#mr. peterson next door

[ihni]

(On AO3)

Billy was already waiting by the mailbox when the postman came. It was the third day in a row he was standing there, and today the mailman just raised his eyebrows as he handed Billy a small stack of envelopes. Billy didn’t do more than grunt in thanks before he started rifling through the letters. There were bills addressed to his dad, one letter that looked like an offer to start a magazine subscription for Susan – and nothing for Billy. As usual.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath and went inside to prepare for work. He was alone in the house – Neil and Susan had left for work already and since it was summer, Max was already out, hanging with her friends. Billy worked the late shift at the pool this week, which was why he had time to wait by the mailbox. And after that, by the phone.

At five to eleven, the phone rang, just like he knew it would.

“Hey,” Steve said, voice sounding tinny and far away. Which was fair, since he was all the way over in Europe. “Nothing yet?”

“Nope,” Billy confirmed and chewed on his lip. “Maybe … maybe it got lost on the way?” A groan came down the line. If Billy closed his eyes he could imagine the way Steve would be pulling at his hair right about now. “Maybe it’s just late. Who knows how long it takes to deliver mail from Italy to Indiana, anyway?”

“I’ve been here for four weeks,” Steve said. “And I sent it the first week. Grandma says that it usually takes a week, two tops. It should have gotten there by now.”

Billy bit his lip and winced. It should.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice more subdued. “I never should have sent it. I wasn’t thinking.”

Billy sighed. They’d had this discussion before, the first of which was when Steve let him know that he’d sent a raunchy letter with accompanying polaroid pictures in the mail. Billy had almost had a heart attack when he heard. He had been quick to exchange all his shifts at the pool to the late ones, even though there was more to do then than in the mornings. He did it just so he could ensure he was the one who picked up the mail, so he would be able to take the letter before anyone else saw it. Because he knew that if his dad found a letter that had been sent from overseas and which was addressed to Billy, he wouldn’t hesitate to open it first to check what it was. And if he found pictures of Billy’s boyfriend’s dick … well. Billy would be dead.

“I know,” he said. He knew that Steve was sorry, and worried. He’d taken to calling every day around this time on weekdays, when he knew that Billy would be home alone – and that his dad wouldn’t be there. “Maybe it’ll show up tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve murmured. “We’re leaving for home on Monday. At this pace, I’ll be home before the letter!”

“That’s better anyway,” Billy decided. “I prefer the real thing to a picture any day.”

Despite his attempt at flirting, he was still worried. For every day that passed without the letter showing up, Billy got more and more tense. He wouldn’t be able to be the first one to the mailbox every day, and if his dad got his hands on it …

He shook the unease off and said his goodbye to his boyfriend, who promised to call again the next day. After that he went through the pile of mail one more time – just in case he’d missed the airmail letter, somehow – before putting it in a neat pile on the kitchen table, and gathering his things before leaving for work.

It was a warm and sunny day, which meant there were a lot of people at the pool. A lot of loud and obnoxious people, ranging from the kids who ran rampant along the pool’s edge to their parents, who seemed to be there only to ogle the lifeguards. Billy had a headache by the time he finally got to lock up and go home, which didn’t even lessen when he turned the volume of his car stereo down low while driving.

When he got back to the house, he parked on the driveway and sighed as he got out of the Camaro, mentally preparing himself for a mediocre dinner in the Hargrove household. His head shot up when he heard someone call his name.

“Billy?”

It was Mr. Peterson, their elderly neighbor. He was waving to Billy from behind his fence, a friendly smile on his wrinkly face.

Billy internally groaned. Mr. Peterson was approximately a hundred years old (slight exaggeration, but he was old-old) and could talk forever if one didn’t manage to weasel out of it fast. Neil would be pissed if Billy was late for dinner – but then again, he would be pissed if Billy wasn’t polite to their neighbors, too. So, plastering a smile onto his face, Billy walked up to the fence.

“Hi, Mr. Peterson. How are you today?”

“Oh good, Billy, good. The joints are creaking as usual, but besides that I’m just fine, thank you,” Mr. Peterson said, and Billy prepared himself for what was bound to be a fifteen-minute monologue about the man’s bad hip. Which is why it was so surprising that he cut straight to the chase. “I was wondering if you could help me with something?” Billy looked back towards his house, hesitating. Mr. Peterson seemed to sense it, because he was quick to assure, “It’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

Neil always preached how important it was to have good relationships with one’s neighbors, so he wouldn’t be able to fault Billy for helping an old man out. “Yeah, of course,” Billy therefore said and walked around the fence and into the man’s yard. “What can I do for you?”

“Follow me, please.”

Mr. Peterson led Billy to the house, and in through the front door. Billy had never been inside the old man’s house before, and stopped on the welcome mat in the hall and looked around. It seemed to be a typical old-person home. Smelled musty, and a little bit like smoke, with yellowed wallpaper and a lot of framed photographs on the walls.

Mr. Peterson went to a wooden dresser that was pushed up against one of the walls, and opened the top drawer to pull out –

Shit.

– an airmail letter. An opened airmail letter.

“I got this in the mail a couple of days ago,” Mr. Peterson said, holding the envelope up so Billy could see it better. It had Steve’s chickenscratch handwriting on it, and was addressed to ‘Billy Hargrove’.

Shit shit shit.

Not noticing – or maybe not caring about – Billy’s rising panic, Mr. Peterson continued, “The mailman must have gotten our mail mixed up, or read the number wrong. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t read the address properly before opening it – my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, you see, and I have friends in Europe so I thought it was from one of them.” Billy only barely heard him through the sound of rushing in his ears. “And, well. I didn’t notice until I’ve already opened it that it … that it was probably not meant for me.”

He looked up and looked into Billy’s eyes for the first time since he’d picked up the letter, raising one white bushy eyebrow. Billy was frozen in fear. He knew what was in that letter – Steve had told him – and it was incriminating, to say the least. If Mr. Peterson had told anyone, or shown anyone – god, if he told Billy’s dad, he’d –

“Breathe, son,” Mr. Peterson said, not unkindly, and put a wrinkly hand on Billy’s shoulder, pretending like he didn’t notice when Billy flinched. Which was silly. Billy could take him; Mr. Peterson was a head shorter than Billy, and ancient.

But he also knew.

“I, I … I don’t know what …” Billy didn’t know how to continue that sentence, so it was lucky that Mr. Peterson took that opportunity to start talking again.

“Did you know that I fought in the First World War?” The non sequitur had Billy’s mind reeling. He did know that – Neil had told the family as soon as he found out, proud to be living in a neighborhood of war veterans – but he couldn’t form words at the moment. Mr. Peterson reached out to one of the picture frames on the wall and pointed at it. It was a grainy black and white picture of five men, posing in front of a restaurant. “This was taken fifteen years after the war ended. We – the ones out of my friends who survived – got together again, to … catch up, and all that.”

Billy still didn’t know what this had to do with anything. He eyed the letter in the old man’s hand, and wondered if he would be able to snatch it and make a run for it. But no. No, then Neil would definitely find out.

“This is Joe,” Mr. Peterson said and tapped his finger against the glass, showing a grinning man wearing a hat. “Joseph. He was my friend.” At this, he gave Billy a significant look. “My special friend.”

Billy stopped breathing, and blinked while the word filtered into his brain. Mr. Peterson couldn’t be insinuating what Billy thought he was insinuating, right?

The old man took Billy’s hand in his and, smiling, pressed the airmail letter with Steve’s handwriting on it into Billy’s palm. Billy’s fingers closed on it out of instinct. It was thicker than an ordinary letter, and he could feel the polaroids through the thin paper of the envelope.

Mr. Peterson didn’t let go of his hand, though. He patted their joined hands with his other hand and made sure to look Billy in the eye as he said, “Love is love, son. I know that better than most. And no matter where you find it, you should consider yourself lucky to have it.”

Billy’s vision was getting blurry, and he let out a shuddering breath. “Mr. Peterson …”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Mr. Peterson said. His voice was gentle, as if he was trying not to spook a skittish animal.

Billy could do nothing but nod. He couldn’t feel his face, but he was pretty sure that he was either stark white or tomato red. Mr. Peterson gently guided him to the door and patted him on the arm as he opened the door.

“Thank you for your help, young man,” he said. “Don’t be a stranger, now.”

Billy took a couple of steps out on the porch, but then stopped and turned around. He could hardly believe what had just happened. When he looked at the old man in the doorway, he looked at him with new eyes, and a new understanding. This man, their elderly neighbor – the war veteran that Neil actually respected – he was like Billy?

“I’m …” Billy started, but again couldn’t find words. “Thank you.”

Mr. Peterson just smiled, and nodded to the letter in Billy’s hand. “That boy? You’re lucky to have him. He seems like a keeper.” Billy nodded, still in shock. And that’s when Mr. Peterson leaned forward and added, in a lower voice and with a mischievous glint in his eye, “Big dick too. Joe’s was smaller, but boy did he know how to use it.”

@harringrove-flip-reverse-it

[1d1195]

Most II

Read Most here | ~8.6k words (whoops)

From me: So I was worried I wasn't going to have enough for this part. Especially from our MC's POV. I started with Harry first and then I wrote her POV and I think this got a little out of hand as I always manage to do--but hopefully you'll see what I was aiming for.

Warnings: angsty af, some fluff too; my hope is you'll cry when you least expect it

Summary: Leaving nearly killed her; but if Harry was happy, it would be worth it. Harry thought he would never get out of bed ever again after she left. But he did. He's really glad he did, too.

*Three years later*

“Thank you, Harry!”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Peterson. Same time next week?” He winked. The woman was older, in her sixties, she smiled politely at Harry and waved from her doorway. It seemed Mrs. Peterson constantly had issues with her alarms and being that she was older and away from family, Harry was happy to help her.

It helped that he lived next door to her as well. A tiny little house, two bedrooms, one bathroom. But it had a nice yard and Harry thought that maybe in the future there would be a flower garden and maybe one day there would be two kids who would find a bird’s nest among the flowers. But more than likely if they had two kids they would need a bigger house, a new yard, with a different garden.

The first year was the worst.

It felt like she died. The grief was so overwhelming it was hard for him to get out of bed. His mum even said things like, “Harry, she wouldn’t want this,” and “honey bunny, you have to keep living,” and Harry was mean about it. He was grumpy, sour. He told his mum it wasn’t living if she wasn’t around. He was sure he sounded like a lovelorn teen who knew nothing about love and life, but he did. Because she was the love of his life; and she was gone.

Gemma was better at getting him out of bed. Mostly because she physically dragged him out, but he was up and out all the same. She took him to get lunch and made sure he attended his classes. She watched him mope and live this half existence. Gemma wanted to hate her. She really did. But she couldn’t. As connected as she and Harry were, it felt like Gemma had a connection with her as well—maybe it was only by proxy of her brother, but she felt it.

“I think she’ll be back,” Gemma had taken Harry to the park for fresh air. They watched people run through, dogs chase after squirrels, and kids swinging at the playground. Life kept moving even if Harry felt like he was at a standstill.

“Gem,” he sighed. His eyes were tired, devoid of tears any longer. “I don’t want...”

“What? To hope?” He didn’t answer her, kicked at the rock near the bench they were sitting on. “I’m not saying you have to get back out there or anything,” she rolled her eyes. Harry snorted. The thought was laughable. There was no one else for him, he was certain. “But some hope would be good,” she suggested.

“Why d’you have hope?” He grumbled not looking at his sister.

“Because I want to hate her guts,” Gemma said knowingly. “I want to claw her eyes out for making my baby brother cry and tear her hair out of her head.”

“Gem,” he grimaced. Even hearing her talk about injuring her made him nauseous.

“Yeah, exactly. The thought of it makes me sick too,” she turned to face Harry on the bench. “She broke you and your sweet heart, Harry,” she reminded him. He turned away from her, afraid he would cry. “Because she thought it was for the best and I believe she would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. I think she really believed this was for the best. Have you ever seen her do anything she didn’t believe in?” Gemma reminded him.

He hadn’t. Harry, for a brief period of time, really wanted to run a marathon and she helped him schedule and train as if he was going to win a marathon. She hated running but she was up at six in the morning, waiting with a tired, beautiful smile. “Ready?” She yawned. He smirked at the memory. Mostly because when he told her the marathon dream was over, she punched him in the arm for making her like running and getting out of bed so early.

“No,” he sighed, shook his head. Harry let the pause consume the two of them for a few moments. The sound of laughter from the swing set and chatter from the owners to their dogs was warm. Like Harry was there all the time and it was comforting. “I miss her,” he whispered. “I miss her for everything for a lot of reasons... but maybe mostly as m’best friend.”

Gemma smiled sadly, wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and nodded. Harry was her little baby brother, but he was a head taller than her, and he had to squish down to rest his head on hers. “I miss her too,” she sighed. “But don’t worry...” Gemma agreed. “She’s gonna be back,” she assured him. “I can feel it.”

*

So, the first year was without hope. Harry focused on EMS classes, the classes for his psychology degree, and applying to be a volunteer firefighter so that he could get some of what he wanted whether she was there or not.

The second year, he helped with fire safety and the local primary school. He told little boys and girls how to make safety plans and encouraged them to chat with their parents so they could be safe in the case of a fire.

“Have you ever fought a fire?” A little girl asked him.

