview, something was different. Something had changed in her.

Monica could see the energy all around her.

But Monica didn't have time to dwell on what was happening to her.

She needed to get to Wanda.

"So, Wanda killed me?" Vision asked slowly. 

"Yes. But not because she wanted to. You asked her to do it." Clint clarified.

"Why would I have done that?" Vision wondered.

"To save half the universe," Clint told him, a frown appearing on his face at the memory.

"Did it work?"

"For a second, but Thanos, the bad guy, rewound time and killed you himself," Clint said.

"So in summation, I died, came back and died again." Vision nodded.

"Yeah, pretty much." Darcy piped up from the back of the truck.

"And both Wanda and Y/N had to watch. Both times." Clint added, slowing the car down to a stop.

"Oh man, another red light? We're in the sticks. This is overkill." Darcy groaned.

"I believe, I think that Wanda is creating these impediments to stop me returning home." Vision said, sitting in a chair outside the truck.

"Also, it never rains in Westview, right?" Darcy wondered, staring at the droplets on the windshield.

"Not unless Y/N is making it happen," Clint said as the light flicked green. 

The car's occupants let out a happy sigh, and the truck began to move once more before coming to a sudden halt.

Men in trucks had pulled up directly in front of their van and started working on the street lights, causing everyone to sigh heavily.

"I'm not amused." Vision shook his head.

"Great, just take your time, fellas." Darcy groaned, leaning back into her chair.

"So if I am to understand correctly, my original code dates back to an AI called JARVIS? But my corporeal form was born of Ultron's plan for global genocide?" Vision asked, seeking clarification.

"Yeah, it was a hell of a time." Clint shook his head.

"Then, what am I now?" Vision asked.

"You're Vision." Clint shrugged, causing Darcy to sigh.

"Look, I'm more of a STEM type of lady, so I thought Wanda just flipped a switch on your head and brought you back to life." She told him.

"But that doesn't explain why you can't leave the Hex." Clint cut in.

"But what I do know is that I've been watching the show for the past week, and the love you three have is real," Darcy told Vision with a genuine smile.

"It's always been real," Clint added. "I've always known it. I wasn't always there to see it, but I saw enough to know that you have always loved one another. That the three of you belong with together." He told his son-in-law.

Wanda had finally forced herself to get dressed and felt a lot better than she had earlier when she heard a call that ruined her day.

"Wanda? Wanda!" Monica yelled, forcing her way into Wanda's home.

"What are you doing?" Wanda gasped, staring at the woman in shock.

"Wanda,"

"How did you get in here?" Wanda asked, now looking the woman over in anger.

"Listen to me. This whole thing is about Vision." Monica started.

"Get out of my house," Wanda demanded, glaring at Monica with a fire in her eyes.

"Hayward was trying to bring him,"

"Don't talk to me about that! Don't talk about my family! I don't wanna hear about it!" Wanda snapped, using her magic to push Monica out of her house. "The drones, the missiles, Pietro?" Wanda demanded, holding Monica in the air for all the neighborhood to see.

"No, wait, Pietro, that wasn't us." Monica stammered.

"All you do is lie!" Wanda exclaimed before throwing Monica to the ground. 

But Monica did not crumple to the ground. Monica stopped her descent and stared up at Wanda with electric blue eyes.

"The only lies I've told are the ones you put in my mouth," Monica said, taking small steps closer to the witch.

"Careful what you say to me," Wanda warned, creating a ball of red energy by her side.

"Do it then. Take me out." Monica shrugged. "See, see? This is where you and Hayward differ. He's gonna burn Westview to the ground just to get what he wants. Don't let him make you the villain." Monica pleaded with her once friend.

"Maybe I already am." Wanda swallowed harshly.

"I'm not afraid of you, Wanda. I lost the person closest to me, too. I get being scared. I know that feeling. The worst thing I can think of has already happened to me, and I can't change it. I can't undo it. I can't control this pain anymore! And I don't think I want to because it's my truth." Monica admitted. "Wanda, you have to," 

"Young lady, I think you have overstayed your welcome," Agnes announced, appearing beside Wanda out of nowhere. "Poor Wanda has been through enough," Agnes said, putting an arm around Wanda.

"This doesn't concern you," Monica told Agnes. "Wanda,"

"Run along, dear." Agnes dismissed Monica, already pulling Wanda away from her.

"Wanda, you have to take it down," Monica begged as the two started to walk away.

"No." Wanda snapped, turning around fiercely. "Don't make me hurt you."

"All right."

"Okay, let's wrap it up."

"Fucking finally." Clint sighed as the road before them began to clear of workers.

Just as Clint began to drive again, he was forced to stop by a woman walking into the middle of the road with a sign.

"Oh, come on!" Clint snapped.

"Come on, kids," Darcy whined, watching as a large group of children began to cross the road.

"Kids?"

"What's next, puppies?"

"I had no idea how much Wanda had endured before coming to Westview. The same for Y/N. I've had no idea how much the three of us have been through. Though I can't remember it." Vision mused. "For me, it feels like it happened to someone else, you know? But for Wanda and for Y/N, it was mere weeks ago." He shook his head. "What am I doing here, sitting, talking to you when I should be with them. This is absurd. I need to get to my wives. I need to go home."

"You always stop for dogs, Lewis, and that's final," Clint said before Vision phased out of the top of the van.

Flying away from them.

"So we'll just meet you there, then?" Clint yelled.

"Was he always like this?" Darcy wondered.

"Oh, here. Would you care for a cup of tea, dear?" Agnes asked, leading Wanda into her home.

"Sure. Thank you, Agnes."

"Okay, sit down. Be right back with that." Agnes promised, sitting Wanda down on the couch.

Wanda let out a sigh as she was left alone in Agnes' living room. 

As Wanda looked around her friend's home, she noticed things.

Three plates with sandwiches on them, three glasses of chocolate milk, a coffee cup, and a locket Wanda knew belonged to Y/N.

"Agnes?"

"Hm?"

"Are Y/N and the kids here?" Wanda asked, picking the locket up and holding it between her fingers.

"Oh, yes. I found them at the park and invited them here." Agnes responded.

"Where are they then? Where are the kids and Y/N?"

"Oh, I think they went down to the basement," Agnes told her. 

Without a word, Wanda rose from the couch and walked towards the basement door.

"Boys? Luna? Y/N?" Wanda called, walking down the stairs and further into the basement.

Much to Wanda's surprise, when she rounded the corner, she saw a doorway covered in thick vines.

Wanda called her family's names into the doorway, and when no one responded, she continued to walk forward.

At the end of the hallway, she found a small room. It, too, was decorated with vines, along with strange symbols and other items of intrigue.

One that particularly caught her eye was a glowing book. 

Wanda would have moved closer to the book but was distracted by the sound of footsteps.

"Wanda, Wanda. You didn't think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?" Agnes wondered, now standing across from her with Senor Scratchy in her arms. 

As Wanda stared at Agnes in confusion, Agnes raised a hand and caused the door to slam shut in a purple glow. 

"The name's Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear." Agnes, Agatha, grinned before her eyes flashed a vibrant purple.

And with that, Agnes entered Wanda's mind and showed her who she really was.

Taglist will be open throughout the entire series

@x-uglyprincess-x @imthedoctorlove @loveinnoya @unknownalien3388 @bindythedemon @summersimmerus @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @natasharomanoffismywife @mcsteamy4ever @monxpeet @amywinehouseisgod-blog @milleniumloki @buckybarnesplumwhore @kennedywxlsh @drpepperobsessed @madamevirgo @superbsccissorsdeanexpert @itty-bitty-witch @essenceproxima @severusminerva @okkulta @mrscasnovak @niki-is-a-thing @sunshinepower17 @pinkninja200 @iflostreturntoflynnrider @simp4mcuwomen @blackfarrahfawcett @angelicl-y @bromieeeomieee @persie33 @ambria @1awesomemeash @montygator17 @runaway-mom-friend @gengen64 @tiny-freak @abitofeverythinggg @aimezvousbrahms

[gravegroves]

Can I ask about 2 and 8 for the wip tag game?

I've already talked about 8 (search #tag game in my tags and you'll find it).

But omg thank you for asking about 2!!

2. Like a Bat Out of Hell, Indiana

Oh man, oh man. This. This right here? This is my baby. My precious. The one I wrote so self indulgently that even if no one else likes it, I LIKE IT. And I'm completely okay with that.

El and Hopper fail at closing the gate at the end of s2, Billy appears at the Byers' house just in time and so begins a mad dash across the country, trying to outrun the end of the fucking world.

Tw: death (no one we care about though)

Excerpt:

The sound of a car roaring into the driveway has Steve's heart crashing up into his throat and they all turn to watch as headlights dance across the living room walls, sharp and blinding, like a goddamn beacon of hope.

And Steve doesn't have time to think about why the deep rumbling of the engine sounds so familiar.

He moves the kids now or they die.

"Get to the car, now!" Steve screams, just as the window at the end of the hall explodes inward.

Max gets to the door first and tears out of the house, sprinting toward the high beam lights with the boys hot on her heels.

"Billy!" She screams and goddamnit she can't mean--

She reaches the car, yanks the passenger side door open and pushes the front seat forward, shoving Dustin, Mike and Lucas into the back before diving in herself, righting the front seat in a practised move just in time for Steve to jump in after her.

And yep. There he is.

Hargrove's expression would be hilarious if they weren't seconds away from being overrun by a horde of carnivorous monster dogs.

"What the fuck do you losers think you're doing?!" Billy roars, eyes bugging slightly when he recognises Steve.

"Harrington?!"

Steve grabs him by the collar and screams into his face: "Just fucking drive!" 

A loud crash has them both snapping their heads to the side just in time to watch as a hundred Demodogs or more come rushing out from behind the Byers' house, heading straight for them.

Without another word, Billy yanks the car into reverse and accelerates before hitting the breaks. Steve's stomach swoops as their momentum lets the wheels slide over the gravel to land perfectly on the road.

He grabs Billy's arm, yanks on it like it might shake some urgency into him.

"Hargrove, go!"

"Seatbelts! Get the seatbelts" Max yells at the others.

That's what she's worried about? Steve thinks, even as he reaches over his shoulder to strap himself in.

Then Billy puts the car into gear and guns it forward and they go from 0 to 70 mph in ten seconds flat, zooming down old, twisting back roads and Steve honestly can't believe that Hargrove's insane, wannabe NASCAR driving is gonna be what saves their asses tonight.

"What the hell are you doing all the way out here with my sister, huh?" Billy yells, taking his eyes off the road to look over at him and Steve might seriously have a fucking heart attack.

"Eyes on the road!" He exclaims, foot searching the footwell for a break pedal that isn't there, "For real, man? You want to do this now?!"

"Or you can get out and fucking walk, amigo," Billy snarls, swerving around another Demodog leaping for the hood of his car, "What the hell is up with these dogs?"

"Billy, stop it! Can you jus-- look out!" Max shrieks, her arm shooting between them to point straight ahead and the kids all begin yelling as the flower-in-bloom-faced ugly fuck grows larger in the windscreen at an alarming speed.

Smooth as butter, Billy avoids the gaping creature in their path, not taking his foot off the accelerator for even a second. Steve's heart beats a drum solo against his adam's apple. His fingers feel fused to the edges of the seat, holding on for dear life.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that?" Billy turns to look behind him and Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, barely restraining himself from yanking Billy around to face forward again.

"Hargrove, I swear to God--"

"Oh god, look."

Steve turns his head the slightest amount to see Lucas pointing out of the window at the treeline to their right.

Demodogs.

Lots of them.

So many slimy, greyish bodies that the forest floor has all but disappeared and transformed into a churning sea of dark, slick oil.

More worryingly, they're all running in the same direction as the Camaro.

Fuck.

"What the…" Billy falters when he looks out of the window at the treeline, then seems to shake it off, placing his undivided attention back on the road for once.

He speeds up to pass a whole group of the beasts trying to cross to the other side, narrowly misses being cut off entirely by the mass of Demodog bodies. Steve releases a hand from the seat only to clutch at the grab handle on the door. He closes his eyes, swears he can feel his stomach fall out of his ass when the wheels on his side of the car lift into the air for half a beat.  

"Shit, we're gonna die!" Dustin wails, voice wobbly as Billy jerks the wheel again to avoid a creature charging straight for them. If the kids weren't already packed in like sardines they'd be sliding around back there, seatbelt or no. "We're definitely gonna die! This psycho is gonna kill us before the monsters do!"

Billy scowls into the rear-view mirror and grits out "Hey kid, you're welcome to get out and walk."

"You literally tried to run us off the road a week ago--"

"Not the time, Dustin!" Max snaps and shushes him.

"We need to get to the gate!" Mike blurts out, leaning forward to speak directly at Steve. Demanding. "We need to help El!"

Steve doesn't even have the faintest idea of how to begin doing any of that.

"Dude, we can't just go back there, are you crazy--" Lucas pulls him back and they continue to argue in harsh whispers.

"If you losers don't shut the fuck up, I'll crash this goddamn car just so I can take you all with me." Billy barks, knuckles white on the wheel.

"Oh my god, see! What did I tell you?" Dustin exclaims, "He's dangerous, Steve!"

Yeah, well, he's all that we've got, Steve doesn’t say. "Shut up, Dustin."

They turn into the first proper residential street and Billy misses a tree by an inch as he tries to avoid colliding with five demodogs hunched over something on the road.

Oh god, was that a body?

"Harrington, where the fuck am I going?"

Steve closes his eyes, overwhelmed and completely out of his depth. They might have been the B team, but there hadn't actually been a plan B--

"Fuck, fuck! I don't know--"

"Billy," Max pleads, voice shaky with terror, silencing them all, "My mom…" 

Billy sighs explosively before turning down a side street, barely slowing down.

"Shit."

*****

It's not just Max's mom, but Dustin's mom, too. Lucas's family. Mike's family. 

They reach Old Cherry Road first and Billy barely allows the car to come to a full stop, Demodogs further down the street are taking notice of them already, stalking forward, mouths blooming excitedly. Steve eyes them warily until a garbled oh fuck from the back seat draws his attention to the other side of the street and--

It's bad.

The porch light sets the stage for a grizzly scene at the Hargrove residence. A woman lies directly beneath it, like the opening shot to a fucked up play, her head of red hair spilling over the top step.

She's very obviously dead. Steve can see where she must have tripped on the welcome rug -- awkwardly stiff and upturned between her feet -- and he can only hope she got knocked out in the fall and didn't feel a thing that came after. There isn't much left between her head and her knees except for a dark patch of gøre.

The headless body of a man lies slumped against a truck parked in the driveway, one arm stuck through the open car door, half torn off within his jacket. Blood still running down the concrete incline, pooling in the roadside gutter.

"Oh, you Bastard," Billy spits, barely a whisper.

The longer Steve stares, the more horrifying the scene becomes.

He doesn't want Max to see this. Or Billy.

Max doesn't make a sound.

Billy slams his fist against the steering wheel a couple of times, then peels away from the curb before the Demodogs can get too close.

*****

Dustin's house is dark. There's no car in the driveway.

"I told her Mews had been seen in Loch Nora. She must still be out looking..." Dustin trails off quietly. Shellshocked.

It's almost midnight. Steve doubts she's still out looking for a cat. And if she is...

"I wanted to keep her out of the way."

No one says anything.

They drive.

*****

The Sinclair house is dark, too, no lights on except for the motion sensor activated ones over the empty carport.

Billy doesn't bother slowing down. The area is absolutely swarming with creatures already.

"It's so late. Where..." Lucas falters, scanning the houses they pass, like he made a mistake and his home will appear any minute now. "Where did they go?"

"I'm sure they're okay, man," Steve tries, but it feels flat, false, "If they're in a car they could make it out. Your mom too, Dustin."

Billy grimaces, but says nothing.

"What?" Steve demands.

"I was just here looking for Max. They were home." 

He keeps a laser focus on the road now, on avoiding the monsters spilling out onto their path, growling when he's forced to change down a gear before aggressively working his way up in speed once more, jaw clenched tight.

"You probably caught them on their way out." Steve insists.

Billy looks doubtful, but he nods anyway. Neither of them enough of an asshole to take a kid's hopes away like that.

They move on.

*****

"Let me out," Mike says, quietly. Trembling. Hands pushing against the back of Steve's seat like he'll be able to bend it out of the way through sheer force of will.

No one moves.

The front door to the Wheeler home is open, door splintered where the deadbolt held, but the wood didn't. The car is parked in the carport. All the lights are on. 

Karen Wheeler's corpse lies forgotten and half devoured on the front lawn.

In the driveway, a tiny yellow sock lies next to bloody drag marks disappearing into the grass--

Oh god...

"Let me out." 

Steve's lips move, but he can't seem to draw breath enough to produce sound..

Billy seems to shake himself out of a daze, takes a deep breath beside him. "Nah, kid."

And Mike just snaps. 

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" He screams, punching and kicking the seat in front of him.

Steve leans forward out of the seat and puts his head in his hands. 

"Let me out! LET ME OUT!" Mike shrieks, begs.

"No." Billy says again, evenly.

Mike's voice breaks on a wordless scream.

Steve wants to do his own bit of kicking and screaming, but someone needs to keep their fucking head in the game or they're all going to end up dead.

By some twisted turn of fate that someone is turning out to be Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hysterically, he remembers hearing about Billy abandoning Carla Green to walk home alone from the quarry after she'd scratched the Camaro's dashboard with her fake nails by accident.

Mike kicks the back of the seat again. Billy says nothing.

All the kids are crying, now.

Mike's screams eventually taper off into babbling sobs and Dustin does his best to comfort him through his own half-choked cries. Lucas is whispering to a sobbing Max, his own breaths hitching and heaving uncontrollably, on the edge of breaking.

Steve's eyes sting, hidden behind his hands.

He lifts his head up and glances over at Billy, still tracking the side of the road, the edge of the trees. He looks so normal that it almost throws Steve for a loop. He wants to grab Billy by the collar again. Shake him. Scream: what part of this aren't you getting?

"The fuck is going on?" Billy hisses, almost to himself and oh, right.

"Later," Steve promises, hoarsely, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars.

"You know what they are?"

"Yeah." Steve says after a great deal of swallowing past the lump in his throat.

If Hargrove's voice betrays even a hint of emotion Steve knows he's gonna fucking lose it. Luckily, the guy keeps his shit together so Steve can keep a lid on his.

"You know what kills them?" Billy continues.

"Heat," Dustin says, voice thick, "And, like, bullets."

Billy nods, "Alright, how warm are we talking?"

"They don't like warm weather or daylight, but I don't think it kills them. Weakens them, maybe. Sends them underground."

"Fire will." Steve says, pulling at his hair until it hurts, dragging himself out of foggy despair and into the present where he's needed. He accidentally runs his gaze past Karen's body and tries not to dry-heave.

Mike is still crying behind him and god fuck, they should get out of here. The kid shouldn't be seeing this.

"Where do we go?" Max whispers, like she read his mind. She sounds as lost as Steve feels.

Billy revs the engine and turns to Steve, "Any requests?"

Steve thinks about the huge empty house waiting for him, a gaping nightmare at the edge of the woods. He balks at the thought.

Where the fuck do we go?

"Just get us out of Hawkins."

[cockasinthebird]

Laced up and ready to get dirty

Fingers tighten around the leather of the steering wheel, tensing till his knuckles go white then relaxing again. Deep breath in, then a long exhale. In… and out...

Steve is excited and thrilled and eager but also completely, devastatingly… nervous.

He angles the rearview mirror to look at himself and fidgets with his hair- not that it needs to be retouched for the fifteenth time today already, but it buys him time. Precious time to waste away on hesitation, and the longer he gets to hesitate, the less likely he is to actually.... He glances down the tan, buttoned up trench coat and triple checks that it’s closed all the way up and pulls on the belt to tighten it around his waist till he loses breath, JUST to be safe and secure.

It was a stupid spur-of-the-moment idea he got last week when he was visiting Hawkins to clear out whatever was left of his childhood home; his parents selling it now that Steve doesn’t live there anymore, all with such a lack of grace that shows they never really cared for that house, as if it was nothing more than a lavish cage for their only child. In a bag of clothes marked for donation - his father’s idea of philanthropy - Steve found an old Burberry trench coat, truly as fashionable and fitting now as it was back then, only difference being that as an adult who pays for everything himself, this coat would now be the most expensive thing in his and Billy’s entire apartment. Maybe he should have been more grateful for all that he had back then, or so his father would say whenever he found time to reprimand his son, but that wasn’t what he needed.

“Arrh, fuck!” Steve groans and rubs his face in hopes of recentering himself on the task at hand. He could mope around and be sad about his terrible father later, right now there’s more important things to do.

Such as opening the door to the same old BMW, the car soon on its last legs, having only survived this many years thanks for Billy’s expertise truly. It’s a bit colder out on the street than Steve expected, or maybe just a bit too windy, but he isn’t exactly wearing it to stay warm as much as he is to stay covered.

The hem of it grazes against the top of his suede boots as he takes decisive but careful steps around his car, now facing the open carport that exposes the inner works of the small service shop. It’s been almost a year since Billy got hired here as a mechanic, and it is possibly the happiest Steve’s ever seen him. Neither of them ever dreamed of big and important lives, no wanting to be a doctor or president or astronaut. All they wanted to be was happy, and they’ve found it in the simplest way possible.

He spots Billy immediately, past all the sweaty men, scattered car parts, and open hoods, he sees his boyfriend rise up from having just been shoulders deep in the guts of a shiny pontiac, coveralls tied around his waist, his white tank soaked with sweat, arms stained black with oil and grease.

