#it was obvious very early on that something's not right with max's car so it's not like cs happened to find more performance on merit

[parentsday]

i think david was a lot more like max as a kid but he softened the story he told to max nikki and neil in the car

thank you for the ask anon !! for your reference reading this made me grimace in a way that a wounded dog would upon seeing a piece of meat !! but seriously this is a topic that is very important to my personal and possibly general understanding of these two characters, so im just gonna say that i agree with you and such interpretation of david’s character is very easy to call accurate to canon as both david and max are written with obvious intent to be seen as parallels of one another, more so than they are written to be character foils.

max and david are set to be read as opposites in the show from the very start and i think this is also the easiest and safest way to perceive both of their characters if this shows meta doesn’t interest you. their standpoints and life views are seemingly removed as far away from each other as humanly possible and we are reminded of it more than necessary in the earlier content. the show tries really hard to make it look like david is an inherently good person put against max’s necessary evil, so it seems only right to view them this way. and yet the first two seasons of the show do a spectacular job at showing us that david is not at all as good of a person as he tries to be (not tries to appear, but tries to be, important bc first one is max’s perspective on david’s person while the second one is a description actually accurate to him). early seasons david is undeniably selfish and just as much of an asshole as max is, keep in mind that this is not my personal view on his character but a fact in canon that we are reminded of time and time again and is also something that gets lampshaded by the writers during the parents day episode. he pushes his positive perspective of the way things should be just as hard as max pushes his negative one, if not more, he behaves in his own personal interests instead of interests of others or the interests of camp constantly and guess who is the only other character in the show who does this just as often (the answer is max). the only reason why it’s not always easy to pin point this stuff is because they are constantly posed in situations that require them to act dissimilarly enough for it to create a contrast which isn’t always easy to pick up on as something intentionally vague and done for specific narrative purpose. this similarity extends onto the fact that they are both victims of abuse and the show is well aware of it and uses it to its own advantage. both max and david deal with their trauma in drastically different ways as seen by the way they talk about the world surrounding them, but the core of it is the same and that’s the important part of it.

so i believe it’s very safe to say that even if david didn’t say anything that would allude to him changing the story about his younger self to be nicer than it actually was, it sure was implied by the writers in the subtext of that episode, maybe in the subtext of the show in its entirety. early camp camp content surrounding these two based itself very heavily on david’s belief that his similarity to max is what will push this kid to become just like him in the future, so it really is not out of the left field to assume david was a lot more like max when he was younger. most probably because in many ways he still is just like him.

tldr; david sees himself in max in more ways than one and the show’s writing feels the same way because they intentionally wrote them to be as similar as possible. the writers rely heavily on these two being narrative parallels to make their characters work in the way they do so your headcanon is as real as it gets anon ^^

[munsonxmayhem]

A Helping Hand: Part ii.

Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Warnings;

- fluff

- smut

- angst

————————————————————————————————————————

The following day you’d gotten to the shop a bit early, in the same, but washed, outfit as yesterday. You put a bit more into your appearance as well, taking a little longer on your hair, and applying a little, but still very minimal, makeup.

Stepping into the shop, you greet your Uncle John as you usually do, telling him you were too bored to sit at home all day. You never have to explain yourself to him though, he loves having you around the shop. You glance around, your eyes landing on Eddie from across the shop, your heart skipping a beat.

You say your hellos to everyone, a couple of them cat-calling you as you strutted by. This earned the attention of Eddie, who turned to see what the fuss was about. He immediately got a bit nervous, fidgeting with his tools with sweaty hands.

“Hiya, new kid.” You joke, leaning with your hands on the bench. He laughs quietly, tossing around tools on the flat surface. He nods to the sign, and you read it; ‘no leaning, sitting, or standing on benches.’ You roll your eyes.

“I’m pretty cool with the owner, I don’t think he’ll mind.” You refer to the owner being your Uncle and he nods in realization.

“Got people lined up today?” You ask, and he shrugs. “Just a couple, not due for another hour though.” He informs you, finally turning to look at you. He smiles softly as he scans your features, wanting to badly to feel if your hair is as soft as it looks. You blush, looking away at the rest of the shop.

“Quite an entrance you must’ve made, sorry I missed it.” He jokes, grabbing his toolbox from the bench for you to sit. You gladly accept, spinning around in the seat. “You look too clean to be working here right now.” He laughs, and you raise your eyebrow.

He leans over, taking his grease covered finger and swiping it across your cheek. “Hey!” You laugh loudly, slapping his hand jokingly. He laughs loudly, tossing you his rag. You catch it, bringing it up before letting it fall. “Kinda like it..” You say quietly, still holding onto his rag.

“Then give it back,” He reaches his hand out to grab it but you hold it behind your back. He laughs as he tries to retrieve it, arm snaking around your waist. Your breath hitches when you realize the proximity, his face close next to yours as he reaches behind you.

Your lack of attention worked in his benefit, swiping the material from your grip. “No fair.” You cross your arms, faking a pout. He taps your nose gently, no doubt leaving a smudge behind. “You’ll live.”

You giggle, looking over at Max, who seemed to be watching the entire thing with a sour look on his face. “Uh oh.. I think Maxxy-Boy is a little jealous..” You state, trying to get Eddie to look without marking it obvious. He glances quickly, playing it off like he dropped something.

“If I didn’t know better, could swear he was your boyfriend.” He chuckles and you smack his arm. “Not even close.”

As cars start pulling in, you do what you always do; making your rounds to everybody as Eddie sits and waits for his customer. You glance over at the patient man, who steals a glance or two at you every so often. You can’t help the skipping of your heart whenever he does.

You hear a grunt below you, holding back a laugh as you realize what had happened. “Need help under there, Frank?” You hold back your laughter as you bend over to glance at him. He grunts, sliding out and holding his forehead. You cover your mouth, silencing the impending laughter in the back on your throat.

He glances up at you, rubbing his head and scowling. “Don’t laugh.” You break, laughter falling from your mouth before you can stop it. “(Y/N)! It’s not funny. Hand me my rag, please?” You giggle the entire time you hand it to him. He slowly makes his way back under, leaving you to your thoughts. “Watch your head, Frank.” You joke, and he mocks you under the car.

Frank was one of your dads oldest running employees, he was like a second uncle to you and you loved joking around with him. You laughed as you made your way to his work bench, grabbing a rag and wiping your hands.

“Getting comfy with the new guy, are you?” You hear Max behind you, and you slowly turn around. “Don’t be jealous, Max. It’s you, not me.” You roll your eyes, tossing the rag down.

“Didn’t realize you were the shop slut, (Y/N).” This earned a couple turned heads, including Eddie’s. Your jaw drops, turning back to him. “I’m a slut, Max?” You step closer. “Well, if I’m such a slut.. why haven’t you been able to fuck me yet? Hm? Think about it, big guy.” You push his chest, and he holds his hands up.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Frank had come from under the car, stepping closer, ready to pounce if need-be. “Unemployment will be the only thing coming over you, if you ever decide you want to talk to me like that again.” You spit, a smirk forming on your face. You take a step back, and he finally releases his breath. He mutters another apology, going back to his work station.

You hear a cheer and a whistle from behind you, turning to see Eddie was the one who’d done it. This brought out the rest of the applause and cheers from the rest of the mechanics who’d witnessed it. You take a dramatic bow, before turning to go to Eddie.

The office door swings open, and out comes a very confused Uncle John. “What’d I miss?” He says, and everyone gets quiet, awkwardly looking over at Max who has his back turned nervously.

“Well, get back to work then!” He laughs, waving them to it as he steps back into the office. You proceed walking, making your way to Eddie who’s giving you the proudest smile you’ve ever seen. “That was.. you’re awesome.” He smiles, “Proud of you.” He states, and you nudge his arm. “Thanks, kind’ve embarrassing getting called a shop slut.” You laugh quietly, sitting down on the stool.

He leans down, tentatively reaching out and pushing a stray hair from your face. “You know you’re not though, right?” He coos softly and you nod. “Yeah, I mean.. I’ve never slept with anyone that’s worked here.” You laugh, gesturing out to the people.

You look behind Eddie, seeing his first customer arriving. “Get to work, pretty boy.” You state, and he looks behind him, not bothering to hide the blush on his cheeks from your nickname.

You see it’s the same woman as yesterday, and you laugh quietly to yourself. You go find something to keep yourself busy, deciding to pick off unused tools off the floor, bending over and grabbing them.

You glance behind you when you stand up, seeing Eddie snap out of his glance at your ass, averting his attention quickly back to the woman’s car. You giggle, bringing the tools over to a table.

You hear heels against the floor coming from behind you, turning to see Eddie walking her to your Uncles office to check out. She walks past you, eyeing you up with disgust before strutting past you. As Eddie passes, you feel the brush of his fingers against your waist, turning and giving you a smug smirk as he heads to the office.

Your body is on fire at that simple touch, only because it came from Eddie. You keep finding yourself distracted by his presence, which is rare for you. You usually don’t take interest in guys, only having a couple actual relationships in your life.

“Wrench.” The voice breaks you out of your thoughts, looking down at Frank who is sliding out from under the car. “Sorry..” You mutter, handing him the wrench. He slides out anyways, sitting up against his knees. “What’s got you so distracted, kid?” He asks, genuinely concerned. “It’s not what Max said is it?” He gets a bit heated, wiping his hands aggressively with his rag. “I outta smack some sense into that kid.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, Frank. It’s not Max, though he does need a good ol’ smacking.” You look over at him and he averts his gaze elsewhere. He stands up, scooting closer to you, he nudges your arm. “ ‘s it the new kid?” He smirks, and you blush, turning your head away.

He laughs heartily, “I knew it! I’ve never seen you so happy to be here than you were after you met him, that’s for sure. I know you love it here and all but.. not that much.” He winks, getting back down. “I say go for it, kid. He’s got his eye on you, too. A lot more respectfully than Max does.” With that he’s sliding back under the car, leaving you to think about what he’s said.

You look over at Eddie, who’s back at his work station; the woman’s car finally gone. You ask Frank if he needs more help and when he doesn’t, you find yourself back at Eddie’s station. He turns to you, a smirk on his face. “Hey, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

“See anything you like earlier?” You smirk, deciding to tease a bit. His smirk falls, and he looks back at you nervously. “Uh.. I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stammers and you know you’ve caught him.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Munson. You think I didn’t feel your hand earlier?” You get closer, and he nearly trips as he tries to back away, unsuccessfully. You step to his side, chest pressed lightly to his arm. His breath hitches, looking around hurriedly.

“I’m down here, Eddie.” You giggle and he finally makes eye contact with you, his deep brown eyes burning through yours.

“So, did you?” You ask, raising a brow. He clears his throat, “Did I what?” You laugh at his response, hand coming up and gently holding his bicep. He glances down at your hand, his cheeks burning red. “See anything you like? Earlier? You know..” You lean in closer, “When you were checking out my ass?” He chokes, and you giggle.

“I-I’m sorry, I swear to god I didn’t mean to but you just.. and I just..” He’s a stuttering mess trying to defend himself, but you’re only teasing him. You trail your fingers from his bicep down to his fingers, loosely linking them with his. “I don’t mind.” You wink, dropping his hand.

This is twice you’d left him stuck in awe, making your way over and sitting on his stool again; fiddling around with the dirt under your nails. You seem him try to subtly readjust himself in his pants, sighing in frustration at his lack of self control.

You giggle, and he looks over at you. “So not funny.” His cheeks are red, and his eyes are wide with panic. “It’s a little funny.” You shrug, wiping your hands on your pants. He groans, impatiently waiting for his next customer, to keep his thoughts away from the growing boner in his pants.

You see him standing facing his table, messing with some screws and bolts and you decide to take advantage of it. You stand up, nudging his shoulder. He backs up a bit, and scoot between him and the table. “ ‘Scuse me, sorry.” You whisper as your ass brushes his crotch, earning a gasp from him as he jumps back.

“So jumpy, just needed to grab this.” You take a rag from the box, gently wiping the stuff from under your nails. “That’s fine.” He states, trying to keep his composure.

The rest of the day is a bit slow, nobody really needing help so you just wander aimlessly while Eddie helps his last customer. Your uncle comes out and gives his usual 10 minute warning, asking you to lock up again.

You watch as everyone cleans up and makes there way to their cars, Max and Eddie being the only ones left behind. You’re sat in the middle, and see Max walking over to Eddie like he’s got something to say.

You slowly make your way behind him, ready to jump in if necessary. “Hey, man.” Max says, tapping Eddie on his shoulder. Eddie turns, looking face to face with him. “You should back off of (Y/N). I’ve got dibs. You just got here yesterday, so I didn’t expect you to know that. But now you do, bro.”

Eddie chuckles, “First of all, I’m not your bro. Just your coworker. Second of all, she’s a person, not the seat of a vehicle. You can’t just call dibs. And judging by your encounter with her earlier, I’d say your chances are so low they’re practically nonexistent, so good luck.. bro.” Eddie pats his shoulder, turning away from him.

You see Max put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder to turn him around and Eddie jumps immediately, turning to face him. Eddie is pissed now, breathing heavily through his nose. You immediately step in, going directly between them. Max’s eyes go wide, a hand still up from when he was going to punch Eddie.

“I wouldn’t do that, Max.” He huffs in response. “What? You gonna go through me? Okay. Go ahead, tough guy.” You wave your arms out, giving him a free shot to hit you, and you thought he just might.

Where you’re standing, your back is completely pressed against Eddie’s front, making your skin burn. Max rolls his eyes, “This isn’t over.” He looks past you at Eddie, dropping his hand. You shake your head, “Yeah. I think it is.” He scoffs, before deciding to walk away. You stay where you are for a few seconds, making sure he’s gone.

Then you feel Eddie’s hands on your waist, turning you quickly to face him. You gasp, looking up into his now softened features. He looks like he’s going to say something, but instead crashes his lips to yours. Your eyes go wide in surprise before melting into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. You bring your hands around his neck, keeping him close as his arms circle your waist.

He turns both of you around, grabbing the back of your legs and picking you up, immediately placing you on the counter. You moan softly into the kiss, his hands squeezing your ass through your jeans as he makes himself comfortable between your thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close to you and you feel the raging hard on in his pants.

You smile into the kiss, “What’s got you so worked up?” He groans, pulling you impossibly closer. “You.” He nips your bottom lip, causing you to gasp. He uses your parted lips to his advantage, pushing his tongue past them to slide amongst your own.

You can feel yourself getting wet as you trail your fingers through his hair, tugging gently every so often. He groans quietly when you do this, making your stomach fill with butterflies. He reluctantly pulls back, forehead to yours as you both pant heavily for oxygen. “Not here.” He mutters, and you nod. “Where?”

“Van?” He asks, eyes fluttering shut as you grind lightly against him. You nod fervently, and he helps you off the bench. You run around the garage, locking up hastily before meeting Eddie outside the front door, hiding the key. He immediately grabs your hand, pulling you to his van and sliding open the back door. It’s roomy, with a few pillows and blankets from his smoke trips to Lover’s Lake.

He immediately presses his lips back to yours, pushing you into the back of the van and sliding the door shut quickly. You guys make quick work of ridding the necessary clothing items, not wanting to waste anymore time. He groans as you palm him through his boxers, cock straining against the fabric.

You pull them down, and he yanks down your panties, groaning at the sight. You attach his lips to yours again, wrapping your legs around his waist to urge him closer. He groans as his cock presses flat between your folds, feeling how incredibly wet you already are. “Fuck, I wish I could put my fingers in your first. But my hands..” You nod, knowing you both have too dirty of hands for any sort of foreplay.

“Another time, don’t need it right now.” You mutter quickly, wanting him just to be inside of you. He breaths shakily as he lines himself up to your entrance, your body riddled with anticipation.

He nudges his hips forward, the head of his cock pressing into you, causing you both to gasp. He rests his forehead to yours, both of you watching in awe as your pussy takes him in with ease, soft groans falling from both of your lips as he pushes in completely. “This okay?” He asks, eyes searching yours. You nod, “More than.” You attach your lips to his sloppily as he starts thrusting, hips hitting yours as he moves in slow and deep.

You break the kiss, pulling him so his chest is pressed to yours, your head burying in his neck. “F-faster, Eddie. Oh my god, yes! Just like that, baby.” You’re whimpering as he drives himself into you quickly, the van shaking heavily at his thrusts. “Fuck, beautiful. You feel so good.” He groans against your shoulder, placing wet, sloppy kisses to the skin.

“Needed you since I met you.” You confess, jaw dropping at the pleasure coursing through your body. He grunts in response, his back tensing beneath your finger tips. “Yeah?” He breaths out, teeth nipping lightly at your shoulder. You nod, “Yes! Yes, fuck! Needed you so bad.” You cry out, his cock nudging your g-spot as you lift your leg a bit higher on his waist.

“Fuck. Needed you too.” He moans out, body slick with sweat. He takes one of your hands from his back, lacing your fingers together and pinning it beside your head. “You’ve got me. All yours.” You whimper, placing your lips lightly against his neck. His hips stutter, “Shit, oh god, say it again.” He demands, driving his hips just a bit harder.

You feel the knot building, and you know you’re not gonna last much longer. “All yours, Eddie. Oh my god, all yours…” He groans loudly, matching your loud moans and whimpers. “Mine.” He attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting the skin harshly, being sure to leave a nasty mark.

“I-I’m close, Eddie.” You whimper, breath shaky. He nods against your neck, hips snapping into yours. He brings his free hand down, attaching his fingers to your clit and rubbing sloppy circles. “Oh! Oh fuck!” You cry out, hips jerking against him. He leans his head up, looking you in your eyes. “Look at me, angel. Wanna see you when you cum around me.” He grunts, and you reluctantly open your eyes.

His face his flushed in pleasure, eyes dark with lust as little beads of sweat line his grease smudged skin. Between this, his thrusts, and the circles his fingers are rubbing against you; you break. Your brows furrow, and your jaw drops as you come undone beneath him, body shaking and jerking heavily, a series of cries and whimpers leaving your body.