He chuckled. “No, but m’friend and I made a campfire and it spread a little more on the yard than we’d like,” he explained with a smile. “Had t’put it out ourselves.”

“Weren’t you scared?” She whispered.

Harry thought about the two of them in his backyard, waiting to roast marshmallows and thinking they could do it without his mum around. They were pretty successful, but a gust of wind threw them for a loop. She was ready to call the fire department. Fortunately, Harry was prepared and had a bucket of water to stop the spread of the flames from licking all the grass away.

“Aw, my hero,” she cooed sweetly, and Harry smiled, feeling happy. He was only eleven or so at the time, but he loved the thought of being her hero. It was worth the grounding and worth the yard work to fix it after. All for that cute girl he already adored in his tween years so very much.

“No,” he shook his head, smiling as he answered the little girl. “No, I wasn’t scared. S’important t’remain calm,” he explained.

“But what if my stuffy gets stuck inside?” She looked at Harry, wide-eyed with horror. It was nearly identical to the same horror the sweet girl had when the backyard was close to burning.

“I bet your mum and dad would have a plan, love. M’sure they’ll be able t’tell you what y’need t’do t’get you and your stuffy out,” he winked at her.

She nodded knowingly. “My little brother too?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded firmly. “Little brothers gotta get out too.”

It was like the little girl could predict the future because year three was the year of Harry finishing his degree (early—since he had nothing better to do than study and study some more). He was a staple at the fire station. Helping the town the way he always dreamed of helping.

And fighting real fires.

One of the major restaurants in town had a greasy fire that had him and his department racing to put out the flames before the building next door followed the same fate. Even though he didn’t do a whole lot other than hold the hose (it was a pretty relaxed fire, all things considered) he felt a swell of pride, pure happiness in his chest.

When he was at the local primary school again for a fire drill that same sweet little girl made her way to him, told him all about her plan and how Mummy and Daddy said they would save her stuffies if they could, but they weren’t nearly as important as her. He grinned. “I told you they’d have a plan,” he gave her a fist bump.

“This is my friend, he’s going to be a fireman too,” she pointed to the little boy beside her. He looked a little shy. But he smiled politely.

“S’cool, lad,” he gave him a fist bump as well. “Can’t wait t’have you on the team,” he winked. “Y’gonna train and take care of our little town here?”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“He’s going to marry me,” the little girl said. It was casual. Like breathing. There wasn’t any fanfare about it, it wasn’t hope. It was pure fact. She sounded certain she was going to marry her little friend. “And he has a plan for all my stuffies too.”

Now Harry felt a pang of jealousy. Or nostalgia. Perhaps it was a combination of both. How on earth could a twenty-two-year-old man be jealous of a nine-year-old?

But nine was the year she was a pirate for Halloween. At the time, Harry thought his best friend was so pretty and he wasn’t supposed to think girls were pretty, but she was. Even though Harry didn’t know why he thought she was pretty, suddenly, he wanted her to be in his life. So that he could soak in all her beauty and make her happy as long as he possibly could. He cleared his throat. “S’good, love,” he agreed kindly and as silly as it was, he walked away from the little ones because if he stayed a moment longer, he would break down crying jealous of the little love that he used to have that bloomed into something so much more and then disappeared.

*

That first year was truly the worst.

Mitch had Mondays, Niall on Wednesdays. Louis took mornings, since he and Harry jogged together around town. Sarah took weekends, making sure he went to the coffee shop that played quiet music while college students studied just near the university. Eleanor was constantly on call and that usually meant she talked him through the loneliness when he got home from his classes or work—he chatted about his day and told her what he was going to have for dinner.

Anne was compassionate. Always. “Honey, don’t you think—”

“Mum,” he sighed, he didn’t want to hear the end of the sentence. He already knew what it was going to be anyway.

“Couldn’t we look for her?” Anne asked. He shook his head.

“She...left,” it felt like acid in his mouth to say it. But maybe if he had followed after her that first week things would have been different. But he didn’t. So, she was gone and if she wanted to be gone, then what was Harry supposed to do but listen to her? At the heart of it all, he wanted her to be happy. Even if it made him miserable and sad.

But maybe Gemma was right—of course he hoped she was right.

“She’ll come back,” he mumbled. It was still hard for him to say. Even harder for him to believe.

But he did. It took two of the three years she had been gone for him to feel that way, but he believed it. Believed that she would come back because she was his soulmate.

Even though he didn’t believe in those.

“Harry,” Anne sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“Mum, m’jus...something happened,” he sighed. “I don’t know why but...something scared her away. M’not gonna make her run further by looking for her. Begging is only going t’make it worse,” he had given the spiel a thousand times over. “You can’t hate her, Mum.”

“Honey, I love that girl almost as much as you do,” she assured him with a grin. “I just don’t want you to stop living because of her.”

He knew she was right. All of them were right. So, he went to class. He went to work. He saved money to buy his house (and got some help from his kind mum too). He did so many overtime shifts, his coworkers thought he was being a suck up. His mum and Gemma worried about him. His friends worried about him. Harry tried out a plethora of ridiculous hobbies to keep him entertained enough and “lived” even though he didn’t want to.

Because living without her didn’t really feel like living.

But that part of Gemma that felt she would be back made him hope, in the deepest parts of his heart. Made him want to live even when he didn’t think he could because if she came back, he did think she might be mad he tried to stop living.

So, he lived.

*

Harry got home from his overnight shift at seven in the morning. He was tired. Didn’t sleep well the day before so it felt like he was going to fall asleep the moment he closed his front door—he wasn’t going to make it to the couch.

“Harry?!”

It was the exhaustion playing with his mind. He wanted to just go inside, not fiddle with Mrs. Peterson’s smoke alarms or make small talk. “Hey, Mrs. Peterson, good morning,” he answered, making his way across the yard to hers. “Everything alright?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Harry,” she started.

Harry felt guilty for not wanting to help the older woman. Regardless of how tired he felt. “No bother, Mrs. Peterson, really.”

“I think this house is cursed! Remember when the water heater exploded?!”

Harry smiled politely but wanted nothing more than to just go to bed. But Harry pressed anyway. He knew she was lonely. Harry knew loneliness like nobody else. “I do; what is it this time?”

“The sink is backed up—I think something’s clogged in it. I’m so sorry to bug you. I know you just got home—"

“It’s fine Mrs. Peterson. I’ll take a look,” he made his way through her home to the kitchen. Harry knew where everything was because he had done so much maintenance for her over the last year. Harry glanced at the sink for just a minute and then headed to her supply closet to get a bucket and the tools he had set in there for the very likes of this situation.

Once he had his materials, he laid back on the floor and crawled below the cabinet to get a look at the pipe curving out from the sink. All he wanted was to go home and fall asleep. But every once in a while, his thoughts kicked into overdrive—perhaps it was tiredness wreaking havoc on his brain.

Out of nowhere, this wasn’t Mrs. Peterson’s house.

It was the house he was supposed to be sharing with the love of his life. She would be hovering over him, making a joke about plumbing and pipes that would bring a blush to his face. Something he never expected the sweet girl to say but was enamored with her comedic timing. He would fix the issue and hear her say “my hero,” again. She would kiss him and probably convince him (although he needed very little convincing when it came to her and any desire she had) to have sex with her on the kitchen counter.

It took a minute for Harry to notice the water stopped leaking into the bucket. Carefully, he stuck a screwdriver into the pipes to make sure everything was clear and ready to be put back. “Alright, then,” he cleared his throat and slid back from the cabinet and stood to test the sink.

“You know Harry,” Mrs. Peterson began. “A handsome, kind, intelligent young man like you,” Harry was back below the sink putting the pipe back together. “I have a granddaughter your age. She’s very smart. She wants to be an engineer and she’s going to work—”

Harry smiled kindly. “Thank you, Mrs. Peterson,” it wasn’t the first time she had brought it up. “But, y’know m’happily taken.”

*

The first year was the worst.

Fortunately, her mom didn’t put up too much of a fight when she went home and said she wanted to move away. The car accident she was in really did a number on her and her mind. In turn, it messed with her daughter as well.

Mom said she planned on moving when she went off to college anyway. In a moment of clarity, a good day she was having, she explained she wanted to be closer to her sister so that she could let her live her young life the way she was supposed to and not have to worry about her addled mind. At the time, she was devastated. The thought of not having a house near Harry seemed horrifying. Grounds for a tantrum she never threw when she was young. She was going to drag her feet and keep hold onto Harry like she was being told she had to leave a theme park.

At the time, Harry wiped her tears away, kissed her gently on the forehead and assured her she could live with him until they got a house of their own.

She never thought she would willingly ask her mom to leave their lovely town.

Fortunately, the day she asked to leave her eyes were bloodshot, but her moms were clear. “Are you sure, sweetie?” She combed her hair back and kissed her forehead the same way Harry had in the exact opposite reaction. “What happened?”

She inhaled sharply, shook her head, and turned away. “No,” she sniveled. “No.”

So, for a few moments, her mom was her mom. The one that was kind and lovely. The one who’s mind was fully intact and didn’t get angry for no reason. “Oh sweetie,” she frowned and held her while she cried.

When they arrived at her new place, a small little house her mom was renting just a few miles away from her aunt, they reminisced about the photos and trinkets she grew up with. They laughed and she felt like she was at home even though it was the furthest from home she ever could have imagined.

“You know, when I’m mad, it’s not about you, my love. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” her mom told her. “I’m sorry I’m not the mom you used to have.”

Her dad had ducked his responsibilities shortly before her mom’s water broke so it had always been the two of them. For a very long time, it was perfect. Her childhood was perfect. The best mom who never made her feel like she couldn’t do something.

Then, post-accident, it felt like just one and a half of them.

Sometimes, she didn’t know who the half was.

But one thing she could count on was that Harry would make her whole.

“I’m worried that I won’t live my life because of her,” she whispered to Harry. They were laying under the stars in his backyard. It was before they were together; but if you asked her, there was never a time they weren’t together. Being boyfriend and girlfriend in school was a label for everyone else, not for them. “It makes me feel selfish,” her voice creaked.

“You are the least selfish person I know, kitten,” Harry reached out and grabbed her hand. Squeezed it. “Your mum is still your mum,” he promised. “She doesn’t want you t’take care of her. S’not your job. You have t’live your life for her.”

Harry was a year older than her, but it often felt like he was ages older. He was wise beyond reason, and she was so grateful he was in her life. Not just because he was easy to look at and she adored him so unbelievably much, but because he was right. He was there. And he always made her feel better.

She was turned on her side, so she could properly stare at him. The car accident was years ago at that point, and it still felt fresh. Part of her lost a chunk of her mom that day and sometimes the aftermath was more painful than the day her aunt came to get her at school and bring her to the hospital. She and Harry usually walked home from school and the poor thing nearly had a panic attack not knowing where she was.

How no one, including themselves, figured out they were meant for one another long before they were together, seemed crazy to look back on.

When she realized her mom was different, Harry was there to balance the craziness. He helped her cope and assured her that everything would work itself out. He helped her through the screaming matches that ensued and all the frustration she felt from not being the same mom she once had. Things would be okay—he would make sure of it.

It was ridiculous that two teenagers could think in absolutes like that. But she believed him so completely; neither of them had money—well, no more than their retail jobs offered. Harry couldn’t support her anymore than she could support him. But given the chance she was certain he would. And she wanted nothing more than to be there for Harry the way he was for her.

But without Harry, she felt numb. Trivial stuff didn’t matter anymore: a broken dish, mom yelling at her, a car repair, or a cut on her finger from slicing veggies for dinner. Waitressing mishaps and stressing for finals felt completely different without Harry by her side.

Her mom forgot a lot of stuff. Where she put bills, where she left her glasses, or how to get to the grocery store. But she never forgot Harry.

“How’s Harry?” She asked.

“Good,” it was easier on her heart and her mom to just say he was fine. It wasn’t worth reliving the experience over and over. It killed her that she didn’t forget. Hearing his name made her stomach flutter. But they were closer to her aunt now. So she was able to help with the things her mom was forgetting more frequently and the chronic pain and anger that she suffered from due to the accident. It was why she was able to live in apartment with a friend from school.

How she was able to make a friend at all was a miracle.

Addie was a history major and but took so many dance classes she could have double-majored in it. She was graceful and beautiful. She was loud and fun—always knew people who threw the best parties and always managed to find a guy to help move their stuff in and out of their dorm and apartments.

Part of her wondered why Addie even liked being friends with her. She wasn’t anything like Addie: bright, vivacious, life-loving. All she did was go to class, go to work, and mourn the loss of the love of her life even though it was her own fault.

After some coaxing and friendship building (and a thunderstorm mid semester that took out the power in the middle of the night and simultaneously woke the pair of them) she told Addie all about her past life. “Sweetie,” Addie shook her head and spoke into the dark room as if she could see her. It felt like she was yanking directly on her heart. “You could have him again,” she promised. “There’s no way he’s not waiting for you.”

“But Addie... he deserves more.”

“Well, he probably doesn’t want more.”

“Addie,” she shook her head. “I’m not...”

“Not what? Everything you just said made it sound like you’re his soulmate.”

She felt like her vocal cords had been pinched together. She was glad the darkness hid the tears. “Harry didn’t believe in those,” she whispered.