The sight of it all sends delightful shivers down Steve’s entire body, ears to toes, and as he watches Billy wipe away sweat from his brow, well suddenly Steve’s far more confident in what he came here to do.

It shows in the way he marches towards Billy, who turns with a cocked brow at the assertive footsteps approaching him, where once he sees that it’s Steve demanding his attention, the most effortlessly smooth and charming smile spreads across his face, lids heavy to match the way Steve stares - something so salacious in the way his eyes glide up and down Billy’s dirty body, shiny with sweat.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Billy asks in a low and gravelly tone, quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard.

“Hmmm well…” Steve coos and plays lightly with the belt of his coat, the way his fingers flirt with the fabric hopefully clear with his intent, then speaks bluntly, “I woke up kinda horny today, y’know? Thought I’d save it for later- for when you come home, and tried distracting myself with doing the dishes or vacuum or anything really, but my hand just kept going down to jerk myself off-”

“Jesus Christ Stevie,” Billy breathes harshly.

“-and so eventually I wound up back in bed, on my knees, three fingers deep in me-” Steve wiggles said fingers for certain emphasis. “-but it just wasn’t enough. I need something thicker and veinier.”

With every word his stomach ties knots around itself, yet his dick is filled with life at how risky this is, with how much he needs to feel Billy pounding him sore and weak.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Billy licks his lips, a hand reaching down to inconspicuously cup at his growing erection.

“I was hoping you could help me with my little problem? Ensuring that my engine is properly lubricated,” Steve’s naughty little smile fails at his own words, growing wider and betraying the sexy facade.

But it doesn’t seem that Billy minds as he laughs a bit too loud, biting his lower lip as if that would help keep his own smile more casual than one filled with exuberant joy. “You’re a menace- that was absolutely horrible,” he chuckles and brings both hands to his hips.

“Don’t be mean, I worked on it all the way here!” Steve’s own amusement bubbling over and into his voice.

Billy dares take a step closer, eyes slipping from Steve’s lips down his neck, pausing where he should be able to see the collar of a shirt. “You don’t have to try so hard for me, baby. Just tell me what you need, and maybe I can be of assistance.”

Steve’s expression dips back into something most indecent, his gaze burning with desire, pink lips parted as he slowly enunciates, “I need you to fuck me, hard and rough. I want your hands all over me, want your cock in me so fucking bad I think I might go insane without it. Please Billy, I-I can’t wait till you get home,” desperation seeps in as his tone goes almost whiny.

And Billy gapes like a fish, lips hesitating around emptiness as he tries to formulate thoughts. He glances around the shop, up at a clock hanging above the “Employees Only” sign, brow furrowed as he contemplates his options, all the while Steve waits as patiently as he can, pulling the belt tighter around his waist as if it would magically open up if he didn’t.

“Why don’t we… step into my office, and I’ll see what I can do?”

 Unfortunately by “office” Billy meant the blindingly bright, claustrophobically small employee bathroom. It’s maybe 6 by 6 feet large and not at all what Steve had in mind, but he’s not going to complain about the abnormally large mirror above the sink. And at least it looks clean… enough.

Steve’s quick to turn to Billy as soon as the lock clicks, grabbing on to the white tank and using it to guide him to sit down on the toilet.

Billy, however, disagrees with that immediately and moves to touch Steve, who just as swiftly grabs his wrist, restricting his reach. 

"Billy-" he starts off a bit agitated, but smoothes into something more agreeable, "Baby, if you get my coat dirty, you'll be eating cornflakes till you can afford to send it to the dry cleaner." 

The way Billy laughs at that is mocking in a sense, but his shitty grin simply reminds Steve of the thrill he felt back in high school, after they started fucking around but before they became serious about one another. 

"Forgot what a priss you can be sometimes, princess," he drawls and leans back, licking his lips as he settles with something vaguely familiar to patience.

“Hmmm…” Steve hums, slowly untying the belt of his coat. “You like that I’m high maintenance sometimes.”

He smoothly slips out of the heavy boots.

“Makes you feel real good about yourself though, getting to fuck someone with above average standards.”

In a show of how agile and limber he is, Steve stretches out his leg where the coat parts in front, and hooks his heel over Billy’s shoulder. Who in turn stares with a bit wider eyes at the silky soft, pastel pink nylon stockings clinging to Steve’s shin. Billy’s grip on his own thighs tighten with self restraint, the urge to touch the smoothness of Steve nearly unbearable.

“Did you shave your legs?”

“I did, for you.” Steve generally doesn’t care about leg hair, but found it a bit awkward looking when his thick, dark hairs stuck out of the bright nylon. “Wanna see what else I’ve shaved?”

Leisurely but with gentle pressure, Steve lets his foot glide down Billy’s chest, over his abs and all the sweat stains of his tank, past where the sleeves of his coveralls have been tied together, till he finds Billy’s hard cock tenting already, eliciting a lurid little hiss as he rubs it with the sole of his foot.

“God, you’re so easy, baby,” Steve speaks low with intent, drawing circles, revelling in the choked groans. “Getting you hard like this is effortless.”

At an all too agonizing pace, deliberate and mean, Steve unbuttons his coat from the bottom and up, exposing more and more of his thighs, the build up thrilling him as he watches how Billy sweats and struggles to remain dormant. Oh how he cannot wait to get the coat off and let his boyfriend ravage him completely, even the mere thought of it makes his own prick throb and beg for attention.

Billy stares with the most attention he’s probably ever shown any one person, eyes following the movement of Steve’s fingers, up and up and up, until a hint of lace gets revealed at the end of the stocking, cute and floral and feminine, a dozen small roses hugging the pale flesh, shiny straps leading further up to hide beneath the tan of the trench coat.

Steve caresses his thigh, hooking a finger beneath the strap and pulls it up only to let it snap back against his skin loudly, the sound reverberating, all the while never looking away from how Billy watches with intense hunger.

The burning gaze affixed to fingers follow right along, as Steve makes a bit of a jump and starts unbuttoning from the top now. One by one, till he runs his index along the hem, up to where it grazes against his neck, to pull slowly so that one shoulder can slip out, uncovering the strap of what can only be a bra, reaching down to hold on to delicate lace.

Harsh sighs escapes Billy as he attempts to control his breathing and himself, tongue darting out to wet his lips - Steve can feel the way Billy’s fat cock pumps full of blood beneath his foot.

There’s only two buttons left, and as one of them falls free, the coat drops down to bunch around Steve’s waist and the sink he’s leaning against, putting the pink, lacy bralette on full display; roses and leafs arranged into small triangles that sits tight against Steve’s pecks, his nipples just barely visible beneath the gorgeous and elegant fabric.

“Stevie, babe, please, I’m going to explode here,” Billy complains in an almost hilariously irritated manner, raising his hand up towards Steve’s thigh-

“No touching yet, I’m not done.” Steve swiftly kicks away that dirty hand.

“Thought you needed me to fuck you so bad,” the mocking response comes as Billy’s hand retreats to dig into his pocket.

And Steve pauses with his fingers around the final button that will unravel everything. “Well yes, but the thrill of anticipation gets me so hard.”

He pushes it out, wraps his hands around the coat and slowly pulls it apart, like a curtain revealing a true masterpiece of craftsmanship. And if Billy’s eyes were wide before, they’re now threatening to pop out at the sight of the garter belt attached to the stockings hugging Steve’s waist perfectly, and a thong matching the bralette in shape and lace, that might once have had a chance of containing all that Steve is, but now his long, full dick reaches up towards the belt with hard pride.

“Holy fucking shit,” Billy gapes, “I didn’t forget our anniversary or something, did I?”

Steve chuckles and blushes slightly at the attention and knowledge of just how stunning he looks. “Can’t I just surprise my boyfriend for no reason other than fun?”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m also sure you have some ulterior motive… not that I’m complaining.”

The sly smirk across Steve’s face suits him well as he slips out of the coat entirely, and reaches out to hang it on the hook attached to the bathroom door. Now fully exposed before Billy, Steve spreads his legs a bit further, runs his fingers lightly over the lace of his bra, and bats his eyes slowly.

Who stands up just as slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s still awaiting orders, as if Steve will tell him to stop and sit down any second now. When he reaches out Steve grabs his wrist, firm and assertive, but doesn’t linger in that moment; brings Billy’s hand up and up to touch his cheek, brushing fingers against pale skin and defiling it with dark smudges of oil. Still Steve doesn’t relent as he guides the hand down again till the rough palm presses against his throat, and Billy takes the opportunity immediately to squeeze.

A gasp hurries out at the sudden tightness around his airway and Steve’s eyes rolls back with the pleasure that jolts through his system, making his already painfully hard prick pulsate worse.

“Fuck, Billy…”

The other hand lands on his thigh, besmirching the pretty pink there, pushing into the soft flesh. As Steve closes his eyes to enjoy the euphoric, brutish hold he’s under, Billy dives in all tongue and teeth, biting at his lower lip and licking in to taste how sweet his spit is. Steve lifts up his free leg to hook it around Billy’s hips, drawing him in, finally allowing them both some heady friction, encouraged by strangled moans.

“Mmh- arrh, shit, pretty boy, this really couldn’t wait till I got home?” Billy growls against Steve’s lips, tickling as they brush together.

“I- mmh-ah, I wanted you dirty and risky like this,” Steve coos as low as he can and chases a kiss, but Billy leans away with such a shit eating grin. “Billy-” Another chase. “-Billy, please.”

“Don’t gotta beg, princess,” Billy’s laugh rumbles like thunder on a summer night; warm and deep and comforting

He takes a step back, Steve’s body instinctively trying to follow at the abrupt lack of touch, and with quick hands Billy undoes the way the sleeves are tied around his waist, unzips the rest of his coveralls that fall without effort to the floor, and pulls down his dark trunks enough for his steely cock to practically spring free.

The way Steve audibly inhales at the sight of it is almost humoristic, his body now acutely aware of everything that’s about to happen.

“How do you want it?” Billy drawls.

And it brings Steve back from the more indecent places his mind went at the sight of what he’s been hungering for all day. Half of him wants to drop to his knees and suck Billy dry till he’s delirious, the winning half however… He looks away for only as long as it takes him to retrieve the small and discreet bottle of lube from his coat pocket and pops it open before Billy can even speak again. He pours it into his own palm and closes his hand around Billy’s thick dick, stroking him quickly with impatience, slicking up every inch of hard flesh.

“I want you to fuck me from behind, bend me over the sink and pound my hole till I’m on the verge of tears,” Steve’s voice a lewd little thing, a salacious whisper only Billy would ever be found worthy of hearing, ghosting across his lips.

To which the only appropriate response Billy deem fit is to grab on to his boyfriend’s naked hips and spin him around, leaving clear, gross handprints that get smudged when those same hands smooth their way down to fill out with Steve’s ass.

Steve’s all too eager to bend down over the short sink, bracing himself on the porcelain edges as he watches how Billy admires the view through the mirror. The way those clear blue eyes stare down at his exposed self, tongue out to lick his lips like a wolf would before pouncing on an innocent lamb; it makes his heart beat faster, drowning his senses in quick waves of heavy lust.

“So pretty for me, baby, all laced up and fingered, wish you could see this.”

Billy gazes up through his lashes to meet Steve in their reflection. He grins with his tongue caught between teeth as he raises his hand just enough for Steve to have a moment of realisation before there’s a loud smack and stinging sensation.

“Mmh- ah! Fuck…” Steve barely manages to catch the moan with a bite of lips, his cock dripping with pre cum into the sink, whining with elation as the firm palm on his ass massages the red print.

A finger hooks itself on the slight string of the thong that runs between spread cheeks, pulls it aside, allowing Billy a good eyeful of Steve’s rim still wet with lube.

“You really just stood out in the shop in nothing but this, all slippery and ready for me to fuck your tight little hole with my fat cock?” He pulls on the fabric till it can’t stretch any further, wrapping it around a finger to allow himself freedom to grab on to Steve’s ass again. “Came all this way because you needed me to fill you up with my cum so bad.”

The blunt head of his cock lines up perfectly with Steve’s greedy entrance, and the poor, needy brunette can’t help but push against it, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly slides further and further along Billy’s dick, who hums with appreciation at the way the other is so willing to do all the work, velvety muscles clenching around him when he bottoms out.

“That good for you?” he asks kindly and squeezes Steve’s fleshy, pale cheeks.

Steve draws shallow circles with his ass pressed firmly against Billy’s hips, breathing in a manner that would be moans at home in bed, panting and sighing now; low drawn out hums. He sounds relieved, like Billy’s girthy cock was exactly what he needed, swallowing thickly as he nods, incapable of words lest they come out too loud.

Billy leans in to kiss up Steve’s shoulder, giving every mole on his way the attention they deserve, moves up his neck to the shell of his ear, snaking an arm around to hold Steve by the throat softly and tenderly.

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he purrs and nibbles at Steve’s ear as he leisurely starts moving his hips back and forth, adoring how breathless Steve looks in their reflection, mouth hanging open.

With his other hand he leaves a trail of oil stains up Steve’s stomach, leading to where Billy smoothes his fingers across shaved pecs, caressing the skin as he teases the frilly edges of the pink bralette, his every touch like fire igniting inside of Steve, his body tensing delightfully.

Billy squeezes tighter around Steve’s throat, a gesture that can be felt vividly in the way his wet dick pulsates and drips - pre cum running down his aching flesh to wet the thong even worse. The thrusts grow longer and deeper, Billy pulling out till just the head is inside, then tentatively pushes back in till he’s balls deep, and every time he runs over that certain spot inside of Steve a sensuous little gasp escapes those perfect lips.

“Look at what a mess you are, baby.” He brings them as close as possible - Steve’s back against his chest, rim choking around the base of his cock.

And Steve opens his eyes just enough to get a good view of how oil and grease has stained his pale skin and somewhat expensive lingerie, pastel roses and delicate embroidery defiled and tarnished beyond repair no doubt. His painfully hard dick that with a stroke or two would have him come undone. Billy’s crystal clear eyes that stare back intently; hungry- no, starved for this.

“A beautiful…” Billy kisses Steve’s neck with undeniable love and infatuation. “Needy…” Lips at the crook of his neck. “Desperate…” His shoulder. “Mess.”

Billy pulls out and slams back in so suddenly it barely leaves Steve time to catch his lucid gasp before it would have been heard from outside the door. Billy’s hips snap against Steve’s ass again and again at an indelicate pace, his teeth sunk into a shoulder as he bites back his moans, eyes trained on the way Steve’s brows knit together, eyes squeezed shut tight as he struggles with his own wanting to give sound to the burning desire lighting him up.

Skin slapping together, the obscenely wet sounds of Billy pounding Steve’s hole, ramming against that glorious sweet spot over and over, it’s intoxicating, fueling the white hot fire that coils at the bottom of Steve’s gut. Both of Billy’s hardened hands grab at Steve’s pecs, the skin of his fingers toughened up from fiddling with engines all day, rough against Steve’s sensitive nipples as Billy pulls down the bra to pinch and squeeze.

“Mmh ah- fuck-” Steve’s eyes roll back at the flourishing bliss that forms in his chest. “Billy…”

“Yeah, you like that?” A rhetorical question that barely receives an answer before Billy presses his dirty thumbs harder against the strutting buds.

Steve’s thighs tremble from it all, teeth biting at his lower lip as he fights every instinct to let it all out. And from the way Billy leers and grins mischievously at the sight in the mirror, there can be no doubt he knows.

Moves his hands to grab Steve’s hips with near bruising tension as he starts slamming into him, thrusting with intense fervor; the pace punishing and the sounds of how their bodies collide worse. Billy’s eyes are pinned to the spread of cheeks where his steely cock pounds into his boyfriend’s tight, slippery hole, his breathing ragged and tongue out wagging enthusiastically.

And Steve’s helplessly lost in his own euphoria of the moment; a hand flies up to clasp at his mouth, the other pressing against the mirror for the sake of balance so as to not get shoved against it whenever Billy rams inside, helping Steve inch closer and closer to climax, with breathless groans and grunts, sighs and whines, all too loud for such a public setting, yet not loud enough for such an intimate act.

Billy bends over to press his sweaty forehead against Steve’s shoulder, gaze still locked to where heat flares up at every plunge, at the way Steve’s body clings to his veiny dick.

“You’re so perfect like this, baby,” his voice rough like wet gravel, “So eager and greedy. Gonna cum in you, Stevie boy, fill you up till you’re ready to burst.”

“Please,” the self-restraint apparent in his tone. “I-I’m so close.”

Then there’s a hand in his hair, yanking and pulling his flushed face off of the mirror and back, his intense breathing fogging up the mirror as he struggles to keep hushed through his sudden orgasm that washes through him, the intensity blinding, his every nerve buzzing vividly at the unexpected release till there’s nothing left in him, but the sensation of Billy vigorously driving his girthy cock in and out, sending forth slight waves of static heat.

Till it comes to a stop with one forceful shove, the hand in his hair tightening, the fingers by his hip digging in, as Billy buries himself completely, pressing Steve against the sink till his thighs hurt from the porcelain edge jabbing him.

But it’s worth it to feel how every muscle flexes, Billy’s teeth closing around Steve’s shoulder to muffle his deep rooted moan that almost escapes in its entirety. Worth it when Billy comes down from his high and relaxes again, yet stays here like this, softening inside of Steve’s well used hole, arms wrapping around his chest to hold him close whilst they both catch their breaths.

Billy kisses gentle apologies across the imprints his teeth made on Steve’s skin, up his neck and as far across his cheek and jaw as he can reach from behind.

And Steve simply stands still, caught between his boyfriend’s broad figure and the white sink, convinced he would fall if Billy stepped back. He leans into the loving attention he’s receiving, every press of lips to his sweaty skin a blissful little source of tender satisfaction. When he finally opens his eyes again after having mindlessly drifted away in the afterglow, he just barely catches the way Billy glances down and grins in a rather humoured way.

“At least you got most of it in the sink,” he rumbles against Steve’s shoulder.

Looking down Steve sees his cum splattered into the sink, yet a few good drops made it up around the faucet and almost even to the wall. Yet his first thought is that he could have made it onto the mirror if he had jerked himself off to completion.

“Who’s going to clean it up?” Steve huffs a little laugh and meets Billy’s gaze in their reflection.

Who tries to hide his smile with kisses. “Hmmm I dunno, kinda wanna see what happens if we just leave it like this; who my boss is gonna blame for cumming in the employee’s bathroom.”

“Gross.”

“It’s yours, princess,” Billy chuckles out and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“So you’re saying I should clean up after myself?”

“Mhm, yup,” the p pops.

When something changes in Steve’s expression, a clear difference from one second to another, lids heavy as he turns his head to look at Billy with lips inches apart.

“Then it’s only fair that you clean up after yourself, too, don’t you think?”

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part five

masterlist | series | part four

words: 2k+

warnings: st2 spoilers, violence, hints towards domestic abuse, drinking, smoking, swearing, arguing

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. first part taken from the ‘will the wise’ ep.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

Frances hears her father's shouts before the cabin is even in view. Without thinking twice, she sets off in a run, twigs snapping beneath her feet as she dodges the trip wire. She clutches her camera firmly in her hands to prevent it slapping against her stomach, wind rushing past her as she speeds up.

"You're like Papa!" she hears El scream as she gets closer, and dread causes her heart to drop. She knows her father, knows he won't take well to a comment like that. She can't hear her father's reply, only El shouting a few moments later, "I hate you!"

"... I'm not too crazy about you, either!" Hopper responds.

"Shit," Frances mutters, slowing down to catch her breath. She closes her eyes and inhales, blocking the screams out for a moment before she finally enters the cabin. Neither Hopper nor El notice her despite the creak of the wooden door, too busy screaming at one another.

"Brat," Hopper says, throwing a book at El. El raises a hand to stop it, suspending it in mid-air as blood trickles from her nose. She tosses it back at him forcefully, hitting him in the stomach.

"Hey!" he exclaims in bewilderment, his eyes wide as he looks at El.

"Stop it!" Frances interrupts, finally gaining their attention as she stands between the two of them, her hands held up in caution. "What the hell is going on?"

El ignores her, marching off. Hopper trails behind her, passing Frances without acknowledgement. "Don't you dare walk away from me, kid."

The couch is shoved into his shin by an invisible force and he trips. "Hey!"

The last Frances sees of El before she slams her door shut without touching it is her eyes blazing with anger. "El!" Frances pleads, but it's too late.

"Open the damn door!" Hopper yells, banging on the wood forcefully. "You wanna go out in the world? You better grow up. Grow the hell up!"

A scream erupts from the bedroom, and without warning, the window panes shatter in their frames, shards of glass flying into the cabin. Frances is unable to duck in time and a small piece of glass scratches her cheek. She barely feels the sting, though she can feel the dampness as blood begins to ooze from the wound, and presses her hand to her face in shock. Hopper curses, kicking the wall with his heavy boot before running his hands over his face.

"What the hell happened?" Frances questions when she is able to form a coherent sentence.

"The damn kid went to see Mike today," Hopper sighed, his eyes softening when he sees that Frances is hurt. "Jesus Christ, are you alright?" He's on her in a second, pulling her hands away from the cut so that he can inspect it.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch." She struggles out of his grip, glass crunching beneath her shoes as she heads to the kitchen and grabs a towel to stop the bleeding. "Look, I know you're just looking out for her, but you need to go easy on her. She's just a kid, and she can't see her friends. Imagine how that must feel."

