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ao3commentoftheday · 5 months

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Hello! First of all, thank you for this blog. I’ve read some of the asks you’ve answered so far and they’ve been incredibly fun and to go through and very useful <3

The problem I have is very… specific. But I figured why not share it here, you know?

A few months ago, I started leaving rants and analyses in one of my favorite AO3 writer’s tumblr ask box, regarding their fics. That kind of evolved and long story short, they’ve been following my tumblr blog for a while.

Now this obviously makes me incredibly happy. They’re not exactly popular in the whole wide fandom, per se, but they’ve kind of created a smaller fandom within the original fandom through their fics and art (which are mostly AU longfics, and art for said AUs), so this basically feels like being tumblr mutuals with someone like Neil Gaiman to me.

The problem arises in the fact that I feel like I’m being watched now. This person I look up to follows my tumblr, and knows my AO3 handle, and I have only posted a single fic so far, but I have so many other fics I want to write, and I’m always so anxious to write because I keep thinking “When I post this, are they going to see it? Read it, maybe? Are they gonna hate it? Are they gonna unfollow me because they don’t like my characterization or writing?” and I keep trying to reason with myself that part of the reason I look up to them so much is that they promote a “No judgement” policy, and part of the reason they followed me is because they liked my analysis of their work, but now I’m realizing that… I want them to read my fics. And I want them to like them and maybe I want us to be friends and not just mutuals, and I want us to freak out about each other’s fics, you know?

That is worsened by the fact that… My tumblr account is fairly new. And I have a total of 3 followers including said fanfic writer, so I feel the pressure to post fics in order to grow my tumblr circle and build a community, but that directly clashes with my desire to write something absolutely perfect so they’ll like it, which then both clash with what makes writing fic enjoyable, AKA doing it for myself and writing what I want to and how I want to.

I’m aware that I can’t control what another person likes, dislikes, or does. And that I have all the time in the world to write the fics I want and those that will make me happy without regarding what other people might think. But also… fandom are communities. And I want my tumblr and AO3 to be places where I can talk about my fics with people who like them, so that desire to grow my account as soon as I can is very strong simply because I have no one else to talk to. I don’t want to talk to the void and post rants that no one will see (except… y’know, maybe my favorite fanfic writer, which is a whole other level of pressure) about fics that don’t exist yet. Another part of this is the fact that, unless I get fics out, I’m relying on the fanfic writer liking my ideas and interacting to build a community.

As much as I try to convince myself to just write without care and to stop trying to control what this person does because that is completely out of my control and kind of dehumanizing on their behalf, the anxiety doesn’t subside. I don’t know what to do.

This ask was a bit of a journey for me, anon, and it took a little bit of untangling to see where you were going with it. I think this might be the central issue you're facing though:

I want my tumblr and AO3 to be places where I can talk about my fics with people who like them ... because I have no one else to talk to. I don’t want to talk to the void and post rants that no one will see ... about fics that don’t exist yet.

You're looking for fandom friends, and you're at the start of that journey - and I think you're doing well already by reaching out to an author you like and sending them asks about their work. Being willing to reach out and talk to people is an amazing quality, anon, and I encourage you to keep doing that. Follow more people who post things that you're interested in. Drop asks in their inbox and start a conversation.

The other half of that is giving other people and opportunity to reach out to you. You can do this by posting your thoughts about the canon your fandom is tied to. You can see a ton of examples here on tumblr where folks discuss a particular moment or scene that meant something to them.

You can also reblog asks memes, like the AO3 wrapped ones I reblogged the other day. Sometimes I see people just answer all of the questions in their own reblog, but if you want people to have an opening, just leave your ask box open and see what comes through.

If you want to talk about your own work, you can post something for WIP Wednesday or Six Sentence Sunday - or just post a scene that you've been working on and ask what people think.

Everyone starts off with a handful of followers, anon. You won't dive into a lively community overnight. You also don't have to create tons of popular fics in order to make one. Join a community that already exists. Find the people you vibe with within it. This author friend of yours might be the perfect place to start.

Even our favourite people, the ones we look up to most, are still just people when it comes down to it. If this author is as chill as you say they are, I think friendship is totally possible.

I'll open it up to the blog now. Did I read this one wrong? Do you have advice for anon? Have you been in a situation like theirs?

#asks and answers #long post

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

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the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 2,344

warnings: swearing, smoking, reader is lonely, descriptions of billy’s abuse, mentions of neil

a/n: hi! so i decided to challenge myself with this. i’m making this a multi-part story. i’ve never done anything like this before, but so far i’m enjoying it. i’m not entirely sure where we’re headed, but i’ve got a sort of outline in my head. i’ve also decided to try something else new, and i’ve picked out some songs that you can listen to before you read to get you in the mood—but only if you want of course. this is all a really new experience for me but i have put a lot of heart into this first part. i hope that you enjoy this, really i do. also the title is from a part of hop’s letter to el. <333

before you read, listen to: wheel in the sky by journey and/or (don’t fear) the reaper by blue oyster cult

————

Sitting cross-legged on your bed, you turn the page of the book in front of you, the sound of the paper flipping an audible one.

You lift the hardback, tuck your nose into the center of the pages and give it a sniff. It might be odd to do so, yes, but to you, books are the best smelling thing in the world.

You put it back down, go back to reading.

A knock breaks you out of your fantasy literature-induced stupor.

“Honey? Okay for me to come in?” Your mother’s voice, soft and sweet.

“Sure.” Your voice is quiet when you speak, though just loud enough for her to hear.

Your bedroom door opens enough for your mother to stand just inside, her back against the frame, one hand gently resting on the knob.

You reach for your bookmark, drape it over one side of the pages and then close it.

“Hey, kiddo.” Her smile is easy. You try your best to give her one of your own, but you know it falls short.

“Wendy and I are going out to dinner tonight and then to an art show.”

Wendy was your mother’s longtime best friend, and quite the riot.

“Apparently her new girlfriend is something of an artist.” She gives a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. “Do you think you’d like to tag along?”

You uncross your legs and stretch them out: contemplating. Then you do the same to your back, which makes an obscene crackling noise—enough to make the both of you grimace.

You know how you’ll feel if you go out with your mother and her friend.

You’ll be okay for the first little while, but then there will be too many people. You’ll get nervous. You will probably say something wrong and feel the need to shut down. You will shut down. Your hands will get shaky and you’ll get upset, and by the end of the night you’ll wish you hadn’t gone at all.

You know how you’ll feel if you stay home, too.

You’ll be fine, totally fine, having avoided everything you’d face in the other situation. But you’d be guilty. Guilty because you’re young and you won’t be going out to do whatever or making friends. You’ll feel like you’re failing your mom, who just wants you to experience things.

You decide that leaving your house shouldn’t require this much stress.

“No, I don’t think so,” you finally say. “But thank you for offering.”

You watch your mother as she moves further inside your room, settling on the edge of your bed.

“Are you sure?” She sets her hands on your knees, tapping her fingers, many a ring glinting in the overhead light of your room.

“We could get frozen yogurt. You know, I really think you’ve turned Wendy into a monster after we went last time. It’s all she talks about now.”

That gets a small smile out of you, but brings an ache to your chest.

“I’m sure. Don’t get too crazy, tonight, though. And be sure to let me know about her new partner.”

“Alright. Hug or no? What’s the affectionate meter at right now?”

“A hug is fine,” you say through a quiet laugh.

She wraps her arms carefully around your shoulders, allowing you to squeeze first, that way she can gauge what you need.

“I’ll leave some money out so you can order pizza, okay?” You nod. “Also there’s a pint of the ice cream you like in the freezer.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my little honeybee.” With a final pat of your knee and a wink sent in the direction of your book, your mother sweeps out of the room, and a little while later she is out the door.

Alone in the house, you let out an exhale, before heading to the kitchen.

Opening the designated take-out-menu-drawer, you scrounge for the one belonging to a local pizza place. You go ahead and order now, knowing that it might take awhile since the place is in downtown Hawkins.

You realize, setting the phone down, that you don’t know what to do with yourself once you’ve got the chance to do whatever you please.

You retrieve your book to read on the couch until your dinner arrives, not only for a change of scenery, but because you’ll need to be out in the living room to watch an episode of your favorite show in a while anyhow.

You’ve only sat momentarily when you hear it. Hear him. When you hear his music, specifically.

Billy Hargrove lives a few doors down from you, just close enough that you can always hear when he comes home, music blaring—not that differently from the volume you play it at when alone in your car—and doors slamming.

You don’t know him personally, only from school. Only as this pretty boy who’s been in Hawkins a few months.

You know enough that you hate the way people at school look at him. Like he’s an object. Like he’s this foreign being just because he came all the way from sunny California. The way they talk about him. About his ass, or his car, or his little redhead sister.

You know he’s pretty. You’d never deny that. But he’s just like the rest of you, and it bothers you that people treat him—at least from what you’ve seen—like this all-powerful dude.

But you also know enough that you think maybe he doesn’t have the best home life, just from what you’ve seen when you’re not out—which is always.

Sometimes you see him walking up and down the street at various times during the day. Or you hear his car speed off.

Sometimes, though really only sometimes, you see him trailing his sister while she skateboards, either talking or sitting while she goes.

To you, he seems like a loner.

And maybe it’s because you’re one too that you see him that way. That you can see him that way.

————

Outside, Billy cups his hand around his cigarette. It’s seemingly out of habit, since it’s not windy out. His thumb slides along the spark wheel of his lighter once, twice before the flame catches. The tip glows red in the night.

He walks a little further, as he inhales deeply, closing his eyes and soaking it in. He kicks a rock, hard, trying to see if it’ll hit the post of the mailbox a few feet ahead of him.

He watches a pizza delivery car ride by and pull into a driveway. He hasn’t made it very far on his walk. The walk he wouldn’t be taking because it’s pretty damn cold outside.

But Neil Hargrove wasn’t aware that Max Mayfield had joined the Hawkins AV Club, and when there was no Max at home, he took it out on Billy, telling him he was an irresponsible waste of space.

It took Susan getting home with her daughter and explaining the situation for Neil to calm down.

But Billy’s back was aching from where he’d been slammed up against a doorframe, and frankly he wanted nothing more than to get out of the house.

So here he was.

A porch light flicked on as if whoever was inside had been waiting on that pizza. You had been—sitting on the couch and listening for car sounds.

When the delivery guy rings the doorbell you appear, and Billy realizes he knows you. That he goes to school with you. You’re very quiet. He also thinks your very pretty, and he’s never noticed that before.

You look very comfortable; all of your clothes seem to be too big. With the way the yellow outside light hits you, it gives your face a multitude of shadows. Billy thinks about some of the greek statues he learned about in a history class back when he lived in California. About how artists tended to sculpt women with real bodies.