“Well, respectfully, sweetie…he’s as dumb as you are, then.”

She laughed. It started quietly and built and built. Her giggle into unfiltered pure joy. It had been months since she laughed like that. It was warm and made Addie laugh alongside her. She didn’t know how much she missed laughing. It didn’t make it better because God, did she miss Harry and her old life, her old friends, and everything about that wonderful, beautiful town. But it made her think that maybe, if she could laugh, Harry would too. That’s what she wanted, right? At the end of the day, it was why she left. Give Harry the chance to have more when she felt like less.

*

Addie took a writing class with her in their second semester. An intro class—but it was one of those ones that was ridiculously hard for no reason at all. Luckily, she enjoyed writing, but if someone took this class as a hopeful, easy elective, they were in for a rude awakening.

Their professor had just finished reading one of the assignments from the previous week. It was riveting, a short story about a girl who felt this undeniable pull to jump off a bridge in the town she lived in. It wasn’t a tragic kind of jump. It was like a reset, something hard to explain. That there were a lot of things she felt it would help—if she just jumped once, it—no everything—would be okay. She described the bridge, the rocks, the water with so much rich vocabulary, it was like everyone in the class was there at the bridge. The protagonist hated heights though, and jumping was dangerous even if it wasn’t tragic. The back and forth of pros and cons as to why she should jump, why she shouldn’t. The humor, the warmth, the nostalgia hit the entire class like a tsunami.

The final paragraph read about the girl going to the bridge. She had just decided, finally she was going to jump. She set her belongings down and climbed the railing. She was alone and brave. No one was going to stop her, and she felt so good. She wasn’t going to stop herself. She breathed in the salty air, didn’t look down, and listened to the sound of waves crashing over the rocky shore. It was peaceful. No cars around, no people. Just her and the water. It was exciting, Addie felt for the character wanting the reset more than she wanted to breathe. It was going to work; she was going to feel better. Addie was proud of her for wanting to do it and getting what she wanted.

A reset. To fix everything. Their professor read.

Then, she climbed off the railing, picked up her stuff, and went home.

How was anyone supposed to remain in this writing class if that was what they were competing with?

“I hope she publishes that,” Addie whispered.

Their professor wrote the assignment on the board. Another short reading and then questions to go over it. The room was silent while people read, and then quiet chatter started as they worked in pairs on the assignment. At the same time, their professor shuffled the previous writing assignments and returned them to their authors.

The paper titled Jump slid onto the desk beside Addie. She stared at her friend like she was possessed. “Are you kidding?”

She quietly tucked the paper below her new assignment sheet and shrugged, cheeks blushing at the notion. Addie was in awe and unnerved that she didn’t seem to care. Over the next several classes, she kept an eye on her friend so she wouldn’t miss any more brilliance. She wrote answers to questions her professor asked in her notebook. “Why don’t you answer?” Addie whispered.

“Shh,” she hushed.

“Are you a genius? Like a prodigy or something?”

“Shut up,” she hissed, worried her professor would say something about their rude and ridiculous whispering to them.

After class, they headed back to their dorm for a nap. It was like they were toddlers, but they didn’t care. “So, Prodigy—”

“Addie,” she laughed. “Stop.”

“What’s your plan? A book?”

There was a small pause. Reflective almost. Then she nodded. “Yes.”

They were quiet. Addie waited for her to elaborate but it never came. “Sweetie, you’re brilliant.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, still not elaborating. That was the first time she felt like her old self in her writing. It was the first piece of something that was sentimental and her that she had written since she left. It had been 231 days since she saw Harry. Last week when they had been assigned the homework to write something like Jump, she finally felt like it was worth writing.

“Hey,” Addie stopped her, a hand on her arm as they approached their dorm. “Can we just...take a second? You wrote something so brilliant and beautiful. Maybe you and Harry were used to that kind of brilliance, but I’m only just learning about it,” Addie said Harry’s name so casually. Like she had known him just as long as she had. Harry would love Addie, she was sure. “You should enter that in a contest,” she told her. She snorted and shook her head. “I’m serious! It should be published. You hooked me in, and it was what, five thousand words?”

She nodded; shrugged nonchalantly. “More like four thousand, actually.”

Well, it felt like ten thousand to Addie and she still loved it. “Why did you write it?” Addie asked. Biting the inside of her lip she shrugged again. But she knew. They both knew. “Sweetie, you can go back to him. You can jump,” she said reassuringly. Tears filled her eyes and she looked away. “Harry would under—”

“I know,” she croaked. “I know,” she sniffled. The chill in the air wasn’t helping. Harry’s birthday was only a few days ago and it was the first one in years where she didn’t send him a message at midnight. She had been the first one to wish him a happy birthday for the last ten years—since she was old enough to text him. But Addie was right. Harry would understand. It was ridiculous that he would. He would forgive her instantly. But it was barely half a year. It was too soon...it wasn’t enough time to let him... breathe without her.

Even if it felt like she was suffocating without him.

“Aw, babe,” Addie sighed and wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulder. It took her a second to notice she was crying, sniveling more than was necessary as she remembered his birthday wishes. “I’m sorry,” she said and ushered her the rest of the way into their dorm. “We can talk about it another time.”

She sniveled and wiped her eyes. “S’okay. Thank you for being so nice, Addie,” she said truthfully. A different friend might have told her to quit crying and it was her own choice. But Addie was different. Because as brilliant as she was, Addie had a knack for this kind of emotion, this kind of understanding that someone as graceful as her could only understand.

“Of course,” she held the door open for the lobby. “That’s what best friends are for.”

*

She worked a lot from the moment she set foot on campus. She waitressed at a restaurant that was flooded with locals and plenty of college students. For years the only one that flirted with her was Harry. She was surprised when guys asked her out while she was working. It was a little uncomfortable at first. “I’m actually—”

“Of course she’s taken,” one of the guys at her table said to his friend.

And honestly, she hadn’t thought of that. Fortunately, she still felt taken. Very much so. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to move on from Harry. “You are?” he asked with a frown.

“Happily,” she sighed softly. Because it was true—partly. She was smitten; completely taken by and with Harry. Whether he was physically around her or not. There wouldn’t be anyone else. Couldn’t be.

It didn’t stop the flirtations, but it made it easier to take them on because she could say her heart was taken. Happily, taken.

So, the first year was the worst. Figuring out how to live without her best friend and so she focused on school. She focused on work. But Harry invaded her every thought. In fact, she started writing down things that happened to her. Like a list because maybe, in the depths of her subconscious, she wanted to go back. That’s what Jump was about. She had to go back. Even if it was to see that he had moved on and if he did, that was good. He deserved it.

Harry was in her blood. He was written in her notebooks as if she had it tattooed on her skin.

*

“Do you want to get an apartment?” Addie asked. “You’re staying the summer, yeah? What was your plan for that?”

She wasn’t sure, honestly. It was April and the semester was coming to close in just a few weeks. She thought she would just sleep in her car or something and shower at the gym. Visit her mom for a bit of time about an hour away. Or maybe even commute from there. But she hadn’t thought about it, because it honestly didn’t matter. She would continue working and moving. Trying her hand at silly hobbies to entertain her mind and keep her from spiraling and being sad all the time.

“Yeah...um...no...no plan. An apartment?” the sale of her mom’s house gave her a pretty penny. It was kind of her mom to give her anything. Well...you know. Her mom shrugged. An unspoken sentence about inheritance and the like.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have air conditioner that worked when we wanted it to?” Addie sighed dreamily. “Or heat? Like why are these dorms even allowed to run without heat in the middle of a snowstorm?”

The chilly night they spent snuggled in bed beneath every blanket they owned and every sweatshirt they could possibly put on was now a fond memory that made them smile. Although it was anything but fond at the time. “And if the smoke detector goes off, we don’t have to run out necessarily,” Addie continued. “You can feel not guilty about writing into the night in your own room.”

“Are you trying to sell apartment living or are you flirting with me?”

“Whatever gets you to move in. My parents know someone so the rent will be cheap—just have to pay the utilities and a little monthly fee. The only thing is we’d have to move twice. They have this place for the summer but we’d have to go to a different one of their places at the end of August.”

With the tips she was making, plus the tutoring she did at the writing center, it seemed completely doable. But a huge part of her hesitated because she always dreamed her first apartment would be with Harry. He would help her move furniture and let her decorate it however she wanted even though she asked every time if he liked it. What if I want pink walls with yellow polka dots? She asked him. Then I’ll get m’paintbrush. What if I only want blow-up furniture? She wondered. Then I’ll buy an air pump.

“We’ll have to go furniture shopping,” she said instead.

Addie squealed.

*

She was sitting in the auditorium watching Addie’s dance recital. A guy sat beside her. “Hey,” he said sweetly. “I’m Carter,” he stuck his hand out. She offered her name quietly.

Harry would love Carter. Clearly a bright personality—outgoing and sweet. “I saw you sitting alone and figured I’m alone too. Are you waiting for someone?” He asked. She shook her head. “I think we have a class together,” she didn’t immediately recognize him. Harry would love him. Would love how sweet he was to get ready to just chat and make her feel comfortable without being creepy. Even though she did not want to talk to him. Not because he made her feel weird but because she was grumpy, sullen and sad. “Do you know someone in the show?”

She cleared her throat. “My best friend; my roommate. Addie,” she pointed in the brochure showing a picture of her that she had to submit a week ago and they spent hours going over photos of her.

She watched him look at her picture. For a moment it was like looking in a mirror. She knew what Carter saw because she experienced it every time that she looked at Harry. Unwittingly, she had just shown Carter the first image of his soulmate.

“Oh... oh wow... she’s... she’s like... really pretty,” he swallowed his eyes widening, drinking in her portrait like she was the only thing that mattered. “Sorry,” he shook his head and turned away briefly. When he turned back to continue the conversation, he had a bright smile on his face. But she was already mentally gushing about the way he had fallen for her friend just from a mere headshot in a program. “My sister did dance for years and I’m really far away from home so I thought I would come check it out. I used to complain about all the recitals, but now I miss them. Isn’t that weird, how you take it for granted?”

She didn’t feel like talking. Especially about things that were taken for granted. She had spent most of the day packing up her dorm room and scouring Facebook Marketplace for cheap furniture. She and Addie were going to as many thrift stores and yard sales this weekend as it took to furnish their two-bedroom place. She was tired and overwhelmed.

Maybe I should suggest blow-up furniture.

But Carter clearly wanted to chat, and they still had a few minutes until the show started. Obviously, he liked her friend already, so she needed him to like her because she couldn’t stand to lose another person in her life. Even of her own doing. “Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s like you... you forget all the little things,” she murmured. “Like I remember the big things, like the hugs and the vacation memories, all the popcorn we shared at the movies...” She smiled fondly. “You don’t remember like the way they left the kitchen a mess or shoes by the door covered with snow.”

“Yeah... yeah, exactly,” he smiled sadly. “Do you have a sister?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I... I had some really close friends though. We... I,” she swallowed. Admitting it was all her fault, out loud, was an entirely different thing. “I left them behind... because...” she shrugged. “Y’know.”

Carter watched her curiously for a moment. It was clear he didn't know. “The writing class—we’re in that writing class together,” he recognized.

Then she knew, he sat by the window. His partner incorrectly answered a lot of questions. “Oh, that’s right,” she nodded.

“Do you have any theories on who wrote that Jump thing? My partner in class and I have been trying to figure it out for months. It’s been published you know.”

She did know. She had been paid fifteen hundred dollars for its publication after Addie insisted that she submit it to a magazine two months ago. But she didn’t pay much mind to it. It hurt a lot. She thought about lying though. Maybe even saying it was Addie. She had two siblings at home and Carter was very cute. She would probably fall in love with him without even trying. She couldn’t wait to introduce them after the show. “Yeah, um... I actually... I wrote it.”

His eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. “Wow... wow,” he was staring at her like she did jump off the bridge she wrote about. “You know...that makes sense. I’ve never heard you talk, but... now, I’m not surprised... You speak the way you write.”

“How’s that?” She wondered curiously.

“It’s just... gentle, I guess,” he shrugged. “Like I feel like I want to tell you everything; I wanted to tell you everything after our professor read your story and I didn't know you,” he chuckled. “I met you what, three minutes ago? That's not normal.”

She smiled fondly. “I get that a lot.”

Harry told her all the time she was too nice—but not in a bad way. It was more so that she had an open, adorable face and just had the sweetest demeanor. You could talk a man into bed if y’wanted, kitten. He winked. Y’wouldn’t even have t’say anything; he would do all the talking.

Gently, he put his hand on her arm. “I hope you jump,” he said quietly, with a little squeeze as the curtain fell closed, and the lights dimmed. Her heart fluttered. He was meant for Addie.

“Can I introduce you to Addie after the show?” She whispered right as the emcee stood center stage with the microphone ready to get the show started.

“Good evening,” she said. "Our dancers--"

“Yeah?” He smiled so brightly she could see it in the dim light, whispering back to her. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Someone deserved a happily ever after anyway.

*

They were so destined for a happily ever after.

Carter wouldn’t leave her side. Brought her flowers every week and made sure she always had a jacket that he would carry in case it was cold. When she was studying, he would literally feed her dinner to make sure she had food in her stomach.