"Did you miss the part where she blew out the fuckin' windows?" He pointed to the now empty frames dramatically. "What if that glass had hit your eye?"

"It didn't," Frances sighs. "I'll talk to her, okay?"

"No," he shakes his head, rubbing his stubbly chin in frustration. "Let her cool down first. She's ... dangerous."

"She's not dangerous," Frances replies. "She's afraid and alone. She doesn't understand that you're keeping her safe. Just let me try."

Hopper motions to the door dismissively. "Fine, you think you can handle her, Mary Poppins? Be my guest."

Frances treads back to El's door, knocking gently. "El, it's just me," she calls when the door doesn't budge. "I understand why you're mad and afraid. Why don't we talk about it?"

"Go away," El demands after a moment, her voice muffled.

"El, please—"

"Go. Away!"

There's enough power in El's voice for Frances to know that she isn't helping matters and if she pushes her anymore, the cabin might come down in a heap of ash and rubble. She turns to her father, disappointment in her eyes. He shrugs, planting himself on the couch despite the fact that it's no longer in its usual spot. "I told you. She's impossible."

"Cut her some slack. She's been through a lot."

"Yeah, well, haven't we all?" he huffs, sadness flickering over his features. By the time he looks up again, it's gone. "Listen, I'll handle this. You're better off staying in the trailer tonight."

"You sure? I don't mind staying."

"No. You don't need to deal with this. Go home."

Frances nods, placing a hand on her father's shoulder as he puts his head in his hands. "You're doing your best. I know this isn't easy."

He places his hand over hers, rubbing her hand with the pad of his thumb. "Thanks, kid."

She flashes one last, solemn look at the door before making a move to go. Her father's voice stops her. "Hey, Fran. You okay? You look a little pale." He's turned around in his chair, his blue eyes flooding with concern. His cheeks are flushed with the remnants of his rage.

"Yeah," she lies. "Just tired, I guess."

"Look, I know I haven't been all that available recently and we haven't spent much time together. That doesn't mean you can't talk to me. I'm still your old man. I still care about you more than anything else. You know that, don't you?"

"I know that, Dad." She hesitates, worrying at her lip as he waits expectantly. "Jonathan and I broke up."

"Sweetie—"

"No, it's okay. It was a long time coming," she says quickly. "You sure you don't want me to try again with El?"

He looks at Fran and then at El's closed door.

"No. Better give her some space tonight. Go home, kid. Get some rest. Enjoy the peace."

* * *

Frances doesn't head home right away, instead following the overgrown trail to the ravine. She takes a few pictures as she goes, finding solace in the click of her camera, the repetitive action of winding back the film. Shadows loiter in her peripheral vision as the sun begins to set, and she tries to ignore them, ignore the feeling of something encroaching in on her. She's relieved when she gets to the open road, but only for a moment. For the second time this week, she has company. Billy leans against the hood of his car, his back turned towards her as he watches the sun go down. She can just make out the orange glow of a cigarette in his mouth.

Instinctively, her hands find her camera and she captures the view, the soft silhouette of the golden-tinged boy in front of the bleeding, pink sky. The sound of her shutter clicking alerts him of her presence, and she smiles guiltily at being caught. "You mind?"

He shrugs, smirking, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes. "I always knew I was your muse."

She shakes her head at his arrogance, deciding to play along as she crosses the road and meets him by his car. "Well, it's only right since you got it back for me."

He doesn't react, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes are focused on the view in front of him. Frances frowns as she realises that they're gleaming with moisture and red-rimmed as though he's been crying. His long, thick eyelashes are moist, too, against the fading sunlight, his lips pink and raw as though he's been chewing them. Atop his cheekbone sits a purple bruise that she knows wasn't there earlier.

"Are you alright?" she questions carefully. His shirt is buttoned up wrong, the cuffs of his denim jacket unrolled and covering half of his hands. His knuckles aren't bruised – if he was hit, it was one-sided.

"Peachy," he responds, smoke rolling from his mouth. He offers her a cigarette, looking at her for the first time and faltering. She's forgotten the cut on her own cheek, but she feels the sting of it now as if for the first time. "Are you?"

"Peachy," she repeats, a soft smile on her lips. "No, thanks," she says to the cigarette.

Billy shuffles down slightly so that there's room for Frances on the hood. She leans onto it, glad to take the weight off her feet, her eyes watering against the cold breeze.

"You come up here a lot?" he asks, words muffled by the cigarette. Up close, she can smell a slight hint of alcohol on his breath and realises that there's a bottle of whisky planted on the other side of him. He's not drunk, though, not yet.

"Best place to watch the sunset," she shrugs. "I used to think of this place as my little secret. Guess I'm gonna have to find somewhere else now."

"My company that bad?" His voice is hoarse, as though he's been shouting. Frances can't help but look at him again with concern, and he can't help but refuse to return her gaze.

"Billy, what happened?" she whispers delicately.

"Nothin' you need to concern yourself with, angel. Why? You worried?"

"Wouldn't go that far."

"Please," he grins, "it's cute."

"Shut up," she scoffs, pulling her jacket closer to her torso as the wind picks up again. The valley below is dotted with amber and gold leaves that gleam against the sunset. The dead leaves blow around them, rustling. She takes a deep breath in, her soul soothed for the first time in days. She thinks that perhaps he feels it, too, because for a while neither of them say a word, and neither of them need to. The silence is like a blanket, comforting and warm, safe.

Of course, Billy is the one to break it as he stubs out his cigarette with his boot and shoves his hands into his pockets. "So, you talk to your boyfriend yet?"

"Nope," she sighs. "He's too busy with Nancy."

"Dick," he curses, shaking his head. His tangled, blonde curls ruffle as he does.

"Yeah."

"How long were the two a' you together?"

She exhales, ignoring the lump in her throat. "Two years. Before that we were best friends."

His eyebrows arch in surprise. "Jesus."

"It's not just his fault. I can't pretend like he's a terrible person for doing this to me," she says, and this time she's the one who is unable to meet Billy's eyes. "I've been distant. I basically pushed him right into her. If you don't give a guy what he wants, he's gonna find it somewhere else, right?"

"Doesn't matter what you did, Fran." It's the first time he's called her that, and she likes the way her shortened name rolls on his tongue like honey. "Doesn't give him an excuse to chase after another girl and leave you drunk at a party."

"I wasn't that drunk."

He chuckles. "You weren't sober, either."

Her cheeks flush with colour, and she smiles. "Better he didn't see me like that, anyways. He always hated the way I was when I got drunk."

"Like I said," he rolls his eyes, "Dick." Billy takes a swig straight out of the whiskey bottle before offering it to Frances. "I for one don't give a shit. You wanna go for round two?"

"No, thanks." The sun seems to disappear behind the horizon all at once, and she shivers in the grey twilight. "And neither should you if you're driving. I gotta go."

"I can drive you," he offers, twisting the lid back on the bottle and pulling his car keys from his pockets. "That is, if you're not gonna bite my head off for offering."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Feel like a drive, anyway."

Frances sighs, hesitant. He's already holding the door open for her, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. She can still make out the sadness lying just beneath his expression, though, muted and dull, but there.

"Alright," she agrees finally, sliding into the passenger's seat. The leather is cold against her legs. "But only 'cos I'm freezing out here."

"Yeah, yeah," he retorts. "Keep tellin' yourself that, angel."  

part six

[365days365movies]

February 5, 2021: The Notebook (2004)(Part 1)

...Do I have to?

...The year was 2004. I was 13, my Mom was still into romance movies, and we had a Hollywood Video nearby. God, I miss Hollywood Video, you have NO idea. Anyway, I obviously didn’t watch this movie (or I wouldn’t be watching it now), but I do remember kissing in the rain...or was that just the DVD cover? Other than that, I got nothin’. Still, I like both Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling in other works, so I guess we’ll see.

I also can’t start this without acknowledging the fact that this is based upon a Nicholas Sparks book, and...I’m not into that. Sparks sucks, man. Sappy, overemotional, and constantly predictable folderol.

OK, Nicholas Sparks, let’s get this over with. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

We start with scenic shots of a boat rowing through a marsh, being visited by a flock of snow geese. As they fly off, an elderly woman (Gena Rowlands) looks out of a window over it. The woman is in an old-folks home, and is visited by Duke (James Garner), another resident. He’s here to read from a book, despite it not being a “good day,” according to the woman’s attendant.

The story in the book begins on June 6, 1940, at a carnival in South Carolina. There, Noah Calhoun (Ryan Gosling) sees Allie Hamilton (Rachel McAdams), and it’s infatuation at first sight. He’s a lumber yard worker, and she’s a rich heiress. He’s also EXTREMELY forward, and she’s EXTREMELY not interested. He approaches her for a dance (at a...carnival), and she says no, having literally never seen this guy before. He responds to this rejection by...butting into her date with another dude of a Ferris Wheel? 

And when she once again rejects his offer for a date...he, uh...he threatens to kill himself off of the Ferris Wheel?

Um. Yeah, no. That’s a new level of manipulation. She pants him on the Ferris Wheel and humiliates him, but JESUS CHRIST, this dude is a lot. That’s compounded the next day, when he continues to pursue her, and she continues to be EXTREMELY not interested! DUDE. GET A GODDAMN CLUE HERE, she is NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR SHIT.

Is Noah the first simp? Because he’s really starting to seem like it. Anyway, Noah and his friend Fin (Kevin Connolly) basically set her up to go on a double date with Noah, and he continues to be overly forward. Maybe this is supposed to be romantic, but it definitely doesn’t feel like it to me.

We find out that Allie is a quite well-educated young woman, whose schedule is basically completely controlled by her parents, who want her to go to college as well. Noah questions why her life is so restrictive, nothing that she should be free, which she insists she is. He then lies down in the middle of the road, watching the street...lights…

Holy shit, he’s a manic pixie dream boy. HOLY SHIT HE’S A MANIC PIXIE DREAM SIMP. He does all these quirky things, and breaks the girl in the restrictive lifestyle out of said lifestyle. Even if his dumbass actions nearly get him and Allie killed. See, she lies down in the street with him, and they nearly get run over by a car. And this second near-death experience is apparently SO romantic, that Allie’s won over, and they...just dance in the middle of the street. Because Ryan Gosling has no idea where to dance, apparently.

Billie Holiday sings “I’ll Be Seeing You” in the background (which, yes, I love), and we cut back to Duke reading to the elderly woman, who correctly guesses that they fell in love. And yeah, they go head-over-heels, apparently. Which is symbolized by, just, the most graphic of PDAs over, lord. 

Allie meets Noah’s father, Frank (Sam Shepard), a seemingly nice man and poetry fan (he’s a Tennyson man apparently). He asks her if she wants breakfast-for-dinner, and he’s my favorite character so far.

However, as if to set up the conflict to come, we’re reminded that this is a summer romance, and that they come from two different classes and worlds. Because of course they do, but whatever, moving on. That is when the following scene takes place.

...Look, I’m a bird guy by trade, and even I think that was weird.

We get more glimpses of their romance, including them dancing at a gathering with...a bunch of black peopNOPE. HOLD YOUR TONGUE, 365, WAIT FOR THE REVIEW TO TALK ABOUT THAT SHIT. At the end of this montage, we meet Allie’s father, the uppity and rich John Hamilton (David Thornton), and his GLORIOUS mustache (mustache). 

He invites Noah to Sunday brunch, which is being attended by...black servaHOOOOOOLD. NOT NOW 365 NOT NOW. We also meet Allie’s controlling mother, Anne Hamilton (Joan Allen). When Noah tells them how much money he makes, they immediately look down on him and his poor, poor ways. Anne reveals that Allie is headed to Sarah Lawrence, an all-girl’s school in New York. Which is, uh...NOT close.

Anne very much disapproves of her relationship with Noah, seeing him as a low-born of little consequence. Not that it matters, because the two head to a DEFINITELY HAUNTED house in the woods one night, which overlooks the marshlands. The bats from the Scooby-Doo intro fly by as the two walk in to, again, AN ABSOLUTELY HAUNTED HOUSE. This is the 1772 Windsor Plantation, home to...the Swamp Fox? Huh. Didn’t expect a crossover with the Mel Gibson movie The Patriot, but OK then.

The two talk about their house in the future, and somewhere in the house, a painting’s eyes move mysteriously. Allie plays a tune on the piano, which 1) sounds AMAZINGLY creepy, and 2) I’m pretty sure is the opening song, which is a neat touch. Guess that’s the theme for the movie, or possibly Allie’s leitmotif.

Anyway, it seems that the ghostly wails of Old Man Marion have gotten them both all hot and bothered, and they prepare to make love, right there in the old haunted house. The two undress while social distancing, then approach, significantly raising their risks of contracting COVID-19. Allie is CLEARLY very nervous, and as they attempt to begin the dirty deed, Allie can’t stop rambling about the current situation. Which is clearly putting Noah off the mood, but the two still clearly care about each other. It’s weirdly sweet, considering the fact that there’re, like, 50 ghosts watching, and God knows how many of those are slaaaaaaaAAAANYWAY

Fin suddenly bursts in, as it would appear that Allie’s parents have every policeman in town looking for her. Her parents are clearly upset, and her mother demands that Allie stops seeing Noah, whom she literally describes as “trash.” Jesus. And they aren’t exactly quiet about it, as Noah hears the entire conversation. He understandably leaves, and is also clearly disheartened by the whole situation. 

When Allie catches up to him, he says he has to think about this whole thing, including the fact that she’s going to Sarah Lawrence, and he’s staying behind. And I’m not gonna lie, he’s actually being realistic about this whole thing, and she’s acting FAR less rational. She actually breaks up with him right then and there, and as she’s literally physically assaulting him, I realize that SHE is actually the psychologically unstable one, HOLY SHIT. Emotionally compromised or not, Allie goes BONKERS here.

The next day, her folks decide that they’re leaving, that very day. Allie doesn’t want to leave without making amends with Noah, and she’s regretting her actions the previous night. She goes to Fin, and tells him to tell Noah that she loves him, and that she’s sorry. Noah shows up a little too late, and goes to return the comments, but Allie’s already gone.

Noah somehow gets her address, and writes her 365 letters, one letter every day. He never gets one in response, so he gives up and moves with Fin to Atlanta. Allie’s mom is seen getting the mail, so we know EXACTLY what happened to those letters. Meanwhile, it’s now 1941, and it’s time for World War II for the USA! Fin and Noah fight with Patton’s troops, and Fin doesn’t make it.

Allie, meanwhile, is in college, and works as a Nurse’s Aide for war veterans. She sees all of them as Noah,,,which is weird because she hasn’t gotten any of his letters, so she wouldn’t know that he went to war, but whatever. One of these injured men is Lon Hammond, Jr. (James Marsden). And...aw...AWWWWWWW. Did I just type James Marsden? GODDAMN IT HE’S GONNA GET CUCKED

James Marsden seems to have only one role in movies, and that’s to be overshadowed by another dude, even though in many instances, he’s a totally fine guy. The X-Men films, Superman Returns, Enchanted, the Westworld series in a way, TELL ME I AM GODDAMN WRONG. Dude’s always in movies where he plays the love interest to a girl, and that girl is pursued by another guy, and he ALWAYS LOSES TO THAT GUY. You could argue that Cyclops in the X-Men escaped that fate, but need I remind that first, Jean died, and then she came back AND KILLED HIM. STOP SCREWING OVER JASON MARSDEN’S LOVE LIFE, MOVIES!!!!

Seems like we’re once again headed down that path, though, as the very injured Lon asks Allie out on a date while in recovery, then takes her out once he’s healed. And, since he’s about as forward as Noah was, but less crazy when asking her out, she falls in love with him quickly. And it’s Duke that makes that assessment, not me. And, OF COURSE, he’s a rich Southern boy, meaning that her parents are going to approve.

At a dance club in the city with...black performDEAR GOD IT’S GETTING HARD TO HOLD ON BUT I GOTTA DO IT MOVING ON

He proposes to her, with her parents’ full permission (of course, because he’s rich and southern, gross), and she gladly accepts. He jumps on stage and announces to the entire club that they’re getting married. However, she’s still missing Noah subconsciously.

Speaking of, Noah comes home from war, presumably in 1945, and finds that his father sold him the house in order to buy the Windsor Plantation. Around the same time, Noah finds out that Allie’s moved on, and is with Lon. So, what does he do? The only logical thing: he restores the entire plantation by himself in order to win Allie back FUCKING REALLY?

Dude, you rebuilt an entire house on your own, your father died, and you could EASILY get rich off of selling the house and continuing to restore other derelict properties in the area! Upwards mobility, my man! You don’t even need to stay in town anymore! Hell, THAT’S a better plan to win both Allie’s AND her parents’ approval! STOP SIMPIN’, AND IF YOU’RE GONNA SIMP, DO IT RIGHT!!!

He’s also sleeping with a war widow, Martha Shaw (Jamie Brown), and STILL thinks only of Allie, and her sweet, sweeeeeeet bathwater, probably. Speaking of, Allie’s trying on a wedding dress, when she sees a photo of Noah in the paper in front of the plantation, which certainly shocks her. Confused, she goes to see Lon at his job as a stockbroker, and laments to him her lost romantic whimsy, brought up by seeing Ryan Gosling (AKA a natural response). She tells him that she’s going to Seabrook to “clear her head.” Lon asks if he should be worried. She says no. SHE LIIIIIIIIIIES.

Halfway mark, and this is a good place to cut! See you in Part 2!

[rhabakoli]

Date ruined(?)

my other contribution to @dreamwritesimagines Writers Block Challenge, and late as well, of course.  I tried something new, but I think it’s fun.  Enjoy this little snippet of Skittles and Billy on a totally regular date.

**

“Jesus Christ, Skittles, come here.” “Stop pulling, this is cashmere!” “Bullets don’t care if it’s cashmere or wool, it will rip through it anyway. Move!” “No need to get all bossy, sir.” “I’m trying to save your ass, Skits.” “5 minutes ago you were talking about bruising my ass, so excuse me for being confused.” “Could you be more annoying right now?” “I could try. You got a little blood there.” “I know, some dude got me with his knife- don’t look at me like that, I stabbed him in the eye.” “Good.” “You planned this, didn’t you?” “Oh, of course, I thought a shoot out in some dive bar with some drug gang would be a fun date activity.” “Are you capable of saying anything that isn’t sarcastic?” “Billy, dumb questions demand dumb answers.” “Duck.” “Where? We have to save it!” “If you catch a bullet today, I’ll kill you. Fucking stay down.” “Honey, pressing my head down with force will not slide in the bedroom, let me tell you.” “Not the right moment.” “That’s not what you said yesterday-“ “Shit, c’mon, back doors clear.” “Not as clear as you might think.” “I mean there’s no one in here, I’m not saying it’s clean.” “No shit, my shoes will need a bath in chlorine.” “I’ll buy you new ones. Wait till I say, I’m going out first.” “Yessir.” “Skittles, come. Hurry.” “That’s what he said.” “I’ll actually nail you against this wall if you’re trying to be difficult on purpose. “ “That actually sounds like a nice date, can you? – Gee, don’t look at me like that, you know you’re a whole kink.” “I’m what now?” “Babe, anything you do is hot, and when you do it with competence, I’m ready for anything.” “How about we cut this short and go straight home?” “That might be the best thing you’ve said today.”