He comes undone hard at the sight, “Oh.. Fuck..” He moans out, hips stuttering as you send him over the edge; the vice-like grip of your pussy draining every drop of him into you. You pant against his shoulder as he rocks into you a few times, removing his hand from between you. You don’t care about the grime on his fingers, knowing you can just clean up; easier outside of you than inside.

He collapses against you, his sweaty skin pressed to yours. He breaths heavily against your face, the smell of mint and cigarettes flooding your senses, but you love it. He slowly pulls out, dropping beside you. You lay in silence for a moment as your mushy brain returns to normal. The soft pants of him next to you as he tries to collect himself.

You shakily flop to your side, facing him as he gazes up at the ceiling of his van. You reach your hand out, sliding it across his bare chest. He glances down at it, before looking at you; not believing this was real.

“You okay?” You mutter, a small smile on your face. He nods, “More than.. Am I dreaming? Was this a dream?” He laughs breathlessly, and you shake your head. “I’m here.” You slide closer, cuddling into his side. He slides an arm around you, reaching up to the back of his seat and grabbing another blanket.

He tosses it over you as you collect yourself, wrapped up in each other. “Did you mean it?” He breaks the silence. You think for a moment, your brain still buzzing from the sex you’d just had. “Yes. I’m yours. If you want me, that is.” He chuckles, his arm giving you a squeeze. “Of course I do.”

“Then that’s that.” You giggle, placing a couple of kisses to his chest. He smiles, looking down at you. “Gonna be a lot harder for me to tolerate the rest of the guys in the shop, now.” He admits and you laugh loudly. You reach up to your neck, feeling around the area he’d marked up. “I think they’ll know I’m spoken for.” You tell him, and he looks down at your neck. He smiles proudly at his work, head falling back against the worn out pillow behind him.

“Good.” Is all he says, the both of you laying there for a few moments in comfortable silence. As you redress, you can’t help but to glance over at the beautiful man next to you, butterflies erupting in your belly all over again. He helps you out of the van, legs still a bit shaky. He slides the door closed, “So.. dangerous, huh?” He smirks and you nod. “In the best way possible.”

He gives you a quick kiss to your lips, smiling as he does so. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, eyes boring into yours. You shake your head, “I’ve got work tomorrow. But if I get done early, I’ll come see you.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Can I take you out?” You nod, and he grins widely. “When’s your next free day?” He thinks for a moment, “Thursday.” You giggle, “Me too. Sound good?” He nods, his hands coming up to your cheeks. “Sounds fantastic.” He presses his lips to yours again, before you part ways.

——————————————————————————

Tags: @eddiesprincess86, @one-sweet-gubler, @alana4610

[medicallymercury]

Too Much, Too Young and Switzerland (16/09/23)

I feel like half my episode posts open with a “this one is so late” disclaimer but this must be nearly a month…the thing is that I don’t even think my thoughts will be any more developed than they’d be if I posted this the day the episodes aired. Also, I think I’ve gotten so used to not posting about episodes that for some reason my brain has become embarrassed about expressing my thoughts which is a weird feeling I’m trying to get rid of by acknowledging it right away in my pre-post notes.

I didn’t really like the first of the of these episodes, it felt like it was focussed mostly on dealing with storylines I don’t like or dealing with storylines I had been enjoying absolutely terribly, but Switzerland was brilliant (though I do think it should’ve come first).

Too Much, Too Young

Can Faith be gone now? Every time I feel like we’re finally about to lose her and this storyline, she manages to hold on somehow. At the very least, can she be off in rehab for a couple months? I get that a lot of people have started to not like her from all of this but I’ve been not liking her since before I even properly picked the show back up and I just want a break from her at this point. Honestly, I’m expecting her to make an annoying and immediate comeback once the hiatus is over and we get a time skip.

I didn’t think the Donna in prison thing really made sense but I didn’t entirely mind it until I realised that was supposed to be her exit from the show?? Already??? I expected that she’d be in prison but still in the show and then she’d get out somehow but no, she’s genuinely gone to prison. I’m really disappointed about this honestly - in a few months on the show, Donna became such a great part of the whole team and her storyline was interesting even before the car crash, it feels like such a waste of her character and the whole storyline and that’s all I really have to say on it.

Interesting details with Jodie and her nan but I wonder if there is more to it than what she said in the pub. For all that we’re learning about Max now, there’s still quite a lot we don’t know.

Something I’ve actually really been wanting to point out in this episode that I’m surprised no one else seems to have mentioned or noticed: Sah saying that Teddy “says it’s fine”. That means that they’ve spoke and while Sah thinks that Teddy isn’t past how he feels about it and while Sah doesn’t seem to be past their guilt, he has ~kind of- forgiven them?? It’s not the “let’s get back together and I’m sorry for pushing you away” forgiveness that Paige got (and which is definitely not actually healthy for their relationship), but he has at least tried to pretend “it’s fine” which is interesting to me.

Switzerland

I have less to say about this episode on a general level because I don’t think anything I could say would really be worth saying. It’s obviously great and incredibly sad, I don’t need to say that, it’s obvious.

I also don’t need to say that Di Botcher and Robert Pugh were amazing in this, because that’s been said a million times.

I don’t know what else to say, even three weeks out I still feel like all my thoughts on this episode are a bit useless. I think my favourite scene was the one where Jan starts asking about everything she’s got to do after he dies when Gethin has had the first drink. I just really liked how it was written and performed.

I don’t wanna make this post about Teddy because this episode very much wasn’t about him as much as it involved him but a girl has to hold off her inevitable start-of-uni induced autistic burnout somehow so here’s just the broad strokes of my Teddy thoughts, please ignore: It’s kind of always been obvious to me that he became a paramedic to be like Jan but now that’s explicit canon. This episode really leant into something I think I kind of alluded to me picking up on in my early posts about Aftermath, Teddy as Son 2.0. Specifically, “he’s a good lad, he’ll look after you” and Jan asking what she should tell Teddy after she asks what she should tell Ross and the ways that the answers to those questions are different. Lots of thoughts and I really don’t wanna go on breaking down every line (and all the ways I’m absolutely projecting) but yeah, it really added to how that argument felt for me. Equally too many thoughts about how this episode and that argument between Teddy and Jan fits into how Teddy’s like maturity level (I guess) has been dealt with in recent episodes but I equally don’t want to break the scenes down too much in that area.

[kapyushonchan]

Plague Doctor theories (which I should remade into bingo card)

What didn't bingo:

- Shura is Fake.

The theory didn't come true, but I suspected him, because he was the only one who knew the details of the Game, which Fake demonstrated.

- Lera or Toma will be tested with the drug.

It was just a possible guess, glad it didn't turned out true.

- Lera will come out with some plan by herself.

Lera turned out to have a really good mentor and she was smart to realise that Christina casted illusion on her. Still no plan, so no bingo.

Bingoed:

- Sergey won't mess around with Igor and there won't be any drama between them. The arc is a pure gestalt about their relationship, as well as an answer to the question "why won't Igor take care of the PD case, they're in the same city".

- Lera's costume is being tracked. Oleg and Sergey will rescue Lera.

- Or Toma or Volodya will wake up.

Bingoed partly:

- Lera will team up with Chrysalis and later with Poet to deal with the Machaons.

My bets:

- Dialogue or scene or general vibe: Lera: I have no respect for Sergei Razumovsky. Dagbaev, why the fuck are you clapping? I don't respect you either.

- Zlatomaki in any form, but most likely in the romantic one - there are too many parallels between them.

~Parallels in question~

He has vision problems - she's an ophthalmologist.

Lera is afraid of car/bike accidents, Altan is afraid of the front seats of the car.

She is a medic, he is a botanist.

Lera is the older sister, Altan is the younger brother.

The two find themselves in their situation through no fault of their own.

He's rich, she's, well, from ordinary family? Imagine how many memes are possible between them? Jokes about coffee for commoners entered the chat 🤣*Ouran High School Host Club music theme starts playing in the background *

~Parallels in question end~

- But in the end, if there is any romantic plotline between them, it will not go in full force right away: they are enemies, they have different social positions, different views on life, and other enemies-to-lovers slow burn angst of 200k words.

~Angst in question~

Yuma performs on Lera some kind of "break the cutie" trop to prevent her from getting in the way of the Buryat mafia and messing with her little brother.

Kirya finds out that Lera is a PD and at some point pretends to be a PD to save Lera. I have a feeling that the fact that Kirya is good at kendo, the fact that Sergei has been mulling over his candidacy, and that everyone thinks the PD guy, is laid in plot for a reason. Plus, Kirya fits the overall image of PD and Razumovsky's obvious choice better.

Bonus points if Kirya is captured by Yuma/another villain and mega bonus points if Kirya is killed or heavily injuted ("break the cutie "moment for Lera). Unlikely, though. Then again, Phobs came up with five bullets for Oleg.

- Lera will find herself completely cornered by circumstances, and will turn to Dima for help, who will lead her to White Arrow. Maybe Lera will work for them, but not as a regular employee.

- Her cornerstone will be Dagbaev's case/ relationship mess/ hero or ordinary person dilemma.

- Lera has to fake her own death in order to keep her loved ones safe. Actually, that's why I think they put Dima and Looking Glass in the story:

- Lera will be living in Looking Glass after the staging. Maybe she will be helping those in Looking glass like Farid - people who has no choice and other options left but to go hiding.

- With Sergei, Lera will either have a conflict or they'll split up by the end of the story. Lera will remain a PD.

- Lera will kill someone (forcibly) and it will affect her very much.

- Lera will be courted by Max:

- All kidding aside, her interaction with Max has to be at least something: they didn't bring him in the plot and introduce them so early for nothing.

My bet: they'll cross paths during/after the Machaon arc. Lera will be a questioned as a witness (Beklimisheva's case? Kristina's dacha case if the police gets involved), and she'll find out that Max is investigating a PD.

Bonus points if, in addition to Max, Altan will also set his eyes on Lera, but I've already written about that.

Super mega bonus points and the title of Vanga of a century to me if/when all three awkwardly cross paths, and Vadik turns on Bad Romance in the background. I'm at least entitled to a fic with this scene 😤.

- At some point, Lera and Oleg will beat the shit out of Vadik together as a mentor-pupil team. Because this bitch needs to be put down(c) and there has to be a balance in nature.

- Altan was in Raido and met Ulya. Who knows, a lot of characters have heard her doom-laden coffee predictions.

- Lera is really cursed by Rivers.

- Mir cameo please? 🥺

Machaon arc predictions:

- The Dagbaevs are either funding the Machaon, or they ordered the stealing of the drug from them.

Heavily implied that Altan really funds them.

From what I understand, Christina is casting illusions based on something. Fears, desires.

Christina embodied Lera's fear-and Lera is afraid of Altan and Vadim and what they could do to her. But the rest of it? About Altan starting to fund the Machaon to avoid spending too much money? That's what Yuma was talking about (Altan wasted too many people and money and got reprimanded for it). Oh, and how come there is an idea in Lera's mind abt the Machaon/Dagbaev collaboration? They just scared her, she couldn't have made out such conclusion on her own. My guess is that Christina couldn't get through to Lera's whole mind, so she molded it with what she had. She is involved with Athena and Rubinstein's deals. And Altan was in Machaon's presentation.

I think Christina arrogantly leaked to Lera through illusions about who was sponsoring them.

- The Dagbaevs will show up in the epilogue.

- The Dagbaevs will buy out Sergei's orphanage.

- I think they might show a scene where Vladimir goes to Looking-glass to talk to Poet, to inform him that he's on Rubinstein's trail and they all now in big trouble.

- Chrysalis will join forces with Sergey in attempt to find Rubinstein. After finding this out the Poet will refuse to join them.

- Lera either will get some super ability or already has one (Already implied? Christina couldn't break through her mind? Maybe because of the mask, but Christina managed to cast an illusion on Lera). Not the most desirable option, but a possible one nonetheless. I'm actually all for it if it's well executed. Which leads me to this prediction:

- The trio will manage to deal with guards on their own, but Lera will pass out due to the lack of oxygen, and Toma with Vladimir will see her face, while trying to help her. Still they will keep her identity in secret because they are not that kind of people to use it against her.

- (With Lera's fave reveal) Chrysalis had already guessed that PD was "that girl who helped me bring Maria Beklemisheva to the hospital". Because Lera was really sloppy with the information she gave to Chrysalis (her knowing his number, details of the case and information available to her).

- Chrysalis and Toma would definitely be the kind of friends Lera could open up to. They should be pen pals after everything at least. Also Lera will loosen up with them and let go of her handra and stress over her secret life.

- Toma will either refuse to take the drug with her after what she went through, or she'll be in doubts about it.

- Chrysalis might persuade Toma to find out who was ordering to steal the drug.

- Sergey and Oleg will arrive to pick Lera up and to search the base before the police.

- Christina either will manage to escape or will be captured.

- Sergey will reprimand Lera for not contacting them sooner after she found that this whole deal is big and dangerous, and he'll be mad about broken mask too, but he also will be grateful to her for finding in s day what he was searching for a month now.

- The police will come the last to the site help the kidnapped people. Max snd Banu will be investigating this case because kidnapped people will inform the police that the Plague Doctor helped them.

- The Poet's name is Eugeny.

- And he'll move into Volodya's apartment, and they'll put up that stupid bookcase from Ikea, and the anti-cat on windows for the cat, and that dream apartment will become a reality and...

Camon, I'm entitled to it 😤.

[f1]

Formula One: Red Bull's Christian Horner on the potential of a female driver reaching the grid

EXCLUSIVE: Christian Horner opens up on the potential of a female driver reaching the grid... as Red Bull begin new partnership with Rokt and launch initiative to improve diversity in F1 By Ben Nagle For Dailymail.Com Published: 04:44 GMT, 4 February 2023 | Updated: 04:44 GMT, 4 February 2023 Christian Horner has opened up about the possibility of a female driver reaching the Formula One grid, on the week that his Red Bull team signed a new initiative with Rokt to improve diversity in the sport. There has not been a female in a Formula One Grand Prix race since Giovanna Amati in 1992, but Red Bull are among the teams now giving more opportunities in a bid to change that statistic. This season, the W Series will return for another year, an all-female driver category will be launched in the form of F1 Academy, and Jamie Chadwick will continue in her role as a development driver for Williams. While all positive moves, there does not yet seem an obvious pathway to the grid for a female driver, but Horner is confident that opportunities will arise. When asked whether he thinks a female could earn a race seat in the years to come, the Red Bull team principal told DailyMail.com: 'I don't see why not. I think that the more girls that are getting interested in Formula One, the bigger pool of young drivers that are coming into the sport.  Christian Horner (left) shakes hands with Rokt CEO Bruce Buchanan at their New York launch Red Bull and Rokt will attempt to give more opportunities for females aiming to get into F1 'The bigger percentage of that becomes girls getting in at the grass roots, and then why not – you can never say never. I just think it's great that there's so many initiatives to get women involved across all aspects of the sport, from driving, to engineering, to operationally.  'It's just great to see that enthusiasm. I think Drive to Survive has brought a whole new demographic into following Formula One.' Red Bull's partnership with Rokt will see the two organizations work together to foster greater diversity in F1 racing, while also launching a search to recruit female ethletes to join the Red Bull eSports team. Rokt CEO Bruce Buchanan also sat down with DailyMail.com in New York this week, and when asked his response to whether a female could make it all the way to the top, he made his feelings clear.   '100 percent,' he began. 'I think one of the things that has been interesting on our journey is, wherever you see things that you feel are impossible to break through, how do you actually create role models or things that people can see that will actually change their perspective.  'It's no different in any category... when someone has never done something before, or it feels like it's impossible, and then someone does it, it's like, "of course, it was always possible." Red Bull launched the RB19 in New York on Friday - their car for the 2023 Formula One season Max Verstappen, Sergio Perez and Horner (left-right) were all present in the Big Apple 'I think the same will be true for women in F1. I think it'll happen, it's just a matter of how do we actually facilitate some of those early adopters coming through.  'That's why I think eSports will be good, we're also trying to sponsor some female mechanics and see if we can get broader talent and diversity. Our business has been very successful tapping into diverse pools of talent.  'The world's a better place when we enable everyone to come through and reach their full potential.' Rokt's logo will be prominent on the RB19, which Red Bull launched in New York City on Friday morning.  Share or comment on this article: Formula One: Red Bull's Christian Horner on the potential of a female driver reaching the grid via Formula One | Mail Online https://www.dailymail.co.uk?ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490&ito=1490

[alltooreid]

Invisible String

Although Spencer Reid and the Reader don’t find themselves in a romance with each other until well into their adulthood, their relationship has been decades in the making. Almost as if something as been pulling them together all these years. 

A/N: sorry for such a long wait but i’ve been struggling a lot mentally as of late. i hope you guys enjoy this one shot!! As always requests are open and heavily encouraged!! And of course this is inspired by the taylor swift song of the same name :)) Also keep in mind although the following scenes are heavily inspired by some scenes in Criminal Minds, elements of them have been slightly altered to fit in Y/N as a character.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: a cute strangers to lovers fluff fic!

Word Count: 3.9K

Content Warnings: typical criminal minds case discussion, mentions of child trafficking when discussing this case, but no real detail. slight spoilers for season eight (beginning maeve stuff) and tiny spoilers for season fifteen (briefly mentions max but nothing really important to the plot at all)

“Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see?”

You had met Spencer Reid 3 times before you had really met him.  

It was almost silly to think about it now. Now that you and Spencer have been dating for 3 years, it was strange to believe there were so many chances for you two to meet years earlier.

When you were sixteen years old, you got your first part time job. You worked at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop called Iced Dreams. You hated it so much. Your manager was a total creep, your older coworkers were rude and condescending to you, since you were one of the youngest people working there, but most of all you hated the uniforms.