Their love was so pure she was jealous. She could only imagine how Harry would have taken care of her on nights she had to stay up all night. He probably would have turned the pages of her books or read to her out loud when her eyes were tired. Hell, he would have written essays for her only for her to rewrite them and correct them just for fun.

Carter helped them move their stuff from their dorm to the apartment, and then to the second apartment. Then when Addie’s parents’ friends asked if they would be willing to move to a different apartment so they could have an elderly couple move into the lower floor place he helped move them again.

“Hey gorgeous. How's my favorite matchmaker,” Carter winked at her as he walked into the apartment. He was a staple. So very much in love with Addie he walked in whenever he wanted and truly, she didn’t care. “Addie’s on her way home, I was going to make her mac and cheese, do you want some?”

God, Harry would love him.

“No thanks, I’ve got a shift in a bit. Just finishing my rough draft.”

“Awesome, well, let me know if I’m making too much noise.”

God, she loved him.

“Do you want... to hear it?” She asked. Harry used to read and listen to her poems and her prose. Her writing was like doodles on the edge of her notebooks but it felt like she was reading Harry a bedtime story. He would beg to hear something, anything. Sometimes she would just reread old stuff when she hadn’t written anything new, but he listened to it in awe like it was the first time he heard it anyway.

“Do you want to share?” He asked. Surprise coated his tone. He pulled the dishes out he was going to use and looked at her over the half wall between the kitchen and living room. “I’m game if you are. I just figured it was private.”

She ignored him and began to read. Recently she had been inspired to write about love that was hidden but love all the same. Something that Carter said back in the auditorium really resonated, made her want to write the way she used to. The way she wrote Jump. She talked about dance recitals that she hated and the way the people left muddy shoes on the floor. She wrote about how sometimes when she least expected it, she thought of the love that resided in the bathroom, a sticky note on the mirror telling her to have a good day. Putting a glass of water on the bedside table because she had a late night. Giggling at a message that was sent two days ago but made her smile as if it was sent a minute ago. How love was green eyes and dimples that always knew what to say even when she was down. She talked about love that was quiet and perfect because love didn’t need to be loud.

It took a moment to notice that it was silent in their apartment. She looked up and realized she couldn’t see Carter because her eyes were filled with tears. “Wow,” he murmured. “You’re uh...” he shook his head. “You’re going to write the world’s greatest love story,” he smiled.

She snorted, laughed, crying still. "Yeah...yeah, no..." she wiped below her eyes unable to say anything else.

Carter walked over to the couch, set her precious notebook on the coffee table that had a heart on the inside cover with someone's name she shouldn't have written any longer. Then she sat beside his favorite matchmaker. He rubbed her back and told her it would all be okay.

She thought about how she hadn’t seen the love of her life in 382 days but she felt it as if she had fallen in love for the first time yesteday.

The first year was the hardest. But at least she could write again.

It made the second and third years pass in the blink of an eye. Aching for a love that was in her notebooks and in her head.

*

Harry’s coworker was waiting for him outside the coffee shop. His shift was over, but he had plans to finish his latest creation that morning. A caffeine jolt would be just what he needed before he headed home.

“Hey Lauren,” he smiled sweetly.

“Hi Harry,” she answered with a bright smile. Her voice was cheerful, and it reminded Harry of the girl he wanted to hear from more than anything.

“Any word?”

There were plenty of coffee shops in town. But Lauren was extremely helpful in his need for information—or at least she tried. He just wanted to know she was okay. Lauren had worked there for as long as they were old enough to have jobs. While she was always just on the other side of Harry’s circle of friends, he thought that she could get away with seeing Lauren and Harry might not ever know. He chose this one coffee shop, slightly out of his way, because he thought maybe if she was passing through, it might be the one place she chose—just to see an old friend.

Lauren was extremely helpful at first. Harry had stopped by the shop shortly after Gemma had talked to him in the park. It seemed like fate that he would run into her. Tried reaching out to her, trying to help Harry figure out why. In the end, it amounted to nothing. Not a word came back.

“No word,” her voice was quieter. Like she felt bad that she hadn’t heard anything.

So, he stopped asking. But the habit of visiting Lauren, it made him feel closer to her. In some small way.

He had two trays of drinks that he brought to Louis and Eleanor’s place. They were situated around the coffee table, waiting for a football game to start on TV. It was quiet while they listened to the pregame show and Harry found Sarah staring at him. “What?” He asked.

“You can’t fall in love with Lauren,” Sarah said.

Everyone groaned and agreed with the sentiment.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry muttered as he took a sip of his drink.

“I would castrate you myself,” Eleanor assured him.

“M’not—”

“Harry wouldn’t do that,” Niall said defensively.

“Yeah, that was one of her best friends,” Mitch chimed in as well.

“I don’t—”

“I’m just saying,” Sarah said defensively. “I don’t want you to fall for Lauren just because she’s like her.”

Harry looked at his lap and shook his head. “M’not falling in love again,” he assured them. “As far as m’concerned... m’heart is taken.”

*

It was a stop light. The music beside him was loud. He scrolled through his phone aimlessly. Something he never did before she left. Why would he need to scroll when she was there? They created their own fun and entertainment. Now, it was the only thing that kept his tired mind occupied. Everything was to pass the time. He laughed when he was supposed to, smiled when he was supposed to. When he needed to move or help someone, he did.

But Harry was undecidedly different. He didn’t laugh the same way. He didn’t love the same anymore. How could he?

The music playing was a hit from ages ago—a song his mum loved and played a lot while he was growing up. If it wasn’t one of his favorites of his mum’s, he might not have looked up from his phone screen. But he did. Thank God, he did.

He dropped his phone. It clanked between his boots against the floor of the truck. His jaw fell slack. “Kitten?” He called instinctively. Her music was too loud, though. Plus, she was singing along. Tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of the instruments behind the lyrics. Harry’s heart started to race. Like he was in a five-alarm fire. He opened the door without thinking and stepped into the stoplight traffic.

“Harry!” The light was still red, but it wouldn’t be for long. He knocked on her window causing her to jump and double-take as she looked toward him. It felt like Harry had sprinted a marathon in his gear. He was sweating, his breathing erratic.

How long had she been home? Was she home?

God, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

It was like the Earth flipped back to the correct magnetic field. All the pieces of his splintered heart slammed back together. He was overwhelmed with love for her. The 1,127 days that he had counted without her hadn’t passed since he last saw her—it was just yesterday that he saw her, right? She looked the same, beautiful as ever. She smiled; it was small. Almost like she didn’t mean to smile but it was a reflex. Harry smiled back—a reflex of his own at the sight of her. She never failed to make him smile. Even in his memories, the good, the bad, the awful day she left, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her. His knuckles were still pressed to the window, refusing to move away from the piece of her that was finally physical and real in front of him. It felt like no time had passed. As if it was the very same day that she broke his heart, and they were just lucky to happen to bump into one another while running errands later that day.

“STYLES!” Shouted from behind him.

He blinked, the sound of horns honking returned. Her small smile disappeared, and she waved ever so slightly and started through the intersection. The line of cars beeping behind her. The line of cars behind the truck agitated and beeping as well behind his waiting partner.

Harry hopped back into the truck and watched her turn right at the next streetlight. As they passed the street, his eyes stayed glued to her turn, long after they passed the street. His coworker cleared his throat. “Was that...?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. The breath felt new; like he hadn’t really ever taken a deep breath in a really long time. As if he had been holding it for the last three years and he forgot what oxygen really felt like as it entered his lungs. “Yeah,” he repeated to himself.

--

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[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 13

This is it guys, the chapter of this fic. I have had an absolute blast writing and even more so reading all the comments and tags.

This last chapter is dedicated to all those who wanted the moms to bring Steve into their fold. This was also chance for Steve to rip on the haters without fear of his parents ire.

Thank you so much for all the love and support for this little story.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

****

Claudia was waiting at the Byers’ front door when Eddie pulled up in his van and Steve hopped out.

“Eddie!” she cried happily. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Hey, Mrs. H,” Eddie said with a wave. “I’m just dropping Stevie off. We’re hanging out later.”

“That was sweet of you, dear,” Claudia cooed.

Steve in the meantime was pulling things out of the backseat of the van. Eddie looked over at him.

“You need help, darlin’?” he asked over his shoulder.

Steve shook his head. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.” In lower voice he muttered, “I love you and I’ll see you later.”

Eddie gave Steve’s forearm a squeeze and then waved at Claudia. He backed out of the driveway and was soon gone from sight.

“We’ve got all sorts of surprises for you today, Steve,” she said gleefully clapping her hands together.”

Steve grinned at her. “Mrs. Peterson here yet?”

Claudia shook her head. “She’s always at least fifteen minutes late. Something we were banking on actually.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

But Claudia just ushered him inside. He set his stuff down and then handed her a tray.

“I made blondies,” he said, “I hope you ladies like them.”

She peeled back the foil and gasped. “Steve they look amazing!”

Joyce came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. “What looks amazing?” she asked peering over Claudia’s shoulder. She, too, gasped when she saw them. “Steve, you didn’t!”

Steve grinned. “Your sons always eat the ones I send home with them before they even get home, so I figured you’d appreciate these.”

She kissed his cheek. “You are a dear.”

Claudia laid them out on table next to all the other treats.

On the coffee table were a bunch of things under a large sheet with clowns on it.

“The three of us,” Karen began, “wanted to do something extra special for you after hearing what fun our children had at the Fair because you made sure they did. So we each contributed something toward your love of sewing.”

She lifted the sheet. Underneath was a beautiful sewing kit in navy blue, a light green Singer sewing machine that looked older than he was, and a stack of old patterns.

Steve’s lip wobbled as he raised his hand to his mouth in shock.

“You didn’t have to do this, ladies,” he whispered.

“The sewing kit is from me,” Karen continued. “It’s a beginner’s kit, but it has fabric scissors, a seam ripper, bobbins for your thread and different kinds of needles.”

Steve sat down and pulled it onto his lap. He opened it and as he lifted the lid, the top tray pulled back revealing the tray beneath. “Thank you.”

“The sewing machine,” Claudia said proudly, “is the first one I ever owned. When I got married I got a new one and I’ve been using that ever since. But this ol’ girl has a lot of love and life left in her, and I want you to have her.”

Steve looked up at her, tears forming in his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll break it? Or that my parents will find it and destroy it?”

Claudia knelt in front of him. “It’s gonna be kept at my house until you get a place of your own. You’re there all the time to see Dusty anyway, no one is going to notice that you’re there to sew now, too.”

“Plus,” Joyce said with a grin. “It’s a Singer. They’re a little hard to break. They’re one of the best machines and it will probably outlast your children. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Steve nodded, his lip quivering. Claudia kissed his forehead and stood back up.

“The patterns are from me,” Joyce said. “Whenever I would have a little extra money I would pick up a pattern or two at the drug store and bring it home. I picked a handful that I thought you’d like since you’re primarily making costumes. And if those work for you, next week I’ll bring another handful you might like.”

Tears started flowing down his cheeks. “Thank you. All of you. This is best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh honey,” Joyce said softly and suddenly Steve was being hugged on all sides by the moms.

They stayed like that until there was a knock on the door.

“That must be Olive,” Claudia said with a sigh. “I bet she brought those brownies that are totally store bought even though she insists it her grandmother’s recipe.”

Steve snickered. “My mom used to do that. I don’t think she fooled anyone either.”

Joyce grinned over her shoulder as she went to go answer the door. “Olive, dear! We were just getting started.”

“Oh?” the bright voice on the other side of the door cooed. “You’re usually in the full swing of things by now.”

Steve bristled. That meant she knew she was late and was doing it intentionally. He hated people like that. Acting like the rest of them were peasants meant to be waiting on her.

“Steve was just showing us the costumes he made for the kids for the Fair over the weekend,” Karen said sweetly as Steve hurried to get the things he brought to show off out.

Olive stepped into the house with a sneer. “I think it’s so sweet you’re indulging the boy, but I doubt he can hold a candle to Claudia’s years of experience.”

Wow, Steve thought. Not only did she insult him, but she insinuated Claudia was old. What was with this old bag?

Claudia smirked. “It’s true that I’ve been doing it for longer, but Steve has a real talent for it. Come see.”

Olive walked into the front room and Steve was struck by how much she reminded him of his mother. She had perfectly curled hair with not a single strand out of place. Her clothes were fitted and showed off her figure. Her makeup was flawless.

In short, Steve hated her on sight.

Joyce handed her the shirt he had made for underneath his tunic. It was flawless but understated.

Olive took the shirt and scoffed. “You couldn’t have done this, Harrington, you shouldn’t lie to your betters.”

Steve was already seeing red. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you then.”

Joyce clapped her hands together. “All right, let’s get started. Steve, you can eat as much as you want, but just make sure to keep it away from other people’s projects.”

Steve smiled at her sweetly. “Of course!”

He knew that what she was really saying was that Olive Peterson might try something.

He sat in the armchair away from her and she glared at him.

“Is it all right if I work on my project first before you teach me how to use the sewing machine?” he asked just as she was taking a drink of punch.

Olive was forced to turn away and cough into her hand to avoid spraying everyone with the lemonade that Claudia had made.

Karen’s smile was feral. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, right, Claudia?”

“Of course not, Steve,” she replied warmly. “Just let me know when you want to learn and I’ll come over and help you.”