[gtunesmiff]

Ravi Zacharias (1946 – 2020)

When Ravi Zacharias was a cricket-loving boy on the streets of India, his mother called him in to meet the local sari-seller-turned-palm reader. “Looking at your future, Ravi Baba, you will not travel far or very much in your life,” he declared. “That’s what the lines on your hand tell me. There is no future for you abroad.” By the time a 37-year-old Zacharias preached, at the invitation of Billy Graham, to the inaugural International Conference for Itinerant Evangelists in Amsterdam in 1983, he was on his way to becoming one of the foremost defenders of Christianity’s intellectual credibility. A year later, he founded Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM), with the mission of “helping the thinker believe and the believer think.” In the time between the sari seller’s prediction and the founding of RZIM, Zacharias had immigrated to Canada, taken the gospel across North America, prayed with military prisoners in Vietnam and ministered to students in a Cambodia on the brink of collapse. He had also undertaken a global preaching trip as a newly licensed minister with The Christian and Missionary Alliance, along with his wife, Margie, and eldest daughter, Sarah. This trip started in England, worked eastwards through Europe and the Middle East and finished on the Pacific Rim; all-in-all that year, Zacharias preached nearly 600 times in over a dozen countries. It was the culmination of a remarkable transformation set in motion when Zacharias, recovering in a Delhi hospital from a suicide attempt at age 17, was read the words of Jesus recorded in the Bible by the apostle John: “Because I live, you will also live.” In response, Zacharias surrendered his life to Christ and offered up a prayer that if he emerged from the hospital, he would leave no stone unturned in his pursuit of truth. Once Zacharias found the truth of the gospel, his passion for sharing it burned bright until the very end. Even as he returned home from the hospital in Texas, where he had been undergoing chemotherapy, Zacharias was sharing the hope of Jesus to the three nurses who tucked him into his transport. Frederick Antony Ravi Kumar Zacharias was born in Madras, now Chennai, in 1946, in the shadow of the resting place of the apostle Thomas, known to the world as the “Doubter” but to Zacharias as the “Great Questioner.” Zacharias’s affinity with Thomas meant he was always more interested in the questioner than the question itself. His mother, Isabella, was a teacher. His father, Oscar, who was studying labor relations at the University of Nottingham in England when Zacharias was born, rose through the ranks of the Indian civil service throughout Zacharias’s adolescence. An unremarkable student, Zacharias was more interested in cricket than books, until his encounter with the gospel in that hospital bed. Nevertheless, a bold, radical faith ran in his genes. In the Indian state of Kerala, his paternal great-grandfather and grandfather produced the 20th century’s first Malayalam-English dictionary. This dictionary served as the cornerstone of the first Malayalam translation of the Bible. Further back, Zacharias’s great-great-great-grandmother shocked her Nambudiri family, the highest caste of the Hindu priesthood, by converting to Christianity. With conversion came a new surname, Zacharias, and a new path that started her descendants on a road to the Christian faith. Zacharias saw the Lord’s hand at work in his family’s tapestry and he infused RZIM with the same transgenerational and transcultural heart for the gospel. He created a ministry that transcended his personality, where every speaker, whatever their background, presented the truth in the context of the contemporary. Zacharias believed if you achieved that, your message would always be necessary. Thirty-six years since its establishment, the ministry still bears the name chosen for Zacharias’s ancestor. However, where once there was a single speaker, now there are nearly 100 gifted speakers who on any given night can be found sharing the gospel at events across the globe; where once it was run from Zacharias’s home, now the ministry has a presence in 17 countries on five continents. Zacharias’s passion and urgency to take the gospel to all nations was forged in Vietnam, throughout the summer of ’71. Zacharias had immigrated to Canada in 1966, a year after winning a preaching award at a Youth for Christ congress in Hyderabad. It was there, in Toronto, that Ruth Jeffrey, the veteran missionary to Vietnam, heard him preach. She invited him to her adopted land. That summer, Zacharias—only just 25—found himself flown across the country by helicopter gunship to preach at military bases, in hospitals and in prisons to the Vietcong. Most nights Zacharias and his translator Hien Pham would fall asleep to the sound of gunfire. On one trip across remote land, Zacharias and his travel companions’ car broke down. The lone jeep that passed ignored their roadside waves. They finally cranked the engine to life and set off, only to come across the same jeep a few miles on, overturned and riddled with bullets, all four passengers dead. He later said of this moment, “God will stop our steps when it is not our time, and He will lead us when it is.” Days later, Zacharias and his translator stood at the graves of six missionaries, killed unarmed when the Vietcong stormed their compound. Zacharias knew some of their children. It was that level of trust in God, and the desire to stand beside those who minister in areas of great risk, that is a hallmark of RZIM. Its support for Christian evangelists in places where many ministries fear to tread, including northern Nigeria, Pakistan, South African townships, the Middle East and North Africa, can be traced back to that formative graveside moment. After this formative trip, Zacharias and his new bride, Margie, moved to Deerfield, Illinois, to study for a Master of Divinity at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. Here the young couple lived two doors down from Zacharias’s classmate and friend William Lane Craig. After graduating, Zacharias taught at the Alliance Theological Seminary in New York and continued to travel the country preaching on weekends. Full-time teaching combined with his extensive travel and itinerant preaching led Zacharias to describe these three years as the toughest in his 48-year marriage to Margie. He felt his job at the seminary was changing him and his preaching far more than he was changing lives with the hope of the gospel. It was at that point that Graham invited Zacharias to speak at his inaugural International Conference for Itinerant Evangelists in Amsterdam in 1983. Zacharias didn’t realize Graham even knew who he was, let alone knew about his preaching. In front of 3,800 evangelists from 133 countries, Zacharias opened with the line, “My message is a very difficult one….” He went on to tell them that religions, 20th-century cultures and philosophies had formed “vast chasms between the message of Christ and the mind of man.” Even more difficult was his message, which received a mid-talk ovation, about his fear that, “in certain strands of evangelicalism, we sometimes think it is necessary to so humiliate someone of a different worldview that we think unless we destroy everything he holds valuable, we cannot preach to him the gospel of Christ…what I am saying is this, when you are trying to reach someone, please be sensitive to what he holds valuable.” That talk changed Zacharias’s future and arguably the future of apologetics, dealing with the hard questions of origin, meaning, morality and destiny that every worldview must answer. Flying back to the U.S., Zacharias shared his thoughts with Margie. As one colleague has expressed, “He saw the objections and questions of others not as something to be rebuffed, but as a cry of the heart that had to be answered. People weren’t logical problems waiting to be solved; they were people who needed the person of Christ.” No one was reaching out to the thinker, to the questioner. It was on that flight that Zacharias and Margie planted the seed of a ministry intended to meet the thinker where they were, to train cultural evangelist-apologists to reach those opinion makers of society. The seed was watered and nurtured through its early years by the businessman DD Davis, a man who became a father figure to Zacharias. With the establishment of the ministry, the Zacharias family moved south to Atlanta. By now, the family had grown with the addition of a second daughter, Naomi, and a son, Nathan. Atlanta was the city Zacharias would call home for the last 36 years of his life. Meeting the thinker face-to-face was an intrinsic part of Zacharias’s ministry, with post-event Q&A sessions often lasting long into the night. Not to be quelled in the sharing of the gospel, Zacharias also took to the airwaves in the 1980s. Many people, not just in the U.S. but across the world, came to hear the message of Christ for the first time through Zacharias’s radio program, Let My People Think. In weekly half-hour slots, Zacharias explored issues such as the credibility of the Christian message and the Bible, the weakness of modern intellectual movements, and the uniqueness of Jesus Christ. Today, Let My People Think is syndicated to over 2,000 stations in 32 countries and has also been downloaded 15.6 million times as a podcast over the last year. As the ministry grew so did the demands on Zacharias. In 1990, he followed in his father’s footsteps to England. He took a sabbatical at Ridley Hall in Cambridge. It was a time surrounded by family, and where he wrote the first of his 28 books, A Shattered Visage: The Real Face of Atheism. It was no coincidence that throughout the rhythm of his itinerant life, it was among his family and Margie, in particular, that his writing was at its most productive. Margie inspired each of Zacharias’s books. With her eagle eye and keen mind, she read the first draft of every manuscript, from The Logic of God, which was this year awarded the Evangelical Christian Publishers Association (ECPA) Christian Book Award in the category of Bible study, and his latest work, Seeing Jesus from the East, co-authored with colleague Abdu Murray. Others among that list include the ECPA Gold Medallion Book Award winner, Can Man Live Without God?, and Christian bestsellers, Jesus Among Other Gods and The Grand Weaver. Zacharias’s books have sold millions of copies worldwide and have been translated into over a dozen languages. Zacharias’s desire to train evangelists undergirded with apologetics, in order to engage with culture shapers, had been happening informally over the years but finally became formal in 2004. It was a momentous year for Zacharias and the ministry with the establishment of OCCA, the Oxford Centre for Christian Apologetics; the launch of Wellspring International; and Zacharias’s appearance at the United Nations Annual International Prayer Breakfast. OCCA was founded with the help of Professor Alister McGrath, the RZIM team and the staff at Wycliffe Hall, a Permanent Private Hall of Oxford University, where Zacharias was an honorary Senior Research Fellow between 2007 and 2015. Over his lifetime Zacharias would receive 10 honorary doctorates in recognition of his public commitment to Christian thought, including one from the National University of San Marcos, the oldest established university in the Americas. Over the years, OCCA has trained over 400 students from 50 countries who have gone on to carry the gospel in many arenas across the world. Some have continued to follow an explicit calling as evangelists and apologists in Christian settings, and many others have gone on to take up roles in each of the spheres of influence Zacharias always dreamed of reaching: the arts, academia, business, media and politics. In 2017, another apologetics training facility, the Zacharias Institute, was established at the ministry’s headquarters in Atlanta, to continue the work of equipping all who desire to effectively share the gospel and answer the common objections to Christianity with gentleness and respect. In 2014, the same heart lay behind the creation of the RZIM Academy, an online apologetics training curriculum. Across 140 countries, the Academy’s courses have been accessed by thousands in multiple languages. In the same year OCCA was founded, Zacharias launched Wellspring International, the humanitarian division of the ministry. Wellspring International was shaped by the memory of his mother’s heart to work with the destitute and is led by his daughter Naomi. Founded on the principle that love is the most powerful apologetic, it exists to come alongside local partners that meet critical needs of vulnerable women and children around the world. Zacharias’s appearance at the U.N. in 2004 was the second of four that he made in the 21st century and represented his increasing impact in the arena of global leadership. He had first made his mark as the Cold War was coming to an end. His internationalist outlook and ease among his fellow man, whether Soviet military leader or precocious Ivy League undergraduate, opened doors that had been closed for many years. One such military leader was General Yuri Kirshin, who in 1992 paved the way for Zacharias to speak at the Lenin Military Academy in Moscow. Zacharias saw the cost of enforced atheism in the Soviet Union; the abandonment of religion had created the illusion of power and the reality of self-destruction. A year later, Zacharias traveled to Colombia, where he spoke to members of the judiciary on the necessity of a moral framework to make sense of the incoherent worldview that had taken hold in the South American nation. Zacharias’s standing on the world stage spanned the continents and the decades. In January 2020, as part of his final foreign trip, he was invited by eight division world champion boxer and Philippines Senator Manny Pacquiao to speak at the National Bible Day Prayer Breakfast in Manila. It was an invitation that followed Zacharias’s November 2019 appearance at The National Theatre in Abu Dhabi as part of the United Arab Emirates’ Year of Tolerance. In 1992, Zacharias’s apologetics ministry expanded from the political arena to academia with the launching of the first ever Veritas Forum, hosted on the campus of Harvard University. Zacharias was asked to be the keynote speaker at the inaugural event. The lectures Zacharias delivered that weekend would form the basis of the best-selling book, Can Man Live Without God?, and would open up opportunities to speak at university campuses across the world. The invitations that followed exposed Zacharias to the intense longing of young people for meaning and identity. Twenty-eight years after that first Veritas Forum event, in what would prove to be his last speaking engagement, Zacharias spoke to a crowd of over 7,000 at the University of Miami’s Watsco Center on the subject of “Does God Exist?” It is a question also asked behind the walls of Louisiana State Penitentiary, also known as Angola Prison, the largest maximum-security prison in the United States. Zacharias had prayed with prisoners of war all those years ago in Vietnam but walking through Death Row left an even deeper impression. Zacharias believed the gospel shined with grace and power, especially in the darkest places, and praying with those on Death Row “makes it impossible to block the tears.” It was his third visit to Angola and, such is his deep connection, the inmates have made Zacharias the coffin in which he will be buried. As he writes in Seeing Jesus from the East, “These prisoners know that this world is not their home and that no coffin could ever be their final destination. Jesus assured us of that.” In November last year, a few months after his last visit to Angola, Zacharias stepped down as President of RZIM to focus on his worldwide speaking commitments and writing projects. He passed the leadership to his daughter Sarah Davis as Global CEO and long-time colleague Michael Ramsden as President. Davis had served as the ministry’s Global Executive Director since 2011, while Ramsden had established the European wing of the ministry in Oxford in 1997. It was there in 2018, Zacharias told the story of standing with his successor in front of Lazarus’s grave in Cyprus. The stone simply reads, “Lazarus, four days dead, friend of Christ.” Zacharias turned to Ramsden and said if he was remembered as “a friend of Christ, that would be all I want.” =====|||=====

Ravi Zacharias, who died of cancer on May 19, 2020, at age 74, is survived by Margie, his wife of 48-years; his three children: Sarah, the Global CEO of RZIM, Naomi, Director of Wellspring International, and  Nathan, RZIM’s Creative Director for Media; and five grandchildren. =====|||=====

By Matthew Fearon, RZIM UK content manager and former journalist with The Sunday Times of London

Margie and the Zacharias family have asked that in lieu of flowers gifts be made to the ongoing work of RZIM. Ravi’s heart was people.

His passion and life’s work centered on helping people understand the beauty of the gospel message of salvation. 

Our prayer is that, at his passing, more people will come to know the saving grace found in Jesus through Ravi’s legacy and the global team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

[yvaquietdays]

Isolation Motivation

We’re three weeks into official lockdown, so I’m not going to patronise and assume nobody has seen these kind of posts on Instagram:

Well, you lack the basic empathic skills to make you a canny lad, Farrah.

I don’t know anyone who can speak fluent mandarin after a month in quarantine. I also don’t know anyone who can learn how to install a flush skirting board in their bathroom after three weeks of bashing their heads against the wall from trying to teach their own kids, either. When was the last time anyone started a business in only six weeks, whilst also realising their new boyfriend, who they’ve subsequently been trapped with, is in fact the most sinfully boring person who ever had the audacity to be born (isolation increases the use of hyperbole). Never mind this all happening in the midst of one of the worst economic health crises’ in recent history?! 

Obviously, Farrah has started his particular side hustle as a mandarin-speaking joiner already. Good luck to him. All the best. Take care.

The fact is, the best of us are either on the front line, risking their lives to save others, or risking their lives getting us about on public transport, or teaching their kids geometry or some-shit, whilst also bouncing a baby in the palm of their hand and taking the dog for a walk six times a day. If you have time to focus on those goals, like learning a new language, or starting that book you promised yourself you’d write, or organising your photo albums, or finally learning the meaning of the off-side rule, then fill your boots. What does Farrah think we’re all doing? Sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, staring at the ceiling? It’s really the arrogance of those posts that really wind me up, as if they’re the font of all knowledge and inspiration and they’ve deigned to let us see what the good life looks like. Rude.

If you finally have the time to breathe, go for walks, cook, and just survive through this thing, then that is okay too. Christ, we all work hard enough, don’t we deserve to take this time off from the demands of such a fast paced modern world? It takes zero prisoners. We might not get another opportunity to put our feet up and not feel guilty about it, for the rest of our lives. The last time I felt like this, it was the summer holidays and I was fourteen. Most adults don’t see this kind of respite until they’re pensioners.

We’re all different. Some of us thrive on keeping ourselves busy, giving ourselves jobs and lining up support systems for those in need, or volunteering, or just getting that peeling garden set sanded and painted again, or cleaning out the fridge of old jars of spam and failed sourdough starters from three months ago. But some of us, who find the world and the competitive road we’re all herded on each and every day, overwhelming, and so it’s a welcome and quiet reprieve. 

It’s time to slow down and breathe, and I repeat, not feel guilty about it.

Breathe. Eat. Sleep. Stretch. Repeat.

Not to mention, all the while this is going on in our brain-boxes, hundreds of people are dying every day in the UK. It’s rising every day. This is a time unseen for most of us. The global anxiety level is high. I have to do what I can to establish a routine, make the most of this time I have, but check in with those numbers every day to remember, this isn’t a state paid holiday. I have personally always maintained that life is a balance, anyone reading my blog would agree. This time that has either been gifted or forced upon it (a bit of both, I’d concede), is no different. 

It’s important to remember that the people who are trying to influence us aren’t helping us; they’re feeling better about themselves. Instagram, especially. The platform exists so we can reach out and find validation, some praise for being humans. That’s the basic psychology behind it. It’s not even the more grandiose aspects of the platform that personally irritate me. It’s the mundane. “I colour- coded and ordered my bookshelf!” Thank you for that picture. Well done. It’s a bookshelf. I’m happy that it’s colour coded, I really am, it is satisfying to see, but I don’t need to know about it. What you did was sit for an hour or so and colour code your books. That shit isn’t stuff we see in Oscar winning movies. Seeing it on Twitter or Instagram, though, makes me feel guilty that my own bookshelf is not colour coded. Even though I couldn’t give a tiny mouses mitten whether it is or not. I’m suddenly hyper aware that my bookshelf is disordered, and a wave of displaced anxiety arises. Should I order my bookshelf? Am I wasting time? Should my bookcase be disordered? Yes. It’s the way I like it.  This is coming from a person who takes great pride and personal relief from tidying. I love tidying. I love ordering stuff, and I can’t relax after work until everything is in its place. But do you see me posting about it on instagram? No. Why? Because while I believe in those small, beautiful meditations, whether that’s colour-coding a bookshelf, making a coffee in the morning, writing in a journal; it’s personal. As soon as we start posting about those moments, we’re diluting the experience and it no longer has any resonance, because you’re doing it for someone else instead of yourself. Yes, we might get some gratification from it, but why does someone need to see that I cooked a beautiful meal for me to know, that, well... I cooked a beautiful meal? I have to be so careful to remember that someone else’s life and someone else’s grievances are not my own. This is the trouble with social media, in general. It’s a hive mind. Once you’re logged in, other people’s experiences becomes yours, thrust upon you, whether you wanted it or not. So you did one small workout this morning, feeling good, right? But that other slim, tanned, beautiful, make-upped person did two. Plus a run. With intervals. And a fruit smoothie afterwards. Christ, is anything we do good enough? The influencers who are posting from home about how to stay fit and keep the pounds off, they’re only wanting to feel better about themselves. It has nothing to do with you. If someone is lauding that shit all over you, and you’re quite happy wondering what kind of a potato you are, then unfollow, fren.

At the end of the day, if we come out of this a little bit fitter, or a few pounds heavier, it doth not matter a fuck. What’s important is that we come out of this thing alive.

While we can roll our eyes at these accounts, it’s also vital to know that a lot of people with the time to do all this stuff can probably afford to. Once you see it, it’s very hard not to notice how out of touch they can be. Personally, I have a safety net. I’m being looked after by my employers, I have some savings, my outgoings are small. So I’m trying to learn french. But others, aren’t so lucky. They’re either still working in a Co-op, or working from home, or have lost their jobs due to bad bosses (who will be named and shamed after this, I’m sure), and are too busy applying for universal credit to spend their spare minutes worrying whether they’ve learned a new skill or not.  This is where I’m coming to my next point. If someone is capitalising on this, whether it’s selling weight loss shakes, reusable gloves or masks for a high profit, they’re not influencers or half way decent people. It’s one thing to get by, creating work where we can get it (I set up a Patreon), and we’re quite happy to take what comes from people who can afford it. But it’s quite another to profit from a disaster like this. I might be okay for a couple of months. But if this stretches on until 2021, I’m not sure where I’m going to be.  So forgive me for not having time for holier-than-thou posts about how we ought to be spending this time isolating. I’m too busy regretting the time I’m missing with my friends, my family, sad that I can’t celebrate getting engaged (I got engaged) with my loved ones, sad for my friends who’ve had to cancel their own weddings, sad for friends who are losing work and money, whose businesses might crash. Lives. The economy is crashing, France is in recession, and here I’ve got Billy Big Balls telling me I’m not disciplined enough to achieve my goals. 

There’s a lot going on right now. The most important thing, human contact, and the people we love, that’s what we need the most. Not a new bloody skill.

So breathe. Eat. Sleep. Stretch. Repeat. 

If that’s all you can do, do it. Just staying home, we’re saving lives. We might not know it. But we are.

Can you imagine coming out the other end of this, the world opening again, only to find our favourite pubs and coffee shops closing due to a financial crash, unemployment sky rocketing, not to mention the lines of funerals of people who have died, and Great Farrah of the Dick Swinging comes out of his bubble, speaking mandarin and profiting from his new business, telling us all that we wasted our time?

Jesus. Talk about tone-deaf.

Breathe. Eat. Sleep. Stretch. Repeat. 

[letmeletmetrashyourlove]

Uptown Girl

Summary: Billy takes interest in a girl who has to keep it secret from her family. The Wheelers.  

    Author’s Note: This shit took me forever to write, oh my god! 4k + words, my dears. Get a snack and get cozy. 

REQUESTS OPEN     FEEDBACK APPRECIATED

        “Billy!” I exclaimed as he captured me around the waist and tugged me behind his locker door.

Billy and I had been flirting back and forth for a while now. I thought when he first approached me that he only wanted to get under Steve’s skin by dating his girlfriend’s younger sister. But after Steve and Nancy broke up, he kept on flirting.

He had yet to kiss me, even though he came close many, many, times. He was a tease, and he knew it. He also knew that I wasn’t self-confident enough to make the first move, so he went on teasing.

His lips would brush my cheek, in towards my nose, and suddenly he would pull back. He loved to watch my cheeks go red, always pulling away with his trademark smirk.

        “Missed you yesterday.” He told me, keeping his arms around my waist and tucking his head on my shoulder.

        “Mhmm.” I hummed, “Family thing.”

I had gone with Nancy to visit Barb’s parents after school. Despite the lack of clues in Barb's disappearance, they hadn't given up hope on finding their daughter. Nancy and I both considered them to be like a second family. And I think they enjoy having girls in the house, another child to parent in Barb’s absence.

        “Everything okay?” He questioned, giving me a slight jostle when I fell silent.

        “Yeah. Just uh…. You know that girl, who went missing? Before you got here?” I inquired, arranging my hands on top of his where they rested around my abdomen.

        “Mhm.”  

        “Nancy and I were like…. Best friends with her... I went to visit her parents.”

        “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were close.” He murmured, in a type of earnestness that not many people got to hear from him.

        “Yeah. Yeah… It’s just hard on her family, you know?”

He hummed in acknowledgment, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

        “Anyway. I gotta go to class.” I told him, grabbing his arms and removing them from my waist.

        “See ya later.” He winked.

I waved him off as I made my way to my locker.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he took an odd turn on the way home. Though it was only five in the afternoon, the fall sun was beginning to set.

        “It’s a surprise.” He smirked, reaching over and resting his palm on my upper thigh.

        “You kidnapping me or something?” I questioned, moving his hand down closer to my knee.

He gave my knee a squeeze.

        “Definitely.”

        “Okay, as long as you get me out of Hawkins.”