Shit, he thinks. He’s probably staring at you. But you really are very pretty.

On the stoop, you take the pizza and set it on the table just inside the door and then hand the guy his money.

You decide not to be a dick and make sure that he gets out okay. When he backs out, you catch a flash of red out of the corner of your eye.

You wouldn’t be able to see him if it weren’t for the street lights. Billy is looking at you. You smile at him, and to your surprise, he smiles back.

“You okay?” You ask, hoping that your voice carries to him, because you don’t feel like shouting.

You watch him shrug and take another drag of his cigarette. The fingers on his free hand fidget with the ring he’s wearing, and you pretend not to notice.

“You?” He questions in return. Something about the sound of his voice makes you feel warm inside.

You shrug back, and he lets out a breath of a laugh, before you turn around to go inside and he continues with his walk.

You kick the door shut and lock it behind you, thinking about Billy.

That is the most extensive conversation you’ve ever had with him, aside from one a few days after he started at Hawkins High, when he didn’t know where the auditorium was, so you walked him the whole way there. You were pretty sure he’d been embarrassed to have to ask for help, but you hadn’t been bothered at all.

In fact, that exchange outside was the most conversation you’d had with anyone outside of your mother in a while.

Most days you didn’t say a word at school, keeping to yourself, trying to get homework done any chance you could so that it didn’t actually become homework. Sometimes you had to speak with a teacher though, and of course you said thank you when someone held a door—but that was it.

Quite frankly you didn’t know what to think. Part of you hoped you’d see him again. That you’d make a friend.

You hadn’t had a friend in a very long time.

————

When your mother returns home, it is with many beans to spill.

Wendy’s new partner, who you found out was named Stephanie, was, in your mother’s words, “Hot enough to go gay for.”

Your mother had also undoubtedly had some to drink while out and about.

“Also that boy from down the street? Don’t you go to school with him?”

You start fussing with a string on your sleeve. “Yeah, why?”

“Well he was brooding on his porch when Wendy retrieved me, and he’s still wandering around outside. It’s been,” she checked her watch, “three hours.”

You scratch at your nose, thinking.

“I saw him when the pizza got here.”

Your mother hums. “Well, I’m going to go shower the art gallery off of me and then probably stay up too late reading.”

“Okay.”

She smiles sweetly at you, collecting the pile of rings and other jewelry that she’d taken off and set on the counter while talking to you, and then you’re alone again.

You flatten your body over the countertop, bending at the waist and stretching so that your fingers can grip the other side.

You think about Billy out there. He was obviously going through something. And maybe it isn’t any of your business, but you hate the idea of him being alone, wallowing in self-pity. Not that you have any room to talk.

You straighten, walking carefully so as to not allow your socked feet to slip along the floor, and find yourself reaching for your coat.

Shoving your feet into a pair of shoes, you flip on the porch light once again, and make your way outside.

Across the street, Billy is resting against a low wall that has a mailbox set into it.

Looking both ways out of habit, you make your way towards him, stopping a few feet away. He looks up at you, both hands on the brick underneath him. There is a half-finished cigarette in one of his hands. You find yourself wondering how much he’d smoked since he’d been out here.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He quirks a brow at you.

“You’ve been out here a long time, you know that?”

Billy glances at his watch. “Seems so.”

“Not cold?”

“‘M fucking freezing my ass off out here.”

You try and choose your words carefully, not wanting to push too hard. “Seems like you could solve that problem if you went inside.”

“Are you worried about me or something, Y/N?”

Trying not to think about the way your name sounded leaving his mouth, you admit to your crimes.

“Yeah, actually. You were out here earlier, and my mom said she saw you when she left and when she got home. I didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”

Something in Billy’s face softens. “Yeah?”

You exhale, your breath leaving a plume of air in front of you.

“Yeah.”

“Well then I guess I better get my ass inside, huh?”

You stuff your hands into your pockets and realize what you’ve got in there.

“Here.” You pull out a little hand warmer packet an hold it out to him.

Billy laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, you think. Charming and hearty. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

————

At school Monday, you make your way to the lunch table you’ve claimed, grass squishing under your feet.

You flip open your book, shove one leg under you.

It’s only been a little while of munching on grapes and forcing yourself to concentrate before you feel a weight drop onto the bench across from you, shifting the old table a little.

You look up. Billy Hargrove looks back.

He throws his bag on the worn wood, slaps a book of his own on top of that.

You’re confused at his appearance, and he seems to sense that.

“I didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”

You feel yourself heat up, and sit on one of your hands because you also feel like you could cry.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove comfort #billy stranger things #stranger things fic #billy stranger things fic #billy hargrove x f!reader #savannah’s fics

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lovings4turn · 9 months

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oooh can i request SCREAM w james potter or neil perry and prompt number 8?

of course darling! i wasn't sure exactly which 8 you wanted, so i went with "our muses are on a road trip but a thick fog forces them to take a break. they have sex inside the car while waiting for it to clear" but please lmk if it was another!! contains unprotected sex (remember protection is important!) banner taken from cafekitsune!

"you've got to be fucking kidding me." james voice is laced with annoyance as he briefly removes his hand from your knee to throw them it up exasperation, the other remaining firmly on his steering-wheel.

the road ahead of you both is essentially censored by the thick cloud of fog that hovers in the distance, making seeing anything more than a metre or two in front of you absolutely impossible. what was promised to be a light bout of mist has rapidly grown into almost impenetrable fog. james doesn't have the greatest eyesight at the best of times, so having his vision impaired by a deep cloud of grey is a less than ideal situation. clearly, you wont be able to continue driving for much longer.

it's no surprise, then, when james pulls over into the first slip-road he comes across, flipping the engine off and slumping back against his chair with a grunt.

"looks like we're stuck here for a while," james says, his voice slightly taunting as he begins to trail his hand further up your thigh. "such a shame."

through laughter, you make a futile gesture of pushing his hand from your knee. it's halfhearted, and james can tell that you're not really protesting to his advances. it's a game of cat and mouse, a way for you to see just how far james is willing to go for you.

"stuck two minutes off of the motorway, jamie," you remind him, a gentle reprimand. "we're still practically in public."

"ah, it's not like anyone'll see us, doll," james drawls, his lips forming a playful smirk. "fog's far too thick for that. doubt many people will be out and driving, anyways."

you consider his words and look at him with a coy grin, unaware that you're shifting closer to him in the already cramped front seat.

"yeah?" james asks, searching your face for any sign that you aren't comfortable. when you nod, he's leaning over the gearstick, cupping your face with his large palm and pushing his lips against yours.

it's a little messy, all tongue and teeth as james licks into your mouth, groaning lowly at the taste of you. he pulls back just enough to nip at your bottom lip before he attaches himself to your neck, sucking sharply against the skin there and delighting in the moan you let out.

just as he moves to kiss at your exposed collarbone, he huffs at the restricted movement your position in the car causes. pushing his seat back, james pats his lap, cocking his head towards his spread thighs in an attractive display of dominance.

not needing to be told twice, you manoeuvre yourself over the gearstick, being extra careful as to not bump your head on the car's roof and send james into a laughing fit - something which had happened once or twice before. the moment you lower yourself into his lap, james' large hands come to rest on your hips as he grinds up into you, pressing his hard cock against your clothed core with a shaky groan.

you're thankful you chose some loose gym shorts to wear for the journey, wanting to be comfortable more than anything. turns out, not only are they comfy, they're incredibly easy to push aside, something james finds out as he slips his hand into your panties and collects your wetness on the pads of his fingers.

"y'gonna ride me, darling?" his voice is hoarse and low, lips parted as sounds of pleasure escape his throat. "so fuckin' wet for me already. c'mon, love. take what you want from me."

james' loud, low moan signals the moment you sink down onto him. your walls flutter around him at the sound, body desperate to keep him deep inside of you and have him fill you up so nicely.

the way he snaps his hips up to meet yours is almost primal. you're sure that there will be tiny bruises littering your hips thanks to the way james is gripping onto you, lifting you up and down on his cock as he throws his head back against the headrest.

"fuck, love, taking me so fuckin' well," he grunts, praise splintering off into another low moan as he administers a harsh slap to your ass. "look at you. always so pretty when you're all filled up."

paired with his thrusts, his words make you chant his name like a prayer as you chase your orgasm, a whined 'james' leaving your mouth every time your hips meet.

a sharp sensation of pleasure runs through you as james' thumb circles your clit, the sensation causing you to see stars as your mouth falls open. your thighs twitch as you come with a broken moan of his name, eyes rolling back slightly as you twitch and writhe on his cock. the sight of you coming undone causes james' hips to stutter, and he drops his head to rest against your chest as he fucks you through your orgasm.

you can feel his dick twitch inside of you, and with a gentle warning, james comes with a strained fuck, collapsing against you and holding you tight in his arms. content with your skin pressed against his, james makes no effort to pull out. instead, he takes full advantage of the fog outside and the steamed up windows of his car to keep you all to himself for just a while longer.

#.° ༘🦇⋆₊˚ෆ becca celebrates #.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #james potter #james potter smut #james potter x reader #james potter blurb

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neil-gaiman · 2 years

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The way I WEPT through Dream's journey with Death through her work. I can't tell you.

And it's not because it was about death and dying. There's lots of work about death and dying and I've read this arc before. Argh, writing this to you is making me cry.

It's because 1)I got to see religious Judaism at the moment of death on my screen, gentle, and warm, and loving - finally - after a life of starving for Judaism as something more than Other or Kitsch or Funny. Something that was Divine and Succorous like it is for me at the moment when a Jew needs it most. So that's the first thing, thank you for that.

I'm a social worker and a therapist and I don't know if you pay attention to how those two professions are treated in media? But very often it is also a joke or an enemy. And while I don't help people die, I do spend my time offering people time and space to be with themselves so they can go somewhere else for themselves in a way and in so doing, I am blessed to I share moments of people's lives - just like she described when she was trying to explain to Dream why she could take so much joy in her work, oh, oh it spoke to me in away the comic just didn't. So many of the moments she walked into, when people were hurting or leaving or changing but just was able to be the friendly face who shared those time with them? That's what it's like for me in my work. In the work, you aren't outside that. The woman in the encampment could have been one of my clients from when I did housing and shelter work and Sam could have been one of my talk therapy clients and you live it with them all of them. You are with and a part of people when you try to ease suffering by sharing your empathy and understanding and oh, god, Neil, I love it, the work. The moment she said it's not everyone who loves what they do I just felt seen. It meant everything to hear that articulated by a mouth other than mine for once. I know she's something different for everyone but for Death to give me a way to see the intimacy, honor, love and joy of being permitted to share delicate time with another human being, one who is almost always a stranger, expressed with love and honor and gentleness, truly, finally, after years of that concept being mocked and inclined and demonized and insulted even if it's through Death as a metaphor? It was healing for me.