Steve nodded. He pulled out the materials that Eddie suggested he bring and got to work.

Eddie really liked that Steve’s bags had a lining because it protected the dice better, so Steve had brought along some materials he could use for that as well.

About halfway through his first bag, Joyce called out.

“Steve? What’s that pattern you’re putting on the bag?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s my signature! I embroider it on everything I do to make sure people can’t pass it off as their own.” He handed the bag over to her.

“Oh!” she cried in excitement. “This is the design you put on Will and El’s costumes when you did their alterations, right?”

Steve nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you made the clothes, but I thought it was a cute way to tie the two together like they were twins.”

“It was perfect,” Joyce said. “El still hasn’t stopped talking about how pretty your design made the dress.”

Steve blushed as he took the pouch back from her.

“I was talking to someone at the Renaissance Fair,” he said shyly, “and she wanted me make them clothes and things that she would sell for me. She even told me to make business cards in case someone wanted to commission me directly.”

“Oh Steve!” Karen cried. “That’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and tilted her head. “I have to admit I’m a little jealous. That pattern is beautiful. I would love a handkerchief with that on it.”

Steve straightened up. “Yeah?”

Karen nodded.

“What color would you like?” he asked excitedly.

Karen tried to protest but he wouldn’t let her. In fact he managed to convince all but Olive to let him make them one for them.

It did, unfortunately take him to the end of the two hours, but he was excited to come next week.

“I’ll even host it at my place!” he said with a grin.

Olive sputtered. “Well I won’t be there if it’s at this young man’s house. That’s so inappropriate.”

The three other ladies looked at each other and then shrugged.

“Your loss,” Karen said dryly.

Olive stormed out of the house vowing that as long as Steve was part of the group she would never come back.

“Well that is a relief,” Joyce said, “I’m not the kind to speak ill of anyone, but we really got quite the upgrade!”

Karen clapped her hands. “Indeed. I can’t wait for next week. I’ve got a new project I’m starting and I found the best recipe for a chocolate mousse that I’ve been dying to try out.”

“Same time next week, ladies?” Steve asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Claudia agreed.

Then there came a loud honk.

Steve looked out the window and smiled. “Looks like my ride is here.”

He gather up his stuff, including the patterns and sewing kit and walked out to Eddie’s van.

He slid into the front seat.

“You have fun today, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Steve said looking fondly at the house. “This has been the best weekend ever.”

Eddie grinned. “Well, it’s about to get even better, just wait to you see what I have planned for us today.”

Steve smiled as Eddie regaled him with his plans and nodded along.

Life was really looking up. He had a platonic soulmate, good friends, an amazing boyfriend, a hobby he enjoyed and could make real money from, and now a group of people to share that hobby with each week.

And to think it all started with a flier about the Renaissance Fair coming back to Hawkins.

“I can’t wait,” he breathed once Eddie was done.

Eddie smiled that sweet smile at always turned Steve’s insides to mush.

Yeah, Steve could honestly say that he was happy.

****

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[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 10

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Angst, cursing, alcohol

Chapter summary: Bradley invites Bob and Olive to dinner. Olive and Bob have a real conversation following their spontaneous kiss

WC: 2K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The office was busy by the time you showed up. You were late on purpose, because the earlier you showed up the more likely you were to run into Bob. 

“Dr. James.” Molly was frazzled. You frowned as she showed a handful of paperclipped charts in your arms. “You’re late. We have five patients waiting for you.” 

“Give me two minutes and then send the first person in.” You turned, trying not to look up as you made your way into your office. Closing the door, you collapsed into your desk chair. On the other side of the wall, you heard Bob’s voice, low murmurs. A shiver crawled up your back. 

And then the door swung open. “Doc!” 

“Mr. Peterson,” you said, standing up. “What’s bothering you today?” 

He grunted and sat down, heavily, on the exam table. “This bum hip, like always.” 

You snapped on a pair of gloves and turned to him. “Alright, let’s see what’s going on.” 

The day was chock full of patients. Mr. Peterson’s arthritic hip, two cases of spider bites, one kid with pink eye, an ice cream shop worker with carpal tunnel. 

It was well after seven by the time you stood up and inched your door open, peering around. The hallway was empty, Molly was gone. You breathed out a sigh of relief, grabbing your purse and shutting your office door. But just as you turned, a shadow crossed the floor and you looked up. 

Bob looked like a deer in headlights. He had one hand on the doorknob to his office, his hair tousled. “Dr. James,” he said, voice low and rough. You remembered what his hands felt like on your neck, his lips on yours. 

Your voice gasped a little. “Bob.” 

His blue eyes flashed for a moment and you weren’t sure if it was excitement or anger flooding his features. And then all of the light drained out of his eyes and he turned, breezing past you, practically running out the door once again. 

***

You were sitting on a barstool at Breakers, nursing a glass of white boxed wine, when a pair of hands wrapped around your shoulders, causing you to gasp. 

Bradley spun you around on the chair, a grin spread wide across his face. He leaned down and kissed you, in front of everyone, leaving you gasping for air as he pulled back. 

“Hey there, Doc,” he said, settling onto the seat next to you. “Miss me?” 

You crossed your legs, hooking one heel into the bottom bar of his stool and Bradley placed a large, warm hand on your bare thigh. “Of course.” 

He grinned. “What did you get up to while I was gone?” 

You hesitated. On the other side of the bar, Phoenix was watching the two of you, polishing a glass from a few feet away, her dark hair swept up in a ponytail. You shrugged. “Oh not much. Just work, you know. Lots of patients, had to do some filing and admin.” 

Bradley frowned. “Admin? I hope Floyd isn’t pushing you too hard.” 

The memory of Bob’s kiss flitted across your mind. The way his hand had felt on the back of your neck, tugging you forward with reckless abandon. “No,” you whispered. “He’s been great.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Great? So the two of you are finally getting along?” 

“Um, yeah, I think so.” 

Bradley pulled his hand from your thigh and smiled, tugging his phone out and placing it on the bar. “Perfect. Then let’s do dinner, the three of us. My place.” 

“Oh, no, I—”

“He’s a good guy,” Bradley interrupted. “And we’ve been friends for a long time. So I’d love if the three of us could hang out.” 

There was something finite about his words. He had made up his mind. You nodded. “OK, sure. Dinner.” 

***

Standing at Bradley’s doorstep, you raised one hand to knock before taking a deep breath. And then you lowered your fist and let out the breath. 

What the hell were you doing? Why was this so uncomfortable? You had slept with Bradley once, and kissed Bob once. Did either of them mean anything? You weren’t exclusive with Bradley, you weren’t even dating. You weren’t sure what you were. 

On the other hand, Bob Floyd acted like you didn’t exist 99% of the time. The other 1% of the time he was actively hating you. 

So why should you care if it was weird for him to see you and Bradley together? 

“Are you going to knock, or do you expect the door to fly open through telekinesis?” 

You whirled around. Bob stood a few steps down on the pathway, holding a bottle of wine. HIs face was unreadable. 

“I was going to knock,” you said. 

Bob stepped closer and you caught a whiff of his soap – minty and herbal – and leaned over, knocking on the door sharply, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The door swung open a second later, Bradley standing barefoot with a kitchen towel slung over one shoulder. “Hey guys, come on in.” 

Bob held out a hand and you stepped inside first, the sound of your heels clacking against the wooden floor. To your surprise, Bradley leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. A blush crept over your face and neck, and you averted your eyes from him or Bob. 

“Is that for tonight?” Bob nodded, handing over the bottle of wine. “NIce, thanks man. Come on in.” 

You scampered behind Bradley, unable to meet Bob’s gaze, wandering into the kitchen where he had a bowl of guacamole out and some chips. Instinctively, you dragged a chip through the green dip and shoved it into your face to prevent talking. Nerves were bubbling at the surface of your skin. 

“How was the trial?” Bob’s voice surprised you. He was a man of so few words, so having him lead the conversation was shocking. 

Bradley stood at the stove, stirring a pot of beans. “Long,” he replied. “Tedious, as always.” There was a pause. Then, “Anything happen while I was gone?” 

Was it you, or did the air in the room shift? You quickly shoved another tortilla chip in your mouth to cover the silence. Bob put one hand on the counter, not too far from where you sat hunched over the bowl of chips. “Not much,” he replied, nonchalant. “Usual Willow drama.” 

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Drama?” 

You practically choked on the chip. 

Bob looked at you before responding, “The Mayfields are at it again.” 

Relief, hot like vodka, spread through your body. Bradley laughed. “Really? I don’t want to have to oversee the third divorce.”

“Third?” you asked. 

He nodded, but Bob’s voice was the one that cut through the kitchen air. “Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield got divorced probably ten years ago, and then promptly had an affair together and got pregnant. They got married again before the baby was born, but divorced when Anna turned three.” 

“So they’re divorced?” 

“Nope, got together again a few years later. But from the sounds of it, divorce number three might be incoming.” 

“This town should be its own sitcom,” you said, lifting the glass of wine that Bradley had poured to your lips. 

“So have you changed your mind about our little town, Doc?” Bradley asked, turning around pouring Bob another scotch. You hadn’t even seen him pour the first one. 

You shrugged. “It’s no New York.” 

“Nothing is.” Bradley put the wooden spoon down. “Floyd, remember that time you came to visit me at Columbia?” 

You frowned. Bob had gone to New York? You couldn’t picture him in the city. With all the suits and fast walking and snippy baristas. He would stick out like a sore thumb in his jeans and button down shirts, his Southern twang. 

Bob nodded. “I still think about that Korean chicken place you brought me to.” 

Bradley laughed. “Wow, Koreatown. I haven’t thought of that in ages.” 

You leaned on the counter and watched them. There was something so casual and easy about the way they spoke with each other. It was the first time it dawned on you that they had been friends for years. 

And you were getting in the middle of a friendship.

Dinner was delicious, with black beans sauteed with bacon and pork belly tacos and margaritas so strong your head started to buzz halfway through the meal. 

Before you realized it, you and Bob were standing in the doorway again. 

“Thanks for dinner,” Bob said, reaching out and clapping Bradley on the shoulder. 

Bradley grinned. “Anytime Floyd.” He turned to you, leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You should stay.” 

You pulled back, face frozen, head shaking. “I have a lot of work in the morning,” you whispered. “But I’ll call you.” 

He nodded as Bob opened the door and the two of you were ushered out into the cool night. Before you could even squeak out a word, Bob was halfway down the driveway, speeding toward his house next door. You broke out into practically a jog behind him, running up the stairs to his house in heels. “Floyd!” 

He whipped around, eyes wide, one hand on the door. He was silent. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly cold. “So this is it?” you asked. “You’re just going to run away every time you see me? What the hell is going on?” you demanded. “Do you take it back?” 

Those last words came out as a sharp whisper. Bob reached out, grabbing your arm and pulling you around the front porch of the house to the opposite side, so you were out of view of Bradley’s home. 

Even when the two of you rounded the corner, his fingers didn’t leave your skin. Instead, he stepped closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his muscular body. “No,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to take it back.” 

“Then what?” you pleaded. “What do you want?” 

“Take a wild guess, Olive.” Bob cocked his head to one side. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do.” His voice forced a chill through your bones, a tingling settling in between your legs. “You’re a smart girl,” he whispered. “I think you know.” 

Your chest heaved uncontrollably. No one had ever looked at you the way Bob Floyd was looking at you in that moment. Not Bradley. Not Peter. Not any of the men you had dated in the past. It was all consuming. It threatened to swallow you whole. 

“We always want what we can’t have,” Bob murmured, letting his fingertips drop from your arm. “That’s human nature, I guess.” 

“Is that your diagnosis, Doctor?” 

He nodded. 

You shook your head. “In my professional opinion, it’s better to tell the truth than to hide how you feel.” 

“So you’re a psychiatrist now?” he murmured. 

“God, never.” 

Bob grinned. He lifted one arm, placing it on the siding of the house behind your head, creating a triangle with his body, practically pinning you against the house. You looked up, eyes wide. “Bradley is my best friend,” he whispered. “And you’re my business partner.”

“Almond milk isn’t real milk.” 

He frowned. “What?” 

“I thought we were just listing facts.” 

Bob shook his head and grunted. He was exasperated with you. You were all too familiar with that. “Jesus Chris, Livvy, I swear—”

You interrupted him. “Livvy?” No one had ever called you that before. 

His eyes flashed. “I mean Olive.” He flushed. 

You shook your head. “I like it.” 

Bob leaned down, letting his free hand cup your cheek. “Livvy,” he murmured. 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up and let me kiss you.”  

Tag list or follow my library page @ereardonlibrary:

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[catghiaccio]

More human stuff + wip sketch

Idk if anyone’s interested in knowing about the lore in the human au but I’ll yap on anyways, here’s just a few of the relationships:

•David ( Flesh Cousin ) is Kirbirt / Kirby’s ( Party Noob ) biological father

•Mr is a principle + Franklin / David hate him

•Pilbert is April and Beverly’s next door neighbor

•Dr Retro and Jamie live on the floor above them

-

Every Character + their names would be in my au:

•Split - April Splits

•Bive - Beverly Castro

•Dr Retro - Caju Retro

•Gnarpy - Jamie Retro

•Flesh Cousin - David Poobert

•Party Noob - Kirbirt Poobert

•Spud/Frank - Franklin Garcia

•Mr - Mr Stein

•Infected - Kasper Steel

•Lampert - Fritz Franks

•Mannequin_Mark - Mark Franks

•Mozelle - Margaretha Campbell

•Pest - Kiyo Hirose

•Pilby - Pilbert Clement

•Prototype - Florence Hirose

•Reddy - Fredrick Campbell

•Scag - Remy Costello

•Unpleasant - Rodrick Stein

•Wallter - Walter Peterson

•Jeremy - Jeremy Reyes

•Gregoriah - Greogoriah Katz

•SwibbleDib - Connor Parker

[kissorkill16]

When We Were Once Happy: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: A story before Trinity moved to Raven Brooks.