We drove in relative silence until the sun had gone down. His hand still rested on my lap and attempted to move further up my leg. I didn’t really mind how handsy he was being, but if he wanted to tease me by not kissing me, he didn’t get to leave his hand on my thigh. Two can play at that game. He pulled off the pavement and onto a gravel road that ran alongside a cornfield.

        “Okay, now I’m worried that you actually are kidnapping me.” I retorted as we drove further from the main road. 

He chuckled, rubbing my leg reassuringly. We came to a clearing, where the cornfield met the forest. He tore into the grass, parking the car and climbing out. He took out a blanket from his trunk and threw it over the hood of the car.

        “Come on!” He ordered.

I stepped out of the car, watching him climb up on the hood of the Camaro and smirk down at me, patting the spot beside him. I followed his lead, climbing up. The trees impeded the otherwise bitterly cold breeze, the warmth of the car engine on my back. Billy scooted closer to me, throwing an arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side as he lit a cigarette.

        “Is this my surprise?” I asked, “Sitting in the cold in the middle of nowhere.”

        “Yep.” He quipped.

I relaxed my head against his shoulder and resting a hand on his chest, feeling his muscles tense up as I did so. Dare I say that his breath caught in his chest as I sat my cold hand against the bare skin under his undone button up.

I settled against him, listening to how swiftly his heart was thumping. Now it's my turn for teasing. I trailed my hand down his abs, smirking to myself as he let out a sigh.I kept my eyes trained on the stars that occasionally peeked out from behind the clouds.  As much as I love big cities, nothing will ever beat a clear, country sky.

        “Sure is pretty.” I sighed, tracing circles across his belly.

        “N-not as pretty as you.” Billy stammered. Smooth talker Billy Hargrove was stuttering.

I stifled a snort, placing a hand over my mouth,

        “Really?” I teased, “That’s all you could come up with?”

        “What!?” He questioned, staring at me with bewilderment.

        “Such a cliche.” I giggled, bumping my shoulders with his. The appeal of Billy was that he wasn’t a cliche. Well, not the kind of cliche I was used to, anyway. Maybe a cliche in California, but the handsome boy with the hot rod wasn’t a trope seen often in Hawkins Indiana.

        “Sorry, thought you seemed like the kind of girl who is into that. From what I’ve heard, your sister is.” He countered, taking a puff from his cigarette.  

        “I’m nothing like my sister.” I rebutted, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag. As much as I loved Nancy, she got under my skin. I had been compared to her all my life, and I wasn’t about to let Billy Hargrove do it too.

        “Oh really, how is that?” He asked, watching me as I exhaled the smoke.

        “I’m not a goodie goodie like her.” I countered, glancing down at the lip gloss that stained the white cigarette as I tapped the ash off the end.

Now it was his turn to laugh,

        “Oh please!” He scoffed.  

        “What!?” I exclaimed.

        “Oh no, Billy I can’t come over tonight I have to study.” He mocked in a high pitched voice.

        “I don’t sound like that!” I defended, trying not to crack a smile as he imitated me.

        “Sorry, I have a math test in the morning.” He continued, twirling his hair around his fingers like I do when I’m nervous.

        “You’re such an asshole!” I giggled, giving him a shove as I slid off the hood of the car.

He accompanied me, his boots striking the gravel with a thud. He grabbed me by my arm, drawing me up against him. He finally pressed his lips to mine, ending the incessant teasing he had been doing. And my god was it worth it.  You know the cliche about fireworks? Yeah. It’s true.

He pulled away first, playfully trapping my bottom lip between his teeth.  

        “Still an asshole?” He asked, cupping my cheeks.

        “For sure.” I retorted as he tugged me in again, pressing me between him and the car.

His hands moved from my cheeks to my waist,

        “About damn time.” I breathed, feeling my cheeks heat up as I leaned my forehead against his collarbone, “Now get me out of this cold ass field.”

We loaded back into the car, blasting the heat and the radio. Billy fiddled with the stations until he came to something he liked.

        “Oh! This song is so about you.” He chirped, turning it up louder.

The sound of Billy Joel came through the radio,

        “Uptown girl, she’s been living in her uptown world! I bet she's never had a backstreet guy, I bet her momma never told her why I'm gonna try for an UPTOWN GIRL!” Billy wailed along with the radio.  

        “Uptown girl, She's been living in her white bread world, As long as anyone with hot blood can, And now she's looking for a downtown man, That's what I am!”

        “Oh, shut up!” I roared over the music, punching him in the arm before changing the station. The chorus of Toni Basil’s song Mickey was starting up,

        “Oh Billy, what a pity, you don't understand. You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand.”

Billy gawked at me as I replaced the lyrics with his name,

        “Oh Billy, you're so pretty, can't you understand, It's guys like you, Billy. Oh, what you do Billy, do Billy, Don't break my heart, Billy! Hey Billy!”

He turned off the radio with a huff, but the lack of music couldn’t stop me. I rolled down the window, wailing the lyrics,

        “Oh Billy, you're so fine. You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Billy, hey Billy. Oh, Billy, you're so fine. You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Billy, hey Billy!”

        “OKAY ENOUGH ENOUGH!” He laughed as we parked a few doors down from my house.

He took one glance at my shit-eating grin, my hair standing on end from the opened window. He rolled his eyes as he got out of the car and opened my door.

        “Got any bugs in your teeth?” He chortled as he took my hand. We strolled down closer to the house, pausing one house down. He moved to stand in front of me, hands dropping to my waist.

        “Night, princess.” He smirked.

        “You can’t call me that. You call my sister that.” I grimaced, sticking my tongue out in disgust.

He pondered for a moment,

        “Good night, your highness?”

I rolled my eyes,

        “Goodnight, asshole.”

I ran up the road and to the front door, tugging the keys from my purse.

I smiled to myself as I crept up the stairs to my bedroom. The rest of my family already in bed or staying at a friend’s place. Mere moments after changing my clothes and settling into bed with my book, I heard thumping on the roof, at first I thought it was a raccoon…… A really fat raccoon…. Wearing tap shoes. I overheard a curse from outside my window.

My heart jumped, pounding in my chest. I stared at my closed curtain, unsure of what to do next. I reached for the closest thing I could use as a weapon, my metal desk lamp.

I rapidly drew back the curtain, ready to hit whatever was behind it,

        “JESUS CHRIST!” I blurted, seeing Billy’s face outside my second story window in the pitch black.

I threw my window open, allowing the boy to awkwardly tumble in and to the floor.

        “I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean to.” He mumbled, he was avoiding eye contact with me, the hood of his jacket hiding his face. It couldn’t have been more than a half hour since he dropped me off, yet he was an entirely different person than he was earlier.

His shoulders were slumped, gaze on the floor. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his jacket. This wasn’t the domineering Billy I recognized. He’s somebody whose presence demanded your attention. But not right now.

        “Are you alright?” I questioned, moving to stand in front of him. He turned his head away from me as I reached up to put his hood down. He had a gash across his left cheekbone and a black eye.

“What happened?” I asked, delicately running my fingers along the purple skin.

He didn’t reply, eyes clouded as he still refused to look at me.

        “Billy.” I murmured, running my hand down his arm and taking his hand in mine.

Silent tears dropped onto his cheeks. My heart broke for him. Billy wouldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable, to be fragile. And here he was in my bedroom, crying.

        “You don’t have to tell me what happened…” I reassured, “Sit down, I’ll be right back.”

I guided him to sit on the edge of my bed, pressing a kiss to his temple as I turned toward my bedroom door.

        “Please don’t go.” He pleaded, his voice hoarse and cracking. He tightened his grip on my hand, pulling me back to him.

        “I’m just gonna go get some ice for your eye,” I told him

He finally glanced up at me,

        “Please.” He whimpered.

I nodded, sitting down beside him and putting my arm around his shoulder. He leaned against me, forehead resting on my cheek as more tears fell. He scooted closer, turning to me and throwing his arms around my body. His fists balled up the back of my shirt as his body shook from the sobs he was struggling to hold in. I let my hand drift to his hair, massaging his head as he wept. I rubbed my hand up and down his back reassuringly.

This was far from the boy who kissed me earlier in the night. This was what he was sheltering behind his bad boy facade.

A boy who was broken down, exhausted. Drained.

        “It’s okay.” I hushed, “You’re okay.”

        “M’ dad.” He sobbed, his words falling out warped and hardly comprehensible.

        “What?”

        “My dad…” He reiterated.

        “Your dad? Did he do this?”

He nodded.

That explained it… Everything. Everything I had sought to ignore about him since we met.

When he was away from his father, he could be in control. Dish out the damage that his father was doing behind the scenes.

It explained every bruise I had ever found on him. Ones he claimed were from a schoolyard fight that I hadn’t witnessed.

His sobs faded to whimpers before subsiding altogether. He drew in sharp, sudden breaths as he ran out of tears to cry.

        “Lay down, I’m gonna go get you some ice now.” I murmured, giving him a delicate nudge towards the pillows. He sniffled, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves before tugging his boots off and laying down.

I cautiously opened my bedroom door, peering up and down the hall to make sure nobody would see into my room as they passed by. I crept out, silently latching the door behind me.

I tiptoed down the stairs, past dad where he slept in his recliner in front of the tv and into the kitchen.

As I reached into the freezer for a bag of peas, the lights flipped on. I jumped, spinning around toward the entryway to the kitchen.

        “Honey, you okay?” My mom asked, tightening the belt of her robe, “I heard a crash.”

        “Yeah, mom. I’m fine. I just… uh… I stubbed my toe on my desk.” I lied, pretending to limp towards her.

        “Oh, be careful, sweetheart.” She offered me a meager smile before returning to bed.

I let out a sigh of relief, turning off the kitchen light before returning to my bedroom. Billy had settled himself under the covers and was holding my childhood teddy bear in his hands.

        “Here,” I whispered, passing him the peas.

He planted them over his eye as I sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He placed his hand on my thigh as I brushed his curls away from his face,

        “You can stay the night. I’ll just lock the door so nobody comes in to check on me in the morning.” I told him, resting my hand on his cheek. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes.  We sat in silence for a while, his hand running up and down my thigh. He started to chuckle slightly, his chest reverberating.

        “What?” I questioned, looking down at him.

        “Were you going to beat a burglar to death with a lamp?”

        “What?”

        “When I came in, you were holding that lamp.” He grinned.

        “IT’S THE HEAVIEST THING IN MY ROOM!” I defended.

        “Maybe I should stay over more often, so you don’t have to rely on your lamp if somebody tries to break in.”

I rolled my eyes.

        “That’s why you want to stay over more often. Right.” I retorted.

I yelped as he pulled me over on top of him, awkwardly wiggling us both around until I was situated under the covers and tucked under his arm, head resting on his shoulder. He reached over to the lamp I had threatened him with earlier and turned it off.

        “Night, your highness.”

        “Night, asshole.”

When I awoke, Billy was gone. But my bedsheets still smelled of cologne and smoke where he had been laying. I rolled off the mattress, my feet hitting the cool carpet as I yawned.

I threw on a sweater and a pair of jeans before trotting downstairs. Dad and Nancy sat at the table, both of them silently sipping on coffee. Holly sat in her booster seat crying as she waited for mom to finish making breakfast.

        “Holly Jolly!” I exclaimed, “Be patient.”

        “Can you get your brother!? He’s in the basement!” Mom hollered over Holly’s fit.

I crept down the stairs to see Mike sitting in El’s old bed. He clutched his radio and was telling her about his day yesterday.

He hadn’t been the same since she left. And I couldn’t blame him. Not only was she the sweetest girl, but the way she went out was horrifying. We didn’t know if she was alive or dead. If we would ever see her again. If she was still trapped in the upside down.

I knocked gently on the wooden railing to catch my younger brother’s attention.

        “Breakfast is almost ready, bud.” I murmured.

He glanced up at me, telling El goodbye before following me towards the stairs. I caught him by the arm, pulling him into a hug.

He locked his arms around my waist, letting out a few shaking breaths.

        “We’ll find out what happened to her someday, Mike. I know we will.”  I assured, ruffling his hair.

He nodded, staring up at me through cloudy eyes.

We sat through a silent breakfast as we usually did, each of us getting up to do our own thing when finished. I was the last to get up,

        “Can you finish getting Holly ready for daycare!?” Mom hollered from the bathroom, peeking her head out as she blow dried her hair.

        “Got it, mom.” I sighed.

I had grown closer to Mike and Holly than I had to Nancy. Probably because everybody expected me to live up to her standards, what with her perfect grades and pretty face.

I scooped Holly out of her booster seat, hauling her upstairs and into her bedroom.

        “Alright, peanut.” I sighed, setting her down on her bed as I dug through her dresser drawers. I pulled out a pink and purple striped long sleeved shirt and a pair of black pants. I struggled to get her into her clean outfit before lugging her into the bathroom. She climbed up on her step stool, brushing her teeth as I picked up her hair into pigtails. I peered down at my watch, wanting to make sure I didn’t leave Billy waiting for me. With plenty of time left, I grabbed Holly’s backpack and took her back downstairs just in time for mom to load her into the car. Mike was right behind her,

        “I’ll see you after school, bud. Have fun.” I told Mike as I pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

        “Ugh, gross.” He grimaced, wiping the top of his head and shooting me a glare.

He headed out early to meet up with the rest of the party before school. They had all decided to dress up as the Ghostbusters for Halloween. He had the slightest smile on his face now and I was glad he had something to distract him from El.

It had been nearly a year since she disappeared. Nearly a year since Will almost died. And the anniversaries hung over the heads of the younger boys.

        “Bye Nance!” I called as she sped out the door to meet Steve. She left early as well to help him with his essay.

With the two of them leaving earlier than me on most days, it made it easier for me to sneak off with Billy unnoticed.

I scooped my bag up from the floor as I watched Nancy get into Steve’s car and drive off, leaving me to be the only person in the house. I finally opened the front door and trotted around the corner.

        “Hey, hot stuff!” Billy hollered from up the street.

I refused to let him park outside my house, knowing that Nancy would be all over me if she saw his signature Camaro in the driveway. He must’ve sensed the worry in my body language because he met me halfway, taking me by the shoulder.

        “You okay?” He investigated.  

        “Yeah.. Yeah… uh… It’s just… Something going on with Mike, that’s all.” I whispered.

        “Is he okay?”

        “Uh…” I paused a moment, thinking about my next words carefully.

What am I going to say? ‘No, his girlfriend with telekinetic powers disappeared after killing an interdimensional monster and she might be stuck in an alternate dimension or maybe she’s dead who knows’  No. I’m not going to say that. That’s psychotic.

        “He’s just getting picked on at school.” I lied, “Hasn’t been himself lately.”

        “Do I need to beat somebody up?”

        “Billy, you can’t beat up an 8th grader.” I snickered.

        “Can I at least scare the piss out of one?”

        “Are you just looking for an excuse to terrorize a child?” I sassed.

The library was surprisingly quiet, not too many people popped in during third period. Though it happened to be my free period.

It, however, was not Billy’s free period. He should be in English class, which is why we were sat all the way at the back of the library where the teachers wouldn’t see us.

I sat with my legs draped across Billy’s lap, his hand mindlessly running up and down my shin. I was engrossed in the book rested on my thighs while Billy’s eyes were trained out the window as he tapped a beat on the armrest of the bench.

        “What’re you reading?” He questioned.

I didn’t reply, I only lifted the cover from my lap to show him the title. He let out a grunt of acknowledgment, turning back to the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand reaching toward me. He grabbed the book and tossed it aside,

        “Hey! You lost my page!” I whined as he pulled me onto his lap, “Billy!”

        “You pay more attention to your books than you do to me.” He whined, pouting at me.

I rolled my eyes as he kissed me, his hand resting on my cheek. I planted my hand on his chest, trying to pull away, but he was relentless.

        “Alright, you trying to get us in trouble?” I asked between kisses.

        “I’m bored to death in here.” He lamented, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone.

        “Then maybe you should do your homework,” I suggested, swinging my legs off of him and onto the floor as I scooped up my book.

        “Or maybe we should ditch.”

        “You’re already ditching,” I reminded, “And I’m not ditching class.”

        “Oh come on, princess. You’ve already got good grades.” He bargained,

        “Yeah. And I would like them to stay that way.” I retorted.

The bell rang, causing Billy to let out a sigh of relief. I scooped my backpack up off the floor, tucking my book inside and slinging it over my shoulder.

        “See ya, asshole,” I told Billy, leaving him behind as I made my way to the exit.

He grabbed my arm before I left, spinning me around and pressing another kiss to my lips.

        “Hey!” The librarian shouted, shooing us out the door.

        “Sorry!” I uttered.

        “So, are you coming with me or not?”

        “Not.”

        “Party pooper.”

        “Bye!”

I anxiously tapped my foot as I sat at the dining room table, it was nearly 2am and I hadn’t heard from Mike. If he was staying over with a friend, he always called first. But now it was hours past his curfew and I hadn’t heard anything from him.

As if he knew I was worried about him, the front door flung open and crashed shut. A blur of black hair went flying towards the stairs.

        “Mike! Michael!” I screamed as he ran past me into his room and slammed the door. I followed him, catching the door before it closed all the way.

        “What the hell happened!?” I interrogated, demanding to know why he was home so late and why he was so angry.

        “We found El.”

        “You found her!? Is she okay!?” I gasped,

        “Yeah! She’s fine!” He barked.

        “Then why are you so pissed!?”

        “Hopper was hiding her that whole time! He had her that whole time and didn’t tell us!”

        “She’s safe, Mike. That’s all that matters.”

        “And then your boyfriend beat the shit out of Steve.” He spat.  

        “What boyfriend?” I questioned, knowing damn well he was talking about Billy.

        “Billy.”

        “How do you know about that?” I sighed.

        “Saw you two making out in the library after third period.” He grimaced.

Jesus Christ.

        “Mike…” I breathed, pinching the bridge of my nose and letting out a breath, “Steve. Is Steve okay?”

        “Barely. Billy beat his face in. I can’t believe you were making out with that California cocksucker!”

        “Michael!” I scolded,

        “Don’t give me shit about language when your boyfriend tried to beat up Lucas and knocked out Steve!” He screamed.

        “Wait! What!? He tried to beat up Lucas!?” I hollered, the anger rising in my chest.

I spun on my heels, storming out of Mike’s room,

        “Where are you going!?” He called after me.

        “To talk to the California cocksucker!” I replied, snagging the car keys off their hook by the door and flying outside.

        “Y/N, language!” Dad hollered, half asleep, from his spot in the recliner.

I climbed into the car, slamming on the gas as I sped towards Billy’s house. When I arrived outside, I began throwing rocks at his window. The lights flicked on and a dazed Billy peered outside at me. I waved at him, motioning for him to come down. He appeared at the front door a few moments later, shirtless and wearing a pair of gray sweats.

        “Miss me, baby?” He questioned as he sauntered up to me.

I hid my anger momentarily, not wanting to give him the chance to retreat. I nodded, biting my lip as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

I wanted nothing more than to recoil from him, disgusted by what he did to Steve and Lucas.

        “So, uh. My mom told me that a really cute boy named Billy came over the other night.” I said, resting my hands on his chest.

        “Huh. Wonder who that was?” He pondered.

        “Said he was really polite too.”

He smirked down at me, eyes hooded.

        “I’ve got it in me.”

        “Now, did you come over before or after you threatened a child and beat up Harrington?”  I demanded as I pushed off his chest and out of his grip.

        “What? Who told yo-”

        “Who do you think? My little brother told me! You’re lucky you didn’t lay a fucking hand on him or I swear to god-”

        “What? Were you gonna hit me? Like everybody else does!?” He hollered.

        “No!” I shouted, “Jesus Christ, Billy!”

        “Can I at least tell you my side of the story?”

I planted my hands on my hips, raising my eyebrows at him. Nothing he could say would make me any less furious, but I gestured for him to get on with his explanation.

        “Dad came home last night. He was pissed because Max snuck out. Then he hit me in the face, threatened to do worse if I didn’t find her.”

        “And how does that lead to threatening a child?” I spat.

        “I found her with Mike and his friends with Steve at the Byers’ house.”

        “And?”

        “And!? She’s with some dude I barely know in a stranger’s house!”

        “You know that nothing weird was going on with that, Billy. Don’t pretend that you think it was anything sinister.”

        “Oh, I’m not fucking done yet.” He interrupted, “There’s these… weird crayon drawings all over the house. And I mean all over. They’re on the fucking walls and ceiling.”

        “You were scared of some crayon drawings?” I scoffed.

        “Max stabbed me in the neck with fucking drugs!”

        “Yeah, and you deserved it, from what I’ve heard.” I guffawed,

        “Drugs! I found my sister in a stranger’s house with a bunch of kids I don’t know and there are drugs involved! I was trying to protect her!”

        “Max was fine! That’s all that matters! Don’t pretend any of that was to protect anything other than your fragile insecurities!”

        “Look. I’m sorry, okay!? I lost my shit.”

        “I don’t even want to talk to you right now.” I sighed, running my hand through my hair.

        “Y/N.”

        “Look, I’m too pissed to have a reasonable conversation. Just… I… I gotta… I think… I think we should… take a break.”

        “No.” Billy whimpered, the ferocity in his voice dropping as he stared at me, “No. No, no, no, no, baby.”

        “Don’t… Don’t call me that right now, okay? I need to think about all of this.”

I turned away from him, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stand his tearful face. He called my name a few times, but I ignored him, getting back in the car and resting my head on the steering wheel. I should’ve known his reputation would catch up to him. Effect me somehow. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to become so attached to a boy I knew was no good. 