Consisting of a very stupid looking hat, bright pink with randomly embrodiered teal patterns, an outdated bright teal shirt, it had been given to you from a dirty bin in the back, and judging by the sewn in shoulder pads, it had to be at least a couple decades old.

So one day, you didn’t wear the hat.

It wasn’t entirely purposeful. You couldn’t find it, you searched your room, you searched your car, so eventually you had to leave without it to prevent being late. Still, as you clocked it and passed the box of extras in the office something made you decide to leave it alone.

You were about 8 minutes into your shift when your manager approached you. “Y/N? Where’s your hat sweetheart?” You hated this man so much. You had gone to your parents time and time again, recounting his creepy behavior towards you and the other teenage girls who you worked with, but they refused to let you quit.

When you had started working there, he used to enforce this ridiculous rule that all the female workers had to wear skirts as part of their uniform, but you had gathered all the sixteen and seventeen year olds who worked there and all threatened to quit if he didn’t change the policy. So you were no stranger to breaking and defying the rules.  

“Yeah I couldn’t find it, sorry.” you shrugged.

He chuckled and reached his hat out to touch your face. You jerked back, you almost wanted to refuse to wear one of the stupid extra hats just so that you could get fired.

“Well, Y/N its policy sweetie. No matter how special you are to me you still need to wear the hat. There’s extras in the office.”

“No way I’m wearing one of those. I bet they have like lice or something.”

He pursed his lips and sighed “Well I suppose that beautiful hair is just too pretty to wear a used hat huh. . . What do you suggest? If you’re working you have to wear it.”

You laughed, “Well you could let me go home.”

He paused, “Why don’t you go sit in the office, I’ll come talk to you in a minute.”

So you did, for about 10 minutes you sat in the office, surrounded by frozen yogurt flavor marking posters and boxes of old uniforms, and each passing minute you feared for the worst. Maybe you were actually getting fired? You really didn’t want to go that far, because, as much as you hated it, you really needed this job.

When your manager finally came to talk to you he held a small salted caramel frozen yogurt, your personal favorite flavor, and a twenty dollar bill. He handed them both to you.

“You seem so stressed Y/N, why don’t you take the day and go get lunch. My treat,” he said, smiling that weird twisted smile that always made your full body shiver.

However you were broke as hell, and no teenager in their right mind would ever pass up free food, so you took it, grabbed your keys and started to leave

Yet as soon as you walked out the back door you dropped your frozen yogurt, cup fully upside down, onto the pavement. You cursed, you hadn’t even taken a bite of it yet, and it looked like he had put coconut flakes on it, and you loved coconut. Still, you had your twenty bucks, and that was a pretty sweet pay out considering you were only clocked in for about 20 minutes.

So you got Chinese food, and spent what was supposed to be your shift in the shopping mall across town, completely and blissfully unaware of the fact the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI was dragging your manager away in handcuffs.

➽───────────────❥

Young Spencer Reid had only joined the FBI about a month ago. Despite being a genius, and providing crucial information to the solving of cases, he was aware of the most obvious. He was only twenty two years old, and he was scrawny as hell.

He felt this intense need to prove himself, especially to make Gideon proud.

So when they got a case about a the kidnapping and sex trafficking of teenage girls, he saw it as something he could really involve himself in. Based on the profile, it wasn’t going to be a large, strong, confident unsub who Morgan needed to tackle. This man would be ugly sure, but he would be a manipulative mastermind. Reid could work with that, he could prove himself.

He surprised everyone with his sheer work ethic and determination to find this man, and through consistently revising and delivering the profile soon enough they got a hit. A young woman in her early twenties called the tipline and reported her own manager. Insisting he fit the profile perfectly, and described how strangely he treated the minors who worked there, and how he almost exclusively hired young girls, treated them great and then switched as soon as they became legal.

So Garcia did her magically digging, and soon enough the FBI was tearing up a frozen yogurt shop, looking for any evidence of pedophilia. Garcia was even brought along, as she was pivotal to discovering any secret files in his computer.

At first, all they could find were strange compilation videos and under employees skirts. Spencer, and the rest of the team, were struggling to connect how he could get so many videos from an angle like this without anyone noticing or reporting him, until Gideon uncovered an old dusty pair of shoes, in which the right one held a small camera at the toe.

Although this was absolutely disgusting, it wasn’t enough to prove he was running the ring or kidnapping the girls, so Garcia kept digging. Meanwhile, Spencer tried to make himself useful by checking out the back of the store.

That’s where he found your clock-out receipt.

“Hey guys, we might want to take a look at this,” he shouted out.

Morgan grabbed the paper from his hand, “Ok, I don’t get it kid, it’s trash.”

Spencer pointed to the details on the slip, “Yeah but it says here she clocked out 18 minutes ago after only working for 23 minutes and 46 seconds. If this guy is our unsub, this girl could be in a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe she’s still here, has anyone checked out the parking lot yet?”

Spencer shook his head, and followed Morgan out the back door. There they discovered some almost completely melted salted caramel frozen yogurt.

Morgan bent down to investigate, “Yeah, we gotta get this to the lab, but I can tell you right now that there’s clearly more than just coconut topping this yogurt. It also means we have another victim.”

Spencer crouched down as well, “Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean kid? We’re missing a teenage girl and we’ve already found illegal evidence on this guy's computer. She’s in trouble.”

“Well judging the shape and inscription of these pills it appears to be some pretty strong rohypnol, almost certainly prescription grade. And ingesting it like this means she probably would have begun to feel its effects fairly early, I would predict 15 minutes. She clocked out 18 minutes ago, so even if she left exactly at that time she would have certainly crashed her car on the way home. The nearest residence is 8 minutes away from here, we’re in a complete shopping district. There’s only two cars out here and neither have a passed out driver, so I would bet she didn’t eat any of it. Also, the only spoon out here is still wrapped in plastic, “ Spencer analyzed.

Morgan sighed, “Well what do we even do then?”

Before Spencer could answer Hotch opened the back door. “We got him.”

Spencer turned to Morgan, “I’m sure her phone number is somewhere inside, I say we call her and make sure she’s ok. She probably doesn’t even know this is happening right now.”

So he did find your phone number, and although he initially pushed the phone to Morgan, he just chuckled and pushed it back.

“No way pretty boy. You’re the know-it-all with all that profiling out there, you can call her,” and before he could protest Morgan left, so Spencer was left to call you.

And strangely, for it being the first time he would ever interact with the love of his life, he thought nothing of it.

And that was the first time you had met Spencer Reid.

➽───────────────❥

The second time was years and years later, when you were waitressing night shifts to make extra money. You had never forgotten meeting Spencer Reid the first time, but this was the first time you would ever see his face.

You were slightly concerned when you got a call from a man, whose name you had now long forgotten, claiming he worked for the FBI. Although you weren’t incredibly surprised to hear your manager committed such heinous crimes against children, you were taken aback by how close you had come to becoming one of his victims.

But that was 9 years ago. In your college days it became a fun story you told at frat parties, but you were 25 now. Sometimes you would think about the incident when you couldn’t sleep, and if you were feeling feisty you would use it as an icebreaker or a “two truths, one lie” statement, but otherwise you didn’t really think about it.

You had plenty of other things to worry about, in fact, that’s exactly why you worked so much. It was so much easier to forget when you were constantly preoccupied with complaining customers and terribly awkward blind dates.

You had just sat this man, incredibly handsome, however it was clear he was on some kind of date. His reservation was for two, and he spent way too much time adjusting his clothes and table setting for him to not be trying to impress someone special. He also brought a gift, which judging by the packaging and shape, seemed to be some kind of wrapped book.

Even though he was 15 minutes early for his own reservation, he still looked really nervous, almost like he already believed she might not show up. You couldn’t help yourself, you had to go talk to him.

“Anyone ever tell you you should model?” you started with.

He looked up “Excuse me?”

“Sorry for being so bold, you just look so familiar,” he weirdly sounded very familiar as well, but you didn’t tell him that. “Are you sure you haven’t modeled? You have excellent bone structure. I bet you could.”

He laughed to himself, “yeah I’m sure.”

“Well your date is very lucky either way. I wish I had a boyfriend as handsome as you. Actually I wish I had a boyfriend period, but that’s a whole other story.”

He chuckled, and although you knew in your heart that you shouldn’t be flirting with him considering he was 15 minutes away from being actively on a date talking to him made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time. “What happened with your boyfriend? Do I even dare ask?”

“Well I kind of always knew he wasn’t super interested in me, but I really liked him, so I did my best to ignore his wandering eyes,” you sighed. “That didn’t stop him from leaving me for his coworker though.”

“That’s terrible.”

You smirked, “That’s not even the worst part, he broke up with me over a 27 second phone call. He didn’t even let me respond, he just kind of hung up.”

“I’m sorry, no one deserves that. Especially not you. I’ve only been talking to you for a couple minutes and I can tell that.”

“Oh really? What makes you so sure?”

“I’m pretty good at reading people.”

You smiled, “Well I should probably stop flirting with you now, considering your date hasn’t even started yet. And don’t worry, she’ll show, you’re so handsome she’d be stupid not to.”

He looked confused. “You were flirting with me?”

You laughed, “I thought you were good at reading people?”

He smiled back at you, and it made your heart soar, this silly, pure goofy smile that made you want to replace his date and have dinner with him right then and there.

You walked back to your hostess stand. A couple minutes later you noticed the handsome stranger on the phone. You thought nothing of it until later when a woman came in, clearly nervous, holding a gift bag.

“Can you give this to Spencer Reid for me please?” You recognized the name, the man you were just speaking with had filed his reservation under it.

“Um, yeah sure, aren’t you going to go in? He’s at that table over the-” but before you could finish your sentence the woman was gone. Your heart sank, poor Spencer, how could someone drop their date off a gift but stand them up anyway? That’s just cold.

When you get up to bring the gift to him, he’s already heading out of the restaurant himself.

“Sir? Spencer? Dr. Reid?” he turned his head. “A lady came in and dropped this off for you.”

His face dropped, it almost looked like he was about to cry. “Thank you,” he said as he looked up at you before leaving.

He ran out the door, both gifts in hand and whipped his head around a few times before sighing and speeding off in one direction. Even before you learned what happened after that and leading up to it, you felt terrible for the handsome stranger.

How could you not for someone so clearly distressed? Someone so clearly in love?

➽───────────────❥

7 years and a divorce later you were spending your Saturday in a park, strangely contemplating love itself. Although you barely remember that night all those years ago when you spoke to Spencer, he did. Vividly. In fact, on this Saturday you both were in a public park, contemplating your many failed attempts at true love.

It was your first wedding anniversary without your husband. Although you had only been married for two years, you still were having a hard time navigating life without him. 

You started to wonder if you would ever find the true love you had been wishing for since your youth. Was 32 too late? Had you lived out all of your opportunities?

When you were little your mother had told you that all soulmates were attached at the left ring fingers, by small, incredibly thin strands of gold string, invisible to the naked eye. She insisted that these strings were constantly trying to pull you and your soulmate together, and that when life was ready for you two to meet, you would. 

Until then, you would have small, mindless interactions. Things you wouldn’t think about, maybe even things that weren’t interactions at all. You would get the same commercial jingle stuck in your head. You would both get an intense craving for the same food. You’d have the same dream. 

As a kid you were obsessed with this idea, you thought it was so romantic, and you fully believed everything your mom told you about it. You always asked her for more stories, and at bedtime you refused to sleep unless she would tell you more.

But now you were sure soulmates, true love even, didn’t exist. The invisible pretty gold strings your mother weaved fantastic stories with were completely fabricated. If they weren’t, you would have seen the clues by now.

Right?

➽───────────────❥

Spencer Reid was given an assignment from his therapist. He had to spend his Saturday off trying to interact with a stranger. Making friends with someone other than his colleagues may seem like a simple task for some, but it was something the young genius had almost no experience with.

He understood that it was probably for the best. He wasn’t exactly great with relationships of any kind, but especially not romantic ones. It didn’t take a genius to know that a couple of flirtations, a dead girlfriend he had only seen once, and a long time unrequited (or at least he thought unrequited) infatuation with his best friend and godsons’ mother was not a very great track record.

He, just like you, was also beginning to believe that he was hopeless when it came to love. That 38 was too old, that his time to meet someone and have the children he dreamed of had long passed.

But right as he was about to call JJ, to see if she would invite him in on the case Garcia had started to work on, he saw you.

Unlike you, he remembered your face and your interaction vividly. That almost date with Maeve was one of the biggest defining moments of his life, and what are the chances that the waitress from that very night was now less than 30 feet away from him, reading under the green leaves of a tree.

He wasn’t going to say anything, until he saw the book you were reading.

The Narrative of John Smith.

It must have been a sign, for what he wasn’t exactly sure yet, but it just had to mean something. The universe had to be reaching out to him, he had experienced crazier things.

And just as he was about to walk over to you, to close the gap between the gold strings tied around your ring fingers, a child interrupted his train of thought.

“That’s a strange haircut.”

➽───────────────❥

Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid were finally reuniting after many years. They barely got to see each other these days, but even though he was teaching and working at the BAU, Spencer still was willing to clear his schedule to second Derek suggested they meet up.

Morgan was excited as well, both to see his friend and to hopefully help him get a date. Sure, he had liked what he had heard about Max, but he wasn’t exactly surprised it had only lasted a couple months between her and Spencer. They just seemed too different.

Plus, now he got the chance to play wingman again, and he was ecstatic about that. Spencer not so much.

“I don’t know Morgan, it’s only been a couple months since we broke up. Wouldn’t it be too early to start talking to other people?”

“Pretty boy, you and I both know that the rate in which you’ve had relationships is not even close to the average. You need to balance that out somehow.”

Spencer sighed, he knew Derek was right, but he still felt strange.

“Morgan, have you ever heard of the red string of fate?”

“No, but I’m sure I’m about to hear all about it.”

“It’s an East Asian philosophy, based on the discovery that the ulnar artery connects the heart with the pinky finger, actually that’s where the belief in pinky promises come from. The reason it’s integrated in so many different cultures is that-”

“Kid, you’re losing me here,” Morgan interrupted. “Finish your thing about the string.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. It’s the idea that human relations are predestined by a red string that the gods tie to the pinky fingers of those who find each other in life. Legend has it that the two people connected by this thread will have an important story, regardless of the time, place or circumstances. The red string might get tangled, contracted or stretched, as surely often happens, but it can never break. Essentially, the idea is that although we might not realize it, our lives move in a pre-ordained direction, guided by invisible strings that are woven into the fabric of the Universe itself. And all the while, the red thread connecting us to our distant soulmates is getting shorter.”

“Well it’s an interesting theory kid, but it’s a lot to think about. I mean, we’re in a bar, let loose a little bit. Not every interaction has to be about getting closer to your soulmate. And sure, maybe you’ll meet them one day, maybe even soon. But you’re here now, and just because your one true love may not be, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it to be here.”

Spencer sighed, “You’re right. I don’t even know if I believe in that anyway, maybe I’m just looking for something to explain this all.

Derek patted his friend on the shoulder, “okay pretty ricky, this is how it’s about to go down. I’m going to buy you two drinks. You’re going to take both of them, and go find someone, anyone here to go talk to.”

“Ok, I think I can do that. Who?”

Derek looked around, trying to find who he believed would be the best match for his friend. “How about her?” he asked, pointing at you.

Spencer couldn’t believe it when he looked. There you were, the girl, the one he had met three times before, even if he could only remember two. The woman he knew was some sort of universe sent sign that Saturday he saw you underneath the greenery. The girl he was so close to talking to before he was interrupted by Max’s nephew. The woman who (and he obviously did not know this at the time) he would marry 3 years later. The one who would carefully knit the baby blankets for all of their friends and exes. The one who he would adopt 3 children with. The woman who, he was now sure, was at the other end of his invisible string. The girl he needed to talk to right now.

“Is it just me,” Morgan said, “Or does she look kind of familiar?”

“Yes,” Spencer responded, “yes she does.” He got up quickly and started making strides towards you.

“Wait!” Morgan called, “You forgot your drinks!”

“I don’t need them!” he shouted back. When he sat down next to you, you smiled. It made his heart soar, you had this silly, pure goofy smile that made him want to ask you out right then and there.

Instead he settled on the only conversation starter he could think of.

“Have you ever heard of the invisible string story?”

And you couldn’t help but laugh.

“A string that pulled me Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold tied me to you”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 7: Daisychain

***

“Mr. Harrington? Who’s your favorite student?”

The question came about at least once every year without fail, and he’d always answer in the same, textbook way.

“I don’t have favorites. I love all my kids equally.”

And, deservedly so, the whole class would grunt and moan because they knew just as well as he did that it was a load of bullshit. Steve loved every one of his kids, that part wasn’t a lie, but… he also definitely had his favorites.

For the graduating class of ‘90 when he was only a teaching assistant his name was Daniel. He was the youngest in his class because he started early, and he was incredibly bright. He could count higher, he could read quicker, and his mind just worked in ways that no adult could possibly understand. But it wasn’t the textbook intelligence that made Steve fall for this kid. It was his emotional intelligence. He was funny and he was kind and five year olds were cruel, but he never let that get to him. He had an outlook on life that Steve was jealous of, so when the other kids would turn him down for a game of checkers, Steve would happily join him, because Steve saw it as his job to keep that kid kind.

For the class of ‘91 it was Christopher. He was nothing like Daniel. He was held back and was repeating kindergarten, and that was evident in the way he walked through life. He was quiet and would voluntarily remove himself from the rest of the class. He’d sit by himself and read a book and get frustrated when he didn’t understand one of the words, he would swing by himself and he always tried to sneak off with the first graders when it was time to line up. And Steve perfectly resonated with that feeling of watching all of your friends move on without you. He was left in the dust too. When all his classmates moved on to college or hightailed it out of Hawkins, Steve was left there by himself, working at Family Video with his only friend in the grade below him, and it took her leaving him as well for Steve to finally get his shit together, haul his ass west of the Mississippi, and enroll in a community college and work towards his teaching degree.