Epilogue

A month and a half went by since Aaron and Mya's disappearance, A.K.A. possible murder. Mr. Peterson came up with this lie that they mysteriously went missing, and had everyone in Raven Brooks fooled.

At school, everyone pretend like Aaron and Mya never existed in the first place. Especially Aaron. Everyone seemed to be happy that he was gone, considering all the people he's pranked and threatened over the years before Nicky moved to Raven Brooks.

Regardless, Nicky missed them a lot.

Everyday, he wished he could go back to the days. Where Aaron and Mya were still here, where Mr. Peterson was still sane, where Diane was still alive, where Lucy was still alive.

When they were all once happy.

Nicky remembered it all like it happened yesterday.

Ever since he's come up with the conclusion that Mr. Peterson was a killer, ever since he's tried telling everyone he thought would listen, everyone's been avoiding him like the plague.

Nicky destroyed his reputation within the span of just a few months, with everyone thinking he was crazy for thinking that a man like Mr. Peterson could murder his own children.

The only place where he could go where he felt like he was wanted was the Inventor's Club, but even they were starting to get fed up with him, but he didn't care, he'd do whatever it took to get people to listen.

Every day, Nicky would sneak into the Peterson house and try to find evidence of a murderer, and he had recently found out that the mysterious crying was coming from his basement. So now he thought that he was hiding the bodies in the basement.

Every time he broke into his house, his only thought was getting into the basement and finding that evidence. However, Mr. Peterson always caught him snooping and always chased him out.

Mr. Peterson never chased him past his property line. Nicky found it weird, but it gave him an advantage.

One particular day, Mr. Peterson had caught him once again, trying to break into the basement. Nicky was desperate for a place to hide, and Mr. Peterson was right behind him. Luckily, he found an unlocked door, and an open window.

But before he could get out, the window shut and its metal doors shut.

"No!", Nicky nearly screamed as he banged on the window, he turned around to see Mr. Peterson, and the man didn't look happy.

This was always the scary part for Nicky. Looking at the man he once thought of as a second father, who was now a psychotic man and possible murderer. He let out a scream, bracing himself for the inevitable death.

Mr. Peterson lunged forward at him, reaching out a gloved hand to grab the kid, but something inside Nicky made him jump and stomp on his hand, making Mr. Peterson jump back, far enough for Nicky to run towards the door.

He ran to the living room, and started climbing up the chimney. He didn't know if he'd actually get out, considering going up the chimney was a whole lot easier than going down it, but he could practically feel Mr. Peterson gaining on him.

As he finally made it to the rooftop, he slid down the roof, stopping at the metal pipes, and letting out a silent sigh of relief.

Then he spotted someone in the corner of his eye. It was another family and a real estate agent, it looked like she was trying to sell his old house to the nice family.

Why? Didn't she or anyone else know that his grandmother died in there?

He prayed that the family would find out that someone died in there, and is possibly haunting that house, and they would move far away from here.

He didn't have time to think about that now, right now, he just wanted to get away from this house, and away from Mr. Peterson to plot his next plan.

[jayzzu]

helloooo neighbor x club penguin au.....

lorna -> trinity

roofhowse -> white boy

Sydmull -> Ivan obviously

blizzard -> enzo

Jangrah -> idk maybe maritza cuz of how much of a back nd forth she has with blizzard

idk who Mr Peterson is he's probably like. the merry walrus or herbert or something... I don't think herbert would kidnap children though

thank u for listening to my role swaps

lorntrini is so true ���️‼️also hell yeah maritza enzo beef persisting throughout everything . siblings will find a way to fight in every universe 💞

i think herbert is more mr peterson... imagine ur next door neighbour is of another species and twice your size And also a huge jackass. Also i wouldnt put kidnapping behind herbert look at him brah

merry walrus mr peterson is funny tho itd literally just be evil santa

[stvrl0st]

☆HELLO NEIGHBOR DR☆

(takes place in act 1, year 1993)

name: Stephanie "Stevie" Lilies.

age: 13.

birthday, dec 16th, wednesday, 1980.

family: Julia Lilies, (mother) Quinn Lilies, (father)

friends: Nicky Roth, Aaron Peterson, & Mya Peterson.

(fc: ariana carvelhais I think😭 also pretend there's no nose ring)

☆BACKSTORY☆

(sorta??)

I lived in the city until I was 10, then I moved to this town called 'Raven Brooks' Missouri in 1991. A week after we settled in, I met this girl named Mya Peterson, or just Mya, at school, we became best friends, & she introduced me to her brother, Aaron Peterson (aka Aaron) we all became really close & hung out almost every day, I met their parents, Mr & Mrs. Peterson, they were like a second family. In november of 1992, a new boy named Nicky Roth moved to our neighborhood. My parents & i went to his house to welcome him & his parents to the neighborhood, we started hanging out more & then I introduced him to Mya & Aaron, & we all quickly became inseparable. Until April 17th, 1993. April 17th was the day Mya & Aarons parents got into a car crash, Mr. Peterson survived, Mrs. Peterson didn't, that, me & Nicky never really saw Mya & Aaron, except at school, but they never talked to us that much. One month after the crash, we always saw Aaron at school & stuff but never Mya, I just assumed she was still really sad & didn't wanna see anyone. One night, me & Nicky were outside playing soccer because we we're having a sleepover & we saw Mr. Peterson digging something from across the road, we were curious, so we hid behind his car. I saw Mya's doll, she always carried it around with her, so it was definitely weird that she didn't have it & Mr. Peterson had it while he was digging something out in his yard. Me & Nicky got freaked out & ran back to my house. That night, we ended up looking out my window & we heard someone scream from The Peterson House, we got really worried & ran out of my bedroom window to see what was happening. We saw Mr. Peterson locking the basement door & whoever was behind that door kept yelling & screaming. We ran back to my bedroom & just tried to convince ourselves it wasn't Aaron. The next day, I ended up going over to the house & asked Mr. Peterson, where Mya & Aaron went, he shut the door in my face & yelled at me, saying I shouldn't ask questions. My parents ended up telling me Mya died from an "accident" & that Aaron didn't wanna talk or see anyone again. They said Mr. Peterson told them this & I instantly told Nicky & we decided to do our own investigation.

LMFAO IM ACTUALLY CRYING WHY IS IT SO CONFUSING 😭🙏

also this takes place in act 1 & I make this scirpt like two days ago & I'm still working on it so this is all I got rn😞🫶

[sketchy-sketches]

Chapter 6:

All-together

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this.” Alan growled.

“Come on, a few days of camping on a remote island, and we pitch in to look for a kid lost in the place. How bad could that be?” Billy looked at Alan with raised eyebrows. Alan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Come one Mr. Grumpy hat, our flight is in an hour, are you all packed?”

“Yeah, I got it Billy.” Alan put on his hat and opened the door. He walked halfway out before stopping and looking back at Billy. “By the way, your fly's down.” Alan walked out as Billy adjusted his fly. Alan opened the trunk and put all of his luggage inside, closed it, and got in the driver seat. Why did he agree to this? He just wanted to go back to his dig in Montana, he was needed there. It’s not that he didn’t want to help find the kid, he’s not a monster. But why the hell did it have to be him? At least the dig would be funded for a few more years. Billy walked out of the hotel door, Alan pressed the button to open the trunk, and Billy put his stuff in and sat in the passenger seat. Alan started the car and left the hotel.

They pulled into the parking lot, and saw a group of a few people standing near a small building. They pulled into the spot next to a red sedan. “Ready?” Billy chuckled looking at alan.

“As i’ll ever be” he sighed, not taking his eyes off the steering wheel. They both stepped out of the car.

“Dr. Grant! Good to see you.” Mr. Kirby called from the group. “Let me introduce you to the team helping us.” He stepped over to Alan and turned around to gesture at each person. “This is Mr. Danial Nash, Thomas Cooper, Robert McKinley.” Alan reached out his hand and shook all of theirs, except for Mr. McKinley, who kept his arms folded and his hat low.

“It's good to meet you all.” billy smiled

“There are a few more inside, they are preparing breakfast for us.” Paul waved his arm for them all to follow. They all stepped inside the lounge area and sat at the large round table in the center of the room. Alan checked his watch, ten twenty-four am, they were leaving in about an hour. He looked around at the mercenaries. McKinley was leaned back in his chair, with his hat over his eyes. Nash was making conversation with a hispanic woman and petting a german shepard. Cooper was cleaning parts of his rifle, thankfully on a seperate table being that they were going to be eating soon. And udesky was talking to Mr.Kirby about the mission.

A woman walked out of a back room carrying four plates of food, followed by a tall lanky man and Ms. Kirby all carrying more plates. Each plate was laid out in front of each person. Ms. Kirby set the last plate in front of herself and told everyone to dig in. Alan looked down at his plate of two pancakes, four bacon strips and scrambled eggs. He had to admit he was hungry, he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. He scarfed down the first pancake, and two pieces of bacon, before Mr. Kirby had begun to speak.

“Alright everyone, enjoy your meal, we have a long flight ahead of us. And from the bottom of my wife’s and my heart, thank you all for helping us.” An applause broke the small moment of silence.

“So you're the expert huh?” The man sitting next to alan said.

“I don't know about expert but yes, I'm familiar with the area I believe.” Alan said quietly. The man reached out his hand.

“beck, beck peterson.” Alan shook his hand.

“Dr. Alan Grant.”

“So what were you doing here all those years ago?. Beck asked before taking a bite of his eggs.

“Oh, uh…” Alan tapped his foot, quietly. “Some old nut thought he had a paleontological breakthrough, but it was just a deadzone, nothing of value.” He cleared his throat.

“Well? What did he think was so special?” he said with his mouth still full. “I mean it had to be something right?”

Alan paused. What could he say? False remains? New discovery? Alan didn't want to lie, he hated lying. He hated the book the Costa Rican government forced him to release to the public. “He had found some bugs in the rocks, and said it was a “key to learning about dinosaur behavior” Alan sighed. At least he didn't lie.

Beck squinted, before shrugging at alan. “How the hell would bugs tell you about behavior?” Alan heard him say under his breath.

He smirked, and picked up another piece of bacon.

Listening in on other conversations, he had figured out everyone's names. Rosa, and her dog Charlie, Sarah wrights, and Laianna simons. He made a mental not to sit near them on the plane. Alan may not be a social butterfly, but he didn’t wanna be around people he is unfamiliar with.

Mr. Kirby stood from his seat. “It is ten fifty-five everyone, time to get going.”

Alan felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked and saw Billy, giving an empathetic look. He waved his hands, signing the words *it's gonna be fine, it will be over soon.*

[starrymused]

@lannamused

Am I really needed here?

Elias couldn’t understand why he was standing in the Welcome Pavilion alongside the others, but knew better than to voice his thoughts on the matter. Today, Mr. Ryan would be greeting a first-rate (allegedly) politician and his aide, and ensuring their trip to the city of Rapture was as pleasant as could be. For the past week, he’d repeatedly reminded them how important each of their roles were and that they should be on their best behavior when interacting with their guests.

Elias glanced down the line as they silently waited for the Bathysphere to arrive. Each of them specialized in highly skilled areas around Rapture, which was the reason they’d been invited here in the first place. But wasn’t this overkill? What business did a renowned artist like Sander Cohen have with a politician? Or someone like himself? A mortician from the Surface who also moonlighted as a Pathologist when Mr. Ryan needed him to — Elias couldn’t imagine a politician being all too interested in being shown around by someone like him.

“Look lively,” Mr. Ryan mumbled as the Bathysphere containing their esteemed guest rose before finally coming to a halt in the machinery that would hold it in place for the next traveler. Everyone, including Elias, straightened their backs and plastered what they could only hope were welcoming smiles upon their faces. The door swung open and a handsome blond man stepped out followed by a rather tall brunette woman.

“Ah, Mr. Aidan Pyralis and Ms. Janet Peterson, what a joy it is to welcome you here today. I am Andrew Ryan.” Mr. Ryan said as he stepped forward to shake Aidan’s hand while only giving a nod to Janet — she was just an aide, wasn't she? “How did you find the journey here? Rather impressive, was it not? I still find myself marveling at the sights from the Bathysphere despite taking that route many times. Elias couldn’t help but feel sorry for the two. They’d only just arrived and they were about to receive the full Andrew Ryan experience of waxing poetic about his own underwater creation. It was impressive, of course. Definitely something to be proud of. However, many people had contributed to the mammoth project and Mr. Ryan didn’t seem to mention them as often as he should. He probably wouldn’t even introduce them (despite insisting they all be present) until someone cleared their throat and reminded him they were here.

"Come, let us head through to the lounge to get away from this sea salt air."