Just so much about Death was healing for me. The execution of it, the original story you wrote, Kirby Howell-Baptiste's performance. It soothed something in me that I didn't need was raw from fighting upstream and I just want you to know that. Thank you all so much.

That was beautiful. Thank you.

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yowlthinks · 15 days

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Dead Boy Detectives: a no-spoiler review

So I have finished DBDs last night, and frankly, I would have probably finished it in one or two days if not for time limitations. So I wanted to write a review without spoilers and in a Q&A format, so here we go.

tldr: I LOVED IT!

Q: Do I need background knowledge to enjoy it?

A: No, just dive in.

So first of all, a disclaimer: I have not read the Sandman comics, I have read one volume of the DBD comic just after the show was announced, but that did jot even cover the complete case, and I have watched the Sandman on Netflix.

If you are worried that you won't get what is happening, I can assure you, you will. You will get sucked into it immediately and will not want to leave.

Characters from Sandman (it is the same universe) that appear there are a bit like easter eggs: you'll get a kick out of it if you saw Sandman first, but otherwise you just watch them in DBDs and then if you decide to watch Sandman you will get a kick out of seeing these familiar faces there.

Q: What is the general vibe of the show? Is it spooky?

A: The show can be described as a heart-felt mystic detective story. It is funny, sweet and a tiny bit spooky (at a guess, PG13). Overall mood is.. joyful and optimistic.

You know how sometimes you want to watch something exciting, but not too scary?

Dramatic, but optimistic?

Light, but also quite profound and philosophical?

Personally, to me, this show ticks all of the above. And as I watched it with interruptions, at times I felt even lucky to have these because there are just so many big topics this show touches. It was often done by one line of the dialogue, but it would stay with you for the next couple of hours, getting you into this delicious state of philosophical exploration. I feel like at a re-watch this will come forward even more.

Q: I am a GO fan, will this tickle me?

A: Oh yes, it will and despite yourself you will be searching for Clues.

Let me just say that the main characters are another throught-the-ages duo, and you will have a lot of fun comparing and contrasting them with Aziraphale and Crowley, as well as Dream and Hob (these are from the Sandman and are also adorable).

One of the two protagonists wears a bow tie.

Another one is... well, Crowley would love him, I have no doubt in that.

Q: Does it deal well with queer representation? Are there neurodivergent characters?

A: Yes and (I would say) yes

Neil Gaiman was involved, what did you expect? Personally, I think this is one of those instances where the world itself basically treats queer as normal. It is just something that exists, and the world as it is now accepts it. The characters may have inner struggles / self-discovery journeys, but the present world at large accepts them fully and without judgement.

Q: Will it pass the Bechdel test?

A: Yes, with flying colours!!

All the characters are absolutely delicious, and I am not gonna give any more details because I don't want to spoil anything, but you do have all flavours of female protagonists, and you will love them all.

Q: What else did you like?

A: The way it was filmed, the title sequence and music, the humour, the costuming, THE CHEMISTRY between the characters!!

Look, I loved this show, please go and watch it, it is amazing and we need another season of this!

Also, there is a CAT KING!!!

#dead boy detectives #dbd #dead boy detective agency #good omens #sandman #the sandman #edwin payne #charles rowland #niko sasaki

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gnnosis · 9 months

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“i forgive you” + little women (2019)

if you think about it. if you think about the parallel to 1x04. “how could someone as clever as you be so stupid?” “i forgive you.”

[ gif credit @tonystar ]

if you watch this scene. specifically the Face Journey aziraphale goes through before saying he forgives crowley. the Face Journey says that was mean. that was uncalled for. i know you didn’t mean it like that, but it hurt me. what he chooses to say is “i forgive you.”

and if you think about The Scene. “you idiot. we could have been… us.” “i forgive you.”

[ gif credit @scruffyobiwan ]

in 1x04, it’s crowley’s line, then aziraphale’s right after. in 2x06, it’s crowley’s line, then the kiss, THEN aziraphale’s— so it leaves us going “is he forgiving the kiss? the love? the rejection? the ‘idiot’ (in a nice parallel to ‘so stupid’)?” something very interesting is going on there as many people have pointed out, and as neil has said the ambiguity is intentional….. i don’t feel like anyone has 100% determined what the “real” meaning is (if such a thing exists).

the Face Journey aziraphale has here is very different than in 1x04…. the kiss, obviously, changes things. but really…. it’s not so different. that was mean. that was inappropriate timing. i know you didn’t mean it like that, but it hurt me. “i forgive you.”

all i know is i cant stop thinking about how much it reminds me of THIS.

[ gif credit @thatonekimgirl ]

“no, laurie, you’re being mean.”

amy’s choosing fred. it’s convenience. it’s expected. it’s practical, he’s wealthy. it’s not what she wants. laurie offers her another option. she turns him down. she doesn’t just turn him down— she says “no, laurie— you’re being mean. stop it, stop it.” she says “i will not be the person you settle for…not when i’ve spent my whole life loving you.”

it’s not 1-to-1 — crowley isn’t “settling,” he’s confessing a LOOOONGstanding reality. aziraphale isn’t second choice to an equivalent jo march.

but the situation. “you can’t leave me this bookshop” and “don’t marry him.” “i forgive you” and “you’re being mean.”

if you think about it. what aziraphale isn’t saying about the kiss is why now. why like this. why when i’ve just had to make this choice, when i’ve been offered this opportunity, when (maybe, if you believe some of the theories out there) i’m protecting you from something worse than you can even imagine. when at least, if i have to go, i’m offering you a place by my side. “i need you!” it’s now, after 6000 millions of years that he’s choosing to confess? to bring physicality into their relationship? no, crowley — you’re being mean. stop it, stop it.

what he says is “i forgive you.”

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens theory #good omens speculation #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley #ineffable husbands #little women 2019 #good omens 2x06 #good omens 1x04

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oswlld · 2 years

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heather havrilesky, what if this were enough?

(There are many causes of death, among them the ache of life.)

mahmoud darwish, almond blossoms and beyond; “i do not know the stranger”

Suddenly you’re ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you’re alive and it’s spectacular.

joseph campbell

john steinbeck, journal of a novel: the east of eden letters

Years will pass, and you will have visitings of despair, and yet be tortured by hope.

mary shelley, frankenstein

catherine gildiner, good morning, monster: five heroic journeys to emotional recovery

I’m chasing myself (I have been for years).

susan sontag, as consciousness is harnessed to flesh

I’m homesick for myself In a place of home is a face I no longer recognize

lillium, in the place of the mirror is a portrait of you

miriam adeney

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

haruki murakami, norwegian wood

“If I change my mind, can I come back here?”

And then he answered his own question. “If I come back, it will be a place, but it won’t be home any longer.”

neil gaiman, the graveyard book

I: Why not take the shorter way home. HT: There was no shorter way home.

anne carson, men in the off hours

We can never go back. I know that now. We can go forward. We can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we let go grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had no voice to speak the heart’s longing.

bell hooks, all about love

ryebreadgf, ordinary things

You listen and you know you could live a better life than you do, be softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will be able to do it.

mary oliver, north country

stendhal, the red and the black

---

VICE VERSA (2022) ⪢ Underlying Themes/Experiences in Universal Travel — Part 2 of 2: Reconstruction of Self, Homesickness, Acceptance, & Hope

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rawlinacademia · 11 months

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Dark Academia Habits to adopt

i might as well just add, HEALTHY dark academia habits to adopt easily and fit right into your schedule if you have one. This beautiful aesthetic has a lot (not all) of creators promoting things solely on the basis of defined aesthetics from media which are tremendously injurious to one's health. Please, please please...don't hurt yourself trying to follow an aesthetic, in the short or long term , we have a ton of examples for demonstartion. And please don't hurt others.

Dark Academia Habits to adopt-

romanticize your eyes and the way you say things. No writers writing about your raven eyes? write a haiku for yourself. Be your own muse!

Read. Read. Read. Don't let the DA community pressurise you into reading just the classics. Read what your heart desires? Fantasy? hell yeah!…thinking of changing your life? Self Help books? Brilliant!

Dark Academia is the aesthetic for people who crave knowledge , for people who would analyse , who want to learn, with head full of philosophies , full of passion for what they do , who are ready to do anything to achive their goals…and most of all for people who wish to be all the things above and more.

Channel your Hermione or Rory or Neil Perry or any fav fictional character into yourself and get to work.. Okay but if someone is channeling Henry Winter …please in a limit guys okay?..

Why scroll on social media sites in your free time. Start a language learning journey..So many apps that give you a game like language learning option to do that! Work on your scrolling addiction and get to work!…

Analyze a snippet of poetry in your free time..not for anyone to show..but purely for your satisfaction.

Get educated, my bro. Learn about philosphers and their qoutes and just drop them in the middle of your convos…I bet you will sound mysterious and learned if not educated, smart and elite.

Drink water out of wine glasses, or coffee mugs or weird things you normally wouldnt. But drink water, keep your skin nice and healthy

Eat good food. meal prep or not but see what is going in you body. That will be responsible for your energy levels.

If you have a plain journal around, WRITE WRITE WRITE…i dont care what you write. poems , letters to your 1945's darling , or to your fictional character or telling your beloved (which you have met or not met) about your day. Dear diary is outdated ha ha… Dear Beloved xyz…who is stopping you from doing this shit?

Pretend you are the main character till you become the main character. Get the desired personality you want your main character to have. Good at public speaking? Hell yeah i will practice in the mirror for hours till i laugh seeing my stupid face mess up. Makes friends easily? For sure, imma hit my colleagues and/or classmates for a chat…or Looks mysterious to strangers? Practice makes things betters …DO IT..

Manners maketh man. Talk politely. Refrain from using crude language.

You dont need expensive clothes to feel dark academic. (who even started that!! )Choose your style, the one which you are more comfortable in and carry yourself gracefully. Walk long halls with your thrifted jacket and torn jeans… there are so many sub genres and division of dark academia… find your type AND AGAIN… healthy ones please

Oh romanticise your major. Who cares if all the posts are about english and languages and literature and philosophies.. STEM dark academia hello!!?! Writing equations and working hard for yourself , to get to that position you wish to be… the only mountain you gotta climb is you…

Be the friend you wish to have. You want a DA friend group in your university . Start doing all the things you wish your friend group did, who knows maybe... Well...we all know your vibe attracts yours tribe..hehe

Watch Dark Academia movies.. Movies that take you to your goal or are you trying to take a break? watch what you wish . Mona Lisa Smile, Dead poets Society , Pride and Prejudice (2005 or any), Little Woman, The Da vinci Code, The Imitation Game, The theory of Everything, SHERLOCK HOLMES oh god.., Sherlock BBC, Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean THE AGE OF ADALINE, Hamlet etc etc etc

Stay fit, read your fav book while taking stairs instead of the elevator/lift. listen to your fav spotify playlist while having a walk. I personaly like to listen to classical workout songs, i dont know which genius decided to compile upbeat classical pieces like that.