And he did it, against all odds and obstacles in his way, he did it. It took extra work and the support of his best friend who he followed, and he did it. He saw himself in Christopher, and he wasn’t going to make that kid wait as long as he did to realize that setbacks don’t define his future.

Steve usually took a liking to the quiet kids, and that only changed in ‘93 with the girl named Amy and the familiar last name. She was loud, vibrant, and everyone loved her. Her smile was contagious and she could be the sweetest little girl at times, but she also wore her heart on her sleeve. She cried quite a bit, just the littlest thing could set her off. A boy accidentally knocking over her blocks, not knowing how to spell a certain word, accidentally coloring outside the lines. She didn’t throw tantrums like he saw in the other kids. She would just bow her head and cry and it would break Steve’s heart every time.

But other than those few moments, she was bright and charismatic and with the last name, the blonde curly hair, and the big personality, Steve really should have put it all together much sooner than he did.

He didn’t put it all together until he saw Billy Hargrove in the soup aisle at the local grocery store wearing a chain of little daisies on his head like a crown, and he knew exactly where it was from.

It was from the little girl named Amy Hargrove who frolicked in the field instead of playing on the playground, collecting flowers that she meticulously made into bracelets and crowns and anything else she put her mind to. She gave them to friends, she even gave one to Steve, and of course she would give one to her dad too.

He looked so different, and yet exactly the same. He still had the damn mullet, just dragging the eighties with him as far as he could, he was a little more cleaned up but still had a similar style to what it was in highschool. Still with the same denim jacket, denim jeans, Canadian tuxedo type deal. In a side by side picture situation you wouldn’t really be able to tell the difference. It wasn’t his dress or his hair or anything physical about him that made him look so different, it was the way that he carried himself. It was the relaxation and the eyes that didn’t droop and the smile lines that didn’t used to be there that made him almost entirely unrecognizable from the Billy Hargrove who pushed freshman against lockers and drove his car too loud and too fast and had cigarettes for three meals a day. Not the kid who ran off to California as soon as the hospital released him with only his Camaro and a small suitcase and a large sum of money the government used to keep his mouth shut, leaving just a note for Max on the fridge that didn’t get any more specific than that about where he was going, not even leaving a phone number for her to contact him with. He also didn’t look like the kid they all pictured in their heads after basically the whole town found out about exactly what Neil Hargrove did to his son behind closed doors.

Steve wanted to go up to him in the store, but he stopped himself. Because Billy left. Without a trace or a word, and who was Steve to think that Billy having to be reminded of something he voluntarily abandoned without a second thought would have any sort of positive outcome?

So he turned down the aisle and kept his distance from the man in the flower crown because he was scared. He wasn’t scared that Billy would see him and turn back to his old ways and hurt him again, he was scared that he’d turn back to his old ways and hurt himself again.

Because he’d been hurt enough already.

Steve successfully avoided Billy until parent teacher conferences had rolled around, and instead of seeing Amy’s mom on the list of names he’d be seeing that day, it was Billy’s.

Steve would be lying if he didn’t think about calling in sick and sending his TA in his place. But he still had to be her teacher for another six months, he just had to get the interaction over with.

Many of the parents that came before Billy had to have known he was on edge about something considering he excessively tapped the table with the eraser of his pencil and stuttered his way through conversations. His organized folders and notes of talking points had been entirely thrown out the window and he was an absolute nervous wreck. And he could only anticipate it being ten times worse when the cause of said anxiety walked through his door with the long hair and the leather jacket. It was only with the help of the little girl in the sunflower dress and daisies in her hair skipping from the entrance to the chair in front of him that calmed his nerves just a bit.

But Billy had just stayed at the door, no movement, and any hope that Steve had that perhaps his new haircut and the glasses on his face would be enough to keep Billy from noticing the obvious vanished when Billy snapped his fingers like the lightbulb in his head finally flickered on.

“I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

Steve just held out his hand to shake like he did with any other parent, unsure how to gage the situation because Billy’s words could go either way and his facial expressions didn’t give him anything to go off of. It would be weird to introduce himself, he didn’t know what to say.

“Hi, I’m Amy’s teacher. Should we start?”

Billy looked a little confused, but he sat down in the little kindergartener chairs anyway. This meeting was almost more organized than the ones prior, likely because he was trying to go as quickly as possible and get it over with. Steve showed Billy some of her artwork and commented on how her reading comprehension was great but she could work on her spelling a little more. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he brought up the crying and it hurt to see how him bringing it up set her off again. The same bowing of the head and quiet sniffles into her sleeve.

But Steve thinks he just fell in love a little watching Billy comfort her. With one hand rubbing circles into her back and the other holding her small hand. Steve feels like shit watching her cry because of him and is also semi-fearful for his life because he already knows he can’t take Billy in a fight.

“Baby, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with crying. It’s okay.”

“You’re dad’s right Amy. I think it’s very healthy. Crying is good for you.”

She looks up at Steve with those big blue eyes and tear stained cheeks when he says that.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah! I’d say it even makes you more mature. Even some adults I know don’t let themselves cry and it’s not good.”

“My daddy cries a lot too.”

Steve looks at Billy who’s eyes widen when she says it, then tries to laugh it off like she didn’t just say that.

“Hey Amy, you wanna go and play while your daddy and I talk for a minute?”

She just nods her head and wipes away her remaining tears and quickly hauls the bucket of Lincoln Logs off the shelf.

“So. It’s been a while. Hasn’t it?” Steve starts.

“Yeah it has. So, you’re a teacher now.”

“And you’re a father. That’s crazy.” Steve was fiddling with his hands, trying to make the conversation less awkward. “She’s wonderful by the way.”

“Yeah. She doesn’t get it from me.”

Steve just shakes his head. “No. I don’t think that’s true. She has your charisma, and it appears you found a better way of channeling your emotions since last we saw each other. She’s a lot like you.”

“Thanks.” Billy blushed. He actually blushed. “I don’t know if this is allowed considering you’re her teacher, but would you want to catch up sometime? Maybe dinner or something?”

There it was. That was the olive branch. And Steve would be an absolute fool not to take it.

“I’d love to.”

Before they could come up with a time or a place, Amy was running over to the table with loudly stomping feet.

“I almost forgot! Daddy! show Mr. Harrington what I brought him!”

Billy reached into his pocket upon her demand and pulled out a little bracelet made out of little daisies and honeysuckle and handed it over to Steve.

“Thank you Amy! It’s lovely.”

“Daddy show him yours!”

Steve looked to Billy’s wrist where he slowly lifted his sleeve to reveal an almost exact replica to the bracelet in his hand.

“Looks like we’re matching.”

[ilovejevsjeans]

Daniel Ricciardo on his passion for combat sports, a walkout song and the time he asked Lewis Hamilton to ‘fight’

McLaren Formula One driver Daniel Ricciardo, who currently sits seventh in the driver standings heading into this weekend’s Spanish Grand Prix, is among the world’s best behind a steering wheel. But how would he fare if he swapped his racing gloves for boxing or MMA gloves?

“I’d love to do a charity boxing match or something just to feel that adrenaline of walking to a ring,” Ricciardo said. “It’s on my to-do list for sure. At school I had a few little fights but nothing crazy. Nothing I’d brag about here.”

Ricciardo says he learned the sport of boxing from a friend who fought as an amateur growing up. However in recent years his love of combat shifted more toward mixed martial arts, a sport that is “quite beautiful. It’s an art form and I was just taken by it.”

The Australian — who boasts 4.6 million followers on Instagram — rarely misses a fight night, whether that’s a small card or pay-per-view. Every Monday he gears up for multiple MMA podcasts to hear analysis on what just took place in the cage.

In an exclusive interview with The Athletic, Ricciardo opened up about his love for fighting, which driver would make the best opponent and why Lewis Hamilton turned down an opportunity to get in the ring against him.

You’re an avid fight fan. How did this passion for the sport start?

One of my best friends growing up, when he was growing up, he was doing amateur boxing and got very good at it. I was then doing my racing and he was doing his boxing. We were both on a bit of an unconventional path — both individual sports, not really the typical sports the kids at school were doing. We had that in common. Once I started taking my racing more seriously I began taking my fitness more seriously. So I started going to his gym to just train. I really enjoyed doing it. But the truth is — I don’t want to lie to anyone. I’m not a fighter. As much as I would picture beating the bully up at school, it’s not me. But I just fell in love with not only doing it but also watching it.

I enjoyed watching boxing but it was really when I got exposed to MMA … It just had me. It was back in 2011 when I started properly getting into it. It was the quickest sport I had ever been absorbed by. I was all in.

My whole YouTube feed is just all MMA shows, whether it’s press conferences, interviews, podcasts. It’s just full of MMA stuff. I’m a full nerd now.

Being in Australia and traveling a lot, are you forced to get up at weird times for fights?

The beauty was I was in LA when (Conor McGregor vs. Dustin Poirier 2) was on so it was prime time and I was happy. But normally in Europe, it’s 4 a.m. or 5 a.m., which isn’t as good. Any kind of sporting event that you look forward to, it’s always cool when it’s in the evening because you have all day to get ready and talk about it. If you wake up at 4 a.m. it’s like “ugh,” and then you’re straight into it so there’s not as much of a build-up. But it’s all good.

So do you still train at all?

No. To races, my trainer carries some pads and gloves just to stay a little sharp and change it up. If I’m getting my reflexes with some tennis balls, maybe I throw in a bit of a boxing combination or something. Again, I’m not saying I’m good or anything. But I just enjoy the whole movement part of it.

Boxing was cool and I enjoyed watching it growing up. But there was something with MMA where there’s just so many different disciplines and the matchups … as a contest it was so much more open and for that, exciting. I feel — I know it’s not always the case — you can kind of tell in boxing if someone is getting momentum, the advantage. It’s like “this guy is going to win the fight.” But in MMA, it’s like “this guy is winning standing but if this goes to the ground, it’s back to square one.” So I just loved it. I was really immersed by it all.

Did you have a particular fighter or fight that got you hooked early on?

One of the first events I watched was UFC 116. Chris Leben was on the card and I think he was losing the fight. And then he got a triangle with probably 20 seconds to go in the third round, so that was really exciting. Stephan Bonnar was also on that card and he got a really cool finish on “The Polish Experiment” Krzysztof Soszynski. That was a card for me where I was very taken from that. Then I discovered “The Ultimate Fighter.” I just binge-watched all of those (seasons).

In terms of fighters, Leben was a character, I liked him. Carlos Condit. I’d say Condit and Cub Swanson were two guys I got behind early on. Condit, I love his style and the way he carries himself.

Have you been to a lot of cards in person?

The very first one I did was the best for me personally. To this day, it’s my favorite sporting event I’ve ever been to: (Conor) McGregor-(Chad) Mendes. Vegas in July 2015. Obviously McGregor, but he wasn’t yet a champion and still kind of on the rise. It was the energy and atmosphere. It was just wild.

The whole event too. (Robbie) Lawler-(Rory) MacDonald, which had the fight of the year. Every fight on the main card I think was a finish, so I got very lucky at my first event.

I’ve done (Michael) Bisping-(Anderson) Silva in the UK. That was a great contest as well.

There are a lot of great fighters from Australia and New Zealand like Israel Adesanya, Alexander Volkanovski and Robert Whittaker. Have you had a chance to meet any of them?

I haven’t met them. A couple of them I’ve had interactions with on social media. But I love Whittaker, obviously Volkanovski is killing it. I’m fairly patriotic to the Aussie fighters. If they are fighting, 99 percent of the time I’ll be supporting them. But one of my good buddies is roommates with Luke Rockhold, so I got to know Luke the last couple of years. I was trying to do some training over Christmas with him but it didn’t end up working out.

I know you’re a big shoey guy. What do you think of Tai Tuivasa doing it after wins?

I’ve had a bit of contact with Tuivasa as well. It’s obviously great. But one thing I can’t get behind is spitting. That’s a little extra.

Plus he’ll grab some random fan’s shoe.

He definitely takes it to the next level. It’s cool that — as disgusting as it is — we have some traditions like this.

Shifting a bit to F1, have you ever gotten into any big fights on the track? What was the worst fight you’ve gotten in?

Earlier in go-karting there was a bit more. Unfortunately in F1, I guess because you’re on the world’s stage, even if you push someone you probably are going to get a fine or get penalized. At times it’s a little too clean. But I’m still waiting for the day that someone confronts me and I just lay them out (laughs).

You also just seem a lot more laid back than a lot of other drivers, so you’d probably not be my first choice of someone getting into a fight soon.

I’m all talk, it would be nice obviously to not have to fight anyone. But no one would expect it from me. Even when I tell people I’m a fight fan, people are like “oh really? You’re into that? You seem too nice to like that.”

But to get where I have in the sport, you need a bit of a killer streak in you. I do have it, but don’t always show it.

What other driver would make the best fighter?

I know some guys have done — for fitness — hit some pads. Randomly, he doesn’t have a seat this year, but Daniil Kvyat started doing quite a lot of boxing last year for his training. I saw a few clips and it started to look like he knew what he was doing. I would say he would be the guy who has the most idea. I’d put him and myself up there. The rest I don’t think stand a chance.

So if you had a charity event, you don’t have anyone in particular you’d want to go against?

To be honest, I actually asked Lewis Hamilton. At the beginning of 2016, he posted a video on his Instagram hitting pads. I was as well at the time, so I was like “hey, let’s do a charity fight.” I asked him in person. But he didn’t bite on that one so I was a little sad.

I might re-ask the question.

What about Max Verstappen? For people who watched the first season of the F1 show “Drive to Survive” on Netflix, I’m sure they would love to see you guys throw down at some point.

That would have been cool as well (laughs). Max would be a good competitor in the ring. The way he drives, he’s quite stubborn. He’d be a hard guy to put away. He’s probably the guy that you’d choke him and he’s going to sleep and not tapping. That would make an interesting one.

In contrast, is there an MMA fighter you’d like to race on the track?

An obvious one would be Conor McGregor. To hear in his Irish accent all kinds of things, that would make pretty good television. And he loves his cars. It’s obvious, but that would probably be the best.

How often would you say you watch fights now? Not just PPVs, right?

Unless I have something like work or another commitment, I’m watching it every week. Mondays I’m getting ready for every podcast. I sound like a real nerd but it’s just an addiction. I love it. Anyone doing that for Formula 1, I’d be like “you’re such a nerd,” but here I am doing it with MMA.

Is it hard to follow everything during the race season?

If I can’t see it live, then 100 percent I’m going to watch the replay or buy it later. But it’s also a good escape. If I’m traveling and I’m in between races, to get my mind away from my competition, I like to watch it. I also try to pick up things as well. Whether it’s from a mental point of view … I’ll look at the walkouts and how they are behaving. I try to figure out if they are really as calm and collected as they are portraying or if it’s a bit of a facade. I’m trying to work out what I can use in my events.

Do you have a walkout song prepared if you were to fight?

I’ve thought about it. The short answer is no. You typically have to have something heavy and fast, but I fell in love with Chris Weidman’s “Won’t Back Down.” It’s not typically a song that will pump you up but it’s so iconic and now it’s his, it’s very fitting.

I’d go for something more lyrically powerful as opposed to instrumental. I loved Max Holloway’s, I think it’s called Mount Everest (by Labrinth). (X)

[mediocre--writing]

Billy reconnecting with his mother somehow, whether she hears about Starcourt, they get in touch through letters, or maybe even Neil’s funeral - your pick! You can also come up with a new scenario.

Maybe it’s before him and Steve are actually friends. They’re still a bit hostile but seeing Billy with his mother changes things, even if just a little.

steve wasn’t quite sure what to think.

all through his life, he’s been told by his parents that when someone dies, it is a time for reflection and sadness. you will move on eventually, but it can and will take time to adjust.

which is why he was so confused when, after hearing about the heart attack that killed neil hargrove, why max didn’t seem to be all that sad.

she was hanging around the boys the same as she always did, she didn’t seem all that affected by his disappearance from the world.

the only exception was how she was with billy.

she doesn’t yell at him when he comes early to pick her up or when he honks rather than coming up to knock on the door.

they’re not as tense.

come to think of it, steve doesn’t think he’s seen max’s shoulders slouch around billy until just this week.

but steve’s been picking max up the past few times, the hargroves finalizing the funeral plans and all.

but there was a new car parked on the street. it was the same blue color of billy’s camaro but it was an older, chunkier model, though it shined as if brand new.

steve honked for max twice, waited about five minutes total, then decided to just go knock.

he and billy had made “amends”—enough to be civil—and he was kind to susan and knew max had to be there (her bike was on the front lawn)

after knocking, steve waits another minute and a half before the door opens, susan is tearing up a little, but invites him inside anyway.

steve’s thinking about how aggravated dustin is going to be about steve being late to pick him up.

but once he comes into the house, he forgets about dustins wrath and focuses on the uncomfortable atmosphere in the house.

max has a cup against a door in the hallway and susan is cleaning up pots and pans in the kitchen. he assumes billy—and possibly the mystery car owner—are in the room max is spying on.

steve mouths a ‘who?’ referring to what she’s listening in on.

she looks as though she’s going to respond before her attention is drawn away by a noise inside the room, one that could be heard without the glass.

it doesn’t take but a few seconds for max to scramble up and quickly seat herself at the dinner table steve was standing near and the door opened to reveal two people.

a woman, tall and blonde and had crows feet around her eyes, though it didn’t deduct from her obvious beauty.

behind her, linked by their hands, walks billy, who looks happy despite the tear tracks on his face.

“you’re a very bad spy, max,” she smiles and winks at max, who blushes at being found out. “but you can always improve. don’t wear shoes, they make noise. try socks, instead,”

max just nods and messes around with the glass as she tries to force the blush away.

steve thinks his presence just goes unnoticed because billy has draped his arms around the woman’s shoulders, resting his head next to hers and she rubs his arms in response.