[woodworkingpastor]

Resurrection! -- Luke 24:1-12 -- Easter -- April 4, 2021

Please pray with me:

O God, who for our redemption gave your only-begotten Son to the death of the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the power of our enemy: Grant us so to die daily to sin, that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

News that demands a response

In a recent article in The New Yorker, Kathryn Schulz tells the following story about good news:

One of the most amazing things I have ever witnessed involved an otherwise unprepossessing house cat named Billy. This was some years ago, shortly after I had moved into a little rental house in the Hudson Valley. Billy, a big, bad-tempered old tomcat, belonged to the previous tenant, a guy by the name of Phil. Phil adored that cat, and the cat—improbably, given his otherwise unenthusiastic feelings about humanity—returned the favor.

On the day Phil vacated the house, he wrestled an irate Billy into a cat carrier, loaded him into a moving van, and headed toward his new apartment in Brooklyn. Thirty minutes down the interstate, in the middle of a drenching rainstorm, the cat somehow clawed his way out of the carrier. Phil pulled over to the shoulder but found that, from the driver’s seat, he could neither coax nor drag the cat back into captivity. Moving carefully, he got out of the van, walked around to the other side, and opened the door a gingerly two inches—whereupon Billy shot out, streaked unscathed across two lanes of seventy-mile-per-hour traffic, and disappeared into the wide, overgrown median. After nearly an hour in the pouring rain trying to make his own way to the other side, Phil gave up and, heartbroken, continued onward to his newly diminished home.

Some weeks later, at a little before seven in the morning, I woke up to a banging at my door. Braced for an emergency, I rushed downstairs. The house had double-glass doors flanked by picture windows, which together gave out onto almost the entire yard, but I could see no one. I was standing there, sleep-addled and confused, when up onto his hind legs and into my line of vision popped an extremely scrawny and filthy gray cat.

I gaped. Then I opened the door and asked the cat, idiotically, “Are you Billy?” He paced, distraught, and meowed at the door. I retreated inside and returned with a bowl each of food and water, but he ignored them and banged again at the door. Flummoxed, I took a picture and texted it to my landlord with much the same question I had asked the cat: “Is this Billy?”

Ninety minutes later, Phil showed up at my door. The cat, who had been pacing continuously, took one look and leaped into Phil’s arms—literally hurled himself the several feet necessary to be bundled into his owner’s chest. Phil, a six-foot tall bartender of the rather tough variety, promptly started to cry. After a few minutes of mutual adoration, the purring cat hopped down, devoured the food I had put out two hours earlier, lay down in a sunny patch of grass by the door, and embarked on an elaborate bath.

Responding to the Gospel

The New Testament word gospel is like many other theologically important words we encounter in the Bible, in that it’s not inherently a religious term. As a verb, gospel simply means “to proclaim good news.” It’s the kind of thing that a messenger would relay from the battlefield to the king, bringing news of a favorable turn in battle, or even of victory itself. In this sense, the landlord in our story proclaimed a type of gospel to Phil when he called and said, “Billy has come home.”

But gospel is not just any news, it is the kind of news that demands a response. Hearing the gospel places a demand on our lives. How will we respond? What will we do differently—what changes will we make—now that we’ve heard this good news? Is “good news” really good if it doesn’t elicit a change from deep within us? How would you have felt about my story if Phil had just told Kathryn, “I’ve moved on; since Billy obviously wants to be there, just keep him”? It’s not a bad ending, but it is significantly less satisfying.

The report of the first Easter morning begins with a report of the longest sabbath ever:

On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment (Luke 23:56b).

Having been witnesses to Jesus’ death, all the women could do was rest and mourn. They were left to process their complicated thoughts and dashed hopes, and wrestle with the fact that their desire to be in a place where everything is in order and and everything is right—essentially to be in a place they could call home—was apparently not meant to be.

The Sabbath is intended as a day of remembering. And we would do well to remember that the people of Jesus’ day had expectations of what Jesus would do, expectations that his death seems to have ruined. The people who surrounded Jesus—his disciples, the women who travelled with him and financially supported his ministry, even his opponents—had an expectation of what God would do in their lives. We’re not all that different: in our day, we want God to bless our efforts, to help us in times of difficulty, to work in people and events for a particular outcome.

The expectations of those we read about in the Bible were a bit different from ours: they expected that God would return to his people, defeat their enemies (which meant the Roman government), renew His covenant with them and dwell with them in a restored temple. People had gotten their hopes up that Jesus was that person who would be king; some expected Jesus to lead an insurrection or command an army, and Jerusalem would once again be a place of importance and power. When Jesus talked about the Kingdom of God—even when he taught the disciples to pray, “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” this is the kind of thing they were expecting: the Kingdom of God would be revealed as a political kingdom on earth, with a real king in a real temple commanding real armies and fighting real battles against real enemies.

There was a reason why the people expected this; it’s because there had been a kingdom once before, a kingdom the people had lost. In the Old Testament—amidst all the stories of the Hebrew people and judges and prophets and kings, amidst all the stories we tell our children in Bible School and the stories whose violence and gore make us wonder why they’re in the Bible at all; even amidst all the rules and regulations and building plans for the things the people would need to properly worship God—amidst all of this are two stories that describe times when the people turned away from God in significant ways. And the problem the people of Jesus’ day had that led to their misunderstanding was that they’d picked the wrong problem for Jesus to fix.

In 1 Samuel 8 we read of the time when God’s people recognized they were facing a great difficulty. Samuel—the faithful prophet and judge of the people—was getting old and his sons were corrupt. The people rightly recognize that the path they are on is a dead end, so they ask Samuel to appoint a king to lead them. Samuel objects to this plan; God is to be their king. But God does something surprising: he tells Samuel to go ahead and appoint a king anyway. If they would rather be led by an earthly ruler and not God himself, then fine.

But in choosing a king the people had turned away from God; it proved to be their first step to exile in Babylon. Eventually Israel is defeated by a foreign nation, the temple and city wall are destroyed, and the nation’s leaders are taken into captivity to live in Babylon as punishment for their unfaithfulness. It is a great oversimplification to compare them to Billy the cat bolting out of Phil’s moving van to head out on their own, but that’s essentially what the people did. Life with Phil—even in the new place—would have worked out. But Billy had different ideas, and so do we. God’s people ended up in exile—separated from their home, the place God intended them to flourish—and their life was never the same.

It’s understandable why the people thought Jesus would fix this problem for them. But it was still the wrong problem. The ultimate issue wasn’t that the life they were living wasn’t working out like they had hoped. The problem was that they were in exile from their Creator. The real story they needed to remember is found in Genesis 3 where Adam and Eve turn away from God because they have come to believe they know better how to live their lives than God does. And lest we think that Adam and Eve is just an old relic of a story—a kind of fable that we can take or leave—this basic problem would be repeated by the Apostle Paul just a few years after Jesus’ death:

All have turned aside, together they have become worthless; there is no one who shows kindness, there is not even one (Romans 3:12).

The people of Jesus day looked out at the world around them and were saying, “what we see doesn’t make sense. We should have our own king and rule the world in the name of God.” But the reason Jesus left his Father’s side to be born and walk among us was because God was saying, “the reason your world doesn’t make sense is because your relationship with me is broken. If we fix that, then everything else can be put right.”

Jesus gave us all kinds of clues that his mission on earth was to put things to rights—to put the world back together in the way God intended. So we see Jesus travelling around healing the sick, raising the dead, challenging people to repent, and telling stories about the so-called wrong kind of people doing the right things and being validated by Jesus. Outsiders were becoming insiders in God’s family.

And so when Mary Magadalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women encounter the angel at Jesus’ tomb, their response to this good news—this Gospel—is to become the first preachers in the history of Christianity! They run back to the apostles and tell them good news: what we thought was the end of the story is really only the middle of the story. There is more to come because Jesus has defeated the ultimate enemy; Jesus has defeated death. Our broken relationship with God can now be restored. Sins can be forgiven. We can learn what it means to properly love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; from that we can learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Anglican scholar N.T. Wright describes the benefits of being put back in right relationship with God this way:

All those who believe in Jesus, rescued by his cross and resurrection and enlivened by his Spirit, are part of the new family. This was and is central, not peripheral. The church was the original multicultural project, with Jesus as its only point of identity. It was known…as a worship-based, spiritually renewed, multi-ethnic, polychrome, mutually supportive, outward-facing, culturally creative, chastity-celebrating, socially responsible fictive kinship group, gender-blind in leadership, generous to the poor and courageous in speaking up for the voiceless.

This is the meaning of Easter and what life in Christ points to: sins have been forgiven, relationships with God and one another can be restored, and we now can participate with God in putting the world to rights.

But the news still requires a response. Even with the challenges of our present times—quite obviously represented by the fact that we have gathered outdoors for worship instead of in our beautiful and comfortable sanctuary—we live in something of a paradise where we can get along quite well without God. Why do we need God when we have decent jobs that provide for our basic needs and so much more; where comforts are only a click on Amazon.com away; where we can be constantly entertained with the latest TV program, sporting event, or concert; and where by and large most of the challenges that make life dangerous rarely, if ever, touch us? Furthermore, there are so many who will reduce Christianity to the notion of “praying a prayer so you can go to Heaven when you die,” and pretty much do whatever else you want until that day comes.

Still, the story comes down to our expectations of Jesus. Is he the center of your life, the hub around which everything rotates? Is he somewhere on the periphery—something akin to an app on our smartphones that delivers something we need every so often? Might Jesus be out of sight and out of mind?

How will you respond to the good news? Does Jesus’ invitation to be made right with God and then join in with the rest of God’s family in cooperating with God to put the world to rights demand a response in you? Are you ready to find your way back home into the loving arms of your Creator?

[cockasinthebird]

Ahhh I love your work. 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️❤️😍😍 Ok au where Steve and Billy break up so Steve gets really drunk at a party and Billy has to go pick him up and basically take care of him the rest of the night, so Steve doesn’t like choke on his own throw up or do something dumb

Dear anon,

THANK YOU, I love you too!!! Which is why it pains me to say that.... I’m so sorry. This got SO SAD and I promise I didn’t intend for it to! But it just came out this way, and I hope you can forgive me!

-

Billy's not entirely sure what the fuck Steve is doing here.

Had he even been invited? Carol sure as fuck hadn't asked him to come, maybe Tommy did just to tease Steve; dangle his lost popularity in front of the dethroned King Steve, in hopes that he would be dumb enough to show up, to then just be ridiculed for having even had the thought that he was actually welcome around here anymore.

Billy nearly dropped his jaw when he saw Steve arriving earlier, but when their eyes met, his ex-whatever had quickly looked away and run off to probably grab the first drink in reach.

Maybe he's regretting breaking up with Billy? Not that there really was anything to break up, they were just having fun, just fucking around, literally. Which only makes the entire situation even more infuriating, the more Billy thinks about it.

There wasn't supposed to be any feelings or emotions or all that girly crap, just two guys blowing off steam together!

So when Steve asked him, “Why do you keep treating me like this?” and demanded an explanation as to why Billy continued to bully and agitate him so, all he could say was,

“What the fuck are you talking about, Harrington?” and really put pressure on his name there, as if to drive home the point that they're not beyond that.

And Steve had cried, not a big sloppy mess, but tears rolled, and he shouted that they were done for, then drove off before Billy could even gather enough thoughts to be coherent.

That was three days ago, and he really hadn't heard a single sound from Harrington since then, seen no hide nor hair of him till tonight.

Now he sees him everywhere he goes; no matter which room he moves to, Steve's there, looking back, eyes hooded and dark with all the alcohol he's swimming in, some even staining his nice polo shirt. Tommy had at one point earlier gone up to Steve, grinning wide and talking shit, but Harrington seem unbothered by it all.

Steve sits in the middle of a long couch, surrounded by people all with their backs turned to him, and as he swings back another of numerous beers, Billy finds himself staring like one would at a particularly morose painting, wondering what it all means, even though it's clear on the surface level and doesn't run that deep.

He himself stands leaning over a cute, short brunette, her hair falling down over her large breasts, a manicured finger playing with the buttons of Billy's open shirt. He's got an arm resting against the wall above her head, and even as she smiles all flirtatious and talks to him about something something parents not home something, he can't look away from the way Steve stares back.

There's too many thoughts in his head that even the alcohol can't wash away; things he wants to say to Steve, things he wants to do to Steve.

And he doesn't move till Steve does.

Limbs inept as he rises up from the couch, accidentally bumping into a girl who glares daggers at him, to where Steve mumbles out a sloppy sorry, sorry, before tripping a bit over the others legs as he tries to squeeze out from between the sofa and coffee table. But even as he goes through all the obstacles of a full house, Steve never looks away from Billy as he walks in his direction.

When he gets all too close, Billy looks away- can't stand being this close to Steve anymore, a torturous thing that he came here tonight to forget; to hopefully drown himself in pussy, or find a nice big dick, but all of that is impossible to look for when fucking Harrington is present in his life this way.

After counting down from five in his mind, Billy turns to look in the direction Steve went, just to catch the front door closing, and he immediately pushes off of the wall, abandoning the busty brunette here with now a shocked expression across her face, as he gives chase for another dark haired beauty.

Outside Steve fumbles with his keys, standing by the first car he found.

The music goes low as the front door to Carol's house slams closed, and Billy stands underneath the light of the veranda, hands deep in his pockets as he braces himself for the chilly evening air sweeping in from the woods.

“That's not your car,” he calls out to Steve, who jumps a bit at the sudden voice.

Steve looks at the white Ford that he's spent nearly a minute trying to get into, muttering about why the fuck doesn't the key fit. Then he looks at where Billy has stepped down the stairs and is making his way over.

He huffs out drunkenly and moves to the next car, a dark green Honda and tries again.

“Still not your car.” Billy stands now only a few feet away, watching with a slight frown at how Steve continues to shuffle over the sidewalk to the next car in a long line.

And counting from here, there's a good seven cars more to go or so before they reach the BMW.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and finds it maybe a tad bit amusing how frustrated Steve grows.

“What's it look like?” Steve slurs back and tries a key that isn't even for any car in the world, but rather his front door. “I'm trynna get home.”

“Not at this pace you won't,” Billy mocks and shrugs a bit. “Try the next car.”

Steve doesn't argue, probably can't, and he moves on to a dark blue camaro.

But before he gets to have a chance of scratching the nice, expensive paint job, Billy interrupts with, “Here, let me try.” And fishes up his own keys from his back pocket.

Almost like magic, Billy's keys works wonders, and the passenger door opens up to allow for Steve to stumble inside.

Billy takes long strides to the other side and lands with much more stability in the drivers seat.

“This... this isn't my car,” Steve says with the purest form of confusion, as if he's just woken up from a coma thirty years later to discover all sorts of new things. He touches the leather seat, opens and closes the glove compartment, looks between the front seats into the back, yeah it's definitely not his car.

“No, it's my car,” Billy speaks all matter of fact, firmly so as to ensure that Steve understands what's happening.

He looks over at the other; almond eyes squinting through the darkness and haze of inebriation, and Billy's heart beats uncomfortably, if he were to tell the truth for once. He wants to reach out, brush away the bangs that falls down Steve's forehead, kiss those bumbling lips, caress the moles on his cheek, his chest, his legs.

“Why am I in your car?” Steve mumbles and looks out the window, away from how Billy is caught wanting.

“I'm taking you home, put on your seat-belt.”

The car roars as he sparks it alive.

“Why?” Steve asks but doesn't hesitate to do as told, although with shaky hands that could be from the alcohol or nerves.

“Because you're a drunk mess and I'm a goddamn fucking saint,” Billy grumbles as he pulls out from his spot and onto the street.

“Oh so now you decide to be nice to me?” Steve laughs without joy and thunks his heavy head against the cool window.

“I have my moments.” Billy grins, but refuses to let silence fall upon them, because that's when there's time to think, which is the last thing he wants right now. “So, why did you come tonight?”

The tense energy here palpable as Steve thinks too long on his answer, which spills out carelessly, “Because I wanted to see you,” and there's almost a sob.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington-” Billy groans and rolls his eyes, but Steve cuts him off,

“Don't call me that,” with a more apparent sob now.

“I can call you whatever I want.” The hand on the wheel tightens. “Princess. Dickhead. Amigo. Pretty boy.” And he steals a quick glance at where Steve stares out the window; street lights flashing like stars in his wet eyes.

“...Steve,” a whisper not meant to be heard, and perhaps it doesn't.

The silence between them is painful. Billy bites at his nail to hopefully keep himself from blurting out all the wrong things. Steve snivels occasionally, his breathing labored.

Driving from Carol's place to Steve's feels like it takes years through uncertain darkness with no saving grace, no light at the end of the tunnel, a vast eternity in where Billy keeps fighting his own inquisitive thoughts.

Because why is he doing this? Why is he helping out Steve, who was the one to end whatever it is they had going on? Why is he looking at Steve's lonely hand?  Wanting to reach out and hold it. His own hand aching for the touch, like a childish need to play with the flame of a lit candle. So he grips the steering wheel harder till the strained skin hurts.

Till they pull up into a driveway that isn't empty. A black, sleek, shiny Cadillac sits all prideful in front of the grand house.

And it runs freezing cold down Billy's back, eyes pinned to the slumbering windows, hands still choking the leather.

“Are... are your parents home?!” he hisses out.

Steve moves as if he was just abruptly awoken, and blinks hard to still his focus. He leans towards the dashboard to peer out the front window and sees his father's car.

“Oh, yeah, they showed up some hours ago. Took me out to some fancy restaurant for dinner, but...” Steve slumps back into his seat and moves to get comfortable. “They still don't know how to talk to me.”

Billy finds himself in the same situation now. He watches how twisted Steve's expression is; a distressed pull of the lips and an anguished brow knit together with tales of distant parents and a lonely childhood. And maybe Billy is starting to understand a few things about Steve.

Who pulls his knees up to his chest to hug himself, shrink a bit, fleeing whatever is undoubtedly coursing through his mind.

A sight that makes Billy sigh, loudly in exasperation, and then backs up the car.

“W-w-what are you doing?” Steve stumbles through his tears as he realizes they're now driving away.

“I...” Billy starts off with, eyes hard on the road and both hands on the wheel. “I don't know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just-” Billy stops himself from raising his voice too loudly, and takes a deep inhale as to calm down, refusing to meet the way Steve is staring. “Just... don't worry, ok?”

Although he's drenched in worry himself, uncertainty dripping down the back of his neck as his own nerves heats him up unbearably so.

Neither of them talks at all as they drive through the woods, underneath the cloudy skies that threatens with rain; teases with a few drops here and there upon the windshield.

And somehow they end up by an open field - more specifically the location for the 4th of July fair that stood loud and colorful a few months back. Billy hadn't been thinking of any place in particular, rather he was spending all his mental power to not think at all, lest he'd start having doubts about... everything.

“Did you... did you bring me out here to, what, beat me up?” Steve sounds legit scared, and it hurts to hear.

Like a thousand paper cuts across Billy's heart, and he cannot keep back the anger that bubbles up at something so ludicrous. “No I'm not gonna fucking beat you up! Jesus!” he growls out through gritted teeth, which doesn't exactly help his case.

For Steve holds an unblinking stare aimed at Billy, expectant of only the worst things, which probably isn't completely unfair, because he hasn't exactly been... nice lately. Or ever. And even though Billy often refuses to apologize and feel bad for his behavior, it's a challenge to stay an asshole at times like these.

Because even if his father is all too present in his own life, he understands the lack of parental love that probably makes Steve the way he is. And he feels pity. Which is gross and unfamiliar, but it sits so strong around his bleeding heart. Which just makes him angry, and lash out, then fight the regret and... start all over again.

“Get in the back,” he demands, but as soft as he can, of course.

“What?” Steve asks with brows raised to the sky, eyes wide in... shock? Disbelief? Something that might be a sign of distrust and anxiety.

“Please?” Billy tries but it feels horrifyingly wrong on his tongue – like he was mispronouncing some foreign name.

“Why?” Steve remains in his seat, curled up like a depressed child. Which... he might just be.

And Billy groans out his irritation and rolls his eyes, but he tries to say it in a nice way, “Because, I can't take you home like this, and we can't go to my place because... yeah, and we can't exactly go to a motel anywhere this way either.” He pauses and hopes that Steve catches on, but alas he remains in confusion. “We're going to sleep in my car, so get in the back.”

Steve still doesn't move. Disbelief clear in his expression, and maybe it takes him a bit longer to process everything due to the countless drinks he's been pouring in tonight, but when Billy gives a somewhat kind nod towards the backseat of the camaro, Steve finally moves between the seats.

Billy follows right behind, and sits as far away from Steve as possible, who sits like a ball of despair against one window, and god fucking damnit it feels like watching a puppy get kicked, how pathetically Steve whimpers with his face buried in his knees.

“Fucking... come over here,” he grumbles out and spreads his legs.

The poor wounded puppy looks up, brown eyes wet and hair a complete mess, and he hesitates.

“Come on.” Billy pats the spot between his thighs. “We'll keep warm if we sit closer.”

It proves enough of a friendly invitation, as Steve moves closer, slowly, as if he's approaching a sleeping dog wearing a spiked collar and muzzle, waiting for it to try and bite.

But all he's met with is a soft hand that goes through even softer hair, as Billy gently pats him on the head and allows for Steve to settle in between open legs and against a warm chest.