They make me feel like the main character while i am cycling or walking around. Whatever gets the work done right?

Decode. Research topics in cryptography, invent your own language and write things in it..leave sticky notes full fo symbols or different letters here and there..

Write Futureme letters to yourself. They are a window for your future self to look back to the time you are in. I usually write letters for myself and post them to my future self in 2024 or 2025 or 2030 or more.. i write in a world war fashion or somedays in my own style. I write to my friends and family members. They are also sorta snippets of my will..idk.. like if you are reading this , and i am dead in your time...then do this this etc . Nice way to look past Death, isn't it?

Utilise your full potential.Don't let your mind even think for a second that i could have done more…Do more.. over learning never hurts, add the Extra to the ordinary.

Stop comparing yourself to others. Others dont have the same life as yours,nor have they had the same circumstances, So focus on your self… let people talk… Focus on yourself, and focus on your progress.

and please rest…Give your body time to heal, soak up your desired light… moonlight is better for me, i despise sun light. Sit in the moonlight , in a park or in your room and just sit.. Relax for god's sake.

Be proud of who you are and never terminate your progress…Be Better! better than who you were last summer or few years back…

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invinciblerodent · 4 months

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tbh, it never ceases to astound me that there are actual people who are fans, legitimate fans, of Ascended Astarion.

like i'm not even saying this as a funny thing, i'm not even gonna put it any tags or whatever, and it's not like i want to make fun of someone for a preference in a fictional character, that's not what this is about, it's just that.... posts here, and the comment sections on videos of his voicelines, always have at least one person trying to justify his behavior as actually good, or talking about how hot some line or another is, and how much they like this outcome (not because it's fucked up but because it's "passionate" or "sexy" or whatever- this btw is much more prevalent on youtube), and I just... can't grasp how that's a possible thing for people to think unironically. how someone can play through 100+ hours of game, interact with Astarion multiple times, take him through his whole damn personal journey, and still not feel like post-ascension he's just a... a horrible stranger wearing a friend's face.

If you see the fucked up part and go "yeah i'm into that because it's fucked up"? I'm fully in support of you. Absolutely 100% in your corner. Write/imagine/fantasize about nasty fucked up manipulation and shit all you want; I've been known to indulge in worst case scenarios myself. Engaging with unhealthy dynamics with the knowledge that it's unhealthy and exploring that can be good for the soul. But way too many seem to be arguing that "he still loves (the PC)", and that it's possible for that guy and the PC to have a decent, loving relationship on equal footing, while they need to actively dodge all the options even in-game that exist to call him out for being a piece of shit.

because he's. god, ascended he's such a creep. he sets off all the alarm bells in my head, worse than any guy I've ever decided not to let buy me a drink. an obvious manipulator, nakedly abusive, dismissive, clearly a megalomaniac that's going as far as saying the quiet part out loud in the multiple times he can say that he wants to turn the PC into a spawn so they can't leave or defy him, and it's right there on the surface in every single interaction that being with him is not a good idea. The other companions fucking hate his guts and feel sorry for the PC, and even a PC that's head over heels, fully on board with all the bullshit, and is into the whole "gilded cage enslavement" aspect, can complain (and it's implied that they have complained, multiple times) in the epilogue about not having their freedom.

Six months after becoming his spawn, they're still not a full vampire, and we know from that conversation with Aurelia and Leon that one of Cazador's little tactics had been promising his spawn freedom he never intended to give, in order to keep them obedient.

sure, he has some lines that, in a vacuum, are hot. but I'm pretty sure that's all simply Neil Newbon (despite being a very skilled actor who's fully deserving of all the acclaim he's been receiving), being physically unable to inject enough gross sewer-slime into his voice, and not any merit to this weird creep of a character.

this whole thing, I'm gonna be honest, is just... so fucking worrying to me. it like actually worries me how many people can't see something written with the explicit intent to be unsettling, and a guy written openly to be awful and shitty and gross, as such. And it's not like we can fully chalk it up to how emotion in the moment can cloud your judgement, or how manipulators can and do adjust their personalities in accordance to how best to make you stay, he's literally ones and zeroes, and a limited number of lines you can listen to over and over again and dissect if you want.

I'm not even remotely joking, is this how people end up in relationships with genuinely awful people????? because god, it sounds so terrifying that there are actual people who can look at a fictional guy draped in a red flag the size of a tectonic plate, and still only notice that the color brings out his eyes.

(and to reiterate, if the awful is the selling point, I'm fully in support of that. but god, the "I can fix him"/"I know he still loves me" sentiment is just... it makes the back of my neck itch.)

#squirrel plays bg3 #like i said not tagging #this is more of a vent post if anything #and i'm fully open to conversations but i don't really want this reblogged either

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 1 month

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The One I've Been Waiting For {Part 12 of 13}

Word count: 2 K

Summary: Billy Hargrove is just one of the many students you're supposed to help. The last thing you expect from your interaction is that he'll start flirtt with you... Much less that Billy would stir up feelings you'd rather keep hidden. Despite the mutual sentiments that soon enough start to grow, there are a lot of reasons for whatever it is to be left alone, and one of them is your age...

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

A/N: In this story, reader is 5 years older than Billy, who's 18.

•••

The Journey Ahead

You look like three kids, caught red-handed doing something wrong. But you're not kids, and this man isn't going to lecture you. He's just mad at Billy, for no reason. And probably mad at you too.

Billy is quick to pull you, hiding you behind his shoulder.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Neil barks, stepping forward. “I told you I don't want your sluts under my roof!”

“She's not a slut.” Billy yells back, and you hold his arm.

“B, don't.” You whisper in his ear.

Neil suddenly laughs, a dirty, disturbing noise. “I know you, little girl.” He says, a finger pointing at you. “You came here disguised as a teacher to Maxine.” He giggles. “What were you teaching Billy, huh? How to properly screw a girl? Because I need no lessons about that.”

Billy doesn't say anything, he just moves.

The next thing you know is that he's onto Neil, throwing a punch on his jaw that makes him fall back. But the asshole stands back up, and that's when the fight begins.

Your eyes can barely follow the commotion. All you know is that Billy gets hit as much as he hits his father back. “Billy, please, stop!” Susan yells, and you give her a hard look.

You have nothing against her, but right now, seeing as she seems to worry more about Neil, the cheater, who beats up his son, snaps a button on you. So you walk over to her, slapping her hard in the face. Her head jerks to the side, hair flipping violently. “You're an imbecile for marrying this man!” You shout, tears staining your cheeks.

Turning your attention back to the two men, you know you have to intervene. But you'll probably just get hurt, and distract Billy, making him get hurt as well. You just want to leave this place, you just want to go home. Take Billy home, away from this constant nightmare he lives in. “Billy, please.” You beg, wiping some tears away. “Let's go.”

“You're damn right!” Neil grunts, giving Billy a hard push, and making him step away. “I want you out of this damn house.” He barks, making his way inside. Billy follows him, and so do you, trying to reach him. But he's too fast, but you understand what Neil means when you get to Billy's bedroom. That devil is pulling all of Billy's stuff off his wardrobe and drawers, making a huge mess. “I want you out! I'm done with you and your filthy cunts!” As Neil screams, you look at Billy.

He's frozen, eyes on the clothes scattered around. It doesn't even look like he's breathing. Then, you know exactly what to do. There's no doubt, no second thoughts. Billy is getting out of this house right now.

Without saying anything, you go for his bed, pulling the two pieces of baggage he has underneath, and putting them on the bed. He's already looking at you when you glance at him, utterly confused. “Pack your things.” You tell him, your voice barely being heard above all the insults Neil is vomiting.

But Billy understands, and, hesitantly at first, he joins you, taking all of his stuff and shoving them inside the baggage.

Then, whatever Neil says doesn't matter. He's still yelling, but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters but the fact that you're both going home.

After he rushes to the bathroom to get his things, you're both off, quickly leaving the house under Neil's insults.

“Wait!” Someone calls, and you both look over your shoulders. Max comes walking fast with pieces of baggage of herself, her mother right behind her. “Please, I can't stay here anymore.”

Billy looks at you, and you simply nod. “C'mon.”

She doesn't take half a second to move. “Maxine, please.” Susan cries as you put everything in the trunk. “We can fix it. We can-”

“No, we can't. I don't wanna live in this hell anymore.” Max mutters as she gets into the back seat. Then, both you and Billy get inside the car, and he drives away.

°°°

You were still in Hawkins, but it felt like Billy was in California already. The moment you got home, as you helped him settle down, giving him some space among your things, you felt he was much lighter. You could see it in his eyes, on his posture, that a burden has been lifted.

And even more, as the days pass by.

The news got out fast, and people started talking. But you don't care.

The only important thing now is that Billy is happy. And so is Max, because she's been living with you, ever since that day. Susan comes to visit her, and you have nothing against it. Neil is the one you'd have kicked out if he ever dared to come here. But Susan is ok, you don't enjoy her presence very much, but you manage to be kind. She wants Maxine to go back home, but the girl refuses.

As Summer draws near, you start making more solid plans. The transferring papers are settled, and next semester will be at the University of California. Billy's final exams are coming, and you've been helping him get the best grades possible. But he's not as restless now about going to California, but he still can't stop talking about it. And you're excited too. It'll be something new, something adventurous. And you want to do this, maybe as bad as he wants it.

°°°

Billy has the map on the kitchen table, the road he'll use to get from Hawkins to California highlighted with a red marker. He could do it in one go, but he doesn't want to make her anxious. So he'll drive around eight hours every day and stop for the night.

“There are several hotels on the way there, so we won't have problems with finding places to crash.” He says as (Y/N) bends over the map, eyes following the red line.

“It's a long way.” She says, a finger above California. “I never did anything like that. It'll be fun.” She looks up at him and smiles, the smile that always melts his heart, every single time.

“It sure will.” Billy walks over to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest. “But if you think it's too much to spend all that time on the road you can go by plane and we'll meet there.” Billy wants to make sure she's comfortable, he knows how anxious she can get.

“No, baby. I wanna go with you. I'll be fine.” (Y/N) holds the collar of his shirt, those kind eyes locked on his. “I feel safe with you behind the wheel and we'll take turns so we won't get too tired.”