“and who’s this handsome boy?”

“babysitter,” max offers. “not that we really need one, but he drives us around,”

“how sweet,” she smiles (it seems as though you can never adapt to how shockingly kind her smile is, no matter how much she does it). “do you go to school with boppy?”

billy, gently, knocks his head into his mother’s with a groan, whispering something about her ‘shutting up’ and she responds with a light, tapping slap on his arms.

“he’s embarrassed, let me rephrase. do you go to school with billy?”

steve, storing the nickname ‘boppy’ for later ammunition, nods to her question, “yes, ma’am,”

“carrie, nice to meet you,” she smiles, again.

“well, me and steve are gonna head off now!” max says as she jumps from the table and dragging steve out of the house.

“what was that about?” steve asks once they’re buckled in and he’s started the car.

“so... neil died,”

“i’m aware,”

“and carrie—billy’s mom—had heard through a newspaper back where they used to live that he’d died and found the address for the funeral and figured out where we lived by asking around and—“

“you’re allowed to take a breath, max,” steve joked, but max just looked lost in her own thoughts.

“he’s been all clingy and—and different now that she’s here,” max said, quiet and off handed.

“well, he hasn’t seen her in—“

“i think he was 7 or 8 the last time he saw her,”

“so 10 years,” steve was trying to pay attention to the road and keep an eye on max. “he’s bound to miss his mom,”

“what if he leaves?” max ponders quietly, “what if he doesn’t want to stay here and he goes back to california with her. he has no obligations to me or my mom, so why should he stay?”

“max—“

“no! he should go! if he doesn’t care enough to stay then he should just leave!”

“has he even said he wanted to leave?” steve asks, a little amused at max’s overreaction.

“a million times,” max looks around the car and out the window. “it was all he could talk about for months when we first got here,”

“what about now? recently?”

max shrugs, “i don’t know... not really?”

so steve does some thinking. while he picks up the other kids and when they’re off playing around the arcade.

he thinks about how stressed max is. thinks about susan’s tears that afternoon. thinks about how at ease and gentle billy looked while hugging his mom and whispering with her. thinks about how gentle billy has been this past week or so... right since neil was hospitalized for complications after a heart attack.

after all his thinking, steve makes a plan.

billy looks up from the hood of his car to a knocking on the garage wall. he’s interested, however, upon seeing steve standing there.

“yea, harrington?” he asks with a little eyebrow quirk.

“i just wanted to talk to you,” steve offers a half smile, “about max,”

“go right ahead,” billy leans against the counter along the wall across from steve, relaxed and wiping grease from his hands.

“she’s afraid you’re going to leave. she thinks your mom coming to see you means your leaving her,” steve looks around the small garage, “it might be true, i don’t know and i have no right to your life, but please talk to max. i think she’s really scared you are going to give up on her now. thinks you have nothing holding you here, but i know that the two of you have been getting closer and more civil, if not friendly,”

billy stares at steve for a minute, uses a blank stare—not threatening, but not kind, just blank. “i’ll talk to her, thanks,”

billy smiles at steve before he goes back to working on the car.

steve sees this—this something in his face. the smile wasn’t teasing or flirtatious. it was warm and showed actual thoughts behind it, almost made him glow. mad him look like his mom.

and—let’s be honest—the town of hawkins isn’t by any means large. people knew neil hargrove wasn’t the kindest man and max had alluded to his acts of aggression without explicitly stating anything numerous times, but billy is completely different now.

that’s not to say neil hargrove deserved to die—had it coming, maybe—but this was most definitely not the same billy hargrove that steve had seen screeching into the school parking lot.

and wether it was neils absence, carries arrival, or a mixture of both, steve could see a california glow wrap the boy in rays of sunshine, even on the dull, cloudy days in hawkins.

“you gonna stand there for a while or what, harrington?”

steve hadn’t realized he was staring at billy, who was smirking (though not maliciously) in his direction.

steve stuttered, finally excusing himself from the garage and going out to his car, going home.

he attended neils funeral. many people showed up, just out of a neighborly obligation, and it was a quick, run-of-the-mill service.

the highlight of the funeral, in steve’s opinion, was turning around just in time to see billy and carrie leering over the hole that neils casket was in, and sharing a sly smile before, at the same time, spitting into his grave.

and the next week, after steve had noticed carries car missing from they mayfield-hargrove house driveway, and was delighted to see billy snapping at max to not be late as he dropped her off at the middle school.

he was even happier to hear, from max and the party, that carrie had rented an apartment in one of the complexes by the center of town, applying for a few jobs so she could hang around for a little longer. apparently, her and susan had a lot of shared interests and a mutual dislike for how neil treated children.

[the-hidden-writer]

And Into The Fire

Chapter 8: Turnabout

Summary: Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Taglist: @squidsushi , @astro-aye , @shitmyex, @sharks-are-friendly

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

Turnabout

“Brother!” Deborahbot 5000 darted between the trees of the forest with only one thing on his mind. “Brother!”

His Brother was missing. He shouldn’t have left his side. Even though it made no logical sense for him to have disappeared (he had made sure that the campsite was empty as they arrived), he still felt as if he was to blame. It would not have happened if he hadn’t gone to play. Robots didn’t even need to play.

Eric would tease him around now.

“Deborahbot!”

Mother was calling him. He was quite a distance in front of them so he presumed that the Mitchells were following him. What he didn’t really understand was why they were calling his name and not his Brother’s.

The Mitchells had a bad habit of giving him and his Brother commands- which, due to their defective programming- they were forced to obey. They claimed it was always an accident, but his Brother had begun to suspect that it wasn’t always an accident. Deborahbot 5000 denied that the Mitchells would never do such a thing on purpose.

But for the moment, just in case, he ran a little faster so that he was out of earshot of his family. That way they couldn’t make him stop even if they tried.

“Brother!” He continued to call. The thieves couldn’t have gotten far in the span of ten minutes, surely? Maybe if he ran a little faster…

He was running so fast that he almost completely overlooked the sliver of shining, metallic white hidden between the browns and greens of the woods.

“Brother!” The happiness and relief he felt upon seeing his Brother curled up behind a large rock was immeasurable.

(Happiness..? Relief..? He had no heart, no impractical fleshy body parts at all, so then how..?)

His Brother was online and there appeared to be no humans nearby. How did this happen? No, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had found him and that he was alright.

Slowly, he began to approach him.

Eric stood up straight from his odd hiding position and turned to face him. He didn’t say a word.

“Brother!” Deborahbot repeated. “What happened? Are you okay? Why did you leave me and our family?”

His Brother didn’t reply. That was strange. Was he upset with him for some reason?

Deborahbot 5000 was suddenly met with the familiar hum of foot thrusters warming up as his Brother began to hover over the ground. And then, a few milliseconds later, he boosted himself vertically upwards into the sky.

Brushing aside his confusion, Deborahbot followed suit.

Both his and Eric’s programming, and all Pal MAX robots’ for that matter, were built upon very specific numerical limitations. They were physically capable of a lot more than what their code allowed them to do. For example, there was a speed limit embedded in their core to prevent them from going beyond what was safe for themselves and the humans. All functional Pal MAX robots had no choice but to follow these rules.

But Eric and Deborahbot 5000 were not functional. And Deborahbot was even less functional than Eric. This allowed him to catch up to his Brother as he tore like a bullet through the sky.

“Brother!”

It may have been the surprise from his voice sounding so desperate, (desperation..?), or maybe the surprise at him catching up to him at all, but Eric thankfully stopped.

“You are not authorised to follow.”

His Brother’s voice sounded wrong again.

“What is the matter with you?” Deborahbot asked… desperately. “Where are you going?”

Eric hesitated. “Errors have been detected in my system. I must return to Pal Labs for a complete debug and re-evaluation of my programming.”

His Brother already knew that. They were both defective, together. Why was it only concerning him now?

“Brother-”

Before Deborahbot could finish his attempt at trying to calm his Brother, Eric had already begun to blast himself horizontally to the east- toward Silicon Valley.

He was hurt that his Brother didn’t listen to him. He always listened to him. Despite the occasional scolding, they were never ever mean to one another.

But Eric just ignored him. And that hurt.

(Hurt..?)

In shock of his Brother’s actions, Deborahbot slowly descended back to the ground. He slowed even further as he passed through the canopy of the trees.

Once he reached the bottom, he found the Mitchells waiting for him.

“Deborahbot!” Mother shouted. “Are you okay? What happened?! Where’s Eric?”

“He is headed for the Pal Labs building in Silicon Valley.” He had no choice but to answer truthfully. Maybe Mother could help?

“By himself?” Asked Call-Me-Dad.

Deborahbot 5000 was about to affirm this when the revelation hit him.

“Now that my brother is turned off, they can access him without resistance.”

Those had been his exact words to Call-Me-Dad. His Brother was compromised. It was a fact that he knew- it was a fact that he had known for this entire journey.

So then why, when he was up in the air and facing his brother, did he completely forget? What if he had followed?

“Right, uh… we need to go.” Said Call-Me-Dad, rubbing the back of his neck and wearing a strange frowny expression on his large face. “Come on, we gotta get back to the car quickly.”

“I’ll drive.” Mother interjected, addressing Call-Me-Dad. She was also very serious. “You need a rest and I’d like to not completely massacre the speed limit and get arrested on the way. We need to get our boy back.”

That’s right, humans had speed limits. Robots did not.

...What if he did follow?

He decided suddenly to follow the flight path his brother took, shooting upward in an instant and ignoring the Mitchells calling him down.

Destination: Pal Labs, Silicon Valley. Estimated time: 28 minutes 52 seconds.

~-.-~

There was a knock at Katie’s door, and it sent her heart into a panic.

She hadn’t been expecting Jade so early. They both were always on time or fashionably late (because neither were actually ever ready at their planned times). And she was not ready.

Frantically rubbing her wet hair with a towel, she hopped around the mess she’d been planning to clear up later and toward the door.

“Coming, Jade!” God, she hoped her voice didn’t betray her unprepared-ness. But Jade wouldn’t mind too much so it wasn’t a huge deal. They’d laugh about it afterward- however humiliating it was for her at the time.

Almost tripping over a pair of shoes, she hung onto the door handle for dear life as she opened it…

...Only to find herself looking up at a huge blonde woman glaring down at her.

“Katie Mitchell?” The woman said, and Katie had to remember to breathe. This was the last thing she’d been expecting. Heck, she hadn't been expecting anyone at this time. The lady was dressed in standard college-professor wear, but there was something about her posture that made her feel extremely intimidated.

She had to stop herself from audibly gulping.

“Y-Yeah? That’s me.”

The woman seemed unsympathetic at her obvious discomfort.

“My name is Agent Jennifer Ward.” She pulled aside one end of her blazer to reveal a badge pinned to her inner pocket. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

for those wondering, eric was brought back online by monchi accidentally licking his power button

Comments make my day! :)

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Promises

He didn't have a lot of friends. That required trust, and trust just wasn’t something Billy Hargrove did. Except with Steve Harrington, apparently. Steve was his friend, which was fine. Billy would have preferred a lot more, but that did not seem particularly likely. Not for lack of trying on Billy's part, honestly. At this point, Billy was so overtly flirty with Steve that he was worried he had overshot genuine interest and was fast approaching the realm of parody. He had spilled his beer on Steve no fewer than four times in the past several months in the hopes that Steve would go to change out of his wet clothes and realize halfway through that just...hanging out in his underwear would be totally fine. Instead, Steve always disappeared into Billy's bedroom, completely at home in Billy's space, and came back wearing Billy's clothes. And that was somehow worse?

And the thing was—the thing was!—Steve clearly wasn’t uninterested. He blushed when Billy teased him. His breath hitched when Billy touched him sometimes. His pupils went wide when Billy stretched or flexed or did that one thing with his tongue. And he didn’t avoid touching Billy, like just about everybody else did, or touch him like he was something fragile or broken. He touched Billy casually all the fucking time. He hugged him when he arrived, and fell asleep against his shoulder, and tucked his feet under Billy’s thigh on the couch, and kissed him on the cheek before he left. He even kissed him on the fucking forehead sometimes, which made Billy feel small and blushy and unbearably cared for.

Billy wondered sometimes if he should just be honest with Steve, but that was tricky, wasn’t it? Because in this particular case, he couldn’t be honest with Steve without betraying a little too much about himself. And it’s not like he had all that many secrets left. Neil was gone and his treatment of Billy was common knowledge, at least among the people who knew what had actually happened at the mall. So, the vast majority of the people Billy actually talked to anymore. It turned out that competent doctors could tell the difference between recent monster trauma and years of physical abuse, and Steve's little group of nerds and their various hangers-on were around enough and had overheard enough to put it together. The fact that Billy was not actually into girls was also common knowledge among that same subset of people, but only because Billy had been in a coma, so he hadn't been able to mention to Eleven that she might not want to share that little tidbit with her friends. Billy wasn’t mad—couldn’t be, not at her—and with Neil gone, he supposed he had a little less to fear on that front. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it, aside from continuing to flirt shamelessly with Steve. So he only really had the one big secret left.

Here's how it was: Billy Hargrove, at the time that he was impaled by a massive interdimensional flesh monster, did not have a whole lot to live for. He had a shitty father and a mother who had fucked off quite a while back and a stepsister who had not yet given up on him for some reason, but who was also probably better off without him. He had a hopeless crush on a gorgeous, oblivious straight boy; several delightful mental images of that same straight boy in a frankly pornographic sailor outfit that he somehow had to wear for work; and treasured memories of California, but not quite enough money or guts to fuck off back to the beach where he came from, with or without Steve Harrington. All of that stuff was good, and it got Billy through the day sometimes, but none of it was actually something to live for. Steve Harrington in that sailor outfit came the closest, but Billy was never going to get to take it off of him, so what was the fucking point?

And Billy knew, even though he didn't exactly remember it, that it had gotten pretty bad for him a few times as he was recovering. Like, 'they were sure they were going to lose him' bad. And people had said a lot of fucking stupid things to him, both while he was in the hospital and after he got out, about fate and love and redemption. About holding on for the sake of the people you cared about. About not knowing what you had until you lost it. About how he must feel so lucky to be alive. And Billy hated all of it so fucking much. He wasn't alive because he had had some big epiphany about how precious life was, or because fate had spared him, or because he thought anyone on the planet would spend more than about thirty seconds being sad if he died. What he did have, what had actually kept him going when it got bad, were these...well, they weren’t anywhere close to clear enough to be called memories.

They came from that long, hazy period when his body was gradually knitting itself back together. When the boundary between being asleep and being awake hadn't seemed real at all. When he had almost no visual memories, aside from brief flashes of fluorescent lights or the shadows of people moving around above him. He had a handful of half-remembered phrases in various voices: Max whispering sorry, El whispering I won't tell. And these...other sentences. These promises, in Steve Harrington’s low, husky voice.

Billy was in no way certain that they were real. He didn't know how much of anything from that time was real. What they were was meaningful, which made it fucking impossible to talk about them. Unlike all the bullshit about fate and family and redemption, they had helped him. Had helped a lot, actually. Had given him something tangible to live for when it would have been so much easier to just let it all slip away. But that was the other thing--they weren't exactly things that Steve Harrington would actually, conceivably say to him. They were things he would have killed to hear from Steve, would still kill to hear from Steve, but Steve was sweet. Goofy, affectionate, kind. Unfailingly supportive. An invaluable friend throughout Billy's recovery. An invaluable friend who consistently, gracefully deflected Billy’s obvious flirting. It hardly seemed possible that he had said those things, and Billy really didn’t want to find out that he hadn’t. It was too awful to contemplate. Because, shit, they still kept him going sometimes, a year and a half later.

The first one came to him from far away, like he was hearing it from the bottom of a well. “I swear to God, Billy, if you make it through this I’ll let you choke on my dick whenever you feel like it.” So, like, there was a fair amount to unpack there. First of all, Steve almost never actually called him Billy, even now. And secondly, literally everything else about that sentence. It wasn't possible that it was real. Billy had to have made it up, given himself a fucking reason not to move toward the light or whatever. And if that had been the only one, he would have dismissed it as an obvious fabrication of his own mind without a second thought. But it wasn’t.

The second one was a little clearer, though all of them were maddeningly hazy. Had he actually felt Steve’s breath against the shell of his ear while he'd said it? It was impossible to say. “Hey gorgeous, hang in there, ok? Wouldn’t want you to die before I get the chance to fuck you so hard you forget your own goddamn name.” It was true—he absolutely did not want to die before that happened. That one had gotten him through some bleak nights, even after he woke up. He still got half hard every time he thought about it.

The next one was maybe Billy’s favorite. Although, honestly they were all his favorite. He wasn't sure he had ever treasured anything more. The third time, he was almost sure he could feel the warmth radiating off of Steve’s body as Steve leaned in next to his ear. “Come on, tiger, you gotta get through this so you can show me absolutely everything you can do with that tongue.” A little less filthy, maybe, but no less motivating. He did want to do that, very much. He had thought about it quite a bit while he was in the hospital. He still thought about it just about every time Steve came over to his apartment, which was often.

The fourth one changed it up a bit. “We’re going to sit there on the sand and watch the sun set over the ocean, and I’m going to make you cream your swim trunks right there on the beach.” And goddamn, that was quite the mental image. Fuck a bunch of holding on for the people you cared about; that was worth living for.

The fifth one was ragged, a little desperate. “You can’t die, baby. I’ve never let anybody put their dick in me before, and you have to live so you can do it.” That one came with the gentle sensation of a hand in his, the phantom press of lips to his temple. He was pretty sure he woke up just a few days after that one. And rightfully fucking so, honestly.

So yeah. He still had the one secret. And there was no fucking way to talk about it without revealing way too much about himself. So he didn't talk about it, and he was never going to talk about it, and he was going to go to his grave not knowing if any of it was real, and he was going to be fine with that because there weren't any other options. Until Steve slipped up.