They don't speak, for what is there to say that one won't remember and another will regret? The only coherent and recognizable emotion that Billy can find in the tornado of feelings is anger. A fury that isn't technically Steve's fault, and directing it at him would only be unfair, because he isn't the one struggling with his own feelings towards another guy. No he's ardently clear about it all, which spills from his lips as he falls into slumber against the beating of Billy's heart.

“Billy?” he whispers and closes his hand around the unbuttoned shirt.

“Yeah?” And Billy knows what he's about to say. He fucking knows it; won't be the first time someone has been that foolish.

“I think I'm... in love with you...”

He can feel Steve's heartbeat go rapid where their bodies are pressed rather awkwardly together. And Billy sighs through the nose. The muscles in his jaw twitch, a lump grows in his throat, and he looks out at the stars in search for a world where everything is better. Where everything could be.

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 19.09.17 lb

god, back to the mysterious kaagaz. fucking tell us already. 😒😒😒

shakti seems all cavalier about this, but dadi is fuh-reaking out. which of course means it’s gonna come out in a horrible fucking way and phelofy raita. 😖😖😖

oh great. it’s related to both billu and anika? PLEASE GOD DON’T TELL ME THEY’RE LIKE... RELATED OR SOME SHIT. PLEASE. THIS IS GULNEET, I PUT ABSOLUTELY NOTHING PAST THEM, NOT EVEN INCEST. 😟😟😟😟😟😟

please lord, let it just be the normal thing - the oberois murdered anika’s family or some shit. yes, that’s NORMAL for this show. 😣😣😣

billu ka OMG SECRET AGAINST ME radar is extra sharp after all the shit that’s gone down. try to even plan a secret birthday party for him? not gonna happen. the man is going to be just that heckin’ paranoid. 😐😐😐

dadi lying through her damn teeth like a pro. 😊😊😊

omfg, he just made sadface and was like “jaake intezaar karta hoon uska.” JESUS CHRIST BILLU, GET A DAMN HOBBY. MAKE A TUMBLR. REBLOG SOME MEMES AND PICS OF CATS. GET A DAMN LIFE YOU FREAK. 😕😕😕😕😕

but lord, it’s also kinda adorable. 💖💖💖

*does tilak and feeds gauri dahi shakkar* 

man what ghazab confidence this girl has, straight away introducing herself. i’ve been at my workplace for over 5 months now, and there’s people i see everyday and smile at, but don’t know names of. and now it’s too damn embarrassing to ask. 😕😕😕

aw, uncleji wants to learn english to talk to his bahu! 😌😌😌

oh great. a smart aleck teacher. already side eye-ing him. 😑😑😑

gauri kumariiiii sssarma’s looking kinda star struck and impressed by this idealist teacher dude. gosh i hope spoilers of a jealousy track are true, coz i would fucking love to see om jelly of this guy. hee hee hee. 😊😊😊

god i really don’t get why they make gauri all awkward about handshakes????? 😒😒😒

billu is chehak-ing coz wifey is back todayyyyy! 😚😚😚

OMFG HIS SHEEPISH GRIN MY GOD THIS MAN IS TOO FUCKING ADORABLE IT’S MAKING MY TEETH HURTTTTTT 😫😫😫😫😫

wifey is strong independent woman who don’t need no man and is back all by herself. tough luck to billu who might have been looking forward to maarofying chance in the car. 😝😝😝

GOD I AM SO HAPPY TO SEE HER BACK PLEASE SURBHI DON’T EVER LEAVE US LIKE THIS AGAIN UNLESS THERE’S A BANK OF EPISODES PLEASE THIS SHOW IS UNBEARABLE WITHOUT YOU LIFE ITSELF IS UNBEARABLE WITHOUT YOU I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO *clings to her leg* 😭😭😭😭😭😭

lololololol a simple question and she’s biting his head off. she’s still hellllla mad. 😂😂😂

HAHAHAHAHAHAH THANK YOUUUUUUUUU 🤣🤣🤣🤣

“jaise hawa mein aapke helicoptor udte hai waise roadon pe humare liye busein bhi chalti hai.” 

THE SNARK IS STRONG. 😆😆😆

“araaam se aana dadi!”

pffffffffffffffffffffft 😂😂😂

lmao anika ne toh thank you ka jaaaaap hi kar rakha jaise koi mantra ho. 

billu is suggesting they go to the roommmmm. 😏😏😏

LMAOOOOOOOOOOO HER FACE 

the slightest touch and the tharak is on! look at their bodies just gravitating to each otherrrrrrrrrr! holy shit, just baaaaaang already! 😯😯😯😯

i think anika’s maaarofying current these days like devrani used to. billu’s staring at his hand all perplexed. 😌😌😌

“thank you kehkar bohut badi galti kar di maine. nahi, PAAP HO GAYA MUJHSE!”

snort. you know what they say billu, hell hath no fury... 

dadi looks pareshaan af. 

oh great, anika’s going to take this on her head? 😟😟😟

oh thank god, she’s delegating to shivaay. good. 😌😌😌

billu’s here for round 2, but anika bohut hi gambhir mood mein. awaiiii. 🙄🙄🙄

this angst is so fucking random and unnecessary????????????// 🤔🤔🤔

billu’s been guilteddddd. 😐😐😐

LOL OM IS LOSING IT AND I AM FUCKING LOVING IT 😂😂😂😂

i fucking love kunal’s panic waala acting, like during the baby track

HAHAHAHAHA HIM RUNNING AWAY FROM THE DOOR PRETENDING LIKE HE WASN’T STANDING THERE WAITING FOR HER ALL THIS WHILE OMFG WHAT AN ADORABLE DORK 🤣🤣🤣🤣

yeah this asshole has gotten too complacent about her life revolving around him and needs to be knocked two or three pegs down. this is perfect opportunity. 😊😊😊

lol such ~subtle questioninggggg. 😋😋😋

awwwwww, he was waiting for her to eatttttt. 😯😯😯

it’s ok. ek din nahi khaaya toh kuch nahi hoga. suffer a little for being a dick. 🙃🙃🙃

still love you though, boo.  *pats his hair* 😘😘😘

OMFG THIS BILLU HAS GONE MAD. HE’S DEMANDING DADI INVENT A FUNCTION SO HE CAN MAKE ANIKA FEEL SPECIAL. MATLAB, HADH HAI YAAR. 😒😒😒

ALL THIS IS SO FUCKING UNNECESSARY, JUST FUCKING TELL HER YOU LOVE HER. MY GOD WHAT EVEN IS YOUR FUCKING LIFE, SHIVAAY? 😐😐😐

i blame his damn family for indulging him like this. my fam would just be like fuck off, we can’t be wasting time like this to validate your every whim and fancy. think of something yourself. spoiltass brat. 🙄🙄🙄

what’s anika so SMILEYYYYY AND CRYING about??? 🤔🤔🤔

god she looks so fucking pretty. i want to cap every frame, she’s that gorgeous. 😍😍😍😍

are those the papers billu tried to write her a letter on? she’s this happy just seeing “dear anika” written a buncha times? 🤔🤔🤔

but they look like some legal papers though?

billu be like hein? abhi tak maine kuch kiya bhi nahi? 

OHHHHH IT’S THE SAHIL KE CUSTODY PAPERS. SILLY TT. *FACEPALM* 😯😯😯😯😯😯😯

LOL GENUINE THANK YOU THA BILLU. DON’T LOOK SO SAD. 😄😄😄

lol he’s freaking out at her tears, as usual. 

aw, he’s remorseful that he can’t say what she wants to hear. “main koshish kar raha hoon, lekin atak jaata hai...” 

“jaanti hoon aapko waqt lagega, lekin please, thank you mat bolna, please.” 

an unofficial thank you ban has been instated. 😆😆😆😆

“what you said, it meant the world to me.” 

LOOK AT THIS SAD PUPPY WHO IS UNABLE TO SAY THE WORDS HE WANTS TO NO MATTER HOW MUCH HE TRIES 💘💘💘💘

she’s oh babe. tumse nahi hoga. stahp. 

ok crying a little lot. because like i said in my very first analysis post, she’s never really needed the words from him. he’s been showing her through actions that he loves her from waaay back. and she’s understood. right from then. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“YOU A DAMN BHEEGI BILLI”

his faaaaaaaaaaaaaaace. oh my godddddd. i love this idiot so much. 

GIRLFRIEND PUTTING THE MOVES ON HIM AGAIN SHE’S PUTTING THE MOVES ON HIM AGAIN THIS IS NOT A DRILL OMFG ALL MY DREAMS ARE COMING TRUE I CAN DIE HAPPY LORD 😫😫😫😫😫

OMG SHE TOLD HIM AGAIN AND BILLU LOOKS LIKE HE’S BEEN HIT BY A FRYING PAN OVER HIS HEAD ALL THAT’S MISSING ARE CARTOON STARS AND BIRDS ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

sister here knows exaaaaactly what she’s doing to her husband. look at that smug grin. 😏😏😏😏

lol she’s waiting for another thank you! 😆😆😆

nope. not making that mistake again! 😎😎😎

left standing there with that same dopey smile! 😊😊😊

aw, he’s vowing to tell her anyway. you go billu!!!! 😘😘😘

svetlana’s showing jhanvi exactly why tej is being so cooperative. 

lovinggggggggg jhanvi’s shock. coz she’s such a dumbassss. honestly, she’s not even worthy of being svetlana’s foe. my girl be living in 3008, while you losers are living in two thousand late. 🙄🙄🙄

omki’s wifey is missing againnnnn. 🙃🙃🙃

great pinky is here to taang adaofy again. 😑😑😑

same, omki. #same.

what joy does this woman get from fucking with these kids’ marriages? does she have some kinda jocasta complex or what? coz i realllllllly don’t get it. 😣😣😣

god bless omkara and his sweet sassy smile while telling pinky that this is not a big deal. i’d just be like fuck off satan. 😒😒😒

god, yeh do - to - go dialogue chupke chupke se nahi churaya gaya? 🤔🤔🤔

why’s this teacher dude’s shirt open to like, the third button? it’s making me uncomfortable. 😖😖😖

ooooooooooooh gauri’s stuck hereee. 😯😯😯

“yeh mera badappan hai jo tum aise free ghoom rahi ho.” lmao i love svetlana so much 🤣🤣🤣

god queen, just kill her dumb ass. 😒😒😒

ughhhhhhhhhhhh. this garbaaaaage. 

PAINTING? WHAT PAINTING? PHIR MURTI KO KYUN DEKH RAHI THI??? 😧😧😧😧

HA. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS, FUCK HER UP SVETTTTY. 😈😈😈

is this painting nonsense going to be supernatural too? like she travels through alternate planes using the painting or some shit, like the principals in harry potter? 😩😩😩😩

omfg she blew a kiss. i’m in loooooooooove. 😍😍😍😍😍

oh greattttt, allllll these idiots are on this case again. that too standing in the middle of the fucking house and talking about it louuuuuuudly. this is exactly why villains are able to fuck you idiots up. 😒😒😒😒

om looks least bit interested in all this. he’s just here coz shivika are, and the wife isn’t home to stare/passive aggressively banter with. 😆😆😆

oh, that got their attention. 

do you even know WHICH PAINTING? 😐😐😐

omkara exhibiting that his art degree is very much useful, thanks very much. STEM IS NOT EVERYTHING OK, DESIS????????/ 😒😒😒😒

WAIT THESE PPL ARE SO FUCKING RICH AND THEY HAVE AN ENLARGED PHOTOCOPY OF A PAINTING HANGING IN THEIR HOUSE? 😐😐😐

haaaaaye my handsome boys. 😍😍😍 

oh, svetlana replaced the painting. 

ok who the FUCK is this fucking white fucker IN INDIA who doesn’t know what fucking chai is? 😒😒😒😒

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS TEACHER, WHY IS HE SUCH A LOSER? 😤😤😤

yes, i know what he’s doing. he’s forcing them to interact with this white asshole in english. but matlab, hadh hoti hai unconventational teaching methods ki. 🙄🙄🙄

ok bade bhaiyya is soooooooo fucking team Gauri that he’s just not even trying with omkara anymore. which ok, i love and all, but come on shivaay, you gave fucking rudra alllll that advice on his BS relationship, and you’re not even making an attempt with om???? 😣😣😣

chubby’s had enough of this BS. ladki toh chod ke chali gayi, raita phailaaake, sametna is bechaare ko pad raha hai. 😪😪😪

lol are rudra/chubby the couple for today? i am fucking lovingggg it. 😊😊😊

literally no one is interested in being here other than shivaay and anika. ugh these new couples and their enthusiasm. 🙄🙄🙄🙄

look at this poor anxious munchkin. 😚😚😚

.... has surbhi gotten extra golden on her vacay, or is nakuul not wearing his makeup today?? he’s looking reaaaaaallly pale compared to her in this scene. 😐😐😐

even anika’s like god knows what new plan you and dadi have made up to embarrass me publicly now. billu’s like wait and waaatch, jaaneman.  😏😏😏😏😏

great, passive aggressive sniping from pinky and shakti. LITERALLY NO ONE WANTS TO BE HERE BILLU. WHY CAN’T YOU JUST SHOW HER THE TAPE IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR ROOM AND FINISH THIS OFF. AWAIIIII KA KHEENCHNA. 😫😫😫😫

oh god i dont wanna watch this nonsense. it’s super fucking late where i am (i fell asleep watching the episode mid way) and i have a hella long commute tomorrow and i just wanna go back to sleeeeep. 😭😭😭😭😭

shakti, this fucking savage is probably gonna come back with a cactus or some shit, isn’t he? 😂😂😂

oh suddenly now everyone’s ok with the “bhavya was a cop on duty at our place” theory???? like....??? memories and attachment to ppl like goldfish, these fucking oberois. 😒😒😒

OK RUDRA, FIRST OF ALL, PROTEIN AND CARBS KA MEL HAI IN A HEALTHY DIET. AND FUCK YOU, YOU’RE SUCH A LOSER. THIS IS WHY SHE LEFT YOUR ASS. THIS IS WHY SUMO LEFT TOO. 😑😑😑

godddddd. this episode just won’t get overrrrrrrr. 😫😫😫😫😫

meanwhile this doctor waala chutiyaapa continues. 

the white doctor just unironically said: 

waittttt, when did tej and svetlana move outta oberoi mansion??? what even is going on? where the fuck is thissss? 😐😐😐

god svetlana, why are you wasting so much timeeeee? just kill ALL these losers. 😒😒😒

gauri kumari sssssarma to the rescue. as usual. always carrying everyone’s inefficient asses. 😎😎😎

another thing she has in common with shivaay: both have leadership skills, anything happens and they jump to the frontlines and get to action. 

lmaoooooo “hai kathaiiiii angrez ki aulaaad, seedha paani nahi bol sakta tha????” 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

gauri, caaareful. don’t break his ribs or some shiz. follow the beat to stayin’ alive! 😣😣😣

what the fuck nonsense. he’s no more it seems. awaiiiii. 🙄🙄🙄

GOD I AM SO OVER THIS TEJVI PLOT AND THEIR BUDDHON KA ANGST. GIVE ME SHIVIKA AND RIKARA. 😩😩😩

ok someone fuckinggggggg kill this teacher for reallllllll. god. 😡😡😡

if she just needs to look on the internet for words she doesn’t know, she can already do that. why does she need to come to this fucking class? 😒😒😒😒

sulky!kara is standing away all angsty and shiz. what a child. anyway, good. burn, fool, burn! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[setfreeexcerpts]

Chapter 27

An Ownership Problem

________________________________________

“Our problem today,” says Dr. Tony Evans, “is we have Christians who want God to get them to heaven, but who do not want Him to own them on earth.”[1]

God must have your permission to own your life. He already has a right to it because, as the Bible says in I Corinthians 6:19-20, if you belong to Jesus Christ, you are not your own–you were bought at a price…so honor God with your body. But while He has a right to you, He will not take by force that which refuses to be surrendered to Him. God works in our lives only in those places where we give him jurisdiction. 

The fact is, we have an amazing ability to keep God at bay in our lives.

In Revelation 3, Jesus is writing to the Church in Sardis a warning we should take seriously in our Christian culture today. He says He knows their deeds; they have a reputation of being alive but are really dead!

Do you think if the membership of the Church in Sardis had been polled, they would have agreed that they were a dead congregation? But they did so many good things! Perhaps they were at church every Sabbath, gave generously, were people of integrity in the community, walked the second mile, turned their stricken cheeks when wronged, kept their commitments, gave a few shekels to the beggar at the gate, and so on.

Jesus says he knew their deeds–so they must have looked pretty good to the world. They had a great reputation! But Jesus says even though they had a sterling reputation for being spiritually alive, really, they were dead!

What? How could this be? Weren’t they making much of God by the way they lived their lives?

Apparently, while having a relationship with God, they refused to be OWNED BY Him. Apparently giving out of their abundance, giving of their time, and doing a multitude of good things wasn’t making Christ look like the eternal treasure He demanded of them. Had they been completely given over to God, then God would not only have been their Jehovah, the one they recognized as God, but He would also have been their Adonai–their Master, their Owner…truly their Lord.

In 2 Timothy 3:5, the Bible warns us there will be terrible times in the last days when men will not love what is good. They will be lovers of their earthly surroundings and comforts, but not lovers of God–having a form of godliness but denying its power. These are indicators of an unsurrendered life.

And if Revelation 3:1-6 tells us anything, it reveals that even believers can carry around the nameplate yet deny its power. Therefore, know that if God does not OWN you, He is unlikely to powerfully intervene in the daily experiences of your life.

Our holy and just God will seldom be compelled to reveal Himself to you when you yourself are sabotaging the power of his Spirit in your life through patterns of willful disobedience, sinful habits, inattentiveness to his Word, selfish living, refusal to give up the reins of control on your family members, an imbalanced affection for material things or otherwise. 

Again, all barometers of an unsurrendered life.  As Tony Evans says in his message, Adonai–The Owner of All, “God doesn’t just want to be in your life, He wants to OWN your life.”

What Dr. Evans seems to be saying is that is it possible for us to merely carry around the nameplate of Christian. And because it is important for us to differentiate between a life purchased by God and a life owned or possessed by God, I want to linger on this for a bit. Do not confuse the two.

You say, “Greg, how could someone purchase something, and not possess or own it? Doesn’t the one who purchased the item become its rightful owner? It would create quite a stir were I to purchase a hammer at the hardware store only to find the store manager demanding that he maintain possession of my hammer for safe keeping. I purchased the hammer so it is mine! I cannot use what I have purchased unless it is in my possession!” you might say. And that is precisely the point.

You see, you may have purchased an item, thereby being the item’s rightful owner, but until that item is actually delivered into your hands, you cannot use it, eat it, or take it home with you. Until the item you purchased is actually in your hands for use, merely being its rightful owner won’t do you any good, will it?

In the very same way, as Christians, while we have been purchased by God, on our part having accepted the purchase price paid by Jesus, I am afraid much of the time we fail to deliver that which He now owns into his hands–namely, our life.

Again, were I to sell my motorcycle on eBay to a man in Georgia, having received full payment, the motorcycle would be his–not figuratively, but literally. It would be his. In due time, the title would be delivered to his house and he would be its outright owner. I would, in no way, be able to lay claim to that which no longer belongs to me.

But if the motorcycle is still sitting in my garage, it is not useful to the one who purchased, and duly owns, what used to be my motorcycle. Only upon delivering it into the hands of the new owner can it be of actual use to him. Only then can the new owner use it to run to the store for a gallon of milk, take his son for a ride, or change its oil.

Our relationship with God can be much the same. It may be true that He purchased us, but if we merely sign ourselves over to Him on the signature line, drawing eternity in his presence as the only ramification of his purchase while refusing to deliver ourselves to him for use, we have only completed half of the intended transaction God purposed for our life. A completed transaction could have led to a normal Christian life as God planned it to be lived post-Christ!

What does God have in you and me? I pray He has something more than ones saved as by fire. Are you living your Christian life on the periphery of his powerful infilling because you have constructed a life in your own strength? Do you know with absolute confidence that such a life will withstand the Refiner’s Fire?

Do you remember Billy Graham’s thoughts I quoted earlier?

If that is not your desire [having the Lord Jesus Christ come into your life and reform, conform and transform you into an obedient follower], you have every reason to question whether or not you have been saved.

How sad it will be for such a man, having missed out on what a life built up by what the Spirit could have wrought. How much better it would be to live fully released into the Spirit’s unreserved ownership of that which He purchased and already owns.

If I’m not completely given over to Him, then I cannot call him Lord–only Savior. Do you see the difference? It is important that you do! While He may own my life by right, not until I deliver it unconditionally into His hands will I begin to grasp the freedom and newness of life He has intended I be delivered to–through new life in Christ.

So the question begs to be directly addressed. Have you delivered the motorcycle of your life to God? Or have you sold yourself to Him to solve only the eternal destiny question, negotiating the full delivery of your life for a player to be named later?

Are you waiting for Him to forcefully take from you that which He has purchased? Don’t count on his doing so. That is not His style.

Well what about delivering more than half way–say to Chattanooga, Tennessee? That would show pretty good intentions! How about that? Good enough? No. He wants us to electively deliver ourselves “all the way to Georgia.”

Now don’t get me wrong here. If you have trusted in Jesus as the all-sufficient One to remove from you the damnation your sin-laden soul deserves, He does own your life. Were God to find your expired, half-delivered body alongside a street in Chattanooga, soul ID number researched, God would rightfully have you delivered into his presence in heaven. You do, after all, belong to Him. There would be no other claim on your life but from your new owner.