Knowing she trusts him with a car, despite his reputation of driving like crazy, makes him smile. When she's with him, Billy keeps it safe, always under the speed limit. “Alright. But if you feel anxious or restless tell me and we'll make a pause.”

“Alright.” She says, mirroring his tone before tiptoeing to kiss him.

“Hey, lovebirds. I need to talk to you.” Maxine says, making Billy a little annoyed. But despite the sassy nickname, her tone is weird, and that makes him look at her a little worried. It's funny how (Y/N) changed him even regarding his step-sister. Billy doesn't treat her like shit anymore and even calls her sister now because that's how he feels. (Y/N) made him see things better, and she healed him. And he loves her for that.

She makes him feel loved. And everything he wants is to feel her feel the same way.

°°°

“What's going on?” Billy asks, folding the map as you sit down, across from Max. His tone is still a little harsh, but you know now that it's just because he's worried and wants to know what's wrong already.

“School is almost over. And you're both going to California.” She starts, and you nod. “So. I wanna go.”

“What?” Billy exclaims, sitting down next to you.

“Wait. Let's take it slow.” You speak, touching his shoulder. “If you wanna spend the Summer with us, that's fine.”

“No.” She shakes her head, looking down at her folded hands before raising her eyes at you. “I wanna go back. For good.”

“Why?” Billy cuts in again. “What happened to make you want to go?”

“I don't wanna stay here with those two, ok?” She raises her voice.

“The two of you will calm the hell down, alright?” You raise your voice as well, gesturing at them. “Billy, shut up for a moment. Maxine–” You stand up, walk around the table, and sit next to her. “–Going back to California isn't that simple. You'll have to leave your friends behind. And on top of that, we can't just take you, that would be kidnapping and I'm sure Neil would go to the police the moment we cross the town's limits.”

“I know.” She sighs. “I don't wanna leave the guys. I don't wanna leave Lucas, but I thought about it, all the pros and cons... Of course, I'll come to visit them and they'll visit me too.” Max sounds like she has everything figured out. But still, you can't just take her. That's not how the world works.

“That's great, but still we can't just–”

“You can if you have a document. One that makes you guys my... Legal Guardian.” She burst out, smiling. “Crazy shit, I know. But I did some research and it's possible.” She stands up, running somewhere, and you're left alone with a wide-eyed Billy.

“I never, ever, not in a million years–”

“Thought you'd be on the verge of being a dad without even having to wait nine months?” You tell him, running a hand through your hair. “That's huge.”

“Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag Maxine into this. The plans we made were about the two of us but I can't just tell her to–”

“That's not the problem.” You say taking his hand. “I love Maxine, she feels like family. I just can't do things the wrong way because–”

“Here. I wrote it all down.” She comes back, placing a notebook before you on the table. “Hopper can make the process move a lot faster, of course. Billy and I aren't blood-related, but he can count as a guardian, we just need Susan to agree with it. That's the hard part.” She speaks fast, showing and pointing out everything she wrote down. Laws and all the papers needed. “I know it's crazy. But I wanna go home too. And staying here with Mom and Neil it's just... I can't.”

Sighing, you nod. Looking at Billy, he looks sad and nods as well. “You deserve better than living with someone like Neil. And Susan, well...”

“Susan is an idiot. She takes all that shit I have no idea why.” Max says, putting her hair behind her ears. “Look, you don't even have to look after me that much. I'll go to school, do the homework, and get good grades. I just need a place, guys.”

“You really think that's the problem? Maxine, I love having you here. And we would look after you not because we feel like we have to, but because we're family. I'm just worried that you'll leave your mother. That's huge, you have to be sure about it.”

“I am. I haven't spoken to Susan yet, but I will. I'll promise to visit and all that. But staying here... I can't.” She walks over to her brother, taking a deep breath. “I always wanted to go back as bad as you, Billy. So please, don't leave me here. Not now that you're not acting like a jerk most of the time, not now that you have a nice girlfriend, and that I got to live in a real home. You can't do this to me.”

You can see that Billy breaks a little, not sure of what to do. You wait for some comment or something like that. But instead, he takes her hand, a little messily at first, shaking it. “If Susan doesn't make a drama about it, and if (Y/N) agrees with forcibly having a kid out of the blue... I'm fine with it.”

She immediately looks at you, and with a smile, you stand up, walk over to her, and pull the girl into a hug. “I'd love to have you with us.”

“Thanks.” She mumbles, pulling away to look up at you. “Now I just need help to talk to Susan.”

“Nope. That's something you have to do on your own.” Billy says, and you nod. “Say what you have to say, that she will be free to visit you, that you'll visit her. Things like that.”

“What if she says no?”

“Just tell her she won't ever stop being your mom. That you'll just be living away and the papers are just a formality so nobody will get arrested.” You say, hands on her shoulders. “She's coming later tonight. Billy and I will grab some pizza so you'll have some time alone.”

“Ok. Thanks again.” She turns at Billy. “You too, shitface. (Y/N) made a boyfriend out of you. And a brother.”

“I'm not even gonna answer you.” He rolls his eyes and you can't help but smile.

Later that night, it goes as planned. You took twice the normal time to get the pizzas, just to make sure you won't interrupt anything. And when you get there, you find a crying Susan, being held by Maxine. Excusing yourselves, you both go to the kitchen and wait. It takes half an hour for them to join you.

Then, Susan let you know that she's not happy about it. That she doesn't want to be away from her daughter. But, if Maxine's happiness means signing papers and letting her go, as long as she's being looked after and as long as she's free to visit, it's alright. And, Maxine has to spend at least some Holidays with her, and the girl agrees.

It's a tense dinner, but after Susan leaves, Maxine can't stop smiling.

After that, time starts passing by slowly. But eventually, the days start getting warmer, and the marks on the calendar take over. Until the day finally comes.

The kids, as well as your friends, spent the whole weekend at your place, on a never-ending sleepover. Max made plans with the party, and, as tough as it may be, you'll make it happen. Distance won't ruin their friendship, you'll make sure of that.

And, on Monday morning, there's a small crowd at the town's limit, right under the sign of “Leaving Hawkins.” There are lots of hugs and tears, but also a different feeling. You're about to make something huge, something you never thought you'd ever do. And it feels amazing. A bit scary, but amazing.

After the goodbyes, the three of you hit the road, with Billy behind the wheel. The shine in his eyes is indescribable. He's free, he finally did it. He left Neil behind, and this small town he hates so much. He's going home.

And so are you. Because you know that your home is wherever he is.

•••

@aunicornmademedoit @alexa4040 @goth-cowgirl-03 @nyctophilic0vitnir @minispice-1

#billy hargrove imagine #imagine billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove facfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction

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theambitiouswoman · 8 months

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Hello, i discovered your blog very helpful & articulated and i relate to most of your posts and it made me a little open up with my issues and some of are OCD, overthinking and procrastination. What should I do to overcome from these & make myself a better human being so that I can continue to focus on the right things, my goals, career and the people i care about. It's been very challenging for me to deal with this all alone. I want to do the right thing & i need clarity with an headstart to begin my journey to work on myself to get better & keep evolving. I need help and i want to be a better person.

Thank you so much! <3

First, I want to commend you for recognizing the areas in your life that you would like to improve on. It's not very common and really shows that you are taking control of your life and becoming more aware. Which is one of the most important qualities that you will need to overcome challenges like OCD and procrastination.

Realize and understand that you're already enough as you are. We all have flaws and face challenges, but accepting ourselves is crucial for our mental health. You're more than just the areas you're trying to improve. Life is about growth and it's okay to constantly work on becoming better and addressing what might be holding us back.

Navigating figuring out what is the right way, or wrong way to do is, is definitely hard but part of the process is us learning how to figure out what works best for us. Remember that you can only fail if you give up. Especially when we are discussing things that are in our control. So do not feel bad about the idea of doing the wrong thing, the wrong way.

Start reading books and articles about OCD etc to help you understand the mechanics of these issues. Reading personal testimonials from others really helps you find comfort to overcome these things as well. Some books you can start off with: "The OCD Workbook" by Bruce M. Hyman and Cherry Pedrick and "The Now Habit" by Neil Fiore.

Procrastination often happens when tasks seem too big, feels impossible or stressful. Tasks we may not be interested and therefor lack motivation to do. Break them into smaller steps and focus on completing one step at a time and reward yourself for completing them. You have to reward yourself no matter how small so that your body feels a cycle of these patterns and emotions and establishes a habit.

Write down your goals, so you can have a sense of clarity and direction for your life. Hold yourself to your standards only, but not anyone else's. But make sure you are setting a standard that really challenges you, not one that keeps you stagnant.

Have an honest conversation with yourself and figure out what normally sidetracks you from your work and try to eliminate those distractions. Then, make a plan and stick to it. Living with intention requires organization, which many overlook. Structure boosts our confidence and gives us a sense of direction. It's not about doing things perfectly, but about doing them regularly. Consistency is key. By maintaining a routine, you not only build discipline but also create a foundation for growth and progress. These small consistent actions can lead to significant changes in your life. Prioritize structure and see the difference it makes.

Remember that what we perceive, or even what society can perceive as flaws or weaknesses, can often be our strengths in different contexts. For example someone who is seen as overly meticulous or detail oriented might struggle in situations that require quick decisions. However, that same quality is invaluable in roles that require precision and thoroughness.

It's all about perspective. What might be a limitation in one scenario can be a significant asset in another. Recognizing this can help us embrace our unique qualities and leverage them in situations where they shine brightest.

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darerendevil · 3 months

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For archive purposes: March, 2013

If he has one driving goal in his film career, it's to participate in a project that leaves a lasting impression. "Ultimately what I'd like to do is leave behind a movie that's a piece of art," he says. "One movie out of however many I make that influences or has an impact or someone holds up in the future as a piece of art. That's the ultimate goal."

Chaos. Blackness. Then a pair of inconceivably blue eyes burst open, filling the screen. This is how most audiences were first introduced to Cillian Murphy three and a half years ago, when the Irish actor erupted onto the scene in the post-apocalyptic sleeper hit 28 Days Later. As Jim, a bike courier who awakens from a coma after London has been wiped out by a deadly infection, the largely unknown 24-year-old found himself as the lead in Danny Boyle's poetically terrifying film. As the audience surrogate, Murphy's face telegraphed all the confusion, innocence, and wonder we would expect of a hero-in-the-making who is realizing he might very well be the last man on earth.