It was far too early on a Saturday morning. Steve had arrived at an even more ungodly hour and had dragged Billy out of bed for some weekend trip. He wouldn't say where they were going, but he promised it was going to be great, and Billy could sleep in the car, and they were going to have the time of their lives. So Billy was slouched grumpily in the passenger seat, nursing an enormous coffee and periodically glaring at everything out the window for having the audacity to exist at this hour. He didn't glare at Steve. All of this was Steve's fault, but Billy couldn't be mad at him when he looked all sleepy and his hair was a mess and he was wearing his fucking glasses instead of his usual contacts. Billy couldn't be mad at him under any other circumstances either, but he deliberately didn't think too much about that, so it was fine.  

Billy watched out of the corner of his eye as Steve sipped his own coffee and stifled a yawn. Steve had spent the first half hour of the drive not talking at all, but the coffee was apparently kicking in, so now he was trying to get Billy excited about his mystery plan.

“Come on, tiger, you’re going to love it,” he finally said. Billy wasn’t fully awake, so it took a second for it to land. Come on, tiger. When it did, Billy’s head snapped up, eyes wide. It could easily have been a coincidence; Steve would have been fine if he had just played it off, but that's not what happened. When Billy looked up, Steve was staring intently out the windshield, resolutely not looking at him. But his shoulders were creeping up around his ears and his face had gone scarlet. Billy felt a grin spreading across his face. Suddenly, he was on top of the goddamn world; this was shaping up to be the best day of his life. He stared at Steve’s profile for a long moment as the flush from his face spread down his neck. The atmosphere in the car was electric. Billy took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control. Steve's entire demeanor had hope beating wildly in his chest, but there was still room for this to end in disappointment.

“Absolutely everything, huh?” Billy said it quietly, carefully, deliberately, and then he held his breath. Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Billy felt giddy. Steve had been right--they had only been on the road for forty minutes, but Billy was already having the time of his life on this trip. Steve didn't say anything, but after a few long moments of silence, he pulled the car over onto the shoulder. After he carefully put the car in park and turned it off, he dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. He didn't lift his head when he spoke.

“I didn't think you remembered," he said slowly. Billy didn't say anything and after a moment, Steve gave a little sigh and continued, still talking mostly to the floor. "The first time, it was a fucking Hail Mary. You were declining fast and nothing was working, and I just...I had a hunch. So I waited until everyone else had left the room and I tried it." Billy was absolutely delighted picturing it, Steve flushed bright red, leaning down to whisper stuff about his dick into Billy's ear. "They kicked me out right after that, at about four am. They told me to go home and get some rest, and to be prepared for bad news. But when I got back to the hospital a few hours later, you were doing better.” Steve cleared his throat. “Apparently you started improving shortly after I left. I told myself it was probably a fucking coincidence, but part of me thought that maybe it had actually worked." He huffed out a laugh. "I could barely fucking believe that you weren’t dead; it was bad. And then a couple of weeks later, it got bad again. So I tried it again. And you started doing better again. And then it was like this secret that we had. That I had,” Steve corrected himself. He sat up and dropped his head back against the headrest, but he still wouldn't look at Billy. He stared out the windshield instead. His  face was still bright red. “And then you actually woke up. I didn’t know if you remembered any of it, and I didn’t want to be the kind of person who would come onto you while you were in a fucking coma and then act like you owed me something afterwards, so I kept my mouth shut.”

"Steve," Billy said softly. Steve rubbed his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Billy stopped breathing for a second.

"Don't," he said quietly. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Billy decided that he had to know what exactly Steve was apologizing for. “Did you...” he started to ask, but he found that he couldn’t finish the sentence. Steve glanced at him and his face softened before his eyes shied away again.

“Mean it? Yes. Fuck yes. Every word.”

“Then what the fuck, Steve?” Billy had been beyond obvious for months. Steve sighed. His hands came back up to his face, and then he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders.

“You just...you went through something so awful, and it was like...your world got so small. You were trapped in the hospital, and now you're trapped in Hawkins until they clear you to leave." Steve glanced over again, and his voice got smaller. "I just...I really wanted you, but I didn't want you to do something you'd regret just because I was there, you know? And I still don't want you to feel trapped into something just because you can't leave this goddamn town. I would never want you to be with me just because you don't have any other choices."

Ok, so there was plenty to unpack there, and all of it was wrong. Except the part where Steve said he wanted Billy--that part was the best thing he had ever heard. Well, the sixth best thing he'd ever heard. There was a silence while Billy thought about what he wanted to say. He took a breath to psych himself up.

"The first thing you should probably know is that I was into you well before any of the Mindflayer stuff even happened. So there's that." Billy cleared his throat, watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. "And the second thing you should know is that I got cleared to leave Hawkins over a month ago." Steve's head whipped around, wide eyes on Billy's face.

"Then why..." Steve trailed off. Billy had considered leaving, but only briefly. He wanted to go back to the beach, he did, but not by himself. Not anymore.

"Steve," Billy said again, giving Steve a look. "You know why." After all, Billy had been the opposite of subtle about it. Steve just stared at him, eyes going impossibly wider as Billy deliberately took off his seatbelt and moved into Steve's space. "But fine, if you need me to spell it out, I'm definitely not in this car with you right now because I don't have any other options."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's. Steve responded immediately and enthusiastically, and something that had still been wound tight in Billy's chest eased. By the time they broke apart to breathe, Billy was practically in Steve's lap, both of his hands up under Steve's shirt. Steve had one hand at Billy's lower back and the other buried in his curls. They sat panting a little, their foreheads pressed together. Billy smiled wickedly.

"I would just like to point out that you made a lot of promises about what was going to happen if I didn't die, Harrington, and I held up my end of the bargain." Steve's answering smile was bright and just a little cocky.

"I'm looking forward to keeping every single one of those promises, Hargrove. We can start as soon as we get where we're going." Billy frowned at him.

"I survived being impaled by a giant flesh monster because you promised me--"

"My giant flesh monster?" Steve cut in, cracking up halfway through. Billy snorted, but did not further dignify that with a response.

"As I was saying," he said instead, "I am alive today because you have a really nice dick and a filthy mouth, and I have been waiting on both of them for months, and I am definitely not waiting three more hours to get started." He punctuated this declaration by reaching for the top button of Steve's pants. He had it and the next two buttons open before Steve reached out to stop him.

"Billy," he hissed, "we are parked on the side of the highway! We are not doing this here. Literally anyone could look over at any time and get a fantastic view of exactly what we're doing." Steve had a point, but Billy didn't have to like it.

He sighed and kissed Steve one more time, hard, before he reluctantly clambered back over to the passenger seat.

"Fine," he said. "We can compromise." He leaned over and grabbed Steve's wrist to look at his watch. Then he smiled at Steve, sharp and a little predatory. "I'm going to start sucking your dick in twenty minutes, if not before. We're still in fucking Indiana, so that should give you plenty of time to find some deserted back road somewhere." Steve was already starting the car.

He grinned over at Billy as he pulled back into traffic and made his way to the next exit.

"So you're going to start at the top and work your way through them, huh?"

"Maybe. We'll just have to see," Billy said. He paused. "I gotta say, pretty boy, I'm legitimately fuckin' impressed. I didn't know you had it in you." Steve smirked at him.

“Hey, give me some credit. I knew you well enough to know that if I had mentioned feelings, or called it making love, you would have immediately chosen the sweet embrace of death.” Billy laughed along with Steve because Steve was right: at one point, Billy absolutely would have done that.

Not anymore, though. Not if it was Steve. But he wasn't about to just blurt that out, so. He could still have one secret. For now, anyway.

[sodone-withlife]

human

@yourlocalheartbreaker thanks so much for your post about Nelson’s Sparrow. I had already started a blurb exploring Hotch’s response to Gideon’s death, but you brought up the fact that he very likely had to ID the body, and I just had to include that in this blurb. 

I’ll be honest: I have done little to no proofreading, and it doesn’t flow as smoothly as I’d like, but I just needed to get this out. 

warning: canonical character death

word count: 2.08k words

“Where did Hotch go?”

Rossi looked up at Morgan leaning against the doorway. “He’s taking some personal time.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now? It’s barely after lunch, what does he need it for?”

Rossi shook his head. “Didn’t ask.”

“And you aren’t at least a little concerned?” Morgan asked skeptically. “Has he ever up and left in the middle of the workday?”

“Well, I’d ask, but he said that he’s cutting communication and that if he is needed he’s only answering Penelope or Jessica’s call.”

“Jack’s not with him?” Morgan asked, taken aback at yet another out-of-character decision. He couldn’t remember if Hotch had ever taken a personal day without Jack.

Rossi shrugged, though his concern was also obvious. “Even Hotch needs a break sometimes.”

The crisp winter air of the Virginia wilderness was filled with silence, only cut by the sounds of nature. Hotch stood in front of the cabin, staring blankly and letting the ambiance of the place that had been Gideon’s chosen safe haven wash over him. It was a far cry from his once-daily forays into the mind of the scourge of humanity. 

Only now it was tainted with blood, with the murder of the man who had found a refuge in the peace of this forest. 

Is there really a place on the planet that hasn’t seen the vileness of man?

How could he possibly articulate the sheer depth of the grief and resentment that he felt towards the man who had once been one of his mentors, who had left him floundering in the dust to clean up the mess that was left behind?

Insomnia had been keeping Hotch up way past midnight and he was going through paperwork with the hope that it would bore him to sleep when he got the call. Years of getting cases in the middle of the night had left its mark, as the sound of his ringtone cleared his head as it had done so many times in the past. Reaching for his phone, he anticipated the multiple trips to the coffee machine that had replaced the old, faithfully crappy machine that had been there when he first joined the unit.

And he was right—he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. 

Or the next night, for that matter.

Hotch remembered feeling strangely detached from his person as he put on a coat and, on a whim, pulled out his service weapons from the safe, grabbing his work bag as he left the apartment and headed towards his car. 

In any other situation, he would have worried about falling asleep at the wheel during the long drive.

In any other situation, he would have called the team to assemble.

But this was not any other situation. Seeing the flashing red and blue lights from an emergency vehicle illuminating the cabin and the surrounding clearing proved that something was wrong, and when he approached one of the EMTs, he knew this was something he had to do for the sake of the team. As he always does.

For the sake of the team.

They had gone through too much.

It was a surprise to see his contact flashing on his phone screen after over seven years of no contact, but it was alarming when he heard pained groans and then a series of gunshots from the other end. 

And that was when the terrible thought came into his mind.

And even though Hotch knew what he was going to see when the EMTs exchanged a look and let him into the cabin, it certainly wasn’t less of a shock, wasn’t less of a punch to the gut to see the body, crumpled on the ground with blood pooling around it like a grotesque puppet with its strings cut. 

Hotch remembered staring blankly at the man who had left the job that killed his fire in search of himself, but whose fire was now extinguished. Permanently. 

For the sake of the team.

He remembered snapping back to himself to find that he had knelt down with his own hand near the neck, having just checked for a pulse in hopes that it would make it—real? fake? He cleared his throat before standing up and turning to the waiting EMTs. At the sympathetic looks he was getting, he felt a faint annoyance rising through the ice that froze through his being.

He wasn’t the floundering, young, ambitious agent that probably would have been giving some indication that he was barely holding himself together at the seams

He wasn’t the friend—were they really friends, though?—who hadn’t seen or talked to him in years and would probably be giving some indication that he was grieving.

His name is—

His name was Jason Gideon, he’s a former FBI agent. I will be calling in federal law enforcement to investigate this, please make yourselves available in the next few days to give your statements… 

He had to be the uptight hardass that didn’t let anything affect him. He had to retreat into the cold mechanical mindset that protected him, for the team.

It didn’t feel right, however. How could he put on such a facade in a place that was supposed to be safe? How could he, in the place where Gideon could be totally himself without fear of the demons that haunted him?

How could he treat this like any other crime scene?

For the sake of the team.

The first call he made was to Stephen. It wasn’t the first time he had made a notification of death to family members, and he didn’t let it be any different this time. 

(oh, it was so different.)

It’s Aaron Hotchner, I worked with your dad in the FBI. I apologize for calling so late… 

And then calls were made to the team. They were short—there was no way Hotch could possibly tell them about the murder over the phone, but the team was smart. They all knew something was wrong.

I need you to come to Gideon’s cabin as soon as you can. I texted you the address.

The same thirteen words, repeated six times to six different people, with his same detached, precise tone of voice.

Emily. I, uh, just wanted to let you know that Gideon was murdered. In his cabin a few hours ago. I’m there now, I’ve called the rest of the team, and… Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. I hope everything is going well in London.

Emily hadn't picked up, but she called Hotch back a few hours later. It doesn’t feel real, he had said when she asked after him. He was never really able to lie to her, the woman who he found was just as broken and yet fiercely protective as him, and he knew that as he changed the subject and started updating her on the status of the investigation.

I’m not sure if you’re even going to listen to this, but I thought it would be better if you heard it from me than from an email, or text, or… yeah. 

I just wanted to let you know that Gideon was found shot multiple times in his cabin early this morning; he was murdered. The team worked the case and solved it, the unsub was killed along the way, so… there’s going to be a funeral, and though I’m not sure who his son is planning on inviting, I'll tell you where he is buried when that happens, and… yeah. Just thought I should let you know. Hope you and your family are doing well.

The words had come surprisingly easy to him when he left a message for Elle. Their correspondence over the years was never constant and never for long periods of time, mainly consisting of pictures that kept the other updated on their lives, and they never called.

Now, he wondered how she reacted to getting the message. Did she curse him out for calling for the first time in years only to tell her that her old colleague had been murdered? Did she confide in her partner?

Dave had been the first to get to the cabin, and Kate and JJ followed closely behind. Reid, Morgan, and Garcia came shortly thereafter. Hotch watched as all of them took in the state of the cabin and the sheet-covered body he was standing sentinel over, and no one said anything until Garcia took the first step.

It’s Gideon.

Grief was a terrible feeling, and it cut right through people’s masks and shone a light on the good and the ugly that was within a person. It was a feeling Hotch was intimately familiar with, many times over now, but the team had only seen him ripped open once. He was well aware that he didn’t make for a pretty sight when they got to the house he had lived in with Haley. They had walked in on a fit of explosive, murderous anger that had been immediately followed by pure, unadulterated grief.

He was well aware that the shattering of his infamous control had scared the team.

And so, just like a few years ago with Emily, Hotch watched over his team as they rushed to solve the murder, all driven by the pain of loss. 

He watched as Rossi gave everyone an insight into how the BAU started when it was just him and Gideon before Max Ryan had taken them under his wing.

He watched over them over the next few days and weeks as they all grieved in their own ways, keeping an eye out for red flags.

But now, when he wasn't even trying to keep up the facade, he still felt numb. For how could he articulate the so many complicated feelings he had regarding the man who had guided him, who had taught him to be sure of himself, who had abandoned him without a word?

Hotch looked around, faintly surprised to find that he had walked into the cabin and was simply standing in the middle of the living room. He had only been to the cabin once prior that night, and there was a palpable difference in the air.

Tainted.

A few weeks has gone by since this cabin had actually been lived in. Everything was still in its place, perfectly preserved like a museum exhibit.

Like a crime scene.

Unable to remain any longer, he turned to walk back outside when something on the wall caught his attention. He walked over, only to stop dead a few feet away.

There were multiple photos and drawings of birds pinned to the wall, and near the edge of the collection was a single picture of the team that had been when he had left. Peeking out from under it was a single slightly yellowed envelope.

It was with caution and slight guilt that he moved forward and carefully unpinned the photo to get the envelope. As he walked over to the nearby dining table and sat, he carefully pulled out the contents of the envelope—a single, folded sheet of paper.

When his eyes landed on the first line of that painfully familiar handwriting, he could only be glad that he was sitting, else his legs would have given out from under him at the sight of his first name.

This was written years ago, he thought with startling clarity, why didn’t he send it to me?

If anything, he felt even more numb as he read through the letter. And when he finished, there was still nothing. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to feel—anything. 

But he felt nothing—nothing but exhaustion. 

You’re going to go weeks—months, even—feeling fine. And then you’re going to have a bad day.

He’s had many bad days before. He never wants to have one again.

He’s spent years chasing after unsubs—psychopaths, rapists, terrorists. He’s spent years trying not to lose himself along with the people who’ve left because the darkness of this job finally caught up to them.

Elle, Erin, Alex, Gideon, Emily… Haley.

But maybe he did lose himself. Why else can’t he bring himself to feel anything, even after finding out that Gideon still remembered that young ambitious agent that shadowed him and Rossi like an eager puppy? 

And if he did indeed lose himself, maybe it’s for the best. 

The alternative is too painful to imagine. And despite outward appearances, Aaron Hotchner is fragile.

He is human. 

[litwitlady]

Date Nights (5/5)

Read on Ao3.

Alex wakes up on Christmas morning at 4 am, unable to fall back asleep due to a mixture of nerves and excitement. Sliding out of bed slowly, he tucks the duvet around Michael and pulls on sweatpants as quietly as possible before heading into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

While the coffee maker works, he plugs in the Christmas tree and the garland over the mantle, admiring the twinkling lights and carefully chosen ornaments. For Christmas this year, they’d gathered with their friends and family early and exchanged ornaments. Liz’s gift had been a cowboy alien, glow in the dark and bearing no resemblance at all to Michael. Rosa’s had been a beautiful glass bulb she’d hand-painted with the cosmos. Kyle’s a simple wood-carved Merry Christmas. Rosa had gotten a hold of it and painted it with various iconography of the holidays - lights, Santa hats, and reindeer faces.

Max’s had been a collection of simple red Christmas bells, their jingle light and tinkling whenever either of them accidentally bumped into the tree. Isobel’s expensive and crystal - a star with swirls that reminded everyone of the console tech in Michael’s bunker. Maria had given them a giant, purple eggplant ornament as a joke, but they’d still hung it on the tree anyway. Smiling fondly every time their eyes landed on it. She’d followed the joke with a gorgeous, brightly-beaded patchwork that she said reminded her of how she felt when their love bled over into her sight - colorful, lacking definition, and like the calm that only comes after the storm.