Yep, Elias thought with some amusement as he followed the others. Not introducing us quite yet. This was the Andrew Ryan show, after all.

[revivemyreverie]

Chapter 13

Cane chokes in disbelief. 

Cane: B-but dad, you said you were going to stop the park festivities the moment we walked in-

Mayor Kappel: I did that so you wouldn’t complain as we walked here. Now let this old man enjoy some fun, and go do something on your own. 

Mayor Kappel: Now, as for the fine gentleman who invited me, Mr. Peterson, this is quite the event you’ve set up. 

Pat: Don’t hand me the credit, give it to the kid sewing this kite, and the one you said was carrying some old junk a few nights ago. 

Mayor Kappel: …I guess I should apologize to that child. After all, it looks like he’s made good use of that old merry-go-round. 

Pat: And the mini coaster too, I hope. He made that thing in under 3 days. 

Mayor Kappel: Did he now? Well, I might have to hire him as an architect when he’s older. He’d be a much better employee than the “designers” my nephew commissioned. 

Winston: Good luck with that. As far as I know, Zackery is going down a much more creative route. Just ask Madam Roostia about it! 

Winston: Actually, now that I mention it… where is she? 

Somewhere else, on the tallest building of the tiny village, a familiar matriarch stands upon the rooftop, umbrella in hand. 

?: It’s been a while since I’ve done this. But then again, no park get-together is perfect without the right weather! 

Quickly, she lifts her umbrella towards the sky. Like a sea being slashed in two, the clouds fade as a bright and blue sky spreads throughout the town. For the park-goers, they find themselves shocked to see such a clear sky. A wind picks up, and Gale’s kite goes flying. 

Winston: Waaa! Hold on tight to that kite! 

Gale: I got it! I got it!!

Other children, some with their own kites, head out on the field themselves to play around in the new-found sun. Finally finding a sense of calmness in this world of chaos, you and Grim share a smile. This is definitely a memory you’ll find yourself looking back on with happiness. 

Lotsie: So it sounds like your trip ended pretty well!

Winston: Oh, you had to be there to see it, Lotsie! It was like the ending to one of our plays; a perfect final! 

Lotsie: Maybe next time I’ll come by, a get-together in that old town sounds like something in a dream~.

Saturn: Ooh! Take me too! I gotta make up for not being able to go to my best buddy’s hometown.

Zackery: MUAHAHAHA! Everyone shall be invited to my totally evil town! Well, if my mom agrees to house more people in the orphanage, that is. 

Saturn: I’m sure she’ll let us, as long as none of us are on the police’s radar, right Pat?

Pat: Hah, Sure. 

The group all chuckles to Pat’s bluntness, before Lotsie gets up from his seat.

Lotsie: Looks like we lost track of time~. I gotta get to bed or else I might wake up late for class. 

Pat: Lotsie, wait–

Lotsie: Yes?

Pat:... Nevermind, I just had a question about classwork, it can wait.

Lotsie: If that's what you say! Just come by my class tomorrow and I’ll help you. You got me my stuff after all!

Lotsie leaves, allowing the younger students to chatter amongst each other. Pat, however, remains quiet as he ruminates on his own experience at the town.

...

Mayor Kappel: Sorry to bring you all that trouble, young one. I didn’t realize how stubborn I’ve been about this town until now. 

Mayor Kappel: But if you are who you say who you are, and mean what you truly say, then who am I to stop you? But please, if you really know my best friend’s son�� send him back home. If not for my sake, then that old house. 

Pat: …I’ll make sure to. 

Mayor Kappel: Now get going, this party doesn’t look like its moving anywhere. 

Pat sneaks out of the hangout without a complaint from his underclassmen. Traveling through the now-sunny town, the 3rd year is surprised at how quickly he could find the house now. That, and how dilapidated it was.  Stepping onto the creaking patio, Pat inserted Lotsie’s key into the rusted handle. With a click, the door opens, revealing an even sadder image inside the house. Sheets laid upon several pieces of furniture, and items not covered were caked in a thick layer of dust. 

Pat: Jeez… if the sun didn’t come out today, I probably wouldn’t be able to find my way around this place…

As instructed by Lotsie’s request, Pat walked up to the second level of the house, past the hallway and into the last door: Lotsie’s room. Opening it revealed a mess worse than the house itself. Clothes and papers are thrown around the room, as if its owner was in a rush.  Despite his bravery beginning to waver, Pat pushed onwards towards the bed. Looking under, he pulled out the thing he left school for; the thing his best friend so dearly needed: A simple, metal pocket watch.  Looking over it, Pat noticed an odd engraving on its backing. Before further investigating, however, Pat’s eye caught the corner of a photo beneath the bed. Curiosity winning him over, the 3rd year plucked the picture from its place. 

Pat: …!

Shocked by the image, Pat quickly put the item back, before leaving the house, watch in hand.  Back at the dorm, as the first years chatted amongst each-other, Pat became lost in thought. 

Pat: Of course, I could just play it down to it being his father and them bearing similar appearances, or him getting his father’s hat as a keepsake, but it still makes no sense that the picture dated from almost 50 years ago.

Pat: Just… Why did the boy in the picture look like Lotsie..?

END

[retro-radio]

Dystopian au!

‘Remember citizens Raven Brooks keeps you and your family safe’ 

The sound of the robot's voice rang through Nicky's ears as he groaned and rolled out of bed hitting the wooden floorboards with a THUMP. He coughed and sneezed dust invading his lungs. He glanced up at the clock on his bedside table sighing as the numbers read 9:30. Nicky picked himself up and meandered over to the bathroom looking at his reflection in the cracked mirror of his crummy apartment. ‘I look like crap’ he said to himself bringing a hand up to his face tracing a finger over his eye bags he gazed over at the small window the metal bars obstructing his view slightly. 

His prison.

After the breakout Raven Brooks became an industrial city stretching as far as the eye could see. It was surrounded by a circular stone wall that reached high into the sky. It was made to keep the ‘beasts’ out as people liked to refer to them as. They roamed the wasteland outside the wall. Nicky had never seen one himself. However, he had heard stories about them, their haggard appearance, twisted limbs and ferocious growls that were the last sound their victims heard. Nicky lived in one of the many apartments in Raven Brooks or as it was now called ‘Raven Brooks: City of the Future'. Most of the normal houses had been knocked down and replaced with large skyscraper-like apartments that housed hundreds of people. Nicky sighed and turned on the tap watching the cold water fill the cracked porcelain bowl.

He picked up his hairbrush and pulled it through his tangled hair wincing as it tugged a tad too harshly. After deeming himself fit enough to start his day Nicky made his way into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee yawning and scratching the back of his neck. He leaned against the counter taking a sip of his coffee enjoying the bitter taste as he scanned his eyes around his apartment “Brenda!...” he called out hearing a few beeps and a voice say “G-g-good morning Nicky Roth” Nicky sighed and placed his mug down after draining it he walked over to his couch plopping himself down. “What will the weather be like today?” He asked. ‘Brenda’ was an in-home assistant that would be activated with a simple flick of his wrist. He heard Brenda beep and processed his question “I-it w-will be s-s-s-sunny!” Nicky nodded and smiled, saying "thanks!" He hated the thing he found creepy but every apartment was installed with one. It was just another way for the government to stick their noses in other people's business. 

But that was reality, caged in this city surrounded by obedient sheep who would follow every command given. Nicky broke free of that way of thinking, his mind focusing on escaping this life and climbing over the outside wall. He brushed a hand through his hair and flicked on the TV, seeing that there was a new discount on apartments on the other side of the city. Nicky flicked through the channels before turning the TV off and throwing the remote next to him. He wandered over to his book shelf picking up a book on machines hiding it behind his back and making his way to the bathroom. He knew his apartment was bugged and he also knew that he was being watched 24/7. He closed the door behind him. He knew there were no cameras there so he sat down on the toilet seat and opened it, removing the book mark and placing it on the floor. He could only do this for around ten minutes every few hours because spending hours in the bathroom would be seen as suspicious. 

KNOCK 

Nicky looked up from his book and he heard the knock at the door and stood up creaking open the bathroom door and looking towards his front door.

KNOCK KNOCK

They were persistent and seemed more demanding. Nicky sighed and exited the bathroom walking over to the front door and twisting the door knob and opening it. He groaned internally as he saw who had been waiting for him. "Hello Peterson…” he said looking down the hallway at the rows of identical doors. Mr Peterson's face split into a wide grin making Nicky want to look away. He always found his smile freaky. “Hello Roth” Mr Peterson greeted placing a hand on the doorway, a subtle way to prevent Nicky from leaving. “Can I have five minutes of your time?” He asked. Nicky nodded knowing he didn't have much of a choice. Mr Peterson was a patrol officer who lived a few doors down. There was one on every level of each apartment building in the city. They were employed by the government to report any suspicious behaviour. 

Nicky nodded and smiled “Sure…” he trailed off and opened the door allowing Mr Peterson inside and asking politely “would you like some tea?” He asked. Mr Peterson grinned again the skin moving in an unnatural way “No thank you” He said walking over to the couch “I’m not falling for that trick again” he mused pulling up a chair and patting it “you know the drill Nicky” Nicky groaned throwing his head back and made his way over to the chair lifting his foot up and pulling his jean leg up to show the ankle monitor it was black and thin and unless he rubbed his ankles together he couldn't feel a thing. Mr Peterson held his ankle softly and checked to make sure it was tight enough. 

“How many times has it been?” Nicky asked, trying to make some conversation. The silence was suffocating. Mr Peterson hummed and pressed the monitor thinking over the question “I think…forty-six times” Nicky nodded shifting his weight he smiled as if recalling a fond memory “ah yes…forty six times I've tried to escape this shithole”. Mr Peterson gave a particularly harsh tug on the ankle monitor making Nicky yelp and shoot the officer a glare “you-” he was cut off by Mr Peterson slowly raising his head and standing up straight dusting off his hands. “We did this for your own good” Nicky looked to the side biting his lip and choosing his next words carefully. He had tried so many times to escape and none of them ever worked; he was eventually put on house arrest; the ankle monitor would deliver a small electric shock if he left the apartment and alert the nearest officer of his whereabouts. 

 “Yeah right” Nicky spat out bitterly, rolling his jeans back down and staring at the floor. Mr Peterson smiled and nodded “don’t look so sour like I said we do this to keep this safe” he placed a hand on Nicky’s shoulder giving it a squeeze making Nicky grimace. “Have you been taking your pills?” He asked. Nicky nodded stiffly and looked to the side. In reality, he hadn't really taken the drugs. Instead, he spit them out and flushed them down the toilet. Mr Peterson sighed and let go of Nicky’s shoulder patting his cheek “I will see you later” he walked towards the door opening it and closing it with a soft click. 

Nicky sighed and rubbed his eyes. He remembered what would happen each time he was caught attempting to leave his apartment. He was obviously not happy with the newly implemented rules that had been put in place for his ‘safety’. Mr Peterson would drag him back to his apartment by his neck and throw him on the floor. He would then handcuff him to the coffee table or something holding him down and trying to force a pill down his throat that would make him compliant. He would talk about how he was doing this for Nicky’s ‘own good’. He would fight Mr Peterson until he had no energy left and lay weakly on the floor before being lifted onto the couch. This left his mind hazy and unable to process what was going on around him. Mr Peterson would make sure the ankle monitor was still secure before leaving. 

“NO NO GOD PLEASE NO!” Nicky screamed as he was dragged down the corridor of the apartment building by one foot, his nails scratching against the floor as he desperately tried to kick Mr Peterson who only grunted and kept dragging him back to his apartment. He had been caught trying to climb out a window on the fourth floor but one of the other officers had seen him and reported him. Nicky recalled the look Mr Peterson gave him a flicker of anger smothered behind a smile. Nicky remembered that during his second escape attempt he had offered Mr Peterson some tea. However, when his back was turned he smashed him over the head with the full tea pot. Mr Peterson suffered some severe burns that the doctor had to treat by stitching new skin over the old skin. Other than the thin pink scar that ran up his face, you couldn't tell that he had anything done at all. “I’m doing this for your own good!” Mr Peterson said as he dragged him to his apartment, opening the door and throwing him onto the floor holding him by the neck with one hand and searching in his pocket with the other before pulling out a small white pill. Nicky squirmed and kicked more.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see someone walking past his still open door. Grey eyes stared at him before they moved on. Nicky reached out his hand. His mouth was open to say something but he felt the pill being pushed roughly down his throat. It was bitter and Nicky had no choice but to swallow it and grimaced at the taste. Mr Peterson stood up and helped him onto the couch patting his cheek and smiling. “This is to keep you safe…” and with that he left leaving Nicky who fell limply into the pillows next to him a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Nicky quickly walked back over to the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself staring at the window. He lifted his foot onto the toilet seat. He rolled up his jeans and poked at the small black box. He had managed to loosen it before. Maybe he could loosen it enough so he could slip his foot out. He tugged and pulled at it, deciding he was going to need some assistance. He began searching through his cupboards until he found a pin small enough to get into the lock. He stuck his tongue out in concentration and fiddled around until he heard a small click. He looked down in shock as the lock had broken open and was now lying on the floor. Nicky grinned at himself. He picked it up and filled the sink, throwing it in watching it sink to the bottom. 