After the success of 28 Days Later, a career in Hollywood films was inevitable. It's not just that Murphy looks as though his face were sculpted from marble, topped off by those aforementioned stunning eyes. As he showed in 28 Days Later and subsequent films such as Girl With a Pearl Earring and Intermission, he was a chameleonic performer, a character actor trapped in a leading man's bone structure. In 2005 he found himself starring in two blockbuster hits in which he played characters that couldn't be further from the well-intentioned Jim. As Dr. Jonathan Crane, aka Scarecrow, Murphy's silky smooth calmness was put to villainous use in Batman Begins. He followed that with a turn as Jackson Rippner, a mysterious stranger who traps hotel manager Lisa (Rachel McAdams) into an assassination plot in Wes Craven's Red Eye. While both films were unabashedly popcorn entertainment, each transcended its genre with stellar casting and sharp direction.

After these back-to-back successes, it seemed there was only one logical step for the newly minted star. So Murphy shaved his legs, plucked his eyebrows, and gamely jumped into the role of Patrick "Kitten" Braden, the transvestite orphan whose adventures with cabaret singing, prostitution, and the Irish Republican Army don't even begin to sum up the strange and delightful world of Neil Jordan's Breakfast on Pluto (opening in limited release Nov. 18). Written by Jordan and Patrick McCabe, on whose 1998 novel the film is based, Pluto is a loopy journey featuring Murphy in a bravura performance as the needy heroine who spends her life looking since he first auditioned for it four years ago. Jordan couldn't get the film financed at the time, but he never forgot Murphy--largely because the actor wouldn't let him. "I did a test with Cillian and several young Irish actors to see: Was the role even playable?" says Jordan. "Cillian was not well-known at all but gave a blistering performance. Problem was, after that he would never let it go. Every time we met, he'd ask, 'When do we start shooting?'"

Murphy got his wish in 2004, when Jordan got the money and jumped right into a 10-week shoot. It was sudden, but Murphy took it in stride.

Early Stages

In person Murphy speaks softly, his voice heavy with his native accent--one that has rarely been captured on film, as he frequently adopts English or American accents for roles. He speaks in simple, sparse terms of how he came to acting.Born and raised in Cork, Ireland, Murphy grew up on a diet of American TV and was interested in movies and music. At age 20 he was playing in a band, and he saw a play at the Corcadorca Theatre Company in his hometown. "I went up and knocked on the door of the theatre and said, 'Listen, if you have any parts in any plays coming up, let me know,'" he recalls. "And the guy said, 'There's this play called Disco Pigs. Come in for an audition.' I went in and got the part, and that was it, really."He may make landing the job sound easy, but anyone who saw the 2001 film adaptation of Disco Pigs can attest it was more than luck that got Murphy cast. As the violent and unpredictable Pig, pathologically devoted to his lifelong friend Runt, Murphy is a force of nature we can't take our eyes off of. Still, he admits that at times he felt out of his league. "I was going to go back to playing in a band; I was just acting as a laugh," he says. "But it didn't transpire like that. I don't think I realized it was a career until recently. But I don't enjoy anything as much as I enjoy acting. I never got a kick out of anything as much as I get out of acting when it's going well. You build up a real hunger for it."

For the next three years he worked in theatre, learning on the job while performing in such classics as The Seagull and Much Ado About Nothing. "I think that's the best place to learn as actor," he observes. "I consider it my training ground. I was very lucky to work with a lot of great directors and great plays. I went from smaller parts onstage to bigger parts onstage, then smaller parts in movies to bigger parts in movies. It was a very organic way to do it."

He landed his first agent, Richard Cook at The Lisa Richards Agency, when Cook saw him onstage in Disco Pigs; he remains with the agent to this day. Murphy has a Los Angeles agent, Darren Statt at United Talent Agency, whom he says "saw an audition tape I did for a movie and took me on based on that--which is actually quite unusual." He also has a London representative, Lou Coulson with The Lou Coulson Agency. As Murphy began landing various film and television roles, he had to adjust to auditioning regularly. "It took me awhile to realize auditioning is a different skill than acting," he says. "They're entirely unrelated skills. Just because you're a good actor, it doesn't mean you'll be good in a room with a director. I had to learn to audition."

It was the film version of Disco Pigs that caught Boyle's eye when he was casting for 28 Days Later. Surprisingly, Murphy's newcomer status worked in his favor. "We thought that it was more appropriate for the film that it should not be a star vehicle," says Boyle. "Rather, it should be a community of people we cast as equals." Boyle also felt Murphy displayed an innocent quality that would endear Jim to the audience. "The feeling of a child who is forced to become a man and, by the end of the film, be almost primal, I thought Cillian had that," Boyle reasons. Murphy rewarded his director's trust with a searing performance, taking Jim from wide-eyed youth to fierce protector in the space of 108 minutes. "I've been lucky to have support from great people like Danny," Murphy raves. "He let me carry 28 Days Later. But, ultimately, if you don't produce in the work, you won't get hired. You're only as good as your last job."

Armed with this knowledge, Murphy was selective about his projects after the success of 28 Days Later. "I'm aware of the system and how certain doors open when a film does well," he says. "A lot more people started taking meetings with me. And people began to pronounce my name correctly, that's always been a good yardstick for me." Although most people probably know by now, the correct pronunciation is "kill-ee-un."

Being Bad

Murphy claims he would have been perfectly happy to continue doing theatre the rest of his life; indeed, when he speaks of performing onstage, it's with a low-key but palpable passion. But he is also practical. "If there's an opportunity to do a good film with a good director, you've got to take it," he muses. "You'd be foolish not to. And if a bit of momentum builds up, you have to stick with it."

He has collaborated with some of the most prestigious directors working today, from Anthony Minghella in Cold Mountain to Ken Loach in the upcoming The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Yet he insists there's no deliberate strategy to his career. "I want to do different things and keep myself interested and keep improving," he remarks. "Wherever that takes me, I don't know. There's no plan--it's all out of your control anyway. The only thing I've ever insisted upon is diversity. Every role you take, you have to be afraid that you can't do it. Otherwise, there's no point in doing it." The primary factors that draw him to projects are the script and the director. "It's got to be a good script to start with," he says. "If it's a bad director, they can make the script mediocre pretty fast. But the combination of a good director and good script--that's the ultimate. And I can't believe how lucky I've been to have both."

When it came to auditioning for Batman Begins, Murphy didn't look at it as a blockbuster franchise that would raise his salary quote--he saw it as an opportunity to play a well-crafted character and work with director Christopher Nolan. "I would do any movie with Chris Nolan," he says. "It was a good script and a great part. I had so much fun." Nolan originally brought Murphy in to read for the role of Bruce Wayne/Batman. "I saw Cillian in 28 Days Later and was struck by the extraordinary intensity of his performance," says Nolan. "We tested him for Batman, and his presence just leapt off the screen. Everyone who saw it got very excited about the idea of casting him as Scarecrow. He has a fantastic ability to project interior passions with a power that can be by turns either chilling or seductive."

As Scarecrow, Murphy proved a hero is only as interesting as his nemesis, and his cool confidence was enthralling--just listen to the way he draws out "Batman" as two words in a cruel taunt.He brought that same dangerous appeal to Red Eye, a film in which his Rippner is more or less played as the romantic leading man--until he reveals he's a stone-cold killer. "I was very careful not to come at that character as the bad guy," he explains.

"He's been chosen for his job because he has access to this charisma and approachability. For him to be revealed too quickly would be pointless." Murphy also enjoyed being the heavy, a nice respite from saving the world in 28 Days Later. "It's fun to be the bad guy," he notes. "I thought it was a great role. Just because he turned out to be bad, it didn't represent any more or less fun than playing [Jim]. It's still a great range there to convey."Murphy also wants to make it clear that playing back-to-back villains was a fluke of distribution. "I did get very frustrated with the question, 'Why are you playing the bad guys this summer?'" he says. "I guess it's an easy in. I've made 10 feature films and played two bad guys. I think anyone who's seen the rest of my work will realize that's not what I specialize in at all."

Men Are From Pluto

If Murphy had any concerns about being pigeonholed, he certainly confounded expectations as Kitten in Breakfast on Pluto. "That role was a gift," he insists. "To work with Neil, who's a living legend--he's amazing." To prepare for the role, Murphy reread the book and talked extensively with McCabe, who was frequently on-set. "The book is a masterpiece but not always conducive to the screen, and the film has to be cinematic," Murphy notes. "I used a lot of the episodes in the book that aren't in the movie as my own research." Aware that the role was "completely transformative," he also spent a lot of time getting down Kitten's gestures and movements. "It's a long process," he says. "The physical side wasn't too hard; that's just grooming, really. The clothes and hair and eyebrows--anybody can do that. It was getting the voice and the walk and the physicality." Murphy went so far as to hit London nightclubs in drag. "It's important to do that. How much of it you use or not in the end is irrelevant," he says. "It's just important to have a reference point."

While the sight of Murphy in skirts and wigs is frequently funny, his sensitive and sweet portrayal elevates the film and engages the audience in Kitten's struggles. He is boosted by a top-notch supporting cast that includes Stephen Rea as a sad-eyed suitor, his Batman co-star Liam Neeson as a priest, and his 28 Days Later co-star Brendan Gleeson as a drunken theme-park character. It's a giddy, charming work Murphy aptly describes as "an unexpected fairy-tale disco fantasy."Murphy says he can talk about Pluto "until the cows come home," a bold statement considering that he confesses to an aversion to interviews. "I don't particularly like interviews or having my picture taken," he says, somewhat apologetically. "I don't mind it as a character, just not as myself. I don't like the perceived celebrity of it. I'm not about to become a personality or go on talk shows to entertain people as me, as Cillian." He points out he has never done a talk show in his life--mention Regis and Kelly and he pauses for a moment before replying, "I don't know who those people are."Of course, with his profile on the rise, Murphy admits he has given serious thought to how to maintain a healthy career without having his private life exposed to the world. He even discussed the topic with Batman co-star Christian Bale, whom he praises as "the best Batman" and a dedicated actor. "I actually asked his advice because you don't see him in the papers," says Murphy. "He pretty much told me, 'Don't behave like a celebrity, and you won't get treated like one.' I guess if you don't go out to a lot of parties and fall down, people don't take photographs of you."

Accent on Talent

Murphy recently wrapped Sunshine, a sci-fi adventure that reunites him with director Boyle in which he is once again saving the world-this time from a dying sun. Surprisingly--considering that Boyle gave the actor his biggest break--he still had to audition for the role. "I kind of wanted to," he says with a shrug. "That's what we do; we're actors. I don't understand this thing about actors who won't read for parts. I wanted to show him I could do it. I'm playing an American, and the movies hadn't come out yet where I'm American, so I think he wanted to see me do it." Murphy notes that early in his career he encountered resistance when auditioning for American roles. "They would hear me speak and say, 'Jesus, there's no way,'" he recalls. "But once you do it well, people accept it. And after a while it becomes second nature. That's why I think actors should never be limited by their background. This is what we do: We dress up and put on voices. So people should never be afraid to cast someone because of their accent."