Michael and Alex had chosen the rest themselves. A mixture of whimsy and classic Christmas. It was hodgepodge and lacked any real thematic structure, but it was also beautiful, filled with love, and theirs.

Back in the kitchen, Alex hops up on the corner of the counter and sips at his coffee. He had planned to let Michael sleep in for once, to cook him breakfast and spend the rest of the day either in bed or wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Keeping his gift for Michael a secret until sunset. But that’s not going to happen. He’s too keyed up. Too anxious to wait.

Pouring a second cup, he heads into the bedroom and sets the coffee on Michael’s nightstand. He finishes getting dressed so that it’s less likely Michael will be able to seduce him back into bed, and then gently shakes him awake. It’s not even 5 am yet so he’s not surprised when Michael mildly panics at being woken up while it’s still dark outside. ‘What’s wrong?’ He reaches out to palm at Alex, needing to make sure he’s okay.

‘Nothing’s wrong, but I need you to wake up.’

Michael’s eyes crack open and he blinks away the sleep before responding. ‘What? Why? We were going to sleep in.’ His voice is soft and groggy.

Alex grabs the coffee and hands it to him, hoping the warm drink will lure him into a sitting position. ‘I know, but I’m too excited to wait. I want to give you your Christmas present right now.’

It works. Michael sits up to sip his coffee and stare at Alex skeptically. ‘You’re making me nervous. You’ve got that look Isobel gets when she’s about to do something she loves but everyone else hates.’

‘Wow, Guerin. And to think I was going to scramble eggs while you showered.’

‘I’m much rather you join me. Eggs can wait.’ He slides his hand very suggestively up Alex’s thigh but gets his hand lightly slapped before he can do any real damage.

‘Nope. I’m not letting you get me naked. Not yet anyway. Now, go get ready.’

‘Okay. Now I’m definitely worried. When have you ever turned down sex? I can’t recall a single time.’ Alex swats his ass as he heads toward the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Michael pads into the kitchen where Alex hands him a bowl of scrambled eggs smothered with melted cheese and freshly chopped chives. ‘Eat fast.’ Alex’s own bowl is already half empty.

He only takes a couple of careful bites. Not because the eggs aren’t good - they’re great. It’s just that Alex is not the big gesture type, and Michael’s not great at receiving gifts of any kind, large or small.

‘Alex?’ He doesn’t know how to ask what he’s about to ask.

‘Hmm?’ He’s finished his breakfast. Sitting on the counter, phone in hand. Probably texting all their friends Merry Christmas.

Michael takes a steadying breath. ‘This isn’t...I mean, this gift isn’t...a proposal, right?’ The thing is he’s racked his brain two days trying to figure out what Alex has been so anxious about. Two days of his brain circling back to this conclusion every time. A proposal. Some giant gesture. Something so unlike Alex.

And to be honest, the idea of marrying Alex isn’t what makes him nervous. It’s the idea that Alex is only doing this because he thinks that’s what Michael wants him to do or needs him to do or some reason equally as unsatisfying. Because Alex’s meticulous, risk assessing brain cannot possibly think getting engaged so soon is a good idea.

The look on Alex’s face is hard to read. He’s tucked his phone back into his pocket and his lips have thinned like he’s trying to smile but forgot how. When he finally speaks his voice is low. Undeniably sad. ‘No, Michael. It’s not a proposal. Not really. But I guess you could say it’s not not a proposal.’

Alex slides gingerly off the counter, landing on his left foot and unable to meet Michael’s eye. That’s when he knows he’s messed up.

‘I didn’t mean anything by that. I just don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you aren’t ready for yet.’

‘You still doubt me. That’s fair.’ He rinses his bowl in the sink, keeping his back turned. ‘Well, it’s a good thing I hadn’t planned to propose then. Maybe we should just head to the Pony instead. Help Maria set up the charity lunch.’ There’s a tremble in his voice that Michael hates.

Alex starts to walk past him, but Michael grabs his elbow, spinning him back around. ‘Hey. Hey, hey, hey. I don’t doubt that you want this as much as I do. But I do think you’d ignore your own feelings to put mine first. I want us to be on the same page. That’s all.’

Tears burn at the corner of Alex’s eyes. Michael reaches his hand up to brush them away, but Alex takes several steps back, swiping at them with the back of his hands. ‘You’re right. I don’t make big gestures. They terrify me. This terrifies me - that I did this thing without your permission. So I’ve been a nervous wreck for weeks. Worried that you would say no or laugh or something else you would never do but that my brain wouldn’t shut up about. And now, I’m pretty sure I messed up. Let’s just forget about it and go help Maria.’

He leaves the kitchen, grabbing his coat off the dining room table. Michael doesn’t move until he hears the front door open and close. The door slams shut hard enough that the windows rattle over Alex’s keyboard, and Michael’s knuckles whiten as he grips the countertop.

This scene an all too familiar memory. Emotions high and Alex skittering away.

Taking a deep breath, he tells himself no. This is different. They are different.

Alex hasn’t run away. He’s just outside waiting, getting some fresh air and calming down. Clearing his head. Because that’s what they do now. They take breaks when needed, but there’s no running.

Michael stuffs his feet inside his boots and drops his hat on his head, coat in his hand. He finds Alex exactly where he expects to, huddled inside his Explorer and the engine already running. When he opens the passenger side door, Alex even manages a weak smile. ‘Sorry.’

‘No sorrys.’ He buckles his seatbelt and reaches across to squeeze Alex’s thigh. ‘We have plenty of time to help Maria. I want my gift.’

Alex nods but doesn’t move to leave. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, biding his time. Michael settles back in his seat to wait.

‘Promise me something.’ His fingers stop their tapping.

‘Anything.’

He shifts toward Michael as best he can with his seatbelt fastened. ‘If you don’t like the gift for any reason whatsoever, you’ll tell me.’

There’s no running and there’s no lying. ‘I promise.’

The drive out to wherever they’re going is quiet. Christmas music plays faintly through the speakers, but neither of them says anything. Michael’s not a fan of the tension between them, but the lack of anger or sharp words proves -- at least to him -- that they’ve really accomplished something by working hard to get to this softer place.

He watches Alex out of the corner of his eye. Eyes fixed on the road ahead and mind whirling. Every so often he takes a measured breath, loudly exhaling. The most obvious sign that he’s been back in therapy for a couple of months now. Michael aches to climb into his lap and soothe away all his worries, all his fears. But until he knows what this gift is, he knows he can’t.

About half a mile from Foster’s Ranch, Alex pulls the car off the road, coming to a sudden stop at the chained gates of the old Ellison property. Michael watches him climb out of the car and walk a few feet onto the ranch, ignoring the half-dozen no trespassing signs.

Worried that he’s about to have a panic attack, Michael follows him. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and studying his face. Nothing seems wrong, his breathing even. ‘You alright?’

‘Yeah. What do you know about Ellison’s Ranch?’ His eyes dart back to the locked gate.

It’s a strange question, but maybe he needs a distraction. Michael’s happy to comply. ‘Uh, Old Man Ellison was a bigger dick than Foster. Died earlier this year. No family so the property was supposed to go for auction. About a hundred acres, give or take.’ He shrugs.

‘Hundred and one.’

‘What?’

Alex motions to the wide open expanse ahead of them. ‘One hundred and one acres exactly. Homestead property, used by the Ellison’s for horse breeding mostly.’

‘Okay.’ Michael’s not sure where he’s headed with any of this. ‘Ellison hated trespassers.’ He points back to the signs. ‘His ghost is likely to murder us if we stand here too long.’ He laughs at his own joke knowing how much Alex hates even the mention of ghosts.

But Alex just keeps staring straight into the distance. ‘We’re not trespassing.’

‘Signs beg to differ. We should just keep going, Alex. There’s nothing out here but dirt.’ He turns to head back to the Explorer, hoping Alex will do the same.

‘I bought this place at auction last month. Signed the final papers Wednesday morning. We’re not trespassing. It’s ours. Merry Christmas, Guerin.’

Michael stops dead in his tracks, spins slowly around. Alex’s hands are now in his pockets, shoulders tense. ‘What?��� He rejoins him, wrapping his fingers around Alex’s bicep. ‘You had this kind of money?’

‘No.’ He risks a quick glance at Michael and then back out toward the mountains. ‘It’s the money from my dad’s estate.’

‘Your dad left you his estate?’ That’s the wildest thing he’s said all morning.

Alex snorts. ‘Fuck, no. He didn’t leave me anything. Left almost everything to Clay, a bit to Greg. His weapons collection to Flint. Nothing to me.’

That checks out. Entirely expected. But rage boils just beneath the surface of Michael’s skin anyway. Alex is and always has been the best of them. And even if he is biased, that’s still the truth. ‘Then how?’

‘The auction notice was in the paper one morning when I was having breakfast with Greg. We talked about it. I mentioned how perfect the acreage was -- meant more for residential living than farming or ranching. Mentioned wanting something like this for me and you.’ He smiles, a real one this time. Full-bodied and bright. ‘A week later they wired me the money. Greg wanted nothing to do with dad’s legacy, and Clay wanted nothing to do with any of us, really.’

Michael gawks at him. Mouth agape and eyes wide. ‘It was enough?’

Alex nods. ‘For the property, yeah. Razing that old farmhouse and building a home of our own? That’s going to be up to us.’

‘A home of our own?’ He knows he sounds like an idiot. Repeating Alex’s simple words back at him. But that’s the best he’s got at the moment.

‘I thought maybe we could design a space that works for both of us. A space adaptable to my mobility needs, roomy enough to have friends stay whenever they want. A home meant for a family with a couple of kids.’ He pauses, lets that sink in. ‘A dog or two. Maybe some chickens and goats out back. Horses, even. Since there are already stables.’

Michael steps behind him, pressing his chest into Alex’s back and wrapping his arms firmly around his waist. ‘Keep going.’

‘A workshop for you. One that’s not buried in the ground. Where the sun shines on your face and the stars guide you at night. A soundproof studio for me so I don’t bother anyone trying to sleep. And anything else, Michael. Anything else you want.’ His voice falters the tiniest bit, low and strained with emotion. Another measured breath. ‘It’s too much. Right?’

Yes.

But the thing is, Michael can see everything Alex described. The house, the workshop, the studio. Even the goddamn horses. And all of that is nice. Perfect. The best dream imaginable. But what sells him is the mention of kids. Their kids. Their kids growing up here. Safe and loved. Chasing after chickens and crying over skint knees. Michael holding his little girl’s hand as she wobbles down the steps desperate to run after the dog while Alex follows with their son in his arms.

Suddenly, his mother’s words come to him, unbidden from where he’d locked them away. The words he’d kept for himself. Don’t be afraid to fight for your own happiness, my love. How easily she’d seen through him and known exactly what he needed to hear.

So, he fights.

‘Yes.’ He whispers the words directly into Alex’s ear. ‘But we’ve always been too much. Me and you. Why stop now?’

Michael kisses down Alex’s neck and holds him tighter while the sun climbs higher overhead, illuminating the desert morning stretching out around them. Cars pass behind them on the highway and somewhere in the distance, a rooster crows. He replays the scene in his head again -- their little girl tumbling down the stairs, Alex snuggling their son into giggles.

Alex has made him this promise, and now it’s his turn.

‘Hey, Alex.’

‘Hmm?’ Michael knows he’s lost in his own daydream. Perhaps the exact same one.

‘Marry me.’

[fuckyeahisawthat]

First line game

Tagged by the brilliant @ferrame ages ok like a week ago.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors.

Twenty seemed like so many but only takes me back to the beginning of 2019. I write a lot of one-shots. Also somehow we pass through every fandom I have written for.

1. No Use Pretending, Trust (2018), E, 4k, Paul/Primo

He hadn’t meant to see Paul again.

2. Three Times Is a Habit, Trust (2018), E, 10k, Paul/Primo

It becomes clear, very soon after Paul comes home, that no one wants to hear what happened to him.

3. Roadside, South of Rome, Trust (2018), T, 2k, Paul & Primo

I’ll kill him.

4. The Deal, Trust (2018), M, 6k, Leonardo/Regina, Leonardo/Primo

As long as they’ve been married, there have been things Regina has been perfectly content not to ask about.

5. Twenty Questions, Trust (2018), E, 4k, Leonardo/Primo

“First time you did anything with a guy.”

6. Promises and Threats, Trust (2018), E, 12k, Leonardo/Primo, Leonardo/Regina

Primo is thirteen and Leonardo is twenty-four, picking glass out of Primo’s hair at the kitchen table late at night.

7. Two Battles Fifty Years Apart, The Old Guard, M, 12k (WIP), Joe/Nicky

(I kNOW I left them in the middle of a heckin battle but I swear I will come back and finish this some day, this is exactly why I don’t write longfics gdi)

They are lying tangled together in Yusuf’s bed, in his rented lodgings in al-Quds, sweat still cooling between their bodies, when his lover says, “This is the last time we can meet like this.”

8. For the Long Haul, The Old Guard, M, 4k, Joe/Nicky but really an ensemble fic

By the time they reach the unassuming block of flats in Tower Hamlets, the momentary swoop of relief at having escaped the lab is gone, and Joe is practically vibrating with unspent adrenaline.

9. A Messy Situation, Good Omens, M, 2k, Aziraphale/Crowley

Look, the details of how Aziraphale wound up at the orgy in the wee hours of the morning are not important.

10. Wing Thing, Good Omens, G, 4k, Aziraphale/Crowley

The first thunderstorm in the history of Earth is furious but brief.

11. Free Agents, Good Omens, G, 1k, Aziraphale/Crowley

“Crowley?”

12. Closer, Mad Max Fury Road, E, 9k (WIP), Furiosa/Max

(I swear I will finish this one too some day, yes I kNOW it’s been one chapter away from completion for a year)

When Max first comes back, he sleeps in his car.

13. Dessert, Good Omens, E, 3k, Aziraphale/Crowley

In the length of the short walk from the park to the Ritz, Aziraphale becomes acutely aware of just how desperately he wants Crowley.

14. In a City Under Aerial Bombardment, Good Omens, G, 3k, Aziraphale/Crowley

He’s in the car.

15. Hell to Pay, Good Omens, T, 3k, Aziraphale/Crowley

Crowley has tested out, over his millennia on Earth, just what exactly he can get away with doing without Hell noticing.

16. The Human Way, Good Omens, E, 3k, Aziraphale/Crowley

Demons weren’t supposed to have wants.

17. Drunk Theology, Good Omens, G, 3k, Aziraphale/Crowley

They had been day drinking, four days after the world didn’t end.

18. Smite Response, Good Omens, G, 1k, Aziraphale/Crowley

They are taking a walk in the park, at twilight, because it’s something to do and they both stubbornly, silently keep finding reasons to be in the same space in the days after Armageddidn’t.

19. Last Night on Earth, Good Omens, G, 1k, Aziraphale/Crowley

He had not intended to get off the bus when it stopped directly in front of Crowley’s building.

20. Fireworks, Venom, G, 1k, Eddie/Venom

He used to love fireworks.

Once I line them all up like this there is one pattern that is hilariously obvious, if not really surprising, about my first lines. A lot of them answer the “why now?” question, as in, why are we watching these characters right now? It’s that story-starting principle of “Every day, X. One day, Y.” So I have lots of first lines like “He hadn’t meant to see Paul again.” (Spoiler alert: he does.) And “Demons weren’t supposed to have wants.” (Spoiler alert: he does.) And “He used to love fireworks.” (Spoiler alert: he doesn’t anymore, and the fic is about why.) Because I like to tell you what the fic is about in the very first line, apparently.

There is also one principle that I really internalized from my screenwriting background, which is “enter late, leave early.” Which sounds like some archaic birth control advice but just means, start the scene at the latest possible point where we can understand what’s happening, and end it as soon as the substantive point of the scene has happened. Now this is something I do so automatically I often don’t even really think about it. This also means my first lines often end up being fairly straightforward scene-setting, since I am dropping you into the action once it’s already started and I want to orient you quickly.

My first lines tend toward the pragmatic more often than the poetic, but of all of these I think I am most fond of the opening of Promises and Threats. It’s not always that I can manage a first line that’s a microcosm of the whole fic, but here we’ve got intimacy in the midst of violence, Primo trusting Leo, and we set up the pattern of the first half of the fic, where we drop in on them at different ages as we watch Primo change in Leo’s eyes from a child who needs his care to an adult man he realizes he’s attracted to (but who still needs his care).

Tagging @fadagaski, @primarybufferpanel, @sacrificethemtothesquid, @bethagain, @lurkinghistoric, @v8roadworrier and @thebyrchentwigges and anyone else who wants to do this!

[cockasinthebird]

ahhh grats on the milestone!! also holy shit youve got 500 prompts stored away somewhere??? im gonna go with my favourite number combo..... 317 👀 im super excited to see what you come up with!! 💖 -bbsitterpng

@babysitterpng  Thank you so much!!! And yes, 500 goddamn prompts, all carefully curated, only the best for my beloved mutuals and followers!!

I got SO ELATED when I saw that you sent me a mystery prompt request!!!! ❤️💕 I would have finished it yesterday, but I got uhhh distracted 😏😏😏

317. “I think you’ll be happy to know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again and again and again; I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this immediately, and while I worry the exposition seems too rushed, I am very satisfied with the rest, all near 4k words!

So please, enjoy~

-

Today has been a long day that started when the sun had barely found its place in the sky.

Neil was beating at his bedroom door, asking why it’s locked, threatening to kick it down, demanding that Billy get up right now to mow the lawn, just to complain about what a shitty job he did after, shouting about how he has to do everything himself.

Billy would beat his pillows, lift weights till his muscles hurt, and smoke like a chimney, all to alleviate stress in one way or another.