Exiting the bathroom Nicky made a bee line for his room opening his closet and grabbing the backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. He walked back into the living room and turned on the TV. If he was going to pull this off he needed it to seem like someone was home. Next he put his backpack on the kitchen table “H-h-hello Nicky!” Brenda said cheerfully Nicky froze opening his cupboards and filling his backpack with tinned food and a few bottles of water he had a first aid kit, spare clothes, shoes and a map so he knew where he was going most maps had been destroyed as the government deemed them ‘problematic’ and could encourage ‘rash decisions’ but Nicky had managed to meet someone who collected maps and things like that in an alleyway on the outskirts of his apartment block "here you are", he said handing Nicky the map who carefully put it in his backpack. “Thank You…how much?” Nicky asked, rummaging through his wallet the stranger smiled and waved his hand dismissing the thought of being paid “have it for free…just promise me you will get out of here” Nicky nodded and exited the alleyway trying to look as unsuspicious as possible. 

“Hello Brenda…” Nicky continued to rummage through his cupboards pulling out some energy bars and opening the bottom cupboards and pulling out a long length of rope and a water purifier. He also grabbed his shotgun and swung it over his shoulder along with his backpack “Y-y-your fridge is empty would you like me to p-p-p-place an order for groceries?” Nicky shook his head feeling guilty for what he was about to do but he couldn't have her alerting Peterson. “No thank you Brenda…” he shuffled over to her control box grabbing a screwdriver and prying open the box “w-w-what are you doing N-nicky?” She asked in a broken voice. Nicky sighed deeply and leaned his head against the box “I’m sorry…” he whispered out, plunging his hand deep inside the box and pulling out a fistful of wires. Brenda spluttered and her speech became slurred until it became totally quiet. Nicky almost forgot what silence was like. It was kinda nice. 

Nicky threw the wires onto the ground and grabbed his bag and ran over to the door, his hand lingering on the door knob. He took one final look around his apartment before opening the door and looking up and down the hallway to ensure the coast was clear. When he was sure it was he crept down the hallway and down the many flights of stairs. Being cautious to avoid all the cameras he made his way out onto the street. He hid his gun in his backpack and pulled up his hood as he weaved his way through the crowds of people. There was graffiti on most walls and barbed wire on the top of the imposing stone wall that loomed over them reminding them who was in control. Nicky kept making his way through the crowd crossing the road and making many turns to throw anyone who might be following him off his track.

Nicky caught sight out of the corner of his eye. He spotted a cop car making its way up the road slowly. He then took a sharp turn into an alleyway and climbed up a ladder that led to an apartment roof. He could see two officers get out of the car and ask several people around them. One pointed to the roof and Nicky made a quick dash jumping to another roof, climbing up further. He could see the wall. He just needed to keep moving. He jumped from another roof to another rolling over and standing back up quickly. He had only a few more roofs to jump off and then he was free. 

“STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!” Nicky spotted the two officers running after him Nicky started to sprint his hood coming off his head revealing his brown hair. He stopped suddenly and nearly fell off the edge. He could see the wall was only one more jump away. He could see the cops getting closer. He took a deep breath and took a long leap landing on the edge of the wall. He struggled to get his legs up but eventually hoisted himself. His heart was racing and a small crowd of people had gathered beneath him. He grinned at himself and easily jumped the barbed wire fence. He ran to the edge of the wall and inhaled the fresh air. He looked down and found waste land below. Dead trees and grass were everywhere, nothing like the city. He looked behind him at the growing number of police that were trying to find a way across the drop. 

Nicky looked back at the edge. Was this all a mistake? Should he climb down and go back to his life? No, he wanted to be free and explore what was beyond the city. He cast one final look behind him, turning around fully making sure all the cops could see what he was doing. They stared at him like a pack of wolves; he outstretched his arms and moved a step back. The officers lurched forward and Nicky took another step back looking behind him taking another deep breath in. He would survive the fall because there were a couple of bushes that weren't dead. He took one final step back…and let himself fall.

[that-sso-raven]

i’m the guy who likes being a part of the soul riders but i think if they did ever want to shift the group around a bit and open some slots for new people, one good natural opening is through anne, who seems tired and wary of the druids. certainly it would be a shame to get her back and then ‘lose’ her again, but she has really gone through the wringer, her and concorde both. i think if after she fulfills some next grand climax and she wants to take a hiatus of some sorts or even leave the group, it could be a cool way to enforce that if you do not want this destiny you don’t have to be utterly beholden to it. and that doesn’t mean she has to disappear from the world -- you could have her in side quests just living her best life. being happy and orienting herself and concorde after that long period of horror. and i say hiatus because you could still leave the door open for her to come back to the action somewhere way down the line, and i can see them calling upon her expertise the way we might currently ask mrs holdsworth or ydris etc for help in the meantime. or honestly lisa too -- she’s got a career outside of this, and aspirations. i think it would be really interesting to explore the most vocally earnest optimistic power-of-friendship character have to contend with being torn between chosen ‘destiny’ and leaving her friends’ superhero group for a life she would actually kind of, at heart, prefer. and again it could be hiatus, she could go on temporary tour or something, you could see posters of her around jorvik advertising it or eventually start to hear sidequest npcs mentioning her album and smile and point and say that’s my superstar friend lisa peterson. 

[ihni]

AO3 FIRST LINES

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted.) If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have!

tagged by @discodeviant and @weird-an, thank you!

All of these have been for @harringroveweek and @harringrove-flip-reverse-it btw, which has been amazingly fun and creative events!

~~~

Billy was already waiting by the mailbox when the postman came. (Mr. Peterson next door)

“This is going to be so awesome!” (Over the edge)

Neil Hargrove up and left his wife and his wife’s daughter four months after his son died in the mall fire. (Sharing clothes)

Hawkins is in mourning. (Memories)

The names Hargrove and Harrington were right after each other on Mrs. Wolfe’s list of students, and Mrs. Wolfe always paired everyone up alphabetically. (Pairing up)

The best thing about Billy’s best friend Heather was that she was fierce, loyal, protective, sassy and never shied back from speaking her mind. (Boys, Beards and Best Friends)

“Ow, ow, ow, what the fuck?” Steve hissed and tried to escape. (Pulling pigtails (no, not like that))

Steve swore under his breath as he lugged the heavy box up three flights of stairs. (Wanna stay for (a microwave) dinner?)

Billy had explicitly stated that he didn’t want a celebration. (The best gifts are the ones someone put some thought into)

The party was winding down. (Late night talk)

~~~

Tagging: @callieb @cherrydreamer @lazybakerart @mourntheantagonist @platypanthewriter @billyharringson and @robthegoodfellow

[kudosmyhero]

Batman (vol. 1) #480: To the Father I Never Knew…

Read Date: March 14, 2023 Cover Date: June 1992 ● Writer: Alan Grant ● Penciler: Jim Aparo ● Inker: Jim Aparo ● Colorist: Adrienne Roy ● Letterer: Jim Aparo ● Editor: Dennis O'Neil ◦ Scott Peterson ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● judging by the title, this one has a high chance of being a tear-jerker ● dammit, tears already on page 3. as soon as I saw this letter, I started cry. stuff like this makes me think of my mom, and therefore makes me cry pretty easily (she and I had a complicated relationship, too, so… yeah. I see you, Tim.)

● we meet Phil Marin, the CEO at Drake Industries who's taken over while Mr. Drake is in the hospital ● I was a bit surprised at first that Tim jumps out of the car to yell at some guys spray painting a wall, but I'd forgotten about his mom's grave being vandalized. the guys admit to vandalizing the grave. ● yikes, Tim thinking about telling his father that he is Robin… which would also allow him to guess who Batman is. not a good idea, kiddo… ● gang members stealing from Drake Medical, Inc. ● 👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: Tim Drake and his father Jack are visiting their mother and wife's grave. They discover her tombstone has vandalized by a gang called the Y-Dogs. Tim comforts Jack, who calls him a good son and promises to be a better father to him.

Tim doesn't want to move into his father's Robinson Park penthouse or work part-time at Drake Industries like Jack wants. While Alfred is driving him back to Wayne Manor, Tim sees two Y-Dogs graffitiing a building and gets out to confront them. He beats them up and leaves them on the ground of an alleyway.

Tim joins Batman on patrol as Robin, believing it could be his last night. He wants to investigate the Y-Dogs since the two he fought were wearing designer clothes. Tim considers telling his father that he's Robin, and Bruce tells him that's a decision he has to make on his own.

The Y-Dogs rob a Drake Medical warehouse, and Batman and Robin catch them in the act. They beat up the gang members and leave them tied up for the police.

Tim realizes his father needs him and asks Alfred to drive him to the hospital. Alfred hands him a real estate listing for a mansion next-door to Wayne Manor, suggesting the country air might be good for Jack.

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman_Vol_1_480)

Fan Art: Batman by Buffy2ville

Accompanying Podcast: ● Robin: Everyone Loves the Drake - episode 21

[kissorkill16]

A Fragile State: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Nicky is having an episode, and who does he go to other than Mr. Murtaugh?

Mr. Murtaugh was just wrapping up his supplies and about to walk out of the classroom, but just as he opened the door, he jumped back when he saw a familiar boy wearing a potato sack over his head.

Nicholas.

Principal Abanate was standing right behind him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what happened, he just came to school like this. But luckily for you, he told me he'd come to you if he ever had a problem."

With that, she left and Nicky was just standing there, shaking and hugging his body.

The science teacher led the boy inside the classroom, and gently sat him down next to his desk.

"I'm so glad you decided to come to me, Nicholas.", said Mr. Murtaugh, "Now take off the mask and tell me what triggered you this time?"

But Nicky didn't answer, he just kept shaking and hugging himself, only letting out tiny pleas or whimpers.

"Please, Trinity. Let me out! Come back! Please let me out! Help me!"

The science teacher's eyes widened. So that new student, Trinity Bales, was the one who caused all of this?

She was the one who put him in such a fragile state?

He gently peeled the bag off of Nicky's head, greeted by his wide, bloodshot, straining brown eyes.

"Nicholas...", he started, "Did Ms. Bales trigger this episode?"

Nicky nodded. Then out of nowhere, he started crying. No, not crying, sobbing uncontrollably. Mr. Murtaugh slightly panicked, but he gently, awkwardly wrapped his arms around Nicky. When he felt the boy calm down, he pulled away and bent down to his level.

"Nicholas, tell me exactly what happened. Don't leave anything out."

Nicky tried to relax himself before speaking.

"Me and Trinity went back into Mr. Peterson's house, and I don't know what happened, it all happened so fast, but I just put the bag on my head and I kept saying Stay. Hide. Forever. Darkness., and then Trinity just threw me into the basement! She said she'd be right back for me, but she never came back! I had to find my own way out of there!"

Nicky started crying again, but he continued on.

"I didn't even want to go back into the house, but she made me go anyway! Oh God, I was so terrified. I was scared of what would happen, if I would die, and no one would care! I kept screaming and begging for her to let me out, but either she couldn't hear me, or she was ignoring me.", Nicky wiped the tears from his eyes, "She was probably ignoring me."

"Oh dear...", said Mr. Murtaugh. He was absolutely stunned when he heard this.

Nevermind the fact they went into Mr. Peterson's house again, but Trinity managed to trigger him and turn him into a shaking, sobbing mess!

He knew Trinity was a determined young lady, but he didn't think she'd lock away her own friends just to find out his boss's identity. Even he thought that was cruel, and he didn't even really care about these kids...

Well...maybe except for Nicky.

He hated to admit it, (because if he did, he was sure he'd die) but he'd started getting attached to the boy. With all of their previous sessions and having heart to heart talks, he was glad he'd volunteered to be his personal counselor. He even felt a little regret after trying to poison him.

And boy was he thankful that Nicky didn't drink the tea.

"Nicky, I'm glad you came to me about this.", said Mr. Murtaugh. "I'll be sure to have a private conversation with Ms. Bales later this week, but right now, I want to focus on you."

He stood up and tilted the boys head up to meet his gaze.

"This is what happens when you keep putting others before yourself. Sooner or later, they start taking advantage of you, treating you like their own personal punching bag and then they cast you aside when they don't need you anymore. Ms. Bales thinks this is some kind of game, and even worse, she couldn't even keep her promise. I think it's best that you don't associate with her anymore."

Nicky's eyes widened, "But she needs me."

"What she needs is to back off of this whole Crowface mystery before she gets herself killed.", said the science teacher. "Just don't talk to her anymore until I have a little meeting with her, alright?"

Nicky nodded.

"Good.", said Mr. Murtaugh. "Now why don't you take a little nap? You brought your pills with you, didn't you?"

Nicky nodded again and took out his pills from his pocket. He opened the tiny container and took out one pill.

Mr. Murtaugh took out a water bottle and gave it to Nicky, and the boy put the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with the water.

"You just take a short nap, and I'll call your parents after you wake up."

The boy nodded, slowly falling asleep. Once he was lying motionless on the chair, Mr. Murtaugh gently scooped him up and carried him to the teachers lounge.

He laid him down on the couch and sat down next to him, watching him peacefully sleep.

He knew he would probably die for getting attached to someone who was supposed to be the enemy, but it would be worth it, anything would be worth it for Nicky. For now, Mr. Murtaugh just wanted to enjoy this while it lasted.