Murphy isn't sure what he'll do next. He mentions taking a break, having worked steadily for the last few years. He'd also love to get back to theatre and tackle some of the great roles. Point out that a website erroneously reported that he has played Hamlet and he seems wistful. "No, I wish. I'd love to," he says. "I hope they said I did a good job." He also

acknowledges the differences between film and the stage. "Obviously, it's different vocally. If you're playing to an auditorium of 1,100 people, you've got to magnify the performance," he says. "For me, film acting is when you can see what the actor's thinking. Theatre acting, you've got to get up to the gods and let them know what's going on." Murphy doesn't mind returning to small theatres-he might even prefer it. "Disco Pigs was always in tiny little sweatboxes," he notes. "As the play got more popular and moved to bigger houses, I think it lost some of its allure. I remember doing Disco Pigs in its first incarnation and turning and getting sweat all over the front row. It was so visceral and dirty and sweaty. Then, when you start playing to bigger auditoriums, it's not as sexy."

#Cillian Murphy #Interview

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foundtherightwords · 1 year

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The Quiet Chaos - Chapter 5

Pairing: Billy Knight (Lethal White/Strike) x OFC

Summary: After a bad breakup throws her carefully-planned life into disarray, Esme has sworn off dating forever. However, when she forms an unexpected connection with a young man named Billy, who's dealing with his own struggles, Esme is forced to face the truth: sometimes you can't plan for love.

Warnings: mental health issues, angst, slow-burn, developing relationship, dysfunctional family, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter warnings: awkward sex, discussion of self-harm

Chapter word count: 4.4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Dawn and Emerald

It was late, and the tube was packed with weary people coming back from their evening shifts. Esme felt sorry for them, for how downtrodden they looked, and was almost embarrassed for how happy she was. The return journey seemed longer than the journey to the allotment, but it was probably because she was so eager to get off, and so was Billy.

She leaned on his shoulder, her hand in his, their fingers all tangled up. Now and again, she would raise her head, and he leaned down to meet her halfway. Their lips brushed briefly. She wanted to pull him to her and feel his mouth over hers again, but their carriage was nearly full, and she didn't feel brave enough for a public make-out session yet, so she had to satisfy herself with those fleeting touches. Even then, they still made her feel absurdly giddy, like a teenager having her first crush. Not that I know what that's like. When I was a teenager, I was too busy making sure Sibby, Tiff, and Sam ate and bathed and did their homework.

When they reached their station, Billy pulled her back and asked quietly, "Are we going to your place, or mine?"

A thrill went through Esme. Is this really happening? She remembered having to Google "how many dates before you have sex" while going out with Neil, and being so confused because the results were so wildly different. Never would she dream, in a million years, that she would be going home with a guy at the end of their first date. OK, first official date, but still.

As she pondered his question, however, that thrill faded somewhat in the face of practicalities. "Mine is probably better," she said. "Not that there's anything wrong with your flat," she quickly added. "It's just... Angua's not allowed there."

"That's OK. I've always wanted to see where you live." He took her hand again, and they all but ran to her flat.

The moment the door shut behind them, Billy drew her to him, picking up where they'd left off, but Esme couldn't seem to rediscover the excitement she'd felt first in the greenhouse and then on the tube. Her insecurities were rearing their heads, reminding her of a million ways in which she was inadequate, in which this might turn out as disappointing as their botched first date. She extricated her lips from Billy's, muttering, "I thought you wanted to see the flat."

"Later." He peeled her jacket off, then his own.

"I have to give Angua some water—"

But Angua would not be used as an excuse. The moment Esme let her off the leash, the little dog trotted to her water bowl, which was already full, lapped up some water, and settled into her bed with a contented sigh and a sideway glance at them, as if to say, "That's it for me tonight. You crazy kids get on with it." Esme laughed helplessly and let Billy pull her back into his arms.

This could work, she told herself. This will work.

At least, it never felt this way with her exes. Sex with Marco was awkward and fumbling, both of them being too young and inexperienced to really know how to work with each other. Her casual dates were just that, casual. Neil was... adequate, but certainly he's never been such a blazing heat against her, nor has he ever slammed her into a wall so hard she could feel her spine tingling, while in search of the bedroom door.

"Um, Billy, that's the broom cupboard."

He buried his face in her neck, laughing. "Right. Sorry."

She steered him toward the bedroom. He reached for the light switch by the door, but she put out a hand to stop him. "Do you mind if we keep the lights off?" she said. That was how she had always done it, letting the dark hide her shyness and her imperfections, her too-small breasts, her flabby stomach, the weird stretch marks from puberty that never went away. It had annoyed Neil, who preferred to see what he was doing, to no end, but it'd annoyed him even more when she seized up under a bright light, so he'd let it slide.

There was still some light coming in through the window from the street, enough for her to see Billy frown briefly, but he shrugged, amenable as always. "Sure."

They found their way to the bed, and the rest of their clothes, whatever that hadn't been discarded already all over her living room and kitchen floors, came off. Esme ducked under the cover. A second later, Billy joined her, his hot body pressing down on her, his mouth dropping scorching little kisses down her neck, her shoulder, her breast, his callused fingertips running down her sides, rough yet gentle at the same time, sending trembles all over her. His frenzy, so different from his usual shy self, caught her off-guard.

"Have you been with—have you been with lots of girls before?" Esme asked.

"Does it matter?" he said, his voice muffled as he trailed his lips over her skin.

"No. I'm just wondering."

"There was one or two... but not like this. Not like you." His lips were on her again, and she realized she didn't mind it, didn't mind letting him sweep her away in a whirlwind of desire, of excitement, of things unknown but intoxicating. Her hips started to move under him.

But then Billy paused. She could feel his arms quivering as he held his body poised over her.

"Hold on... I think—I think we should slow down," he panted in her ear.

"I thought you said we would be at it all night," she whispered back with a giggle, rolling her hips more deliberately, rhythmically, pressing herself into his hand.

"More reason for—slowing down then—"

"But I don't want to slow down." She reached out, searching for him, guiding him to her.

Suddenly he wrenched away from her with a moan, and she felt something hot and sticky splash across her belly and thighs.

Billy dropped his head.

"Shit," he mumbled into her shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

For what felt like an eternity, Esme could only lie there, motionless, while Billy said sorry again and again, his hands digging into her arms, his breath hot on her skin. Then she found herself thinking, as if her mind was somewhere outside of her body, And I just washed the sheets too.

The thought reminded her of practical matters. She shifted her hips, but Billy was pinning her in place. "I need to get up," she said.

He bolted up. "Sorry, yeah, sure..."

She gingerly lifted the duvet, sat up, and got out of bed.

"D'you need me to get you a towel or—"

"No," she replied, more sharply than she intended. "Just... no. It's fine."

She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water did little good for her jumbled thoughts. Is it possible to die from embarrassment? Because she wanted to curl up inside herself and die, right now. Was it her fault? Had she pushed him too strongly? He had asked her to slow down, and she hadn't listened. It was their first date all over again. No, it was even worse, because she'd been so nervous about their first date that the disappointing end had been almost a relief, and at least she could blame Billy's hypomania for that. But this? After their first kiss, and all that passion, all the expectation... this was crushing.

Then she realized she's been focusing too much on herself. If this was such a blow to her, then how mortified Billy must be feeling. Oh God, what if he's left? Wrapping a towel around herself, she ran into the bedroom. No, he was still there, sitting at the end of the bed with his head in his hands. The despondent hunch of his shoulders sent a twinge through her heart.

"Saved you some hot water," she said, much more softly than before, and dug out a clean towel from her cupboard.

He looked at her, then at the towel in confusion. It took him a moment to realize she wasn't mad at him. He took the towel, mouthed "Thank you", and darted into the bathroom.

While waiting for him, Esme put on her pajamas and turned on the nightlight. Billy reemerged a few minutes later, the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Listen, Esme, I'm really sorry about—" he began.

Esme was about to interrupt and tell him there was nothing to apologize for, when she caught a glimpse of his chest. There was a large mass of scars right under his collarbone, above his sternum. This was the first time he appeared without a top in front of her, so she'd never seen them before. When they were in bed together, she had been too focused on his mouth and his hands and everything else to notice the bumps under her fingers. But now they were there, unmistakable, and there appeared to be a particular shape to them...

She turned on the big light so she could examine the scars more clearly. Billy saw her eyes widen and attempted to cover himself with his hand, unwittingly repeating the nose-to-chest tic that she now recognized always surfaced whenever he was stressed or upset. But the gesture wasn't enough to cover the scars. She had seen. The scars were in the shape of a horse. No, not just a horse. The Horse. The Uffington White Horse.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Billy reluctantly dropped his hand. "... I did it."

She stared at him in horror. "What?!"

"A few years ago, I had a... psychotic break. It was bad. I cut myself. I don't remember why. I don't even remember doing it. I just... had to."

Tears welled up in Esme's eyes, blurring the shape of the Horse. Now she knew why he had fled at the sight of her necklace. What happened to him on that hill that haunted him so? She couldn't envision what horrors he'd been through, what pain he'd endured. She was only aware of the aching gulf between them, filled with those unknown things. How could she ever hope to cross that gulf and reach him?

"Please don't cry." He lifted his hand as if to wipe away her tears, but it seemed he couldn't bring himself to cross the gulf either. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Esme shook her head. "You're not making me cry," she said. "I'm crying for you. There's a difference."

"How?"

"When someone made you cry, that's because they're hurting you. When you cry for someone, that's because you love them." She didn't know where those words came from. They sounded like something in one of her mum's sappy books.

Billy gazed at her for a long moment. "Does that mean you love me?" eventually he asked.

She paused, not knowing how to answer. Instead, she reached out to touch the scars, lightly brushing her fingertips over them. And then, because touching was not enough, she leaned down and kissed them.

Billy sucked in a breath. "Esme, I can't—" But she kept the kiss tender, not sensuous, and a second later, she straightened up. He was looking at her, his lips quivering with things unsaid, his eyes sparkling with tears, looking so vulnerable that she took him in her arms, rocking his head on her shoulder. "It's all right," she murmured soothingly. "We don't have to do anything if you're not ready. Just stay with me. If you want to," she remembered to add.

He did want to stay. Soon they were nestled next to each other in bed, her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. Esme again rethought her idea of a first date. This is nice too, she decided, as she fell asleep to the sound of his soft snores, feeling his breath on her hair.