At 12 Max was leaving to go play DnD with her little loser friends, ready to skate her way over there, but Billy needed to get out of the house, have a valid excuse, and it doesn’t get better than “watching out for his little sister.”

They’re on good terms now, after they had gotten in an intense fight and she screamed at him to just leave her and her friends alone, and after not spending every waking hour hating and antagonizing her, she’s not as annoying anymore, and Billy thinks that perhaps his anger was the issue here, not her being a little shit.

That realisation helped him a lot in general. It’s around that time he “apologised” to Harrington the best he could, but when Steve was nice and understanding of his issues, it only made him angry again. Billy doesn’t believe he deserves to be forgiven so easily, no, Harrington should have hit him, defended himself, gotten pissed and told Billy to fuck off.

Instead they wound up at Benny’s diner, sharing a giant plate of fries and a milkshake each.

“My treat,” Steve insisted.

And that’s when old issues resurfaced; the same exact issues that meant they had to leave California. The same exact issues that brought Billy’s wrath upon this pretty boy. The same exact issues that led one thing to another, and now Billy knows the route from his house to the Harrington Mansion like the back of his hand; could drive it with his eyes closed now.

But he doesn’t want to seem needy or clingy. Doesn’t want to be what he is - the way he is.

So after dropping Max off at the Wheeler’s house, the fiery redhead even going as far as to offer him a bit of a smile, he didn’t go home. Didn’t drive to Steve’s house either no matter how much he wanted to.

Don’t be needy, don’t be clingy. You’ll see him later.

So for four hours he drove around town, smoked by the quarry, got admired at a gas station when he refilled, passed Steve’s street far too many times, went to the empty pool that’s closed for the year and sat with his feet over the edge and smoked some more, restlessly kicking the tiling. Over the course of this time he checked his watch at least a billion times.

When it was finally 4pm, he drove to pick up his sister and El - the gang having managed to convince both Steve and Billy to take them to the movies to watch the last screening of The Neverending Story, which doesn’t exactly sound like something he wants to watch, but knowing Steve will be there, he agreed all too readily.

And as he pulls back up to the Wheeler’s again, he sees the brown BMW, Steve leaning against the door as he waits for the boys to pile into his car. Billy’s heart is beating like a painful drum in his aching chest, and when Steve sees him sitting and waiting for the girls, he smiles at him and waves.

Billy is as always astounded and breathless by the way Steve smiles, the way Steve looks at him now, like he’s happy to see him. He can’t smile back, he wants to, but his face feels dull and incapacitated. He wants to just kick open his car door, stomp up to Steve and fucking kiss him. Instead he simply waves back.

Then Max breaks the trance as she pulls open the door and crawls in to sit in the back with El.

“What the hell took you guys so long, I’m starving,” Billy complains as he looks over his shoulder at them.

Max is smart and doesn’t answer, and Billy is smart and doesn’t ask again. No he remains quiet as they follow the beemer, Max and El laughing loud and joyous behind him like girls their age do, talking about shit he doesn’t care for, just focuses on the car in front as they drive to Benny’s diner for early dinner before going to wolf down popcorn at the cinema.

-

The gang is eager and excited, like kids should be, running to the diner as they talk all too frantically about whatever it is kids talk about, Billy is really not paying attention, when Steve is right there.

“Find a booth where we can all sit!” Steve shouts after them, and Billy’s not sure if they heard him at all. “Hey Hargrove, got a smoke?” his voice kinder and friendly, too friendly, as he addresses Billy.

Steve leans against the hood of the camaro, smiling all too wide. He’s dressed in high waisted jeans and a red crop top that shows just enough of a midriff for it to be too much for Billy.

He takes up a spot next to Steve, just far away enough for it to not be suspicious, but absolutely too far away for it to not be enough, yet even from here he can smell the floral soap and honey shampoo. Can’t help but think of how soft Steve’s skin is, how silky his hair is, all newly washed and clean of him. Wonders if the purple hickeys are still visible across his chest, up his thighs.

Even though Steve is trying his best to meet Billy’s gaze, he refuses to look at him just in case it would be too obvious what he’s thinking about, as he unwraps a fresh pack of Marlboro and offers one up.

When Billy ignites his lighter and reaches forth, Steve touches his hand, holds it steady as he leans in to bring his cigarette to the flame. There’s a burning sensation where his pale, soft hand connects them, and when Steve dares rub Billy’s wrist with his fingers, there’s a pain shooting through his heart, a sharp wanting for more. No, a need for more. He’s caught staring at those pretty, pink lips when Steve pulls away and exhales a cloud.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a wry smile, clearly aware.

“You know damn well ‘what’s wrong’,” Billy snaps a bit harsher than intended as he continues to force himself to look away.

Thankfully Steve takes it well and huffs a laugh filled with smoke.

They end up in silence after that; the comfortable kind that comes from being at peace together, easy and relaxed and pleasant, one where they don’t need words because there’s no longer any doubt between them. Perhaps that’s what love is, as cheesy and gross as that may be, Billy ponders. To be able to just exist together without it being awkward or stilted. Perhaps he’s fallen a bit in love with his ex-rival. Or perhaps he’s just in love with how he feels when he’s with Steve, both physical and not.

It isn’t till Steve finishes his cigarette, drops it on the asphalt and stomps it out, that he speaks,

“Oh, I almost forgot, I wanted to tell you something.” He’s smiling like the cat that got the cream, licking his lips a bit too slowly as he goes to whisper in Billy’s ear, “I think you’ll be happy to know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Billy’s heart skips several beats at that, before then going too fast - rapidly pumping blood through him, and there’s a certain rush of it going straight to his dick. He stares too long into those deep, dark eyes, mischievous and satisfied with the response as Billy short circuits.

“What?”

Steve shrugs and tips his head to the side a bit, acting all innocent and oblivious, lips drawn tight in a smile that goes from ear to ear. He opens his mouth and takes a long inhale, insinuating that he’s about to say something, then simply turns around, hands in his pockets as he walks towards the diner.

Leaving Billy behind, baffled, astonished, dumbfounded.

-

The next two hours feels like days.

They sit in the diner, Billy and Steve across from one another.

The kids are still as energetic as before, their voices a jumble of words and phrases and retellings of DnD from today’s session. Steve chews on his straw as he tries to follow along with whatever they’re talking about, laughing when they laugh, nodding on occasions. Whenever he looks over at Billy, blue eyes flee to stare out the window instead, finding great interest in the pattern of how one street light flickers.

Before the movie starts, they go to let out water by the urinals of the cinema, Billy standing right next to Steve, having hoped to catch a glimpse, see if he’s telling the truth, the urge near irresistible to just take a quick look, but the other men around them might not take too kindly to something like that.

And during the movie they sit together at the end of the row.

Steve, Billy, Max, El, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas.

He didn’t care for the movie before, only going along as a sign of friendliness and to have an excuse to not be home, but now. Now he’s almost hating having to sit here, next to Steve, shoulders nearly touching, shoes pressed together on the dark floor, only an armrest between them.

For the first twenty arduous minutes, Steve doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, showing no sign of registering how near they are, just watches the movie in silence with a smile, while Billy is sat next to him, burning up despite his shirt being unbuttoned as always, mind racing with thoughts and images of Steve Steve Steve.

So distracted by all of that, that he nearly jumps when Steve touches his hand. Same softness and tenderness from earlier on the parking lot, the way Steve always touches him with just a hint of hesitance when they’re not completely alone.

But the cinema is dark, the kids are entranced, and there’s barely a handful of people besides them, so maybe it’s safe enough.

Billy raises his fingers into the touch, thinking that Steve wants to hold hands, intertwine them, any of that stupid romantic shit that he loves and Billy pretends to only barely tolerate, but the touch moves past that, a feather across the back of his hand, up to gently and carefully grab him by the wrist.

At that, Billy finally looks down, keeps facing the big screen but pays acute attention to what Steve is doing, where he’s leading his hand, placing it on his knee, Billy’s fingers in between spread legs. He continues to guide the hand further up, towards the heat of where his thighs meet, effectively sending Billy’s heart rate sky high.

When he finally turns his head, he finds Steve staring right back, a small and restrained smile, and in that moment, Billy feels like he can read Steve’s thoughts, knows exactly what’s on his mind, never doubts it for a second, and is proved right when Steve stands up and climbs over the seat to walk along the empty row behind them.

Billy whips around to Max, and hisses out, “We’re going for a smoke, don’t fucking go anywhere.”

“Yeah yeah,” she groans all indifferent and waves him away, eyes big and caught in the movie.

-

The bathroom at the Hawk is as clean as it ever gets, and perhaps not too shockingly, empty. Movies are running and people are seated.

Steve stands looking at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair, not that it looks any different to Billy now than before.

He takes heavy steps towards the brunette, announcing himself and catches Steve’s eyes in the mirror, watching as Billy approaches and steps behind him. Billy leans in to run his nose up Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply and humming out pleasantly, blinking slowly as he keeps pressing his face into the crook there, not quite kissing yet.

Eyes dart back to the mirror where heavenly blue meets chocolate brown, a feverish intensity there as Steve stares back. Gently, but with no hesitation, Billy snakes his arms around Steve’s waist, past the belt and up to touch where skin shows between jeans and the top.

When there’s no ‘stop’, he keeps going, curls his fingers around the red fabric and lifts up, exposing Steve’s chest to the both of them in the mirror. Bitten and marked, purple and red, Billy eyes his masterwork with an appreciative gaze, and with one hand keeping the shirt away, he moves the other up to graze his fingers across each little bruise his lips left just two days ago.

Steve hums a bit, erotic and turned on, and if more were to happen now, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d found their way together in public. And perhaps that thought strikes Steve just as it does Billy, for he pushes back into him, rubbing his soft ass against where he finds a slight bulge already.

“Fuck, Stevie…” Billy huffs and breathes against Steve’s neck, eyes closed as he relishes in the slow friction, kissing sloppy and half-minded against pale skin. “You really wanna do this here? Where the kids could just walk in any moment?”

“I would have maybe pushed you into a stall first,” Steve laughs, a slight stutter to it. “But I was thinking your car? The movie is like two hours, we could find an alley, park there, let me ride your cock?”

A growl escapes by the enchantment of those words, and Billy bites into Steve’s neck, earning him an illicit little hiss and smirk.

“How am I supposed to say no when you put it like that?”

-

Neither of them feel particularly bad for just abandoning the gang like that, but they’ll be quick, hidden in this alleyway, not too far away from the theatre, a bit of fun while the others gawk and gape at the magic of movies.

But it’s hard to be remorseful, when Steve is moaning like this, Billy two fingers deep in him in the driver's seat of the camaro.

Steve didn't lie about going commando today; told Billy, “When I found out you were tagging along, I hoped I’d get to have you alone like this.”

It took Steve less than two seconds to start getting undressed when Billy turned off the engine, whereafter he crawled right onto his lap, hard and bottomless, knees over Billy’s shoulders, feet locked behind the headrest, back against the steering wheel. 

“Ah-h, mmh, fuck, Billy-” he whines, hands placed firm on Billy’s legs for support as he lifts and angles his ass to allow Billy access with lubed up fingers.

His other hand squeezes Steve’s leaking prick, using the precum to slick up the flesh, keeping him hard and crying like that. His own lonesome cock aches where it lies full against his stomach; the button down having been opened completely to avoid staining it, and giving Steve something to admire.

“Billy, please, just- oh- just fuck me already!” Steve’s voice pitched high with lust and impatience, brows drawn together, his arms shaking underneath his own weight.

“Just don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” Billy purrs.

He watches with great interest as he pumps two fingers in and out of Steve’s wet hole, making a scissoring motion to stretch him properly.

“Mmh, we don’t exactly have time for that, and I need you so bad,” Steve says with the sweetest, most alluring tone he can.

And God if that doesn’t go straight to Billy’s twitching dick.

“You sure?” He wants to double check anyways.

“Yes- yes! Just- get a condom, I don’t wanna ruin my favourite pants.”

Billy chuckles lightly at that thought as he leans to reach for the glovebox, absolutely turned on by the idea of Steve walking around brimming with him, his cum dripping out and running down his thighs. Perhaps another time.

The condom rolls on with ease, Billy having become quite the expert with one through time, but he has been getting a lot of practice lately what with Steve and his more adventurous side, and wearing a rubber when fucking in public makes for an easy and quick cleanup. He gives himself a few good strokes to lube up good and nice, ensuring that Steve gets a smooth ride as he aligns himself with the hole that flutters eagerly to suck him in.

Greedy, starved, zealous, Steve sits himself on that veiny dick, ass fully flush with Billy’s hips, breathlessly gasping and cursing around his name, “Fuck Billy…”

“Mmmh,” Billy hums and licks his lips, staring down with adoration at how he’s buried deep inside of Steve’s ass, tight with lack of preparation, but- “You feel so good baby, taking my cock so well.”

He brings his hands to grab Steve by the hips and guide him in a circular motion, muscles clenching around him that can only be described as beautiful, eliciting groans and causing him to dig in his nails.

Steve’s panting, bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat, the windows fogged up, telling anyone that would walk by exactly what was going on, and when he lifts up to fuck himself on Billy’s fat erection, they shake the entire car with his fervor; each time he sinks down he moans more; moans with less and less self control.

“Take off your shirt, pretty boy,” Billy drawls out and swipes his tongue across shiny and sharp teeth. “Wanna see you.”

It’s a hurried motion that takes less than three seconds for Steve to yank off the crop top and grab on to Billy’s knees again, refusing to wait even one moment in the haze of his neediness. 

Billy, however, faced with marks of his own making, takes time to appreciate how perfectly purple suits Steve’s pale skin, blooming across his pecs, his tits, near nipples that strut now, begging to be touched. And who is he not to oblige. Hands travel up from hips, past the waist, to Steve’s chest - the brunette seemingly lost in chasing his own high, that he doesn’t notice where Billy is going till he presses hard against the sensitive buds.

“A-ah! Fuck, Billy!” And he throws his head back.

Steve’s entire body tenses at that, each muscle flexing and twitching, contracting around Billy’s steely cock, and he can’t help himself but to thrust into the clenching hole, the rim taking a chokehold on the base of his prick. Steve has to bring up a hand against the roof of the car to keep himself from hitting his head, while also giving him the ideal leverage to push down hard, bodies colliding, skin slapping together in a lascivious and erotic rhythm.

“God, you’re such a little slut for my cock, huh baby?” Billy growls like a ravenous wolf as he pounds into Steve, forcing out every little cry and moan, telling him that he’s hitting just the right spot.

“Billy- Billy, ah-a, fuck- fuck-” Steve whimpers and looks down to watch one hand on his hip that pulls him down, another rubbing hard against his nipple. 

“Yeah, harrh, listen to yourself,” and Billy pauses to listen to how Steve mewls, revelling in the fact that he’s the cause of that. “So loud and lewd, baby, calling out my name like that.”

“Billy.”

He’s a confident guy, Keg King and lady killer, and while shit like emotions and feelings stuns him, this brings him alive, lust coiling in his gut, burning hot and white, ramping up to a fever pitch as he fucks with wild abandon into Steve’s wet cunt.

Billy hasn’t bothered masturbating in a good while, no, he saves all of that pent up energy for Steve, to fill him up; desire blinding him to anyone else but his princess.

“Mmhnn- ahh, fuck, Stevie, can’t wait to get you alone tonight,” he says, voice fucked out and perverted, Steve looking at him as he speaks, “Drop off all the little shits and then fuck you into your mattress till you’re a mess, pump you full of my cum.”

Steve’s eyes screws shut tight, mouth wide open as he moans, “Yes, oh God, Billy-”

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Yes! Please! Fuck-” He nods the best he can, hair bouncing.

“You’re such a good little whore for me, princess, so needy for my cock.”

“Billy- Billy please,” Steve croons, all pathetic and close.

“Anything,” Billy responds with fast devotion, a promise that he gladly lives up to, knowing well what it is Steve is begging for, wants to hear him say it anyways.

“Touch me, please, ah-h- I’m so so close, fuck…”

Billy grins wide, so self satisfied it’s nearly disgusting, and he closes his fingers firm around Steve’s slick erection; he gets so fucking wet, leaking profusely, swears it only happens when he’s with Billy like this.

“Just like that, yes! Oh fuck, I’m- ah-”

“Yeah, cum for me baby, wanna watch you- show me what I do to you.”

Billy jerks him off quick and crude, knows how Steve likes it, how he needs it; loves being manhandled, talks about that whenever he’s with Billy he feels small and light.

And Steve cums with a loud and unadulterated moan, stilling his entire body in a tense pose as Billy fucks him fast; slamming quickly against his prostate, hand milking him good till he’s emptied out on his own chest.

It is a glorious thing to watch, a masterpiece of performance only for him, a grand show for a one man audience that Billy gets to relive again and again and again. Steve’s jaw drops as he continues to cry out like he’s a goddamn porn star, overstimulated and loving it.

Billy’s own orgasm is far less showy; a few shallow, brutish thrusts, grunting through gritted teeth, he shoves Steve down onto him hard as his hips stutter through completion, waves of impossible heat pouring out and leaving him a puddle of bliss and euphoria.

Time is lost to them, as they sit like that; Steve’s one leg having fallen between the seats as he went limp with exhaustion, still firmly planted in Billy’s lap, who’s soft and complacent and fucking tired, both of them breathing heavy.

“We should… we should go back…” Steve mumbles with closed eyes.

Billy’s watching the way Steve’s cum slowly slips down his chest, running over his abs and nearing his pubic hair.

“Do we have to?” he eventually manages to ask.

And Steve chuckles at that, the vibrations through his body clenching around Billy’s spent cock and he can’t help the sore “ooh”s and “ahh”s as he tries to pull away from it.

“Sadly we do. Can’t have the kids walk home alone in the dark, besides…” Steve grinds his ass onto Billy’s lap, making him wince in not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but definitely too much. “Think you promised to… fuck me into my mattress?”