Therefore, God may own your soul because He purchased it in agreement with your own free will–no one held a gun to your head when you gave up technical ownership of your life. But as I said to begin with, there is a radical difference between something being purchased by someone and that purchased item being given into the buyer’s possession for unreserved use as its owner. What a pity to lose out on the Life He desires for us–if only we would but trust into His ownership.

So now back to where we started this. We want God to be everything but owner.

Adonai means you don’t own.

The Bible says you came into this world naked and you’re going to leave this world naked–because you own nothing. Everything is on loan. You are a borrower. So God expects you to recognize Him as Adonai.

There’s only one response you give to Adonai, and that is surrender. It is surrender of your will to His will, your way to His way, yourself to Himself. And God will wait–until you give up ownership.

And the only way to truly give up ownership is for God to gift us with a revelation of how wretched we are. The Holy Spirit has to do a work in us so that we can see how necessary is our death–a death as close to literal as we can get without deceasing our physical bodies.

I think this is what NEEDTOBREATHE had in mind when they wrote the lyric to the song, Keep Your Eyes Open, that rings true this way; “Your chains will never fall until YOU do.” And only then can we begin to experience the greatest of all ironies. Death produces Life.

How foolish! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.

– I Corinthians 15:36

 Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.

– John 12:24

 So to be the Lord of our life, God must put us into a place where we hold onto nothing for ourselves. THEN, Life in Him can begin. Fight this if you like, but know that in doing so you will be demonstrating your refusal to release into the hands you claim to trust.

Sadly, while death to self is what we need, we might not find it because we may have an ownership problem.

Until our love affair and deep fellowship with Christ becomes to us a greater treasure than our selfish and controlling nature, we will never experience the death of our old Adam. Said another way, until we fear quenching the Holy Spirit's abiding fellowship and power in our lives more than we love our flesh, we will never experience Life as Christ intended in our new man.

This being the case, we may now be getting to the bottom line; if you do not long for the indwelling fellowship of the Spirit in a way that eclipses the compulsions of the flesh, it is likely you have not yet experienced a depth of fellowship with God that casts out the proclivity to live within the confining walls of your willful and disobedient self-preservation.

And why might this be (let’s see if you’re getting this yet)?

It may be that there is still an ownership problem in your life. Cutting right to the chase, you love your sinful self-reliance more than you love your God.  

 PAUSE to PONDER

Is it really possible for you, a mere mortal, to quench or resist the Holy Spirit, and thus God’s movement in your life (Acts 7:51, I Thessalonians 5:19, Ephesians 4:30)?

STOP! Take sixty seconds right now and ask the following question of yourself: Who…or what owns me (think practically)?

Had you scheduled coffee with Jesus in order to get his take about you in response to the above question, what would He say?  

[1] Adonai–The Owner of All, a sermon message by Tony Evans from his radio broadcast, The Alternative (Aired on or around April 15, 2013)

[theconservativebrief]

President Donald Trump is trying to fool evangelicals like me. This time, it’s using a false threat of an invasion from a “caravan” of poor people marching through Mexico to seek asylum legally. It should be obvious to everyone. But it isn’t — research shows that evangelicals tend to have strong political opinions when it comes to immigration, so they are distinctly open to this fear-driven message.

I’m a professor, pastor, and writer who serves at the flagship school of institutional evangelicalism, Wheaton College. I’ve spoken and researched the topic of evangelicals and immigration for five years, due to my concern about how this community seems to reject their deeply held values when it comes to welcoming refugees into our country. As I’ve seen the anti-immigration fervor rise among evangelicals, I’ve hosted an evangelical leaders summit and rallied evangelicals to the engage on these issues.

The Billy Graham Center at Wheaton College, where I currently work, partnered with LifeWay Research in May 2018 to poll 3,000 Americans about their voting in the most recent national election. The purpose was to understand evangelical voting patterns. We found, as other research projects support, that white evangelicals are highly motivated to support President Donald Trump around the issue of immigration. As his rhetoric around the caravan shows, President Trump clearly knows this.

As evangelicals prepare to vote, we need to consider how this messaging has found purchase in our pews and, more importantly, how our faith calls us to respond. It makes little of the depth of God’s love for us in Christ by teaching us that our love for others is conditioned by country, race, or ethnicity. Regardless of political affiliation and positions, evangelicals need to see this culture of fear of others for what it is: un-Christian.

Before I dive into the research, it’s important to explain how we determined the evangelical label in our surveys.

Evangelicalism is one the poorest defined political and religious terms, yet is ubiquitous today. One reason for this is a lack of consensus among pollsters as to how to determine and measure evangelicals. Today, many pollsters rely on combinations of self-identification, belief, denomination, or race as drivers of evangelical identity. The patchwork nature of the label means that many journalists and pundits are often working off different definitions.

In an effort to balance these different approaches, our study surveyed evangelicals by belief and by self-identification. To determine if they fit the profile of evangelical by belief, they had to “strongly agree” with four separate statements:

1. The Bible is the highest authority for what I believe.

2. It is very important for me personally to encourage non-Christians to trust Jesus Christ as their Savior.

3. Jesus Christ’s death on the cross is the only sacrifice that could remove the penalty of my sin.

4. Only those who trust in Jesus Christ alone as their Savior receive God’s free gift of eternal salvation.

On questions of immigration cited below, differences between self-identified evangelicals and evangelicals by belief were statistically negligible. But for simplicity sake, we will use the numbers from evangelicals by belief only. I should also note that this study occurred prior to the conflict over family separation at the border.

Using these constructs, we found that for evangelicals, immigration was a major factor in voting for Donald Trump in 2016. Sixty-two percent of evangelicals who voted for Trump listed immigration as one reason for their vote; 15 percent saying it was the single most important factor.

We then asked these evangelicals what they thought of the Trump administration’s actions on immigration since he took office. We found that two out of three evangelicals said they support the Trump administration’s efforts to reduce illegal immigration, while 63 percent support recent reductions in the number of legal immigrants to the United States.

However, we found the most significant splits within evangelical responses on these questions when we broke it down by race and ethnicity. White evangelicals overwhelmingly back more hardline positions on immigration, with three-fourths wanting a reduction in legal immigration and 82 percent supporting the administration’s efforts on illegal immigration.

But few evangelical people of color agreed. Only one-third of African-American evangelicals and half of Hispanics supported reductions in legal immigration, with slightly smaller percentages supporting the administration’s efforts on illegal immigration — 35 and 47 percent respectively.

It is hard not to conclude that far too many white evangelicals are motivated by racial anxiety and xenophobia compared to evangelicals of color. More research certainly is needed, but undoubtedly white evangelicals would do well to turn off cable news and listen to their sisters and brothers in the increasingly diverse pews of evangelical churches for a different view.

When it comes to immigration, evangelicals tend to be more anti-immigration, supporting reductions in immigration, tightening of borders, and (as other studies show) positions on refugees. How should Christians respond to these numbers and, more importantly, how should Christians think about immigration and refugees?

These numbers tell me is that many evangelicals are not particularly good at loving strangers, aliens, and pilgrims. Yet throughout scripture we find this value is a central pillar of the Christian faith. In what Christians call the Old Testament, God places hospitality and protection of foreigners at the core of Israel’s ethical identity.

In two passages, God gives us the justification for why this is so important. In Leviticus 19:34, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God,” while in Deuteronomy 10:19, “So show your love for the alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.”

Notice this commandment is conditioned by Israel’s history: They were to welcome the foreigner because they too had been foreigners in a strange land. This same conditional theme is picked up in the New Testament, this time in relation to how Christians are supposed to live in light of Christ’s love for us. At its most basic level we are called to love others unconditionally and sacrificially because Christ first loved us in the same way.

Political and media narratives tell you that distrusting, fearing, or even hating immigrants and refugees is a justified feeling. But scripture calls us to see ourselves in the immigrant and to love others as Christ first loved us.

Despite this “loving your neighbor” phrase, people do not naturally love the stranger. They do not naturally open their homes, their dinner tables, their churches, and, yes, their countries to others. We have an instinct to hoard, to protect what we have, and to insist others go find their own security and provisions.

More to the point, it is hard for American Christians to grasp the depth of suffering in the world when the grocery store is fully stocked and the emergency room is just down the road for many of us. This is not to say there are not real challenges and real needs in our country. Yet, within our bubble of American evangelicalism, we often lose sight of how much suffering there is in the world.

But teaching people to love and show hospitality toward immigrants and refugees isn’t just about getting our own house in order — we must fight the counter-narratives at work both in and out of the church.

We live in a culture where many political and religious leaders are teaching believers to fear the stranger. What is clear from the data is that this counter-discipling narrative is winning in the church, particularly among white evangelicals.

One recent infamous example was the Fox News guest who claimed immigrants in the caravan traveling through Mexico was carrying leprosy, smallpox, and tuberculosis and were going to “infect our people in the United States.” Despite having no evidence of this claim — and the fact that the last known case of smallpox was in Somalia in 1977 — this claim was given airtime on a major news network. These kinds of reports are not simply false but designed to provoke animosity, leading audiences in a culture of fear toward these people.

In other words, Christians are being conditioned to see threats where we would otherwise see suffering and a window to preach the gospel; to trade-in our gospel mission for a false sense of personal security.

I have been, along with many other evangelical leaders, a strong proponent of US immigration reform. The system as currently constituted is not working and needs to be addressed. But too often politicians seem more interested in using immigration as a means of galvanizing their base and demonizing their opponents than actually coming up with solutions.

When I and other evangelicals speak up on the importance of opening our arms to refugees and immigrants, I get a flood of complaints about open borders and references to George Soros. In emails and on social media, Christians whose profiles lead with tags such as “sinner redeemed by grace,” unleash anger that often surprises me.

Love for immigrants and refugees does not mean we ignore immigration reform. Rather, it makes demands on the way we structure new immigration policy, the way we treat those who seek refuge and safety, and how we treat those already in our country.

My views — like many evangelical leaders who are part of the Evangelical Immigration Table — have more in common with former President George W. Bush’s views than George Soros’s. But in today’s world, Bush is often painted as an immigration radical by my fellow evangelicals.

Furthermore, Christians need to be careful of those who misuse Romans 13:1-4, a passage that tells Christians to live in a way that is respectful and honoring toward our governing authority, while recognizing that God is sovereign over kings and presidents.

It is not, however, a trump card for letting the government do whatever it wants. The government exists under God’s authority and is subject to God’s moral law and is not entitled to our unquestioned fealty. This passage has long been used to justify immoral, un-Christian policies under the guise of the government protecting its citizens. But it is a misunderstanding of the passage.

In future generations, I think our evangelical heirs will look back in disappointment upon our response to the refugee crisis of our time. How could we have seen the suffering, heard the cries of anguish, and done so little? For evangelicals living today it is easy to look back and say we would have fought slavery or marched along with civil rights leaders. It is altogether harder to actually make those sacrifices today in the face of suffering.

If this is indeed the “election of the caravan,” my prayer is that evangelicals will recognize the opportunity it affords us to speak about how these refugees are made in the image of God. As Christians, we should be driven by compassion for those men, women, and children. And, as Americans, we should value a system that treats them fairly, in accordance with just laws.

I suspect that Christians will wake up this Wednesday morning and the so-called dangerous, filthy caravan of invading barbarian criminals will suddenly be gone from the political coverage. Oh, the asylum seekers will still be there. But the ads, the campaign speeches, and the tweets trying to stoke fears will magically disappear when polls close.

And white evangelical Christians will be able to go back to their lives, safe once again. That is, until politicians need us to be afraid again. There will always be another caravan, another group of marginalized or suffering people.

Our evangelical witness would be in a better place if we were less easily fooled.

Ed Stetzer leads the Billy Graham Center at Wheaton College. His most recent book is Christians in the Age of Outrage: How to Bring Our Best When the World Is at Its Worst, which addresses how often Christians now are driven by fear, rather than faith.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at firstperson@vox.com.

Original Source -> Fellow evangelicals: stop falling for Trump’s anti-immigrant rhetoric

via The Conservative Brief

[californiacoastparent]

Billy Graham’s children & their father

(From William Martin, Washington Post)

Billy Graham and Ruth Bell met at Wheaton College in the autumn of 1940. A vivacious and feisty beauty who had grown up in China as the daughter of medical missionaries, Ruth was the prize catch of her class…

Following a first date, to a performance of Handel’s “Messiah,” Billy wrote home to declare that he’d met the girl he intended to wed. Ruth explained Billy as “a guy that knew God in a very unusual manner,”

Their courtship, though rocky by conventional steps, faced a strong barrier. Both felt called to serve God, but Ruth had dreamed of evangelizing Tibet, whereas Billy had thought of preaching in fields somewhat more “white unto harvest.” He admired Ruth aspiration, but since he believed no wayward telephone himself, he convinced her that not to select his course is to thwart God’s apparent will.

After Ruth confessed that she wanted to be his spouse, he pointed out that the Bible states the husband is head of the spouse and announced, “Then I’ll do the top and you do the following.” She began to find out what after Billy Graham would mean though only the blindest of observers could conclude that Ruth Bell actually surrendered her their liberty.

(article continues below)

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Following their marriage in August 1943, Ruth caught a chill when coming from their honeymoon

Instead of calling cancel a preaching participation and staying at the bedside of his bride, Billy also kept the appointment and assessed her , sending a telegram along with a box of candies for consolation to . She felt hurt, but soon learned that nothing came before preaching on her husband’s set of priorities.

In 1945, Graham turned into a job that had him travel across the United States and Europe, a fulltime evangelist. Sensing the start of a pattern, and blessed with their first child, Ruth moved in at Montreat.

The Bells provided her companionship to ease the loneliness she felt during her husband’s long absences and were there to share important moments — when his first kid, Virginia (always called “Gigi”), was born in 1945, Billy was off on a yearlong trip.

FILE — In this July 7, 1954 file photograph, Evangelist Billy Graham poses with his his wife, Ruth, along with their three brothers about the Queen Mary after his birth from New York. Graham, who changed life during his preaching and activism, becoming a counselor to also the most heard evangelist ever and presidents, has expired. Spokesman Mark DeMoss says Graham, who suffered from pneumonia, cancer and other ailments, died at his home in North Carolina on Wednesday, Feb. 21, 2018. He was 99. (AP Photo)

Small was abandoned for Ruth and the kids

As Graham’s crusades took him throughout the entire world, little was left for Ruth and the kids — Gigi, Anne, then Ruth (long called Bunny), both Franklin along with Ned. Once, when Ruth brought Anne and let her surprise her father while he talked on the telephone, he stared with a look at the toddler, not comprehending his own daughter. At a turnabout a few years later, young Franklin approached his father’s homecoming from a crusade with a puzzled, “Who?”

To help keep him Ruth read Billy’s letters and guided the kids since they prayed for him and his job. On Sunday afternoons, she gathered them together to listen to his voice over the “Hour of Decision” broadcast. Then, he called to speak with each of them.

In the event the kids commented on their father’s absence, they were told he’d “gone someplace to inform the folks about Jesus.” Gigi remembered that “Mother never said, ‘Daddy’s going out for a month.’ Rather, she would say, ‘Daddy would be home in a few month. We will do such and such until he comes back.’ ” She also noted that, especially when she was younger, “I believed everybody’s daddy was gone. And that my granddaddy was such a father figure, that it never hit me that it was all that unusual.”

Whether it was perceived as unusual or not, the kids did notice their father’s lack

Once, Ruth saw among the girls sitting on the yard, staring wistfully at a plane in the distance and calling out, “Bye, Daddy! Bye, Daddy!” A airplane meant Daddy went someplace.

Acquaintances in the years remember that the Graham children were less than versions of decorum within their behavior but Ruth did her best to work out a stern and consistent discipline at home. She claimed to have obtained a few of her most effective techniques out of a guide whose directives included keeping orders easy and at the very least, being consistent, rewarding obedience and seeing that they were obeyed.

Gigi recalled, “She was strict. Nearly every day I have spanked. Franklin, too. Anne did not appear to want it. However, Mother had a terrific sense of humour, and we had a good deal of fun. I don’t have any memories of a crying mother.”

When Billy was dwelling, which was less than half of the time, much of Ruth’s disciplinary regime went outside the window

“Mother could have us into a routine,” Gigi recalled. “She monitored our TV watching, made us do our assignments, and put us to bed at a set time. Afterward, when Daddy was home, he would say, ‘Oh, let them watch this TV show with me and stay up,’ or he would give spending cash for gum and candy to us. Mother handled it with grace. She never said, ‘Well, here comes Bill. Is going to be all awakened’ She just said, ‘No matter your daddy says is fine for me.’ “

Gigi offered a potential explanation for the more relaxed approach of her father. “Once, he educated me for something I did. I don’t even remember what it was about, however, we had some disagreement from the kitchen. I hurried up the staircase, and I stomped my toes, if I believed I was out of scope. Then I hurried to my room and locked my door. He came up the stairs and he was mad. I pulled me round the room, sat me and gave me a very when the door opened. I said, ‘Some daddy you are! You move away and leave us all the time!’ Immediately, his eyes full of tears. My heart broke. That scene was part of my personal memory bank after that. I realized he was making a sacrifice. However, it does seem like he did not subject us much after that.”

With time, Ruth also became more elastic, reducing the amount of her demands to those she believed were essential. But when they reached an age that was appropriate, she and Billy sent them all away to boarding school. Bunny confessed that part of the motivation might have been to supply a better education to their kids than was available but thought that was a little element. “Daddy was filled, Mother was overwhelmed. It was simpler to ship us away.”

Like sisters, Bunny recalls being dressed for the Life Span of husband, homemaker and mom

“There wasn’t an idea of a profession for us,” she said. “I wanted to go to nursing college — Wheaton had a five-year schedule — but Daddy said no. No motive, no explanation, just ‘No.’ It wasn’t confrontational and he wasn’t mad, but once he decided, that was the end of it.” She also added, “He has forgotten that. Mother hasn’t.”

Franklin was always a handful. As an adolescent, he smoked, drank and drove quickly, practices echoed within his adult image — he rides a Harley, often preaches at a motorcycle coat, and his very first book was titled, “Rebel With a Cause.”

Ned shown his rebellion by turning casual use of drugs, including cocaine. “While I was embroiled in all,” he recalled, “my parents weren’t just very patient. They voiced displeasure and concern over the behavior, but not once did they make me feel I was rejected by them as an individual. Their love for me was unconditional. Their home was always open, regardless of what condition. They gave me themselves, and I never felt that their love was conditioned on meeting with a certain requirement. Eventually, their grace and love proved just irresistible.”

“We weren’t ideal”

As adults, publicly and to a large range privately, the Graham offspring have seldom said anything more negative in their family compared to “We weren’t ideal.” In the last few years, daughter Ruth — now no longer called Bunny — has been more outspoken about what she sees as the pitfalls of growing up at a famous family.

“My father’s relation with the household has been awkward,” she stated in a 2005 interview, “since he has two families: BGEA [the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association] along with us. I resented that. We were footnotes in books. Well, we are not footnotes. We’re actual, living, breathing people.”

She stated there was no wonder her father loved them, but his heritage was all-consuming

“We have coped,” she said. “We have not rejected them Christ. We are all involved in some form of tradition. It is a burden, although we’ve performed well at living around people’s expectations. We were not a family and I’m tired of people. I don’t wish to be indiscreet, however, God inhabits honesty, and I’m not good at image-management.”

Three of the five Graham kids have divorced. Ruth was the earliest. When she found that her husband was engaged in a long-running affair, she was ruined. “Initially I stumbled to some familiar pattern of denial — covering over my hurt with spiritual platitudes. I prayed. I fasted. I forgave. I maintained Bible promises. I have done all. Additionally, I hid my troubles out of everybody, humiliated that others — particularly my loved ones — would find out.”

Her family did find out, needless to say, and Graham urged her not to divorce, even telling her it could hurt tens of thousands of Christians who seemed for inspiration to his heritage and their loved ones.

Following one crucial conversation, Ruth recalled, “I watched how important the ministry turned out to him and just how little the household was. Things had to look right, and divorce did not fit.” Ruth confessed, however, that once they realized the marriage was over, they “were consistently quite loving.” “Inside, there was that heart of innocence and love and gentleness. He could comprehend trust, although I’m not sure Daddy could comprehend the damage I felt. That’s where we could communicate. He has been betrayed, hurt, and proceeded.”

Utilizing her story to help others

Ruth soon realised the countless Christian families are torn apart or severely injured by similar anxieties and that, contrary to her and her father’s anxieties, her divorce was “just a blip on the radar display.” She has used her experiences to communicate the truth that the most Christians aren’t exempt from the problems that trouble people. “We all,” she stated, “nevertheless have to work through the clutter and muck of life. You can not simply slap a Bible verse above a wound and expect it to cure.”

In many books and in conventions titled, “Ruth Graham & Friends,” she joins with other girls to share stories of dealing with the pains of such issues including adultery, spousal abuse, divorce, illness and dependence.

She writes of the difficulties of being part of a frequently idealised but nevertheless fairly human household and assures her viewers, “God doesn’t love Billy Graham or her family any more than he loves you.”

***

Martin is your Harry & Hazel Chavanne professor emeritus of religion and public policy at Rice University. He’s the author of “A Prophet with Honor: The Billy Graham Story,” (William Morrow, 1991). An edition is being released by Zondervan.

Author: ANA Newswire

from california coast parent http://www.californiacoastparent.com/billy-grahams-children-their-father/