***

It must be quite early—the window was still dark, though there was a grayish quality to the darkness that told her morning was close—but something had woken her up. Then Esme realized it was Billy, lying on his back next to her, groaning and thrashing in the throes of a nightmare. She knew better than to try and wake him up in this state, so she rolled him to his side instead. As she did so, Billy's eyes popped open, huge and haunted, looking at her without seeing her. "Dawn?" he said.

She didn't know whether he was asking for someone named Dawn or whether he thought she was Dawn or whether he was asking if it was dawn, but now was not the time to ask. "Shh, it's OK," she whispered. "You're having a nightmare." His eyes closed then, and he slipped quietly back to sleep.

However, sleep eluded Esme, whose head was filled with questions about the mysterious Dawn. Of course, she had no illusion that Billy had never been with anyone before—he had told her as much. And it did not matter anyway. But if this Dawn meant so much to him that he called out for her in his sleep, she'd want to know.

The next morning, over breakfast, she asked, keeping her voice nonchalant, "Who's Dawn?"

Billy looked up from his toast. "Where'd you hear that name?"

"You had a nightmare and called me Dawn."

"Did I?" His fingers tapped the jar of strawberry preserve, a ghost of his tic. "God, I haven't thought of her in years."

"Who is she?" Esme repeated, a touch impatiently now.

"She's my—um, my brother's wife. Well, ex-wife."

"Your brother?"

"Jimmy."

Presumably, this was the same Jimmy that frightened young Billy with tales of the dog-meat curry. Another puzzle piece fell into place.

"I used to stay with them sometimes, when my dad—when I first came to London," Billy continued. "She's a lot older than Jimmy, I think, and Jimmy's a lot older than me, so she's more like an aunt. But she was kind to me. I used to have these nightmares about—" Again, there was a pause, and a correction—"nightmares like you wouldn't believe, and she would calm me down. But Jimmy got angry with me for telling her about the Horse. So I left to share a flat with some mates, and then Dawn and Jimmy split up. I never saw her again." There was a wistful note in his voice. "She's the closest thing to a mum I ever had."

"Where's Jimmy now?" Esme asked.

"Prison," Billy replied, and said no more.

How silly of her, to feel jealous of Dawn! There was another stab of pain in Esme's heart, not just for Billy, but also because with each of his reveals, the gulf between the two of them seemed to be gaping a little wider. How could she be there for him, when he spoke of things she could never imagine, no matter how many books and articles and studies she read? How could she support him when she didn't know what he was going through? She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, an inadequate gesture compared to his pain. He smiled at her, but even that smile could not drive away the fear that one day, all her tears and kisses and touches would not be enough.

But Esme tried to ignore that fear and continued seeing Billy. She no longer fretted about what to do for their dates. They still met every Saturday to walk the dogs at the rescue center. When they didn't have the late shifts, he would come to her flat for dinner and stay the night. During her lunch breaks, Esme would bike down to Asda or the woodworking studio so they could have lunch together on the river bank. She discovered her love for flea markets again while scouring them for things to brighten up Billy's flat, and Billy would sometimes accompany her as well—much like herself, he didn't mind crowds as long as he didn't have to interact with them. But most of the time they just stayed home, cooking and eating and reading and going to bed together.

They had yet to try having sex again, though Esme had gone to her doctor to refill her birth control prescription and to make sure everything was good to go. Sometimes, when Billy spent the night, she would wake with his hand on her breast and the hard ridge of his arousal behind her, but then he would also wake, go crimson, and turn away or even jump out of bed. If she hinted that they might have another go at it, he would try to deflect, and it turned into the most awkward back-and-forth of "We don't have to if you don't want to" and "If you don't mind that I don't want to". In the end, Esme decided to just drop it. It made Billy uncomfortable, and she, in turn, would feel bad about making him uncomfortable, so why put more pressure on both of them? Of course, if the timing was right... but she never did have good timing. So she just learned to take things as they come and not to think too much of the future.

She also learned that it was OK to ask a lot of questions, and to talk, and to listen. Billy had good days and bad days, and she learned not to take his bad days personally. If anything, the bad days helped her to treasure the good days even more, made every moment they spent together even more precious, and gave special meanings to the simplest of things, like falling asleep next to him and waking up, knowing he was still there.

***

That Sunday, the flea market in Camden was quieter than usual. The colder weather might have something to do with it, but Esme didn't mind as she linked arms with Billy and strolled through the stalls, stopping at whatever caught their eyes. Seeing a table full of used books, they both navigated toward it without a word, and grinned at each other when they noticed their synchronized steps.

A crate of brightly-covered children's books stood in front of the table. To Esme's horror, she recognized them. A box containing similar books was currently gathering dust in her storage shed. With a glance at Billy, who was digging through the stacks next to her, she tried to nudge the crate out of the way, but her movement only drew Billy's attention. He saw the author's name. "Ivy Pendergast... Hey, she has the same last name as yours! This isn't your mum, is it?"

Of course, she had told him that her mum was a writer and illustrator of children's books, as well as other basic facts—her dad was a glass artist, she grew up in Kent, and she had three younger siblings, Sybil, Tiffany, and Sam. Billy had raised an eyebrow at that and said, "They really do like Discworld, don't they?" (they had been reading the books together—well, rereading for Esme—and Billy was really getting into the City Watch, because, as he said, he liked stories about crime-solving), and Esme had nodded in mock weariness. But there were still things she hadn't told him, and now she silently cursed her dad for not having a more common last name, and her mum for taking that last name when they married, despite all her feminist ideals. I could lie. But he's bound to find out sooner or later. Better get this over with.

"That is my mum, actually," she mumbled.

Billy flipped through the content of the crate with interest. "Emerald Saves a Grasshopper," he read out loud. "Emerald Saves a Lizard. Emerald Saves a Fox."

Esme closed her eyes, praying that he wouldn't put two and two together. After all, not a lot of people know Esme is short for Esmeralda, and even fewer know Esmeralda means Emerald in Spanish.

But apparently Billy was one of those people. "Emerald?" he said. "Esmeralda? It's you, isn't it?"

Esme nodded, smiling to hide her pained expression. "She started writing them when I was about three. They were all quite simple at first, but then she ran out of animals, and now it's Emerald Saves a Lesser-Spotted Blue Tit and Emerald Saves a Mantis Shrimp and God knows what else. It'll be Emerald Saves an Amoeba next, probably."

He grinned. "So she just saves animals?"

"It's for kids age 5 and under, Billy, they don't need a plot. She saves other things too, but they're not as popular as the animal ones... What are you doing?"

He was buying them. He was actually buying the books. God help me.

"You don't have to buy them, you know," she quickly said. "I probably still have a few boxes of them in the shed if you want. Signed, too."

"You should keep those. They'll be worth something in the future, right?"

"I doubt it. She's signed so many of them that the unsigned ones might be worth more."

Billy grinned again. After he'd paid for the books, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me that your mum's books were based on you?"

Esme just shrugged. The truth was that, by the time she started school, they were no longer based on her. What she didn't tell Billy was that before growing up in Kent, she had grown up in a lot of other places as well, with the five of them—Sam hadn't been born at that point—crammed into one tiny camper van. It was the best day of her life when her dad decided to become a glass artist and realized you couldn't set up a kiln in a camper van. Nor did she tell him that her parents were always too busy with their creative endeavors to actually parent, and it fell to her, as the eldest, to give her younger siblings some sort of routine and structure in their day-to-day life. While Emerald was saving all sorts of cute animals and having adventures, Esme had to save her siblings from getting into scraps and falling behind in their classes. She grew to hate those books.

She didn't tell Billy any of it because she realized, compared to his nightmarish childhood, hers was practically idyllic. She knew how terrible it would sound if she complained to him that she'd had to take care of her siblings growing up, when he'd grown up motherless, beaten by his father, and abandoned by his brother. And so she kept silent.

At the same time, she would love for her family to meet Billy. They all disapproved of Neil, but she knew they would adore Billy. And he would adore them, provided that they didn't stress him out too much. She only hoped her relationship with Billy had reached a point when it was appropriate to introduce him to her family (why isn't there a guide to such things?)

"What are you doing for Christmas?" she asked one night while they were in bed, Feet of Clay propped up on her knees. Christmas was still a few weeks away, but knowing Billy (and herself), she thought she'd give themselves time to mentally prepare.

"Nothing, probably. Last year Jacob invited me to his house, but this year he's going to visit his daughter in Australia. You?"

"I have to work on Christmas Day."

"Bummer."

"I don't mind. Christmas is always a busy time. People don't pay as much attention to their pets, and they can get into all sorts of things. Someone has to hold the fort."

"I'll come by and keep you company."

"Ugh, stop being so stinking sweet, will you?" She leaned down and gave him a peck on the lips. Then, in a carefully casual manner, she said, "I'm going down to Kent to see my parents on Boxing Day though. Would you like to come with me?"

Billy sat up to face her. "You really mean it?"

"Yeah."

"Do they... what did you—I mean, how much did you tell them about me?"

"Not much, just that I'm seeing someone." She looked into his eyes. "Do you want me to tell them about your condition?"

He reached for her hand, clasping it tightly as if to stop his nervous tic, to anchor himself. "Would they... object, if they know?" he asked in a small voice.

"No," she said firmly. "And even if they did, it wouldn't matter to me." She lifted his hand and kissed his calluses. Billy's eyes softened. He tugged her forward until she landed on his lips.

"How did I get so lucky?" he whispered against her mouth.

But Esme had other things on her mind. "I have to warn you though, my parents are kind of... unconventional." She almost laughed at the understatement.

"I've gathered as much."

"No, honestly. For one thing, they don't celebrate Christmas."

"Are they Jewish or—"

"No, they just think it's too commercialized. When I was growing up, they would just give us presents whenever they felt like it. Only when my sisters and I moved away that they accepted that Christmas was one of the few times we could all get together, so they reluctantly agree to host it, but they still won't do any of the traditional things though. It's daft."

"I think it's cute."

"It may have been cute when we were kids, but not when we started going to school," Esme said with a humorless laugh. "Imagine having to explain to your classmates that you had no Christmas presents because your parents didn't feel like it."

"At least you had presents," Billy said quietly, and shame burned Esme's face. She was doing the very thing she had vowed not to do—complain about her parents in front of Billy. She kissed him again to distract from the offense.

"I'm just telling you so you won't have to worry about bringing presents or anything."

"OK, I won't." He kissed her back. "You can tell them about me. I don't mind."

Chapter 6

A/N: The detail about Billy carving the Horse into his chest was taken from the show. It didn't happen in the book, as far as I remember.

Taglist: @quinnypixie, @accidentalslag, @etherealglimmer

#billy knight #billy knight strike #cb strike #billy knight fic #billy knight x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn character #billy knight smut #joseph quinn smut

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